Winds of Ares: An Apocalypse Thriller by Druga, Jacqueline (most recommended books TXT) 📕

I was able to get two ibuprofens in him before he nearly choked on the third.

His body shook and shivered. I fed the fire to make it stronger and spent the night using my damp shirt to wipe him down, to try to break the fever. Our bottled water was scarce, and he needed that more than me.

Lane exuded so much heat, it absorbed all moisture from the shirt I used on his forehead.

I wasn’t a medical professional, and I had very little knowledge other than what I saw on television or in movies.

My medical knowledge was limited to what I saw on Chicago ER.

At first, I thought it was something called dry downing. Where he was drowning in the remaining fluid in his lungs, but that didn’t explain the fever.

A fever meant he was battling an infection.

The only thing I could think of was pneumonia. The river water would have bacteria.

The weather was no longer a threat we faced, whatever was conquering my husband was.

Help was so far away. I could do it, I could make a run for it, but I was fearful of leaving Lane alone.

Not in his state.

I managed to get the fever down a little, enough for me to close my eyes. Curled up next to him I slept a few hours, waking up with every little sound he made.

He was lethargic and tried so hard to appear as if he wasn’t out of it. His speech was slow, as was his movements.

I kept telling him to look at the sky, see how blue it was and to feel the warmth of the sun, something we hadn’t seen in a while.

Everything around us looked hopeful, but Lane looked dismal.

He started coughing again, to me that was a good sign. But it was a struggling cough. I could hear it, a cough that wanted to expel the sickness, but wasn’t quite able to.

With the sun out and the weather better, I kept thinking people would be out. They would be driving, and I waited.

Someone would come.

They never did.

By late morning I knew I had to try to get to the truck. Get him into one of the small towns, find a pharmacy and get medication.

I hated, absolutely hated the thought of leaving him behind on the median strip of grass, but I had no choice.

I told Lane, “I’m going to go and try to get the truck. I’ll be back.”

Lane was stubborn, he insisted he could walk.

I carried most of the heavy items, allowing him to only carry the light stuff. I wanted to leave things behind, but the heavy stuff was the gas and water.

Of course, we only managed to get a couple gallons of gas. Enough for the truck to take us across that bridge.

We walked slow, stopping a lot.

He staggered as he walked, dragging his feet, swaying.

When Lane spoke, his words were airy, almost speaking through an exhaustion. Of course, he didn’t speak much. It made him winded between trying to talk and walking, then he’d fall into a coughing fit. That was the only time he had color to his face.

We hadn’t gone far, a smidgeon over two miles, when Lane had to take another break.

“This isn’t going to work,” I told him. “You’re sick.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t. You can’t keep going.” I shook my head. “I can take the gas, put it in the truck, then come back and get you. We’ll find medicine. I know there’s enough gas for that.”

Finally, he relented, and I helped him over to the median area, propping him up on our supplies to make him comfortable. His water was within reach and he shivered. His fever was back, and he kept saying he was cold. I gave him a blanket asking for him not to cover up unless he absolutely had to.

I knew ‘sweating out the fever’ was old school and dangerous. Lane wouldn’t listen, I knew that. The moment I was out of sight he’d cover up.

I kissed him and promised him I would be right back.

I took the gas can with me and a bottle of water a third of the way full.

I absolutely hated leaving him on the road like that. I feared he would die or need help. It reminded me of the scene from 'The Stand' when they left Stu behind.

Only I knew I’d be back, and me leaving him behind was the only way to help him.

Even as I walked away, I could hear him coughing.

I moved at a quick pace I probably wouldn’t be able to keep up. I had no idea where the truck was or if it was still there.

To me, it had to be there, the wave hadn’t washed that far.

We had already gone nine miles from the RV, I didn’t think it was much farther.

I kept checking the mile markers and my watch, I couldn’t believe I wasn’t making faster progress. A part of me believed I had to have missed one.

They say the average person walks three miles an hour. I was walking faster than that when I first started, and then I slowed down.

Finally, I saw it and my speed picked back up.

The truck was four miles from where I left Lane. And it took me a little under two hours to get there.

I opened the driver’s door and as Martin said, the keys were in the cup holder. Reaching down behind the seat I opened the gas cap.

The funnel for the cans was in the back of the truck with the empty canisters, I found it, attached it and emptied the small amount of gas into the truck.

I wasn’t even sure it would start.

I remembered the things my own father had told me the numerous times I ran out of gas in my youth.

Unsure if the same tactics would work in the pickup, I tapped the gas pedal twice put the key in the on position and waited.

After giving it a few seconds, I closed my eyes and turned