Scorched: Echoes of the End Book 7: (A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller) by Justin Bell & Mike Kraus

Author:Justin Bell & Mike Kraus [Bell, Justin & Kraus, Mike]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Muonic Press Inc
Published: 2024-03-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 26

Scout’s quiet movement through the house had woken Everett, who’d taken to sleeping on the living room couch. He’d let Demarcus have one bedroom and let Scout have another. The third he’d left for Brett for when his turn at overnight watch was done and he’d taken the couch. Truth be told, Everett had learned during his time in Vietnam how to sleep in uncomfortable situations. He found that even so many years later, some mattresses were just a bit too soft. Some pillows a little too comfortable. He’d slept on an old, lumpy bed at his cabin, with pillows firm enough to be stuffed with stones. The Fullers had lived in much more comfort— a little too much comfort for him, as odd as that was to consider. Sleeping on the couch solved two problems— it let the other three members of the crew have beds, and it offered him a deeper sleep on a less comfortable slab of barely stuffed cushions as well. Everyone was happy.

He eased his legs around, draping them off the edge of the couch and restlessly scratched at his thinning, gray hair. His back was stiff, his bones weary, and he groaned softly as he stood, pushing against his thighs to move upward. Stopping next to the couch, he slowly stretched his arms over his head, then took a moment to locate his prosthesis, which he’d rested on the table near the couch. Scooping it up, he took it to the guest bathroom, not wanting to disturb Demarcus who remained asleep in the master bedroom.

He opened the medicine cabinet and located the lotion that he’d found shortly after they’d arrived. Gently applying that lotion to the skin of the stub of his left arm, he winced, a residual pain lingering throughout the skin and blunt end of bone and muscle. There had been some agonizing months following the forced removal of his left hand, a strange phantom pain in a palm and fingers that were no longer there. Thankfully, after four decades, he no longer suffered from that particular ailment, but the stub of his arm still required some care and feeding.

Stupidly, in his rush to leave the cabin, he hadn’t grabbed his normal supplies, but there had been some items at the Fullers that would work in a pinch. As he rubbed in the lotion, grimacing, he made a mental note to add some petroleum jelly to the “shopping list” for the next time they ventured into the city, which should be later that morning, if everything went according to plan.

Finished with applying the lotion, he located some gauze in the same cabinet and wrapped a bit around the lower part of his stump, making sure to cover the end where the prosthesis would attach. Lastly, he unraveled the straps of the prosthesis, pressed it into place, then tugged the straps closed, securing them with tight Velcro and slipping a black glove over the false left hand. Some lingering pain throbbed along

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