EMP Catastrophe , Hamilton, Grace [crime books to read txt] 📗

Kathleen wouldn’t melt. It floated inside her like an iceberg and threatened to freeze her with everything she’d done. Tears pressed against her eyes; a mixture of guilt, fear, and adrenaline. The road rumbled under her tires, and she pedaled until her breath came out in gasps, putting as much distance as possible between her and the dead man on the asphalt. She tried not to think of the facts. The inevitable answer to the equation she’d just lived through.

She and Allison had been threatened. She’d murdered a man. Not in cold blood, but she’d still taken a life.

Had Max ever used his gun for such a purpose? Did she have some dark stain on her now that labeled her a criminal, a bad woman, a terrible mother? Wasn’t she just protecting her daughter? If she hadn’t killed him, what would have happened?

We would have died, she thought. Awful things would have happened to me. To Allison.

But was it worth murder?

Yes, she thought. The realization stuck in her throat like a fish bone. If push came to shove, she’d do it all again. She’d kill Andrew a hundred times if it meant keeping Allison safe.

26

Fear and frustration filled Matthew as he and David stumbled down the highway. The morning sun had crept over the sky, and while Matthew was bathed in sweat from exertion, David shook with fever beside him. Tense silence lay between them, thick with unsaid worries and survival focus. Matthew didn’t know what to do to help his father: he’d bandaged David’s arm wound as best as he could, but David was struggling. Had Matthew given him too much aspirin? Had his dad bled so much because of the blood-thinner? Was David’s insistence they keep going putting more strain on his heart that it could handle?

“We need to stop for a rest,” Matthew said. David didn’t argue and seemed to collapse against the guard rail lining this section of the highway. Matthew slipped both backpacks off his shoulders and knelt beside David. He finally voiced the fear that had been strangling him all morning, “Dad, are you really all right? What can I do?”

“I don’t know,” David admitted, his voice thin and reedy. “I feel cold.”

Matthew swept his hand over David’s forehead. Clammy to the touch paired with an unnatural heat. “Your fever is getting worse,” he said, peering into David’s glassy eyes. Matthew recalled when Patton had been sent home from school once, his flushed cheeks paired with a tremor that cascaded through his small body. Matthew had made him drink lots of fluids and forced him to take a cool bath and made sure his son got lots of rest. Now, though, he didn’t think the same remedies would help his father. This wasn’t some bug like the flu.

Matthew eyed the blood-stained bandage on David’s arm and took a deep breath. “I think I should check on your wound,” he said. “We should probably wash and change the bandage.”

Honestly, he was grasping at straws. All of his knowledge was piecemeal snippets from watching movies or studying first aid way back in his Boy Scout days. He unwrapped the gauze around his father’s arm carefully. A yellow ooze crusted along with the blood stains underneath the first layer. Matthew’s nose scrunched up at the smell of meat starting to turn. Underneath the bandage, David’s skin had turned a flushed red, the wound itself rimmed in a bright, angrier shade. “Oh god,” he breathed out, and bit his lips to stop anything else from escaping from him.

“That bad, huh?” David opened his eyes and peered at his arm. “Looks infected.”

The gauze stank. Matthew didn’t know if there was a point to trying to wash and reuse it, and he let it plop on the asphalt. “I’m going to rewrap it with new stuff,” he said. “That old bandage has seen better days.”

David nodded and tipped his head back, closing his eyes. “Looks bad, Matt. Remember that time I stepped on a nail? The wound became red and infected like that. Doctor said I was lucky to get to him in time. I don’t see much of a doctor nearby.”

“You don’t have to rub it in,” Matthew said, his joke a mere shadow of humor. “I make just as much money as a marketing expert.”

David huffed a laugh. “Please tell your clients that I do not recommend getting shot. One out of five stars.”

A ghost of a smile flittered across Matthew’s lips. He zipped open his bag and pulled out the first aid kit, flipping open the tabs. Small pre-packaged goods had become jumbled and disorganized in the white tin container. He dug past burn ointment and antihistamines to pull out another alcohol wipe and gauze strips. If worse came to worst, he’d stick all the band-aids in the kit across the wound. He opened a fresh bottle of water and sprinkled water over the wound, betting on the assumption that because the water was packaged, it had to be somewhat sanitary. Then he wiped away as much gunk from it as he could, picking at the yellow crust that gathered in the corners and inspecting the reddened wound for any gauze strands that might have gotten stuck.

Matthew tore through the alcohol wipe and swiped it over his father’s wound. David hissed in pain. Matthew hoped that meant the alcohol was killing some of that bacteria infecting the wound. They wouldn’t be able to do this again, he thought as he started re-wrapping his father’s arm. The medical supplies available to treat this particular wound were almost out. The first aid kit was supposed to be temporary before they found actual help, but as Matthew focused on his task, he wasn’t sure they’d be able to find a hospital anywhere close or even a doctor on call.

He wished uselessly that he could whip his phone out and research what to do. A week ago, he could’ve pulled up at least ten different websites that would teach him