The Dying Time (Book 2): After The Dying Time by Raymond Dean White

Author:Raymond Dean White [White, Raymond Dean]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science Fiction | Post-Apocalyptic | Dystopian
Publisher: Raymond Dean White
Published: 2015-03-15T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 28: The Relief Army

Jim Cantrell caught the thrown rope in both hands just as the current sucked him under. His fists clenched in a death grip as the water tried to tear him from the line, snatching at him with a million fluid fingers, hammering him into large rocks and forcing its way up his nose and down his throat. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could barely hang on. He came up spluttering, gasping for air.

He tried to kick to stay afloat but the force of the water pulled his pants down around his legs, tangling them. His arms and hands were heavy. The rope burned his palms as his grip slackened, then tightened in panic. The taut line acted in concert with the swift current and swung him closer to shore. Lifesaving hands gripped his shoulders and hauled him from the water. He spewed liquid from his lungs and stomach.

When he finished coughing and retching he asked, “How many?” Meaning, how many men had they lost?

“Too early to tell, Major,” said Chad Bailey, the radioman, who’d been among those manning the rope. “Five rafts went over before anybody could give a warning.”

Jim grimaced. He’d already lost almost forty men to river accidents and rock slides. That, out of a force of almost seven thousand. “What I want to know,” he snapped, “is where the hell that thirty-foot waterfall came from. It wasn’t there when we scouted this stretch of river last week.”

Raymond Stormcloud said, “Maybe that small ‘quake we felt a couple days ago wasn’t so small down here.”

“Goddamn! That means we’ll have to scout the whole river again.” More delays, more damned delays. Making good time was impossible. Roads were blocked by abandoned cars, rock falls and downed trees. Bridges were out and quakes had created cliffs and canyons where none existed before. Road conditions had made him decide on a water route. But these falls and rapids...he was beginning to think he’d made a mistake. Too late now to reconsider. His shoulders slumped. “Scout it again.”

“I’ll take two men and get on it,” Stormcloud answered. “It won’t take but a couple of days, Major. We’re almost out of the rim rock country and into Zion Lake.”

Zion Lake, the huge post-Havoc lake that now covered everything from Strawberry Reservoir on the south to Deer Creek reservoir on the north. It was a long, deep lake, narrow in proportion to its length, though that still made it more than two miles wide at its narrowest point. Once they reached the lake, they would trade the dangers of white water for those of being seen crossing open water.

“About the lake...,” Jim began.

“We’ll have to cross it at night, Major,” Raymond interrupted. “Otherwise we’re sure to be spotted.” And the sooner they crossed the lake, the sooner he would see Susan Redfeather again. She’d been spending too much time with that Walt Beeman to suit him. Time to remind her she was Cheyenne.

Jim nodded agreement. He caught Doc Merriman watching

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