The Last Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page A

special.”
    “You both are.” He smiled compassionately. “Were you two traveling alone?”
    I shook my head and whispered, “My husband was with us.”
    “I’m sorry, ma’am, I am.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Are you headed somewhere in particular?”
    I shook my head. “No. Just south.”
    “You’re in luck,” he started the truck. “So am I.”
    We pulled forward and I watched out the rear view mirror.
    I kept thinking, was I wrong for leaving? Should I have stayed behind and waited ?
    My heart answered no. I had to keep going. Tim would want me to. If by some chance he was alive, he’d find us. I had to concentrate on Brea. She was what mattered. Her safety.
     
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    What a remarkable and brave young man Allen was. I learned a lot about him in the truck. His father passed away years before and his mother, fearful of the end, had committed suicide just one day earlier.
    There were n’t funerals, nothing anymore. People just kept moving.
    Allen kept moving.
    He grieved, yes. It was hard for him, but he told me he had to just go forward.
    I was overwrought with an abundance of sadness. Tim was gone. Washed away. I wondered if it were even worth going on without him. Who would take the reins, help me to survive ? I had two bags that Tim packed. He thought of our survival, so I had to continue that path.
    We made pretty good distance and Allen had extra gas in the back of the truck. However, we were forced to stop outside of Morgantown, West Virginia. End of the line.
    No civilian traffic was permitted on the road during evacuation and extraction procedures.
    We were issued a ‘spot’ in a camp, given bare -minimum MRE rations. Allen suggested we eat only what we needed and save the rest, adding it to our survival bags.
    I thought it was a good idea.
    The weather grew worse and each day was colder. Our shelter was a tent and it wasn’t going to cut it much longer.
    We were there three weeks when we were told the camp was to be evacuated and transport was coming.
    I could see why. The snow was getting deep; it was harder and harder to stay warm. Our survival was so forefront on our minds, I felt guilty for not diving into a mourning period for Tim.
    Allen kept telling me, I’d have time for that.
    A truck came and took people , and then another, and another.
    “ You’ll be moved soon,” they said, but the snow kept coming.
    “If we don’t get f arther south,” Allen told me, “We’ll die here. Canvas tents are no shelter from the cold.”
    I agreed.
    After another foot of snow, and two days of waiting, we left on our own.
    The mountainous roads of West Virginia, snow covered and slick, would have been a problem for a lot of people. But Allen’s truck plowed right through.
    We actually passed a military truck on the side of the road.
    When we left the camp, we offered to take a few people with us, they declined, stating they’d wait, it was safer.
    Seeing that stranded military vehicle told me differently.
    It was hard to determine which way we were headed, we relied on faded tire tracks from other vehicles, but they stopped when we passed the stranded one.
    Moving slow and steady, one hour later, Allen slowed down even more.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked.
    He pointed out the window.
    It looked like a small polar bear moving haphazardly. Left to right, tromping in the snow.
    Allen sounded his horn and the ‘polar bear’ turned.
    It was a person. As if he didn’t think we’d stop, he waved his hands, flagging us down.
    “Are you really stopping?” I asked.
    “Of course, I am. He’ll die out here.”
    Humbled. I took a deep breath and clutched my child protectively. Even more so when I saw the weapon over his shoulder.
    The illusion of being a polar bear was brought on by the fact that he was covered head to toe in the blowing snow. He wore a hood, carried a large back pack along with his weapon and dark goggles.
    He sloppily approached the truck. When he reached the windows, I saw