Read Online Alone: Book 1: Facing Armageddon by Darrell Maloney - Free Book Online Page A

the gate, so that regardless of which side he was on, he could secure the gate and keep the rabbits from getting into the Hansen yard and eating his crops.
         It was late in the afternoon now, and Dave was getting hungry again. It occurred to him that he needed to start counting his calories.
         It was imperative that he count calories so that he didn’t waste any food. Anything wasted would mean it would run out faster.
         It would be easy to tell himself that the food stores would last him for many years. They’d stored enough dry stock to last the four of them for two years, after all, and now it was just him.
         But that wouldn’t do.
         Because he fully expected to be reunited with his family some day.
         In fact, the thought of that was really the only thing keeping him going. If he knew for sure they were dead, he’d blow his brains out and join them. But the last thing he wanted was to commit suicide, and his family find a way to get to him later on. He didn’t want his daughters to find his body. So he’d press on.
         He’d call it a day and go into the house to find something to eat. He’d calculate the calories for the sandwiches he’d already eaten, and wouldn’t exceed two thousand calories for the day.
         First, though, he needed to try out his fancy new outhouse.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    -16-
     
         Hi, honey. I wish I knew for sure that you’ll find this some day. In a way, I feel ridiculous for writing. It seems strangely akin to a man sitting in solitary confinement talking to himself simply because there’s nobody else around to talk to.
         Eventually those men go insane, I know that. But what I don’t know is whether or not it’s the talking to themselves that makes them insane. Or maybe talking to themselves helps keep them sane longer.
         I’m finding that putting these words on paper is somehow therapeutic. Somehow, I feel closer to you when I write to you. I know that sounds ridiculous, but hey, you always said I was a ridiculous kind of guy, right?
         I’ve been hesitant to go into Lindsey and Beth’s bedrooms. I’ve been afraid of how I’ll feel when I go in there and smell their scents, and see their stuffed animals and other things. I know I need to do it. But I’m so afraid I’ll break down and cry like a baby.
         I’m determined to do that tomorrow, though. It’s been six days since the blackout now, and I haven’t taken a single step towards hiding our food.
         I did pull out the old posters we’ve been collecting. I even laughed, remembering when Lindsey insisted that she wanted to throw away all of her Justin Bieber posters. I remember when you told her, “But just a few months ago you were madly in love with him.” She said, “Mommmm, that was before I grew up. I’m so over him now.” And you turned to me and said, “I must have missed the memo. Since when is eleven grown up?”
         I counted them. All total, including the ones currently on their walls, we have twenty two of them. I can stash quite a bit of stuff behind twenty two posters.
         That’s my project for the next two or three days. Actually, it may take longer than that. But that’s okay. Time and loneliness are the two things I have the most of.
         I saw the Castros leave yesterday. For  several nights I was been able to peek out of our west window and see candles burning in their living room. It gave me some comfort, knowing they were okay. But I guess they figured they were better off moving elsewhere. I don’t know where they went, or if they’re coming back. I just saw them… all five of them, heading off down the street about nine yesterday morning.
         They were heavily loaded with backpacks, and Julie pulled her wagon, which was loaded down with bottled water and boxes of foodstuffs.
         They weren’t armed.