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

clutched the bottle, handing it off to Christian every few swigs. The man was letting loose, but it was a little too loose for comfort. “Maybe you should take a little nap. It would do you some good after all you’ve been through.”
                  Edgar looked right through Christian, as if he was transparent and speaking a foreign language. “I asked a question, my friend. You ever heard about all them bodies on Everest?”
                  “Sure,” Christian replied, giving in a bit more than he would have liked. In the spring, there was a feature on National Public Radio about the camps around the base of Mount Everest. Quite often, those of a privileged background would show up, buying up sherpas and equipment, but once they got a bit higher than Camp Two, they’d disintegrate into madness. Some would retreat, but once in a while, they would press on, convinced that they were omnipotent. One famous corpse went by the name of “Greenboots” and was considered a living landmark, not to mention a reminder of how nasty the mountain can be in the dead of winter. Funny, thought Christian, that the entire world felt like it had turned to Everest now. It used to be that thrill hunters would go scouting for such dangers, and now those dangers were kicking in Middle Class America’s back door, asking for a hug and a kiss.
                  “They got bodies everywhere. A lot of ‘em are covered in snow, but some of them bastards are just right there, right out in the open. Can you imagine that?” asked Edgar. Christian detected a hint of change in Edgar’s voice, though that was pretty typical with somebody when they drank a full pint of bourbon. He didn’t think that his strange visitor had a drinking problem—not in the least—but a brush with death did that to a man, made him loosen his mind a bit as he sought to get a grip on reality. He resigned to giving Edgar his moment of shit-show, as long as he didn’t bother Paulie when he woke up.
                  “That’s crazy,” Christian said flatly.
                  Edgar’s eyes got big. “Bet your ass it is. You think things are gonna get like that out there?” he asked now, pointing towards the lightless, buried window.
                  “I don’t think so,” Christian said, not fully convinced by his own tone.
                  “I reckon it will, Chrissy boy!”
                  The stare that Edgar delivered next was unprecedented. In all his life, Christian could never remember feeling so damned uncomfortable, shifting back in his chair as though he might fall out of it at any moment.
                  Christian’s eyes remained fixed on the fire, and on Paulie. When the stare coming from Edgar became unbearable, that was when the snoring kicked into high gear and the bottle of booze dropped to the floor.
                  The Poor guy was hammered off his ass and ready to sleep a spell, and who could blame him?
                  Edgar’s snore was something of a roar, echoing through the living room.
                  Christian breathed deeply, relieved.
                  “Daddah?” Paulie asked. Christian looked down at him, smiling at the beautiful boy that was warming himself by the fire. “Eggah sleepin’?”
                  “Yeah, kid. He’s sleeping pretty good. What do you say we let him rest? He’s had a rough day.” With that, they scurried upstairs, curled up under the blankets with one of their flashlights, and read a book called “The Cranky Bear.” Paulie laughed at the story every time, especially when the aforementioned cranky bear woke up, angered to find that he’d been messed with.
     
    *  *  *
    Edgar yawned. He’d taken quite a nap, for almost three full hours.
                  Now that he’d removed his outer layers, Paulie could see a lot of blood