Read The No Where Apocalypse (Book 2): Surviving No Where for Free Online Page A

of the old plaid chair. “I’m sorry, I can get you another.”
    “Don’t bother,” another voice answered. Across from me, on a   brown fabric couch that was foreign to our home, sat an old man. His eyes never moved from the television, his focus monumental; my gut told me his visit meant something else…something dreadful.
    “He has more important things to do,” the bespectacled man continued. “Damn it! The Bears need a passing game.”
    Shelly was gone and it was just him and I now. When he finally gave me his full attention, I recognized his face. He was the man who died many months before—Frank— one of my first friends in No Where.  
    My voice failed and I could only moan. Somehow I didn’t think Frank recognized me. If he did, he didn’t seem to care. His face displayed vile contempt for my presence.
    In his hand was a tall, dark glass. Each time he sipped from the glass he smacked his lips and sighed. Was there more for me to hear, or was he simply here drinking my brandy?
    I tried to speak again; and again only moans came from my lips.
    “You got yourself in a pickle, boy,” the old man said. “And if you think for a second old Frank can help you out, well you’re just plain stupid. I’m dead, remember? You got to depend on others, that’s all you got now.”
    I watched as Shelly reentered the room and served Frank a plate of food, Venison stew with mushy potatoes and carrots. But that wasn’t his meal of choice. Where were the pork and beans he so dearly loved?
    He tossed the plate aside in a fit of anger. Shelly spun and scowled at me.
    “Why have you angered your friend so much, dear?” she asked. “What have you done to upset him so?”
    I couldn’t move out of the chair. And the only sounds I could make were the blasted moans. When I raised my right arm to point at Frank, I gaped seeing my right hand was missing, with only a bloody stump in its place.  
    “He’s gone and got himself shot again,” Frank spewed, throwing the dark glass at me. When the contents exploded against my chest, the acrid smell of rubbing alcohol overtook me.
    “Now he’s going to die,” Frank continued in a hateful tone. “Now he’s going to really leave you, us. All because he was stupid. All because he never listened to any advice I gave him. All because he thought that dipshit Dizzy might save him. What a bunch of crap.”
    Approaching me with a smile, Shelly stroked my bangs. “Oh Robert, why can’t you take care of yourself?” I didn’t notice any tears but pain choked her voice. “If you die, you can never come back.”
    Now Frank was standing over me, jerking on my wounds. Pain took over and I tried to scream. But my mouth wouldn’t open. “If he wants to live,” he grumbled, “he has to stay. Coming back means dying. Staying means living.”
    Shelly nodded at his words. “Then you need to stay, Robert. You need to live. I’ll be all right. But only if you’re all right.”

    I returned to consciousness standing in the middle of the road right in front of my cabin. Beneath the large front window, I noticed a flurry of activity. Slowly, quietly I made my way over to the group.
    My friends lifted a body and hustled inside with it. Following, more like I was floating, I went inside and sat on the kitchen counter, unnoticed by all.
    They ripped the tattered shirt from the poor soul and flinched at the gaping wound on his left side. I peeked around the group, nodding at the wound. It was bad, I could give them that. But why they were trying to save someone else, in my cabin no less, was beyond what I could reason.
    Dizzy ran for the door and headed for what I assumed was the pump. I guess the wound needed cleaning. Marge dabbed at the bloody hole with a fresh white towel. The crimson stain grew with each movement. This fellow was losing a lot of blood.
    Violet held the man’s head still as he reacted with great shudders to each touch. Her shushing made me feel better, though it didn’t