Unknown World: The EMP Survivor Series - Book 3

by Chris Pike

  “That’s right,” she said, pointing her finger at him. “No more bringing dead animals to me.”

  “Chandler, I’m not meeting your family like this. I’ve got a week’s worth of grime under my nails. My hair looks like crap, and I haven’t seen a mirror in a week, so there’s no telling what’s on my face.”

  “They won’t care. I promise you,” he said.

  “We’re staying, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “For such a small girl—”

  “I’m not a girl. I’m a woman and I can shoot a Glock as well as you do.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “Really? Maybe we should have a shoot off,” Amanda shot back.

  “Like a dance off, but with Glocks?”

  “You betcha.”

  “That would be a waste of ammo. Besides, you’d lose.”

  “No I wouldn’t.”

  “I’ll give you credit,” Chandler said, shaking his head, “for as small as you are you sure do have a lot of sass.”

  “Dynamite comes in small packages,” Amanda reminded him. “You haven’t seen the half of it!”

  “I’d hate to see what happened if anybody lit your fuse.”

  “I’d blow up. That’s what I’d do.”

  “I have no doubt about that.” Chandler chuckled at the thought. He paused and thought quickly. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll be sure my family doesn’t meet you until you’ve had a chance to clean up. So get Nipper and come on back. Deal?”

  Before Amanda had time to protest, an elderly man hobbled down the porch stairs. He held onto the handrail while steadying himself with a cane. “I’m Walter,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Welcome. You’ve come to the right place if you’re looking for a hot bath and a meal.” He ran a hand through his full head of white hair. “This here is my wife, Eve.”

  An equally elderly woman came out to greet Amanda and Chandler. She wiped her hands on a colorful apron and smoothed down her graying hair tied into a bun. She smiled pleasantly.

  “I’m Chandler and this is Amanda,” Chandler said.

  “Nice to meet you,” Walter said. “We haven’t had many travelers lately, and business has been slow. Glad you folks stopped.”

  Amanda sidled up to Chandler sitting atop Cowboy. She whispered, “They’re harmless. I’m going on in. Come with me.” She batted her eyelashes twice and smiled as innocent as a baby Easter bunny.

  “We’ll talk later.” Chandler’s voice was gruff. “I need to teach you some things about safety.”

  “Oh. I think I could teach you some things.”

  Chandler recognized Amanda was challenging him, again, but now was not the time to get into an argument. “How much do you charge for a meal and a bath?” he asked the old man.

  “Reasonable rates,” the old man said. “What do you have to trade? Paper money is no good right now.”

  “What about silver dollars?”

  Walter rubbed the stubble on his chin, thinking. “Silver dollars, you say? How many you got?”

  The question raised red flags, and since Chandler prided himself on not lying, he decided to throw out a question. “Make me an offer.”

  “How about four?”

  “No can do. Two’s my offer.”

  The old man spied him with interest. “You won’t find anything better than this between here and Austin. Tell you what. I’ll meet you halfway. I’ll take three silver dollars.”

  “That’s fair enough,” Chandler said. He handed over three of his ten silver dollars, irritated at the extravagance and wasting time on something so frivolous as a bath and a hot meal. He should have gone hunting, but it was too late for should’ve or could’ve. He decided to have a talk with Amanda about safety measures after she cleaned up.

  “Thank you,” Walter said. He dropped the silver dollars into his shirt pocket. “You kids come on in.” With a wave of his hand, he motioned for Amanda and Chandler to follow him.

  Eve went to Amanda and put her arm around her, bringing her close. In an endearing grandmotherly voice she said, “Dear, come on in. We’ll get you cleaned up in a bit. I’ve got two granddaughters who will fuss over you just like if you were in a fancy spa. Let me see your hands.”

  Amanda tentatively held out her hands, embarrassed at her ragged nails and scraped and calloused palms.

  “Oh dear,” Eve said. She put a hand to her cheek. “No man wants to see hands like those. You haven’t had a manicure in a long time, have you?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “My granddaughters can give you a manicure and paint your nails. Your husband will like that.”

  “He’s not my husband,” Amanda said, somewhat embarrassed.

  “Boyfriend?”

  “He’s escorting me to my great aunt’s ranch near Austin.”

  “That sure is nice of him. He seems like a nice and capable man.”

  Eve glanced at Chandler. He had dismounted Cowboy and was retrieving his LaRue rifle. Eve noted the rifle was no ordinary gun. She recognized it as an AR type, but the folded down sights and peculiar cylinder type forearm stood out as unusual. Although the scope brand of Leupold meant nothing to her, she recognized the quick detachable mount indicating the rifle could serve many purposes. The flawless finish, the chromed bolt carrier, and the flashhider with external threading convinced her the rifle was not the rifle of an ordinary man.

  When Chandler caught Eve looking at him, she smiled demurely and dropped her gaze.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  Chandler eyed her suspiciously. “I could eat.”

  “I just made hot stew,” Eve said in her most unthreatening voice. “And I’ve got jalapeno cornbread in the cast iron skillet. Made it over coals a little while ago.”

  “I love cornbread,” Amanda said, butting in. “I haven’t had a hot meal in days.”

  As they were walking up the front porch steps, two teenaged girls, petite like Amanda and younger by about five years, making them around fifteen or sixteen, skipped down the staircase.

  “These are my granddaughters,” Eve said. “Megan and Brandy. Girls, say hi to Amanda.”

  The girls walked past Amanda without making eye contact. One mumbled, “Nice to meet you.”

  Eve said, “Girls, put the horse with the mule that’s already in the barn and put out some feed for them. When you’re finished get the tub ready for our guest. And be sure to warm up the pump house so it’s not so chilly in there.”

  Megan, older than Brandy by one year replied, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Wait,” Amanda said. “My dog. Can he come in?”

  “Sorry, honey,” Eve said. “I don’t allow dogs in the house while we eat. He’ll be just fine outside. I’ll make him a nice bed on the porch. Is that alright?”

  “He’s completely housetrained and won’t beg for food.”

  Eve shook her head. “No dogs. I’ll be sure his bed is comfortable.”

  “Alright,” Amanda sighed. “Thank you.”

  Nipper had followed Amanda up to the front porch. When the door opened, he tried to wiggle in, to which Amanda said, “Sorry, boy. You can’t come in.” She scooted him aside with her foot. “Stay.”

  “Chandler,” Eve called, “come on in.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Chandler’s eyes swept over the Packsaddle compound. Two trucks and several cars sat idle under the canopy of a large oak which he estimated to be about two hundred years old. An old tractor sat idle, rimmed by annual flowers that had withered and gone to seed. Pine trees loomed skyward, and pine needles carpeted the ground. The inn was on the boundary of the area of Texas known as the Lost Pines, a swath of land where the soil conditions were optimum for pine trees thought to be descendants of a great forest from the Ice Age.

  To the right of the inn, coals glowed in a fire pit over which a large cast iron pot was suspended. Past that there was another shed. The two teenaged girls brushed past Chandler without so much as a “hello”
, then disappeared into the pump house. After a moment they emerged, each holding a pot, went to the fire pit, and proceeded to fill the pots with hot water.

  Chandler slung his LaRue rifle over his shoulder.

  Nipper looked at him hopefully.

  “Sorry, boy. You can’t come in.” Chandler reached out to the dog and stroked him along the ruff on his back, and gave him a quick scratch behind his ears. “As soon as we get to my house, you’ll have the run of it, and the softest bed you can imagine.”

  * * *

  Chandler walked into the house and shut the door. Standing on the porch, Nipper waited, his tail thumping, hopeful the door would swing open and he’d be invited in.

  At first glance Nipper seemed harmless, and his cute face belied the fact he was a successful hunter and could be ferocious when called upon. As a country dog, he had presented Amanda with the spoils of his hunting prowess, and many times had waited for a pat on the head or other gesture indicating approval. Instead he was met with a scolding tone that had only solidified his desire to bring a trophy which would be met with the respect he so craved. He had brought her the lifeless bodies of small woodland animals including a rabbit, a squirrel, a gopher, a rat from the barn, even various birds, although none garnered the praise he desired.

  He was a mixture of a Jack Russell terrier and several other medium sized indistinguishable breeds which coalesced into thirty-five pounds of intelligent feistiness. Named due to his resemblance to the RCA Victor dog, which was thought to be part bull terrier, the bloodline most likely accounted for Nipper’s well-muscled frame and protective nature. He could be placid at times, yet fiercely loyal, and considered Amanda his mistress. He would protect her with his life if needed.

  Nipper had sensed Chandler was now part of his pack, and he gradually came to trust and respect this new member.

  Nipper cocked his head and waited, listening to unfamiliar voices inside the house. Chandler had not participated in the conversation. When Amanda laughed, Nipper perked up his ears at the sound of her voice. After a moment, he moved closer to the door and nosed the crack, listening and smelling.

  The older woman’s voice rose in a questioning intonation, and when Chandler responded it had been gruff.

  A chair squeaked and Chandler’s footfalls were heavy on the wood floor. A terse exchange followed between Amanda and Chandler, the meaning of it lost among the muffled voices.

  Then it was quiet until a casual conversation started.

  Various cooking aromas wafted out through the crack in the front door and onto the porch. Nipper sat on his haunches staring at the front door. Silverware and dishes clinked on the table, and he thumped his tail in anticipation of a tidbit of food.

  Minutes went by.

  The feral cat dashed out from its hiding place near the house and Nipper forgot about being locked outside when his chase instinct captured him. The hunter within the white dog with patches of black on his fur leapt down the stairs, skittered across the dry grass, racing after the gray cat.

  The wily cat ran low to the ground, dashed under the barbed wire fence, and scrambled into the thick woods, dark with leaf litter and moist soil.

  Nipper bolted to the fence and belly crawled under it. A barb pinched him and he let out a surprised yelp. He nosed the ground following the cat, maneuvering around a large tree covered in vines, skirted various patches of brush, and after a while he came to a stop, sniffing the air.

  That odd odor which had piqued his interest earlier filled the air with a pungent smell, and a curiosity which his ancestors had passed down to their descendants was as strong in Nipper as it was in his wolf forbearers.

  The cat no longer interested Nipper, so he changed directions letting his nose guide him closer to where the odor emanated from.

  He followed a short path carved out by countless trips of four legged animals, crossed over a seasonal creek bed, and came to where the earth had been disturbed. The unusual odor filled his nostrils and instinct guided him to dig.

  At first Nipper pawed tentatively at the loosened earth, testing the hardness. He put his nose to the earth and huffed a warm breath. Unsatisfied this was the optimum spot he needed to dig, he changed directions, nosed the ground again, then dug with vigor.

  Dirt flew in all directions.

  His paws and nose became caked with the dark soil, still he dug faster, more intently, until his paws felt a change in the soil. He stood back and blinked the dirt away from his eyes and huffed the soil from his nose.

  He panted and his tongue hung to one side, dripping droplets of drool.

  When he spied the object of his intentions, the odor came full and strong and he cocked his head, looking at it curiously. Like a person visually recognizing objects, Nipper’s mind filed through his catalogued odors associated with the respective object.

  This one was different.

  It was new.

  Finally, Amanda would be proud of him.

  He dug and bit, pulling at the object until a piece broke off that was small enough for him to carry. Taking it in his mouth he backtracked the path he had taken until he came to the house.

  Nipper cocked his head, listening for Amanda. He lifted his snout, tasting the air. An aroma similar to ones of the shower, full of shampoo and soap at his old house, came to him.

  His wet nose twitched.

  Amanda’s scent mingled among the extraneous odors he dismissed as not being important or needing further investigation. Voices carried in the still air, and when he recognized Amanda’s voice he padded to the pump house.

  He would present her with his trophy and she would say, “Good dog!”

  Chapter 10

  Chandler walked into the house and immediately noticed a lingering odor of fresh paint. To his left and on the other side of the large dining table was a white sheet cordoning off another room.

  Eve directed Amanda and Chandler to sit at the dining room table big enough to seat twelve people. It was in the middle of the room, which was just to the left of the foyer.

  “Amanda,” Eve said, “you sit here in case I need you to help me in the kitchen. You won’t have to crawl over everybody. Chandler, it would be best for you to sit to the right of Amanda. That way if we get any more visitors you won’t have your back to them. You can see them as they walk in.”

  “You want me to sit next to the sheet?” Chandler asked.

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “Can I look in there?”

  “Absolutely. Go right ahead.”

  Chandler pushed the sheet to the side and peeked in. Opaque plastic drop cloths covered the furniture. A paint roller and paint brush had been placed next to a can of paint.

  “We put the sheet there because we’re painting the room, and don’t want our visitors to be inconvenienced with the mess.”

  Chandler took a seat at the table.

  “No guns allowed at the table.” Eve held out her hands. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take your rifle and put it in another room.”

  “I do mind,” Chandler said. “It’s staying with me.”

  “Christopher Chandler!” Amanda said. “We’re guests here. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

  Chandler flashed Amanda an angry expression. “She taught me a lot of things. My father too, as did the military, one of which was not to give your weapon up.”

  “Be polite and give it to her,” Amanda ordered.

  “I’ll just leave then,” Chandler said tersely. He rose from the table.

  Amanda scooted back from her chair, nearly hitting the wall.

  Eve said, “Oh dear, please don’t squabble over the rifle. You don’t need to leave. We haven’t had guests in so long, and I’d hate for you to have a bad impression of us. I have so much food. Won’t you stay? Please?”

  “I’ll put it here in the corner,” Chandler said, “and that’s as far out of my reach as it will be.”

  Amanda opened her mouth to say something then thought better of it. She sa
t back down, glanced at Chandler, and said a terse, “Thank you.”

  * * *

  “Eve,” Amanda said, “the meal was delicious.” She dabbed the sides of her mouth with a napkin, folded it, and set it on the table. She placed the spoon she had been using on top of the napkin. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome. Would you like another helping?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m full, but Chandler might like another helping.” Amanda glanced at Chandler.

  “Of course,” Eve said.

  Eve ladled another helping of stew into his bowl. Chandler’s eyes went to the bowl. “I definitely could eat more.”

  “Wonderful,” Eve said. “It’s so nice to prepare food for those who appreciate it and who have a hearty appetite. Walter and I don’t eat much.”

  “Can I help you with the dishes?” Amanda asked.

  “Not at all, honey. Walter and I will clear the table. Let’s get you cleaned up and then you and your friend can be on your way before it gets dark. My granddaughters should have gotten your bath nice and hot by now. The pump house is on the side of the house. You can’t miss it. And please shut the door on the way out. Don’t need to let in any more drafty air. Stay as long as you want to. The tub water will stay warm for about an hour.”

  “I won’t be that long,” Amanda said. “See you in a little while.”

  Eve escorted Amanda to the front door. She shut the door then stepped over to the window and waited until Amanda had entered the pump house. Megan popped her head out and waved once in the direction of the main house. Eve locked the deadbolt.

  While Chandler was busy eating his second helping, and now that Amanda was out of sight, Eve strolled over to the dining room. She glanced in the direction of the sheet separating the dining room from the room being painted. She made a slight motion of her head, so inconspicuous and seemingly natural that when Chandler lifted his eyes, he didn’t notice the motion.

  “Chandler,” Eve said, “would you mind helping me to take down the sheet? It looks so tacky and I’d like to get the room ready for our next guests. The paint should be dry by now, and my grandsons are out somewhere hunting.” She rubbed her hands. “My arthritis flares up in this cold weather.”