EMP Catastrophe , Hamilton, Grace [phonics readers txt] 📗

shoved him off, limping as fast as she could toward David.

‘What’s happening?” Max asked uselessly even as David collapsed to his knees on the road.

“Dad!” Patton cried out, making Matthew and Wyatt ahead of them turn around. Matthew’s eyes widened when he saw David on the ground, and he sprinted to his father.

Max tried to keep up with Jade as a sudden spike of dread drove into his heart. He remembered Kathleen talking about this—wasn’t David the whole reason they bought the hotel in the first place? Heart attack. The guy had had a heart attack, and it made all of them re-evaluate their life decisions. Oh god.

“What happened?” Matthew demanded as he sank to his knees beside his father.

“He started to breathe really heavy,” Patton said in a rush. “We were talking about making squirrel traps and then suddenly he started to sound garbled and he gasped and grabbed his chest. Dad, what’s happening? Dad?”

Matthew looked up at Max with terror. Even when Patton had been taken, Max had seen Matthew enraged, determined, smart, but he’d never seen Matthew look helpless. Matthew gripped David’s shoulder, and Max knew that Matthew’s worst fears had been realized.

“It’s a second heart attack,” Jade said. Her lips pressed into a thin line as if to contain her fear. “Isn’t it?”

“We need to get back to the hotel,” Matthew said, his voice trying to sound authoritative and instead coming out reedy with worry. “He needs to rest and get his medication. Wyatt—”

“On it,” Wyatt said, and dipped down to take the brunt of David’s weight. Matthew took David’s other side, and Patton slid in under their arms to hold up David’s waist.

“I can help,” Jade said. “We can lift him up and carry him together.”

Matthew looked back and shook his head. “You and Max can barely stand as it is. Help each other and meet us back at the hotel. I don’t want to leave you but—”

“It’s okay,” Jade cut in. “Get him home. Get his heart beating correctly. We’ll be right behind you.”

Max wished he knew something helpful to say, but instead he gaped like a fish out of water and tried to keep himself upright. When he linked arms with Jade, she felt as tense as a wire.

“He’s going to be okay,” Jade said as they watched Matthew, Wyatt, and Patton rush David up the mountain road. “He will. I know he will.”

For the second time in his life, Max held his tongue. He squeezed Jade’s arm. I hope so.

Epilogue

His beer was warm.

Samuel grimaced as he pried the cap off with a bottle opener. He’d lost count of how many he’d had today, but knew that each time he opened up a new one, it was warm. No condensation chilled his hands. Each swig did nothing to quench his thirst. He took a drink and snarled at the bottle. He knew some people drank their beer warm, but to him it did nothing but make him annoyed.

And he had plenty of things to be annoyed about these days. Warm beer didn’t have to be one of them.

He settled into his plush armchair and stared at the blank television screen. He couldn’t even watch the game anymore. Couldn’t even flip to his favorite reality-television show or watch the hunting channel. All he could do was sit here in his living room and stew in his anger. The shades had been drawn for days, letting an off-yellow sunlight through the slats that illuminated the old brown shag carpet, the wood-paneled walls, and the stacks of gun magazines piled up in one corner. Beyond that, unwashed dishes filled the porcelain sink and the refrigerator had started to smell off. Samuel had inherited this dump from his family, and he never kept it up, convinced his lucky break would show up any day now. That someday he would take back the hotel that was rightfully his and then his life would actually start.

But that hadn’t happened, had it? He took another swig of beer and let out an annoyed sigh. Now he would rot in this seventies-throwback house until the end of his days. He was running out of mac and cheese. For once in his life, he was getting sick of the powdered orange cheese flavoring. He had to figure out what to do next, but every time he thought of that posh city jerk holding his own beloved shotgun to his face, Samuel wanted to do nothing but crack open another bottle of beer and grimace that it wasn’t cold.

A sudden crashing noise broke the silence. Samuel went still and cocked his head, listening. Another crash, and this time, he knew some hooligan jerks had gotten into his garage. Too big a crash to be mice. Too small to be deer. Cursing his luck, Samuel stood and fetched Old Lucy from her spot leaning against the wall. At least he hadn’t lost this shotgun to some hotel-stealing property-thieves. Checking the bullets, he went to the door leading into the garage and opened it up slowly.

In the dim light, he could see two figures rifling through his tall toolbox. Well-kept silver Allen wrenches of all sizes crashed to the floor as one of the men uttered a curse. His drill followed next, the electric cord a useless bundle on the concrete like a curled snake.

“Even a band-aid, man,” one of the men said, clutching his shoulder.

“There’s nothing in here but measuring tapes and nails,” his partner snarled.

Samuel had about had enough of people taking what was his. He raised Old Lucy and cleared his throat.

Another crash. There went his screwdrivers pinging all over the ground. The one rifling through the box held up a small hammer and Samuel chuckled. The idiot was so scared Samuel could see the whites of his eyes.

“I’d love to chat, fellas,” Samuel drawled. “What right do you think you have to ruin my perfectly laid out tools?”

“Listen,” the man with the hammer stammered, “we don’t mean no harm.”

With his