The Nuclear Winter by Brian Thompson

Author:Brian Thompson [Thompson, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780989105651
Publisher: Great Nation Publishing, LLC
Published: 2019-08-05T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Liam wanted to escort me all over the shiny, white industrial complex. Everything was white — even the light fixtures, digital ceiling cameras, side railing fixtures, and baseboards. The slick hallways, wooden cabinets, handles, and counters had to be bleached or repainted daily to stay this clean. The air didn’t smell like paint or strong cleanser, though, less of a bleach burn or gentle aroma in my nostrils and more like a sterile freshness.

What also struck me was the contrast of black wheel paths worn into the otherwise perfectly waxed floor on the pathway leading to Mom’s room. They were deep enough for my feet to feel a difference when I stepped on them. She was far from the first person to be attended to in that room. Rolling beds shouldn’t be that heavy, should they? Why were the trails so distinctive, and why had no one bothered to fix them? How many had been there? With so few people around, the custodial staff must not be large either.

I needed to explore who was housed here and why. But right now, I wanted to stay put next to Mom without Liam. His stiff body movements said he’d rather be anywhere else than with me by her bedside, but he stayed.

I settled down into the room’s white leather padded chair and curled into a tight ball with my hands clutching my ankles. Mom’s body looked deathlike in her paper-thin gown with printed blue diamonds. The quilted blue blankets covering her up to the midsection were warm to the touch for now. I fingered the holes to touch her skin. After a while, the air would chill her, and the covering would provide little insulation. Being unconscious, she might not know the difference…but I did.

I yanked the slack in the cotton mesh blankets from the bottom, covered her below the monitors attached to her chest, and returned to my position beside her. After about a half an hour, Liam left me alone and returned with a steaming Styrofoam cup for me.

“What’s in yours?” I asked him as he offered it.

“Water. We’re out of tea.” He jostled the cup in his other hand. “Caffeine makes me irritable.”

Guys used the word “irritable” to describe themselves? Was it a British thing, or was he one of those high-maintenance [XW69]dudes who drinks with his pinky sticking out while reading stock market predictions? For me, I didn’t want the coffee especially fearing he’d dosed it to knock me out. A refusal might arouse his suspicions. I accepted it and slowly slipped. Whatever was in it, cream, sugar, artificial sweetener, poison — I wouldn’t swallow enough to damage my system. Soon, I’d say I have a thing about cold coffee and use it as my reason not to finish.

As I fake sipped, Liam checked the time on his antique wrist piece. Pretty old school. I preferred the wall clock setting for my holo so I knew how to read it: four p.m. on the mark. The thing made a cute beeping sound.

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