Nuclear Winter (Book 1): First Winter

by Nathan Jones

  Still, they managed to finish the task well before noon, got the meat locked away in the ice shed and the hides hung to freeze as they were until they could be cured, and the extra bits of bone and gristle and the remainder of the carcasses gathered up and stored away so the town could make soup broth out of them, in large pots to be shared with the less well off and to feed the defenders and others doing work for the town. As for the offal, there were a few townspeople who owned dogs that would likely enjoy a treat.

  After that the only thing left to do was clean up the area, wash up as best they could, and shake hands all around before going their separate ways. Trev couldn't help but notice that Hailey and Robert kept their distance a bit, wary of whooping cough. Rick and Scott had come in contact with Lucas recently enough that it wasn't quite as big an issue with them, although even they were a bit cautious.

  Trev trudged home beside Matt, once more faced with grim thoughts of his uncle's sickness. He didn't want to think of what might happen, and not just because he loved the man and didn't want to lose him. Lucas was the effective leader of the shelter group, a reassuring voice of reason and direction during difficult times. With him bedridden they'd struggle, and he didn't even want to consider how they'd manage without him if worse came to worst.

  When he popped into his family's cabin his mom told him she'd already brought soup over for the Halssons, but he wanted to visit and report on how the butchering had gone so he made his way over anyway. Lewis had felt a bit bad about fobbing his share of the work off on Robert this morning, but Trev had insisted. Aside from wanting to ease his cousin's burdens, Trev had also been worried that Lewis was so exhausted and emotionally distraught that working around sharp implements would be a risk.

  If he hoped his visit would help lift the pall over the house he was discouraged. Everyone was exhausted and drawn with worry, and from his quarantine room Lucas's coughing came far too frequently. They left the door between rooms open so he could still talk to everyone in the main room, and hear what was said, but that also meant his suffering was impossible to ignore.

  Trev excused himself quickly, feeling a bit bad about it. The only highlight of the morning was that Deb was there in his room when he got home, once again comfortably curled on his bed reading a book.

  When his girlfriend saw how chilled and dispirited he was she immediately went to get him some hot food and started water heating for him to wash up, then did her best to distract him from his worries with conversation.

  He was definitely going to marry her.

  * * * * *

  From the looks of it the whooping cough was contained to just a few cases, all of which Terry and Dr. Langstrom were able to identify and quarantine in time to halt the spread. That was a relief, but for Lewis hardly a comfort.

  He didn't get sick, and neither did anyone else in the shelter group, but the next thirteen days were still hell for him. It was horrible knowing that nothing he went through even came close to matching what his dad was going through, but what made it worst of all was that he had to bear the burden of having given away the medicine that would've solved the problem.

  A very small mercy in all this was that Lucas was spared from the increasingly intense coughing fits leading to vomiting, although he occasionally gagged when spitting up phlegm. But that seemed to be the only thing he was spared. As the days passed he cracked a lower right and upper left rib, both of which made even the slightest movements incredibly painful, so simply laying in bed became a chore. He also averaged only an hour or two of sleep a day at best, the coughing forcing him awake and then keeping him up no matter how exhausted he became. He also ate less and less until even a mouthful was a struggle, and he suffered for it with intense bouts of prolonged coughing.

  At least he was able to drink as much water as he wanted without suffering for it, but it didn't seem to ease his suffering either. Or more correctly, when he didn't drink enough and his mouth and throat got dry he suffered painfully, but drinking more offered no benefit.

  Terry and Dr. Langstrom had already regretfully informed him that no matter how hard they searched, there was no medicine available for treatment or even to relieve his symptoms. That didn't stop Lewis from scouring the town looking. All he got in return was a lot of guilty apologies from neighbors, with the assurances that if they did have something they'd share it. There were two more storms during that time, and more days with infrequent snowfall. The temperature stayed low enough that all the new snow stuck around, so traveling to the nearby refugee camp or any other town or military location for help was impossible, as was calling in aid over the radio.

  So they resorted to any home treatments they could think of, on top of continuing to have Lucas breathe steam even though it didn't seem to help much. They tried passing him hot cloths to put over his chest and neck, herbal tea concoctions with honey, hot baths beside the stove with a borrowed tub, and anything else that had a hope of alleviating his suffering.

  Seven days after he was diagnosed, while delivering him a meal Lewis's mom caught him in a coughing fit and noticed another alarming symptom. During the tail end of it her husband began twitching, legs kicking slightly beneath the blankets as his eyes rolled back in his head. He confessed that for a few days now he'd been experiencing grayouts which had now progressed to brief blackouts. He'd kept them secret, as much because the lack of control over his body and losing moments of time terrified him as because he didn't want his loved ones to worry.

  The blackouts were intense, occasionally even entering a dreamlike state. And although everyone who saw them happen insisted none lasted more than a couple seconds, his dad was certain they lasted minutes.

  Lewis knew Doctor Langstrom had a bag valve mask, and asked to borrow it to try to assist with his dad's breathing to try to prevent the blackouts. But the surgeon explained that the symptom, cough syncope, didn't come from lack of air. It came from the brain briefly not getting enough blood during extreme coughing fits. There wasn't much to be done aside from making sure he recovered and got breathing as soon as possible once he was alert again.

  After that Lewis's mom insisted on joining her husband in quarantine to care for him, heedless of the rest of the family's worry about her catching the horrible illness. She argued that they all would've caught it by now if they were going to, but either way she couldn't keep watching Lucas suffer alone while helpless to do anything for him.

  In the following days Lucas didn't improve, but he at least seemed comforted by his wife's presence. He was even able to rest a little easier. Truthfully none of them were resting well, sick with worry for him, but they counted the days with him, knowing each one brought him closer and closer to getting better.

  100 days was an eternity, though.

  As the days passed Lewis constantly drove himself to distraction due to worry, lack of sleep, and constantly finding little to do. Everyone in the family experienced that, but Lewis always felt the drive to be doing something to make things better, when there wasn't anything he could do. He went out when he could, weather permitting, and he did all the chores, but in his downtime he couldn't concentrate on reading any of the texts from his archive, or much of anything else.

  Most of that was his constantly building guilt as his dad's condition worsened, as Lewis was forced to watch him suffering knowing his store of medicine could've made all the difference. And he didn't have it.

  His family wasn't blind to his mounting agitation. His dad finally insisted he come in and move his reloading equipment into the main room, so he'd have a repetitive task he could sink his concentration into. It would also be an excuse for Trev to come over every now and again, which might help relieve the mood in the house.

  Lewis gratefully complied, and from that point worked reloading almost nonstop in his spare time, even when Trev wasn't around. Jane usually worked alongside him, seeming grateful for a chance to impose artificial isolation on herself in the crowded confines through intense concentration on her work.
When Trev did come to help Deb often tagged along, and she proved a welcome distraction for his mom and Mary, engaging them in conversation and offering her constant support.

  It helped the days pass as the mood in the cabin grew more and more grim, in direct proportion to Lucas's worsening condition. But no matter how hard Lewis concentrated, it never left the back of his mind that it had been in his power to make things better if he could've just held some medicine back. That he'd failed his dad when he needed him most.

  And then on the night of the thirteenth day, which marked three weeks from the beginning of his illness, Lucas's condition took a drastic change for the worse.

  Lewis was wakened from fitful slumber to the sound of his dad screaming and coughing at the same time. He lurched out of bed while Jane was still starting awake beside him, rushing to the door and throwing it open.

  “Dad?” he asked into the dark room. His question was met by the sound of crying. At first he thought it was his mom, and then with shock he realized it was Lucas. “Dad!” he said again, alarmed.

  In his entire life Lewis had heard his dad cry less than a handful of times, and most of those were in particularly touching movies. His dad was remarkably stoic when it came to pain, from stubbing toes to more severe injuries. He seemed to have a superhuman ability to suppress any knee-jerk response to the pain until he could get himself under control.

  And now he was screaming and crying.

  Lewis felt tears coming to his own eyes as his dad answered in a broken voice. “It's noth-AGGH! No, I can't shrug this aside. It hurts too bad.” He fell silent, breathing raggedly through his sobs.

  After ten or so seconds Lewis's mom spoke up, sounding nearly frantic. “He broke another rib during a coughing fit a half hour or so ago.”

  Lewis felt the presence of people crowding the door with him, Jane and Mary. “I'm going to get the light,” he said, already reaching for the switch. When the LED Christmas lights flooded the room with blue-white light, giving him a clear view of the scene, he wished he hadn't.

  His dad was sitting rigid against the pillows at his back, sucking in shallow breaths to avoid moving. Tears streamed freely down his face, which was a mask of agony and despair. His mom had her arms wrapped around his shoulders in a way that didn't put too much weight on him, and she was crying too.

  Lucas met Lewis's eyes for a moment then looked away, ashamed even though he had no reason to be. He looked at Jane and Mary, just as briefly, then sucked in another shallow breath to speak. “Right after it first broke it felt numb. I knew it was bad, but there wasn't any pain so I hoped.” He shifted slightly, even that making him grit his teeth in pain. “It's directly behind the center of the lung. The others don't hurt too bad during a coughing fit, or at least the pain is manageable. This one . . .” He groaned. “It's torture. It's worse than torture. Every time I cough it's going to be agony. For weeks before it heals, if it even can when the coughing is constantly aggravating the break. I can't do it.”

  He broke down crying again.

  Mary threw her arms around Lewis, face pale and barely keeping from sobbing herself. He held his sister tight, tears streaming down his own face as he was overwhelmed by the helpless sensation of watching someone he loved suffering something this horrible, unable to do anything about it. His dad was already exhausted, already in pain, barely eating, blacking out during coughing fits. And now this?

  It wasn't fair. A good man shouldn't have to go through this.

  “I'll get Langstrom,” he said.

  He expected his dad to protest, in spite of his condition, and was almost surprised when instead he replied desperately. “Please do, quick. Please, let him be able to do something.” He lowered his voice to a terrified whisper. “Please, God, don't let me cough again.”

  Lewis turned and rushed to get into his cold weather gear. There was no hope of his dad's cough miraculously stopping, so they had to do something. Anything.

  Jane got dressed with him, whispering that she'd get Terry. During their flurry of activity Mary hovered near the door to the adjacent room staring inside. She was so distressed she didn't even hum, and her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

  Finished first, Lewis left his wife behind and burst outside, wading through snow well above his knees with a thick crust that shattered into chunks at every lurching step. They had cleared a path between most of the shelter group houses, and the road was clear as well, but he cut a direct path to the house the surgeon was staying in with his family and Carrie Grant.

  Langstrom didn't complain about being woken up, and neither did his family or the young veteran sleeping on the other side of a basic partition. The surgeon quickly pulled on his own coat, hat, and gloves and grabbed his bag, instructing Lewis to describe the problem as they hurried back to the Halsson cabin.

  When they burst through the door into the pale blue LED light Lewis caught a glimpse of Langstrom's expression before he put on a mask from his bag. That brief look told him everything he needed to know about how serious this was.

  The surgeon quickly pulled on gloves as well, not latex but thick rubber that could be sterilized after use, then entered the room and made his way over to Lucas. “Describe where the break is for me,” he said briskly, ignoring the older man's tearstained face and shuddering sobs.

  With Lucas's help he pinpointed which rib was broken. He was kind enough not to try to confirm it by touch, which would've only caused more pain. “Lewis, get a clean cloth and pack some snow into it,” he said in the same brisk tone. “I'd like to try to reduce the swelling. Then we need to tape it if you have any available. I realize athletic tape is probably too much to ask, but packing or masking tape isn't bad. Duct tape will work but, well, it's going on skin.”

  Lewis bit back a curse. “All we've got is duct tape.”

  “Duct tape it is, then,” Langstrom said. Behind Lewis the door opened, Jane returning with Terry.

  Mary hurried to dig out the tape from one of the bins, while Lewis and his wife found a dish towel and headed outside to pack it with snow.

  Just outside the door Lewis sagged against the wall, gasping for breath. He knew the situation was urgent, but he needed a moment before he lost it completely. “I should've held some back,” he finally said.

  He wasn't sure Jane had a clue what he meant, although she probably did since he'd been dwelling on this almost nonstop. She didn't answer, though, so he kept going. “I knew I should've. Those livestock antibiotics and painkillers could save his life, and would definitely ease his suffering.” Lewis clenched his fist around the towel. “I knew we'd need them at some point. It was completely rational to keep them.”

  “We did need them at some point,” his wife pointed out bluntly. “Which was why we used them to help the other volunteers.”

  “Then I'm selfish,” Lewis spat. “We saved friends and neighbors, and I didn't hesitate at the time. I knew if I had I'd feel guilty.” He looked along the wall to the dark outline of the window he'd installed in his room, where dim light filtered through the thick covering and insulation they put over it at night. “Now I have to watch Dad die in agony, knowing I had what he needed. Knowing if it was a choice between him and the neighbors and friends I helped, I'd pick him without hesitation. Only I was too stupid at the time to be selfish, even though I knew I'd regret it.”

  Lewis loved his wife more than words, and he accepted the way she was. But right then, with his world crashing down around him, he wished she would open her mouth and tell him his dad wasn't going to die. Wished she'd put her arms around him, pull his head down to her shoulder, and tell him everything would turn out okay.

  But she didn't. Jane saw the terrible truth just like he did, and it wasn't in her nature to offer comforting lies. Even if she somehow realized he needed one, she wouldn't even know how to try.

  So he pulled her to him instead, held her tight and closed his eyes and just tried to blank his mind. His dad needed the ice, but he needed a minute to reconcile what
a bad son he'd been. The guilt wasn't new, Lewis had been feeling it ever since Terry diagnosed Lucas, but in the face of his dad's enormous suffering it threatened to overwhelm him.

  He'd prepared for this! Before the Gulf burned he'd planned for sickness, for pain, and he'd gotten the supplies he'd need. Antibiotics for livestock that he'd checked could also be used by humans, as well as tables for dosages. Painkillers and general symptom relief medicine, although not as much of the latter. Of the important stuff, though, he'd had enough to last his family for years. So after the world ended, when they needed them most and there was no other way to get them, the people he loved would have what they needed.

  It hadn't been a massive supply, but it had been more than enough for a few people. He could've pocketed a handful of pills from it, a dozen from each bottle, and the heart-wrenching nightmare his dad was going through would be bearable.

  But he hadn't, because at the time others had needed them and he couldn't say no. His dad had been there for him every day of his life. His wisdom and guidance had made Lewis the man he was today. What kind of son failed his father like this?

  A lot of Lewis's plans had gone awry. A lot of his preparations had been insufficient, or had been deprived of him due to the actions of others. He'd lost most of the food and other supplies he'd stored for himself and his family. He'd lost the shelter, which was now a gutted husk of slagged metal and fused dirt. His loved ones faced a hard winter because he hadn't done enough to prepare for it.

  But with all that, this was the first time he truly regretted a decision even after thinking it through rationally. The first time he felt like he'd made a serious mistake. He'd weighed the immediate need of suffering and dying friends against the potential need he might have for those lifesaving supplies, and had gambled against the future.

  And lost.

  He felt guilty for saving his friends' lives, knowing now what it had cost him. And he felt like a monster for feeling guilty. But if he could go back he'd refuse them and think only of his family's potential need first. He'd let those supplies sit there, unused, just in case they could help his loved ones at some point in the future. And he wouldn't regret it.