GMO 24- The Coalition- A Tale Of Prepper Survival (GMO 24- A Tale Of Prepper Survival Book 1) by James Hunt
Authors: James Hunt
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wasn’t forceful, but simply a light tenderness of acknowledgement of what he’d just given them: freedom.
***
The hot wax dripped from the tilted candle onto Alex’s forearm. He had to keep the light close to the wound so the old man could see. After the old man threaded the needle, he heated it to the point of almost dropping it. Alex winced at the first prick, but once the old man got into a rhythm, it didn’t hurt as much. He just lay back in the chair, his arm jerking slightly from the old man’s motions, and closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep so badly. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until he sat down. It was like every bone in his body collapsed, and he wasn’t sure if he’d have the power to reassemble them.
Most of the farm camp’s workers had taken off, but a few lingered behind to watch the old man sew Alex up. The workers that left had grabbed whatever rags they could cover themselves with and whatever food they could stuff into a bag and carry on their backs. Alex figured most of them would try and make it to one of the big cities, which afforded many places to hide. There wasn’t a major city in the United States left that wasn’t harboring some type of refugee who escaped the relocation efforts of the Soil Coalition. But most didn’t have the knowledge or resources to attempt the journey. And those who did usually died of exhaustion before they made it.
“There we go. All patched up,” the old man said.
Alex examined the old man’s stitching. It wasn’t pretty by any means, but the wound was tightly sealed up. “Thanks.”
The old man waved him off. When he tried to stand up, he immediately fell back down into his seat, holding his head. Alex grabbed his arm.
“You need to eat,” Alex said, then rushed over to one of the hydro-tanks and started picking off some strawberries and piling them in his hand. He set the fruit on the table next to where the old man was sitting and extended one of the strawberries to him. “Take it.”
The old man pinched the fruit between his bony fingers and lifted it from Alex’s palm. He rotated it, examining all of the grooves, bumps, and the tiny sprig of leaves that nestled at the top. He brought it to his nose and inhaled its scent. Then, slowly, he formed a fist around the berry and closed his eyes. The sobs that escaped the old man were soundless. The only visible sign of his weeping were the convulsions of his shoulders and the tears running down his face.
Alex placed his hand on the old man’s shoulder, and all he could feel was bone. Maybe the old man didn’t want to go on. Perhaps he’d reached the point where all appetite had disappeared. It wouldn’t have been the first time Alex had seen it happen. The only thing worse than starving to death was forgetting how to eat.
The old man wiped his eyes then unclenched his fist and brought the piece of fruit to his lips. He bit into it softly. The juices exploded and dribbled down the old man’s chin. He chewed slowly. Then, after the first bite was swallowed, he bit furiously into the rest. He greedily reached for the pile of fruit Alex had brought him, shoving bite after bite into his mouth, stuffing his cheeks until they looked like they were going to burst.
Alex intercepted the old man’s hands from grabbing any more. The old man tried to fight him but was too weak to do anything. “Hey, you need to slow down. You don’t want to shock your system.”
The old man finished what food he had in his mouth, and Alex took a portion of the strawberries away and stowed them in his pocket. He rotated his stitched arm a little bit, testing its mobility. It was stiff, and there were a few instances where he thought the stitches would tear, but they held true to the old man’s skill with the needle.
“It’ll stick,” the old man said, pointing to Alex’s arm. “It has been a while since I’ve patched anyone up.”
“What’d you
***
The hot wax dripped from the tilted candle onto Alex’s forearm. He had to keep the light close to the wound so the old man could see. After the old man threaded the needle, he heated it to the point of almost dropping it. Alex winced at the first prick, but once the old man got into a rhythm, it didn’t hurt as much. He just lay back in the chair, his arm jerking slightly from the old man’s motions, and closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep so badly. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until he sat down. It was like every bone in his body collapsed, and he wasn’t sure if he’d have the power to reassemble them.
Most of the farm camp’s workers had taken off, but a few lingered behind to watch the old man sew Alex up. The workers that left had grabbed whatever rags they could cover themselves with and whatever food they could stuff into a bag and carry on their backs. Alex figured most of them would try and make it to one of the big cities, which afforded many places to hide. There wasn’t a major city in the United States left that wasn’t harboring some type of refugee who escaped the relocation efforts of the Soil Coalition. But most didn’t have the knowledge or resources to attempt the journey. And those who did usually died of exhaustion before they made it.
“There we go. All patched up,” the old man said.
Alex examined the old man’s stitching. It wasn’t pretty by any means, but the wound was tightly sealed up. “Thanks.”
The old man waved him off. When he tried to stand up, he immediately fell back down into his seat, holding his head. Alex grabbed his arm.
“You need to eat,” Alex said, then rushed over to one of the hydro-tanks and started picking off some strawberries and piling them in his hand. He set the fruit on the table next to where the old man was sitting and extended one of the strawberries to him. “Take it.”
The old man pinched the fruit between his bony fingers and lifted it from Alex’s palm. He rotated it, examining all of the grooves, bumps, and the tiny sprig of leaves that nestled at the top. He brought it to his nose and inhaled its scent. Then, slowly, he formed a fist around the berry and closed his eyes. The sobs that escaped the old man were soundless. The only visible sign of his weeping were the convulsions of his shoulders and the tears running down his face.
Alex placed his hand on the old man’s shoulder, and all he could feel was bone. Maybe the old man didn’t want to go on. Perhaps he’d reached the point where all appetite had disappeared. It wouldn’t have been the first time Alex had seen it happen. The only thing worse than starving to death was forgetting how to eat.
The old man wiped his eyes then unclenched his fist and brought the piece of fruit to his lips. He bit into it softly. The juices exploded and dribbled down the old man’s chin. He chewed slowly. Then, after the first bite was swallowed, he bit furiously into the rest. He greedily reached for the pile of fruit Alex had brought him, shoving bite after bite into his mouth, stuffing his cheeks until they looked like they were going to burst.
Alex intercepted the old man’s hands from grabbing any more. The old man tried to fight him but was too weak to do anything. “Hey, you need to slow down. You don’t want to shock your system.”
The old man finished what food he had in his mouth, and Alex took a portion of the strawberries away and stowed them in his pocket. He rotated his stitched arm a little bit, testing its mobility. It was stiff, and there were a few instances where he thought the stitches would tear, but they held true to the old man’s skill with the needle.
“It’ll stick,” the old man said, pointing to Alex’s arm. “It has been a while since I’ve patched anyone up.”
“What’d you
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