The Fourth Trumpet Read Online Free Page B

thorough sniffing of the scattered sleeping bags and rumpled blankets.
    “Okay, boy. That’s taken care of. Now I’ll fix you something to eat.” She threw her clothes on one of the recliners and went to the kitchen. After a quick search of the cupboards, she concluded that a return trip to the Martins’ would have to be made, and soon. There just wasn’t anything really suitable for a large German shepherd to eat—especially since she too had to eat, and needed to be prudent about doling out her meager supplies.
    Finding another can of vegetable soup, she opened it with the loathsome can opener, and emptied the contents into a big bowl. She didn’t bother to heat it, figuring the dog would be hungry enough not to care. She’d barely had time to remove her hand. The poor dog pushed his head deep into the bowl and slurped up the food in a few gulps.
    “Okay, boy. I hope that’ll tide you over until I can get back to your house for some real dog food. I promise I’ll go as soon—” She looked out the kitchen window at the engulfing darkness. “As soon as I can.”
    Not having much of an appetite herself—the chili still sitting in a congealed lump in her stomach—Andrea went back into the living room and sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace. It was growing colder, but she wasn’t sure she should light another fire. She had to conserve wood. Uncle Mike had a nice stack behind the garage, which should’ve lasted them the winter. However, with no electricity to warm the house, she’d go through it in a week if she weren’t careful.
    Thor trotted in and lay beside her. He licked her hand, and she petted the top of his head. She didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t tired enough to sleep and yet…what else was there to do except worry? She looked at the dog, his long, pink tongue hanging out as he breathed in short little pants. She scratched behind his big ears. “Oh, Thor, what are we—”
    A sound outside grabbed her attention. She froze, every hair on her head alert. She strained to hear the sound again. There it was, a faint scratching at the front door. A scratching, and a whimpering. She was arching her back so severely she thought her spine would snap. Someone or something was on their porch. A low, guttural rumble came from deep in Thor’s throat. His ruff went up and his eyes fixed on the front door.
    “Okay,” Andrea whispered. “I-I’ll crawl over and look out the peephole.” Getting on all fours, she scooted across the living room carpet, then rising to her feet, peered out the little peephole three quarters of the way up the door. It was so dark, she couldn’t make out anything at first, and then, two shadowy forms—just inches from her—moved.
    “Who’s out there?” Her voice cracked on the last word.
    A man’s voice answered. “Help! Please, help us!”
    Andrea unlocked the door and opened it a fraction. The pulsating darkness swirled around the hunched bodies of two human beings. Even in the thick mist, Andrea could see that the woman—a girl, hardly older than herself—was most definitely pregnant. The young man had a protective arm around her, more to hold her upright than as a means of comfort. He looked at Andrea, relief spreading across his chiseled features.
    “Th-thank God,” he choked. “We couldn’t have gone another step.”
    Andrea hesitated only for a second. Under normal circumstances, she never would’ve let strangers into the house when she was alone. But these weren’t normal circumstances. She opened the door wider and beckoned the couple in.
    “Hurry. I don’t want to keep the door open any longer than I have to.”
    The man stumbled in, half-dragging the woman behind him. He led her to a recliner and gently pushed her down, then looked at Andrea. “Is there a blanket I can cover her with? She’s chilled to the bone.”
    “Poor thing.” Andrea scooped up the afghan lying in a heap beside the couch. “Here. Put this over her. I can make some