Cruel World Read Online Free PDF

someone who exhibits symptoms. In any case, we will continue to provide updates as they become available. Angela Singer reporting for CNN.
    Mallory clicked the power button and the screen went dark, giving way to a shadowed reflection of the room and the two of them standing side by side. Quinn dropped his eyes to the floor.
    “Do you think that is what Mr. Kelly has?” Mallory asked.
    “Maybe. It sounds like the same symptoms, but I guess we won’t know for a while. Teresa said if he got worse, Graham or Foster would bring him to the hospital.”
    Mallory twirled the feather duster around in little circles, spinning it until it was a blur of pink and blue.
    “I mean, it’s not the bad one. H1N1 is the worst as far as I know, right?” Quinn continued.
    The housekeeper blinked and seemed to return from wherever she’d gone. She regarded him and then gave him a small smile.
    “I’m sure he’ll be fine, cariño. Don’t worry; we’ll take good care of him. I’ll have Graham make his turkey soup for lunch. That should knock the sickness right out of him.”
    Mallory patted his arm once and then went in the direction of the kitchen where Graham cursed again, quieter this time. Quinn stood by himself in the living room for a moment, his eyes coming to rest on his distorted reflection before going to find the food he was no longer hungry for.
     
    ~
     
    The remainder of the day slipped from the clock like water from a punctured bottle. Each time Quinn looked at it, another hour had passed. He’d gone for a run after breakfast, unable to stomach the sweet perfume of pancakes that the others huddled around in the dining room, the spring air whisking away a layer of dread as he jogged into it.
    He’d run down the long winding drive, its blacktop clear of snow and ice now, the vestiges of winter melting in shaded alcoves beneath heavy pines. He passed Graham’s, Mallory’s, and Foster’s modest homes, each cut into a private yard that branched from the main drive. Their lawns weren’t yet green, but soon Foster’s plow truck would be stored away for the summer in exchange for the zero-turn lawnmower that never seemed to stop running in the warm season.
    After a mile twisting through the dense forest of the property, the wrought-iron gate came into view, its top spiked with wicked points, a warning to anyone who contemplated climbing over to see what was on the other side. Quinn had slowed and stopped before the twelve-foot-high spokes, gazing up at them. He moved closer and placed his chilled hands on their bases, the steel so cold he pulled his palms away, watching to see if they would stick. The paved county road lay beyond the gate. It curved into sight to the north and then continued straight south, its centerline worn to a faded suggestion. No cars passed while he stood there, gazing at the road away from the place he’d always known. On other days when vehicles had come by, he’d always turned his face away even though at the speed they traveled, no one would have been able to see his features.
    When he’d returned to the house, the main level was quiet except for soft music playing in the kitchen from Graham’s iPod. He showered and dressed in clean clothes before going to his father’s bedroom. Teresa was there beside the bed, a washcloth in one hand that she passed over James’s face, wiping away the sweat that sprung up almost as soon as the cool moisture dried.
    “How is he?” Quinn asked, coming closer.
    “The fever’s still there, but he’s resting now. He didn’t want any food but drank some ice-water.”
    “Good. You can take a break. I’ll sit with him,” Quinn said, motioning to the copy of Watership Down he held in one hand.
    Teresa nodded. “Thanks, I think I’ll lie down. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
    Quinn sat in the chair pulled close to the side of the bed and studied his father’s face. Sweat beaded and ran down from his temples, collecting in the towel Teresa had