Free White Out: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller by Eric Dimbleby Page A

Paulie heard that statement, it would have prompted a whole string of uncomfortable questions: Daddy, why would Edgar cut somebody’s head off? Do you think they can put it back on? What happens if my head falls off?  
    " Come on now, Chris," Edgar said. Nobody ever called him Chris, not even Annie. Not even his mother. Something about that irked him a bit, but he didn’t say anything. "If you can't enjoy a little joke every now and then, then the apocalypse wins."
    That word.
    That word triggered something in Christian and he suddenly wanted Annie by his side. He reached down by the fireplace, touching his son's hair. He looked back to Edgar, who was still roaring with unhinged laughter, and Christian asked, "Do you really think this is the apocalypse?"
    Edgar got quiet, pondering this for a moment. His eyes moved around as if he was weighing out the options carefully. “No, sir. I don't reckon it is. But on a serious note--it might take some lives before it's done. This storm’s the nastiest I’ve ever seen. Nastiest anybody has ever seen, for that matter,” said Edgar, his facing stretching into a saddened grin. The man looked like he was about to cry. Christian felt a sudden regret that he had thought ill of the man only a moment earlier.               
    Edgar was just as frightened as he was. We all have different mechanisms in a time of fright, thought Christian, and Edgar’s was joking, laughing, and making merry. Nothing wrong with that. 
    “ I don't know,” Christian said, “something tells me things are going to get a lot worse before they get better. We've got plenty of food, and enough of these logs to last us a few months, but that doesn't mean anything if we freeze to death. I'm starting to feel I might go crazy long before I freeze or starve.” He paused, staring into the undulating flame of the fireplace. "Know what I mean?"
    "I do. I've been feeling a little off my rocker sometimes too, ever since this dang snow started. It gets to you, and that's only human. It wears away at you. Like cabin fever, but way more intense."
    Another silence filled the room. Only the occasional faux-crackle of the faux-log could be heard, accompanied by Paulie's gentle snooze and the whistling howl of the wind outside. Christian stared at the window on the east side of the house, wondering if his neighbor was doing okay. Every couple of days, he and Marianne would chat through the windows, checking in with each other as the snow intensified, though it was almost impossible to have the window open for even a minute or two, not without feeling like death was pulling at your coat tails. Four days earlier, they had switched over to the upstairs windows, because the downstairs ones were buried and they could no longer see each other. Earlier in the morning, and the afternoon before, he had thrown snowballs (gathered from the windowsill) at her window, to which she always responded. But she wasn’t responding anymore. If she didn’t show any sign by tomorrow, he’d propose to Edgar that they go investigate his neighbor.
    "So , let me ask you a really important question," said Edgar, leaning in closer, almost too close for comfort, just a few feet away from Christian. A grin sliced across the man's face. "How is your booze supply lookin’?"
    Christian smiled so hard that his cheeks hurt.
    Edgar returned that smile with one of his own. 
    Time to feel like men again , thought Christian.

 
    Chapter Four
     
    “You ever hear about all those bodies on Mount Everest?” asked Edgar.
                  Paulie would be waking up any minute now. He’d been asleep for more than two hours. Christian couldn’t remember the last time that Paulie had slept more than that. Of course, they were fully burnt out by the day’s, hell, the week’s, activities.
                  Christian needed to sober up a bit, but so did Edgar, judging by the cock-eyed sway that he gave when he spoke. He still