The Shelter (Survivors Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

made appear and then disappear various geometrical figures. “I know you have some personal views on the matter: what do you think of those terrible events we spoke of?”
    “How could I know, Ariane?” she protested, weakly blushing. “You know that I am the worst positioned person here to answer this question.”
    “That’s right,” Krug said. ‘You’re the very last person who should know something about that. So my question wasn’t about what you know but about what you think: nothing prevents you to think, I presume?”
    The way she turned and glanced at him would have touched the worst of men but not his cold-blooded heart. I never felt the inhumanity of this character, literally and figuratively, under its civilian appearance better than on this occasion.
    Fortunately for the poor Francesca, Lussius, so discreet for now, involuntarily came to her rescue by observing: “So she’s not of yours? Is she therefore a—a survivor?”
    “A survivor, she?!” Lenfant shouted. “She wouldn’t have passed two days, or rather two nights in the conditions that I endured! Besides, she obviously doesn’t know what we’re talking about. No, believe me, she and her cronies were kindly stayed in their shelters while all the witches of hell unleashed above their heads. Me, I was just in the middle of the chaos and I met a girl. A pretty good one for survival although she’s dead now. She seemed to know a lot. I’ve always thought she was American: you know one of these rich Americans who come to show their big new car or their big new yacht on the coast. Well, she had a funny theory for explaining all that mess, that it was an asteroid that struck the moon, and everything was planned long ago by governments and their cronies, so that they’d time to build underground shelters. Naturally, there was no room for fellows like me. This is why the news had been kept secret, at least for the guys who were to attend the big show in the front row seats. She said that they were pieces of moon falling on us little pieces by little pieces. According to her, this explained everything: balls of fire, earthquakes, tidal waves. I didn’t believe her at that time; maybe I should: after all, she was an upper class girl; she had first-hand information, not like us.
    Dr. Krug let him finish, with courtesy but without much interest, as it seemed to me.
    “I see that you begin to understand the purpose of the meeting,” he said. “Sharing your personal experiences, drawing some similarities and some differences then deducing the cause of the plight that has affected all of you. This is why I asked Dr. Leone to pick up all documents in the file she thought to help, so that we can proceed together with their examination. For this purpose, each of you was asked to write a detailed account of the tragedy, without forgetting to include your personal journey. I’m glad that you have positively responded to that request,” he added, pointing at the printed sheets that his collaborator had piled in three distinct bundles.
    “Not me,” the woodman said. “If you think I’m going to play your little game, then you make a big mistake.”
    “Oh yes, Mister Pierre, I may assure you that we also have your side of the story.”
    The irascible man stared at the third sheaf of leaves and then looked staggers at Dr. Leone.
    “You—you stole my notebook! I understand now where he’s gone!”
    “I have borrowed it, Mister Lenfant, not stolen,” she corrected him. “As you stubbornly refused to cooperate, I had to find a way. Don’t worry, I put back it where you had hidden it. Christine hardly took over one night for typing, although your writing gave her some problems.”
    “You’ve given it to the Coun-Countess?” he stammered, with a horrified look.
    “Only to Christine, the secretary.”
    “That’s what I say!” he yelled. “And she read it?”
    “Very likely. How could she transcribe it otherwise?”
    Within a few seconds, the