Storm's Fury | Book 10 | Last Strike by Bell Justin & Kraus Mike

Author:Bell, Justin & Kraus, Mike [Bell, Justin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Post-Apocalyptic | Survival
Publisher: Muonic Press Inc
Published: 2020-12-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

A rural village

East of Malcolm, Wyoming

Jack’s eyes eased open, the light blessedly dim inside the strange, curved ceiling structure he awoke in. The first thing he could sense as he awoke was the deep, pervasive heat inside the building. A layer of sweat coated his entire body, arms, and legs and as he ran his fingers over his limbs, he found that they were uncovered.

His heart thudded and he sat up swiftly, grunting at the sudden horse-kick of pain in his left side. Wincing, he doubled over, moving onto his left hip, supporting himself with one hand, his eyes stinging with salty sweat.

The heat radiated inside of the small, dark building, it was as if the air itself were alight with fire, like he’d awoken in a sauna instead of out in the Wyoming mountains.

“Ah, you decided to wake up,” a voice said, and Jack tensed a bit, not realizing someone else was in the room with him. Sitting upright, he tried to catch his breath, resting on one palm. Beneath his hand was a bed of soft fur and as he looked down, he saw that he was sitting on some sort of animal hide. Looking up to the ceiling of the structure, he saw several wooden supports bent and woven together, more animal hides stretched between them, sealing the gaps and enclosing the space.

“Where—where am I?” he asked groggily. “How long was I out?”

“It’s midmorning. We found you last night. Bleeding and injured in the woods. After you attacked us, we almost left you there, but figured we’d be the bigger men.”

Jack twisted slightly, wincing at the pain, and looked over at the two men who were inside the structure with him. One was an elderly man, a long sleeve of gray hair spilling from his narrow scalp and drifting over his shoulders. The second man’s hair was equally long, but darker, his face at least twenty years less wizened by age.

Jack could tell immediately the two men were Native American, and like him, appeared to be dressed in nothing but a wrapped cloth from the waist to mid-thigh, their skin glistening with a layer of sweat.

“What the hell is going on?” Jack asked, his voice still faint and somewhat weak.

“You were in a bad way when we found you,” the older man said. He gestured to the strangely shaped building above them. “These sweat lodges, sometimes they help with the healing. They certainly don’t hurt.”

Jack ran a hand through his damp hair, and started to get up, but winced again and sat back down hard.

“Hey, hey, white boy, take it easy,” the older man said, getting to his feet and moving toward him. “I gave you a little cocktail,” he said. “Some echinacea for your fever, and we cleaned out your wounds, packed them with some more gauze, added some crushed leaves and clean spring water. Should help keep the wound closed until you can get stitches. We don’t have an actual hospital in this village. We depend on the city for that.

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