They walked down the road looking at the surroundings. He began to see items of familiarity. An old farmhouse on the left. A rusted tractor stood silent on the side of the house. Probably from the 1950s, the tractor now just stands as a testament of a by-gone era.
At the bottom of the hill a bridge crossed a small river. He remembers it as well. His pace begins to quicken.
"Cooper... I believe we are close to our destination."
Cooper stands up on top of the pack and stretches, keeping himself steady as The Traveler kept his pace. Cooper noses his way under The Traveler's hat brim, rubbing against his head.
The Traveler laughed. "You feel it too, eh boy?"
The Traveler continues his pace for a while, then suddenly slows. There's a gate off to his right. No one has been through it in years. He goes to the gate and unlatches it, but with the grass and weeds growing all around it, he has to push somewhat hard to get it open. He and Cooper make their way down the trail. The trail was well traveled at one time. The remnants of tire paths still show. It’s surrounded by trees but not overgrown too bad. After a mile or so the trail began to open up. There before him is a small cabin. Other than some overgrowth of grass and weeds, it appears to be in great shape.
He tries the door only to find it locked. He looks around. The wild vegetation had overtaken the area, but pushing the overgrowth on the right side of the door his eye catches sight of several medium-sized, smooth stones. Cooper peeks over from over The Traveler's shoulder, intently scrutinizing every movement and object. The Traveler counts five stones over and flips the stone over using the toe of his boot. There, under the rock, is a small plastic container. He picks up the container and opens it. A set of keys are contained in the small box. The Traveler finds the right key, unlocks the door. He discovers time and the elements have caused the door to stick. With a quick shove, but mindful of Cooper, he gets the door open.
The inside of the home is a little musty. The scent of stale, stagnant air envelopes him. The cabin, while not large, does have an inviting atmosphere. Bedroom, kitchen bath, and a living area are all constructed in a sensible and easily usable layout. Sparse furniture randomly sits in the living area, all covered in sheets for dust protection. He pulls the sheets off and eyes the furniture, breaking an ever so slight smile. Cooper, spying the small sofa, immediately jumps down on to the end cushion. He gives the sofa a thorough inspection. Finally, Cooper stops, turns a few circles and sits down and starts to clean himself.
"Cooper approves." The Traveler says with a chuckle.
The living area has a sliding glass door to an open deck. He walks over to door and removes the top pin and unlatches the lock, sliding the glass door open.
The cabin was built at the base of a sloping hill. While the front door was ground level, the back porch was eight feet off the ground. The deck was sturdy, built with heavy timber pilings and solid wood. The Traveler's eyes focused on the sights around him and over the wooden railing. A few trees about 100 yards off to the right, added a visual break to the landscape. Otherwise, little vegetation separated him from the edge of the once-forgotten lake.
He walked down the steps of the deck, taking care in case any boards rotted away. Fortunately, the wood was all intact. He continues off to the left of the house to an embankment. He made his way to a large amount of old wood planks standing upright against the embankment. The Traveler started to pull away the wood and stack the boards off to the side. Once cleared of wood, the once covered area now revealed a metal door. Not just a metal door, but a door to a shipping container. He unlatched the door and walked into the shipping container buried into the embankment. Turning on his flashlight he looked around at the shelves stocked with supplies. On a small wood table just inside the doorway was an envelope marked "Miles". He opened the envelope, taking out a few sheets of folded paper. One was a letter.
He began to read:
Miles,
If you are reading this, then there's a good chance the world has gone to shit. I really hope that's not the case, but on the other hand there's no one else I'd want more to take over this place than you. I spent many a night wondering if I had spent enough time to prepare you for the "what if" scenario. I have a feeling it will occur during your lifetime. My whole life has been spent preparing for this. I've done so while listening to others laugh, snicker, make jokes about me, and even cut ties with me. Only because of a belief. Very possible that many of those who did are no longer living. Time will go on, and I hold no ill-will.
I have many years of supplies in this container. Make use of it. The lake has a water supply, fish, and waterfowl. The woods have animals, plenty of wood to harvest and plentiful with bushes of a variety of berries. I'm sure this is all old news to you, having spent many summers here, but I just wanted to re-iterate the importance of it. Use only what you need. Take only what is fair to your environment. But live a good life. I don't know why I'm telling you this. You know all this more than anyone else I've known.
Enclosed are a few details on the solar grid set up and battery storage. It should be an easy to follow schematic on connections and hook up. I built a new smoke house since I saw you last. It was on my to-do list for many years. It works pretty much the same as the previous, with just a few differences. Some basic info on using it is also in here. You should remember how the rain barrel collection system works. To be thorough however, I have also laid out a schematic for it as well.
I don't know how long I'll last on this planet, but I know if nothing else my legacy will live on through you. Protect yourself and take care.
Old Man
Miles couldn't take his eyes off of the letter. His teardrop hit the paper. Sadness suddenly swept over him like a wave. He had become the man that his uncle had always hoped he would; self-sufficient, self-sustaining, a hunter and a fighter. His decision had been to live, and take pride in his existence.
He turned and walked back to the cabin.
Cooper was still curled up and sleeping soundly. Somehow, he knew this was home.
Later, after Cooper and himself had just finished an evening meal of fresh fish, Miles walks out to the back deck and steps over to the edge of the deck and leans over the rail. Cooper jumps up on the rail and walks over to him, rubbing against Miles affectionately.
"Hey, Bro." He said to CooperMiles casts his gaze out over the lake at the setting sun. The sky had begun to blend deep reds, yellows and blues with a golden sun as its centerpiece. He listens to the wind drifting through the trees, and somewhere in the distance an owl signals his evening hunt is about to begin.
He turns his attention over to Cooper, who is busy cleaning himself after his fish buffet, and reasoned he had one of the best companions he could ever possibly hope for.
Cooper completes his cleaning ritual and snuggles up to Miles. He then jumps onto Miles’ shoulder, possibly to admire the view as well.
Miles grinned.
He turns to Cooper. Speaking to him like an old friend, Miles poses a question.
"You know what, Boy?"
Cooper, ever attentive when Miles spoke to him, looks at Miles as though waiting for the answer. Miles scratches Cooper on the neck as the feline goes into a low purring sound, settling on Miles’ shoulder. Miles peers back over the lake as the sun settles and simply says,
"This may not be a bad way to spend the Apocalypse."
About The Author
Blaine Rincon
Blaine Rincon is an artist, actor, and writer, but he also has worked as a designer, auto mechanic, airbrush artist, delivery driver, and in sales. He is as much at home pulling the engine out of an old car as he is doing design work at a computer. Blaine also was an aircraft maintenance technician when he served in the Air Force. He holds a BFA in Painting and Drawing from The University of West Florida. Currently he resides in Kennesaw, Georgia.
Out of Favor: The Traveler Page 7
