The Last Christmas Read Online Free PDF

his lips were blue and face nearly frozen over. He raised his goggles.
    Allen wound down the window. “Get in.”
    The man nodded a thank you and when Allen opened his door, the stranger opened the small rear one and climbed inside.
    “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you so much.”
    “Mommy, who is that man?” Brea asked.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Sergeant John Cullen, ma’am.” He removed his weapon, probably one of those ‘M’ weapons or whatever they called them. He placed it to the side, shuffled off his backpack, and started removing his top layer of clothing.
    I asked, “Were you with that truck we saw a ways back?”
    “I was, yes.”
    Allen asked, “Why did you leave?”
    “Because they stopped. They weren’t going any farther and were turning back.”
    “That doesn’t make sense,” Allen said. “ Did you think you could walk to a safe zone?”
    “No.” He shook his head. “To a pick up zone.”
    That piqued my attention. “What do you mean?”
    “There’s another storm coming. A big one. Two days. Everything above the southern quarter of the U.S. is gonna be buried. I’m not talking two or three feet, I’m talking twenty, thirty feet of snow. And as soon as it breaks, rescue choppers are coming to certain areas.”
    “So the they just gave up ?” I asked. “All those people?”
    “Nothing can be done. All those people can’t be lifted. But a few can.” He looked at me , then his eyes shifted to Brea.
    “Where?” Allen questioned.
    “D.C.”
    “Dude,” Allen laughed. “That’s the wrong way. That’s east of here and a bit north. Also hundreds of miles away. Did you think you’d make it in two days?”
    “I was hoping I’d get a ride.”
    “No.” Allen shook his head. “We’re headed south. We have to.”
    “You won’t make it. That , I promise. At this pace, you’ll have to stop. The storm will hit and you won’t make it.” He spoke with so much certainty. “Going to D.C. is the best option. The choppers will come when the storm ends.”
    Allen kept shaking his head.
    “How do you know they’re going to D.C.?” I asked.
    “Because too many important people left behind. They’ll evacuate them after the storm. They were told to dig in, so to speak.”
    “That doesn’t sound right,” Allen said. “Why would such important people be left behind. Why not move them right away to make decisions.”
    John replied , “Because they felt infallible, brave, I don’t know why. But I have the intel.” He unzipped his bag and pulled out papers. “Locations. Several. They were told where to go, to get high and seal in.”
    That puzzled me. “ Seal in?”
    “Locations high enough to be a roof pick up. Fireplaces to burn anything and everything ,” he answered. “I promise you, if you go south, you will not make it. If we go to Washington, we have a chance.”
    Allen turned his head and looked at me. “It’s your call.”
    Was this soldier right, wrong? Misled? I didn’t know. The one thing that did make sense to me was the storm. I believed that.
    I also believed getting high and above the ground was the answer.
    I glanced down to Brea in my arms and made the call. “Go to D.C..”
     
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    If for any reason, Soldier John was delusional from the cold, or lying, he had it figured out in his mind. My gut didn’t need to tell me we were following a good lead, my eyes told me that.
    Under normal circumstances what would be a three hour trip, took us ten, and we only stopped once to add gas to the tank.
    The snow was thick in Washington, D.C., and everything was dark. No electricity. The stars and moon were blocked by the thick snow clouds.
    Black , except for the orange dots that seemed to float in midair.
    They were lights from survivors.
    The buildings were high and obviously had places for helicopters to land.
    John indic ated what he thought was the best building.
    A twelve -story, old apartment high-rise.
    “Why this one?” Allen asked.
    “The