White Out: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller by Eric Dimbleby Read Free Book Online

better privately to deprecate him in that way. When all was said and done, he turned out to be handier than he looked. As the incline leveled off and their transportation remained intact, Annie felt a new comfort settle into her gut. Maybe Tony had some value after all, slimy intentions aside.
    She cursed the unrelenting cold that crept through the scarf she’d wrapped around her face and neck. Only her eyes were exposed to the cold, and even that was enough to terrify the hell out of her, feeling a glassiness pervading her sensitive eyeballs. Tony warned her to keep her eyes pinched together as much as possible, to avoid any damage. He'd brought along a pair of goggles from Eddie's office, but he needed those so that he could see where to steer their ship. Annie had the luxury of closing her eyes, though part of her wondered if she'd ever open them again if something awful happened to them. It was better that way, she decided. If you can’t see death coming, then there’s no time to worry about it… it just takes you when it’s damn well ready.
    As their momentum diminished to null, she turned to look back at the steep grade of the snow drift that had plastered itself up against their building. Now Tony was chugging along, putting all of his upper body strength into the ski poles, bending his knees to reduce any resistance from the wind. Almost right away, he was working his ass off, and for that, Annie appreciated him, no matter what their history looked like--both personally and intimately.
    They couldn’t have been moving more than one quarter a mile an hour, but they weren't sinking in and drowning in the icy tomb either. She tried not to think of Winnie. Annie clenched her eyes shut again. Better that way. Much better.
    Tony shouted something as they lunged, inch by inch, through the snowy deep of the parking lot. She couldn't make out his voice, for all the blasting wind that was attacking their front side, but she caught the word "cars" somewhere in that distant mumble. She presumed that he was observing the fact that all the cars were buried right beneath them, completely useless to them.
    Annie pictured her vehicle, buried far below her.
    She still had an iced coffee sitting in the cup holder, and the irony of that seemed to tickle her for a moment. Closing her eyes tightly, she could envision all the trash on the floor of her little hatchback-- fast food wrappers, unread mail, a magazine or two, stained coffee mugs, and cough drop wrappers. This winter had brought her the nastiest chest cold she could ever remember experiencing, and she still hadn't cleaned up the remnants of that delirious spell. In fact, her breath still tasted like cough medicine, even after more than four weeks' abstaining from the bloody rotten stuff.
    She hated the car, and so she showed it as little respect as possible. In fact, t he damn car had caused all these issues for her. Not the storm. Not Tony. Not Christian. Not herself. She'd be home with Christian and Paulie if it wasn't for the car completely screwing her over.
    Annie couldn’t help but relive that first day, wishing she had picked out a different path. That wouldn’t help her, obviously, but she could still replay it, if only to learn something for next time. Assuming that is, if there was a next time.
     
    *  *  *
     
    It started snowing on a Monday morning, right after Annie arrived for the day. It was a typical Monday morning, wintry and bleak. But this was northern New England, so snow was just a part of everyday life during the winter. On that particular morning, she went about her usual routine; running weekly numbers for the sales staff, checking in on some of the larger clients with her charming demeanor, and brewing coffee in the kitchenette. She did a little of everything on Monday mornings. By Wednesday afternoon, she usually attained more clearly defined tasks that would spring up during the first half of the week. Every week started with a whimper and