by Chris Pike
Cassie lifted her head and stared hard at Cole, meeting his intense predator’s eyes. She spoke slowly and deliberately. “My name is Cassie…” She trailed off, for some reason hesitant to say her last name. For a moment she thought she recognized the man who was standing in front of her. There was something familiar about him, and the way he spoke as if he wasn’t afraid of anything or anybody. He was a man used to taking what he wanted. A shiver captured Cassie and she was jolted back to the reality that she did indeed know the man.
She swallowed hard.
“Cassie what?” Cole asked. He sat on the bed. “Cat got your tongue?”
“Cassie…” she said, taking a breath to stall, to allow her to think of a last name. If this was Cole Cassel, the man her father was about to send to the state penitentiary, there was no telling what kind of revenge he would exact on her.
“What’s your last name?”
Cassie thought quickly, trying to think of a last name and as she formed the first sound of her last name, it came to her in a moment of clarity. “St-Stallman,” she finally said. “Cassie Stallman.”
“Now that wasn’t hard, was it?” Rising from the bed, Cole reached into his front pocket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. He struck a match on the rusted metal bed frame, lit the cigarette, and took a long drag, studying Cassie. Shaking the match out, he flicked it away.
“Do I know you?” Cole asked.
“We’ve never met,” Cassie said with unwavering conviction. It was true.
“Hmm, for a second I could have sworn you knew me.”
Ryan groaned and moved his legs.
“Okay,” Cole said. “Get him up and let’s go. Bring her too, and check those backpacks for weapons.”
* * *
Helen and Ed Reynolds huddled together in their dark bedroom, listening to the hushed and tense voices. Knowing they were helpless against Cole and his thugs, they waited in silence for several long minutes after everyone had left and the front door had been slammed shut.
Certain the house was empty, Ed got out of bed and tiptoed to the door. He put his ear to it, listening for any sound or indication they weren’t alone.
“I think they’ve gone,” he whispered.
“Are you sure?” Helen asked.
Ed nodded.
Helen retrieved her pink bathrobe that was draped over the bed, and shrugged it on. She slid her feet into her slippers and followed her husband into the hallway. Ed ducked around the door, checking left and right, then scanned the living area of the house.
It appeared to be empty. Ed, aware of how tense his shoulders were, dropped them. “I need a drink,” he said.
“Me too.” Helen patted her husband on his back. “I feel sorry for Cassie and Ryan. We should have told Ryan the truth.”
“What would that have accomplished?”
“He has a right to know.”
“Let him learn it from someone else. The Mannings have been dead for a while, and we fulfilled the promise we made to them that we would help Ryan if he ever needed it. As far as I’m concerned, we have been released from our duty.”
Feeling his way around the kitchen, Ed found a lantern and set it on the table. He turned it on, casting a cold light on the kitchen.
Helen sat down at the kitchen table and cupped her hands around her cheeks. Weariness and stress etched deeper lines on her face.
Ed took the bourbon from the top of the refrigerator and splashed a couple of ounces in a glass. He downed it in one gulp then poured a drink for Helen.
“You want a highball or have it straight?”
“Straight is fine.”
With shaky hands, veined and wrinkled from age, Helen held the glass in both hands. She took a swallow, savoring the taste.
The kitchen was quiet and the old married couple sat in silence while they finished their drinks. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, another one joined in, and when the loud and raucous bark coming from the back porch nearly burst their eardrums, they looked each other in the eyes.
Buster put his paws on the back door and popped his head above the glass-paneled door, peering in.
“The dog,” Helen said. “They left their dog.”
Chapter 28
“What should we do?” Helen asked.
“I don’t know,” Ed replied gruffly. “Bring him in, I guess.”
“What do we do with him? We don’t have any dog food.”
“I know that,” Ed said rising. He went to the back door and opened it.
Buster loped in and immediately padded to the bedroom where Cassie and Ryan had been. He nosed the bed, the floor, checking the corners, and when he realized the room was empty, he raced out with his nose to the floor. He followed the scent along the wood floor to the front door where he stopped. He nosed the floor and the splintered wood, taking in the odor of droplets of sweat left by the men.
Lifting his snout, he dismissed the myriad smells that made the house a home, and instead he focused on the one scent he recognized: Cassie’s. It was different, anxious, and the hormones released painted a picture of flight or fight. She had tried both, but had been overpowered, and Buster sensed her fear of the situation.
He zeroed in on another human scent of domination, one that he had never smelled before, yet one he recognized as being powerful. He pawed at the door, whining, wanting out.
Helen pushed back from the table. “I’ll let him out.”
“No, let him stay here the night. I don’t want a lost dog on my conscience. I’ve got enough to worry about.” Ed polished off the last of his drink. “Let’s go back to bed. I’ll deal with the dog in the morning. I’m going to shut all the windows and put a dresser in front of the door. It will keep us safe tonight.”
* * *
During the night Buster restlessly paced the hallways and rooms of the house like a caged animal searching for a way out. He nosed the back door, pawing at it, and when it was apparent the door had been locked tight, he raced to the front door. Buster pushed his snout to the dresser wedged up against the front door. He wiggled his body between the dresser and the front door, struggling to move the heavy mahogany dresser. The floor was slick and without being able to gain traction, the dresser refused to budge.
Backing out, he stood in the room, his canine mind whirling, trying to solve the problem. He glanced at the ceiling and back to the front door, studying the different options. He checked the back door again, then after a while, he went to the windows.
There were four windows in the front part of the house, and methodically Buster checked each one.
Using his nose, he pushed at the window pane, wiggling it, and when the pane held steadfast, he pawed the handles until he tired himself into exhaustion.
Defeated, he slunk back to the bedroom where Cassie and Ryan had slept, and with the ease of a cat he jumped on the bed. He scratched at the mattress, curled into a ball before pillowing into the side of the bed where Cassie had slept, taking comfort in her scent.
* * *
In the morning Helen opened the back door and encouraged Buster to go out. Eagerly, the large dog loped out, bounded down the stairs, and jumped over the puddle of water lining the porch.
The morning sun streamed strong and bright over the land, drying the dewy grass. Puddles of water from the recent thunderstorm rimmed the edge of the yard, while a large cistern sitting under the roof had been filled to the brim catching the runoff from the previous day’s thunderstorm. Potable water it wasn’t, yet it would be suitable for bathing.
“Hun,” Helen called out, “I’m going to go next door to the Coopers and borrow dog food. I’ll be back in a moment.”
“Okay,” Ed replied from the bathroom where he was shaving. “Ask Dorothy if there is anything we can do in return.”
Helen rapped her knuckles on the screen door of the Coopers’ house and waited for a reply. She stood there a moment, listening to the clucking of the hens and a rooster crowing. The street was quiet at this early morni
ng hour except for the rooster. The chickens had been a real bother at first, but when Dorothy started sharing the eggs, Helen had a change of heart.
“Hi, Mrs. Reynolds,” a child’s voice said.
“Hi, Anna. Is your mother home?”
“Yes, but she’s sleeping. She’s supposed to get as much sleep as she needs. She finished taking anti…um…anti-bi-ah…”
“Antibiotics?”
“Yes, that’s the word.”
“Then I don’t want to disturb her.”
“Is there something you need?” Anna asked.
“There is. Do you have any dog food?”
“Yes. Did you get a dog?”
“Not really. We found a dog last night, and—”
“You did!” Anna exclaimed. “Can I see him? Can I play with him? Where is he? My mother said we don’t need another dog after Bubbles died. Can I play with him now? Please, please.”
“Slow down, honey. Yes, you can play with him. First, let’s feed him. He’s hungry.”
“Okay,” Anna said. She opened the screen door. “Don’t make any noise, okay?”
“I won’t,” Helen whispered. “Show me where you keep the dog food.”
Helen followed Anna into the kitchen where Anna retrieved a bag of dog food from the pantry. “My mom said we could feed it to the chickens if we need to. I think it’s okay for you to have it.”
Anna handed the bag of dog food to Helen. “Can I watch you feed the dog?”
“I guess it’s alright. Do you need to tell your mother first?”
“No,” Anna said, “she said not to wake her unless it’s something important. Besides, she’ll probably still be sleeping when I come back.”
“Come on, then,” Helen said.
Walking next door, Helen went to the side of the house and opened the gate to the backyard. The six foot wooden fence was too high for Buster to jump, so when Helen and Anna walked into the yard, Buster loped over to them immediately, interested in the bag of dog food.
Anna stayed behind Helen. “He’s so big. Does he bite?” Anna asked. She looked apprehensively at the big, dark dog with soulful amber eyes.
“I don’t think so, honey. He seems like a friendly dog. Don’t get too close to him when he’s eating though.”
“I won’t,” Anna said. “What’s his name?”
“I don’t know. It’s probably on his tags, so we’ll check those after he eats.”
Helen poured a large helping of the dry dog food on the ground. Buster sat patiently on his haunches, waiting until Helen had backed away before he dug into the food, his sides heaving when he took big gulps.
“Anna,” Helen said, “I’m going on in. You can stay here with the dog, but don’t pull on his ears or tail.”
“I won’t,” Anna said. “I know dogs don’t like that.”
While Buster nosed the grass for errant bits of kibble he missed, Anna sat Indian style on the grass. She picked at a blade of grass while the dog searched for kibble, and with mounting curiosity she wondered where he could have come from. “You missed one,” Anna said. She pointed to the grass indicating where the kibble was.
Buster cocked his head.
“Here,” she said tapping the ground. “Right here.” Anna scooted back and waited for Buster to find the kibble, but he only canted his head in curiosity. “Okay, I’ll get it for you.” Holding the kibble in her fingers, she put her hand out for Buster to take it. He swung his head side to side, sniffing the air. Holding the kibble in her outstretched arm, Anna inched a little closer until Buster nibbled the food out of her fingers.
“Good dog,” she said. Finding another piece of kibble, Anna repeated the game for several minutes until Buster was comfortable enough for Anna to pet him. She stroked him on his head, behind his ears, and along his back. Buster sat still with his head lowered and eyes closed, letting the child pet him.
“What’s your name?” Anna asked. “Is it on your collar? Will you let me check?”
Buster studied the girl, knowing that she was trying to communicate with him, indicated by her body language and rising intonation. He pricked his ears, and when she reached to his collar and jingled the tags, he didn’t protest.
Anna lifted the tag and read. “Your name is Buster.” She flipped the tag over and said, “If the phone ever starts working, we’ll call your owner who is…” she studied the tag, “…is Dil-lon Stock-dale.” Anna said the name slowly, enunciating each syllable. “Dillon Stockdale,” she repeated. “What? Dillon Stockdale!” Anna stood up and her face morphed into an expression of comprehension and excitement. Without saying another word, she hurried out of the yard, slamming the gate behind her, then raced to her house.
She bounded up the front porch stairs, threw open the door and went to her mother’s bedroom.
“Mommy, Mommy!” Anna cried. She gently shook her mother. “You have to wake up.”
“Hmm?” Dorothy said. “What’s going on?”
“Mommy, do you remember that nice man who helped me get your antibiotics when you were sick?”
“Yes.”
“His dog is next door. Mrs. Reynolds said they found the dog last night and she came over to get dog food, and I was playing with him this morning watching him while he ate, and when he couldn’t find all the dog food, I—”
“Slow down,” Dorothy interrupted. She sat up in bed and asked Anna to start from the beginning. “So what you are saying is that Dillon Stockdale’s dog is in the Reynolds’ backyard?”
“Yes!”
“Stay right here and let me get dressed. I’m going over to talk to Helen.”
Chapter 29
“It feels good to be home,” Holly said, taking in the view of her house. The four riders had made it to her ranch. Holly dismounted her horse and gave the reins to Dillon.
Walking to the house, she spied two cats sitting on the front porch. The cats watched the group with vague curiosity, and when Holly walked up the porch steps, the cats meowed.
“Looks like we have cats now. At least they can keep the barn free of rats.”
Holly swung open the front door of her ranch house, the cats skittering in after her. She walked in, breathed deeply, and took in the essence of her house. She immediately felt better surrounded by familiar items and cherished memories.
It was mid-morning, and the horses had already been put in the barn, stripped of saddles, bridles, and other equipment, and were now languidly eating hay that had been spread out for them.
Dillon wiped his boots off on the porch before he came in, then again on the mat inside the front door. Chandler followed suit, also cleaning his boots on the mud chucker.
Amanda stepped inside. She let Nipper off the leash and he nosed the new surroundings and the cats. There was the usual sofa and recliner, coffee table, magazines, books, family pictures. Amanda’s eyes flicked to the corner wood-burning fireplace stacked with firewood, seasoned and ready to be used.
“Chandler, Amanda,” Holly said, “make yourself at home. This is your home now, so please, use whatever you need. There is one bathroom upstairs, and another one at the far end of this room, but don’t use the toilets.”
“What are we supposed to do?” Amanda asked.
“Dillon, Chandler,” Holly said, “you two will need to dig a latrine for us to use. Can you make that a top priority?”
“We’ll work on it tomorrow,” Chandler said.
“Tomorrow I’m going back to where we last saw Buster,” Dillon said. “The weather has cleared and it shouldn’t take me too long to get to where he disappeared.”
“I’ll come with you,” Chandler said. “You may need backup.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
“Excuse me,” Amanda said. She picked up a vase, letting her fingers trace the pattern. “What exactly is a latrine? Is that an outhouse or something?” Her grandfather’s house still had running water thanks to a windmill driven pump, so a latrine was yet another EMP inconvenience.
&n
bsp; “Yup,” Dillon said. “Better get used to it. We’ll be roughing it for a while.”
Amanda grimaced at the idea of roughing it. She put down the vase and walked over to the covered breezeway leading from the living area to the kitchen, and stopped at the bricks cemented in a circular pattern. Plexiglass was bolted into the cement. “What’s this?”
“That’s a water well,” Holly said. “It’s a long story, but the short of it is that when my parents bought this place, they didn’t want to tear down the original house. This water well was where they wanted to build an add-on so instead of bulldozing it over, they incorporated it into the house. Kinda cool isn’t it?”
“Yeah, for sure.” Amanda hesitantly peeked down the large cistern shape. “There’s water in there?”
“Yes, and it still works,” Holly confirmed. “Dillon is supposed to rig up a pulley system so that we have access to it.”
“We can drink it?” Amanda asked.
“Of course,” Holly said. “It will be our main source of water.”
“Where do you want me to sleep?” Amanda asked.
“Upstairs there are several rooms to choose from. The one in the back is mine…” Holly hesitated and glanced at Dillon to gauge his reaction. He nodded, so Holly said, “and Dillon’s. You can take either room on the other side. Chandler, you can pick out a room too.”
“Okay,” Amanda said. “I’m going to check it out now, and put my things up.”
* * *
For the rest of the day, Dillon and Chandler went about the business of gathering firewood, checking food supplies, formulating who would hunt, and what types of supplies they could trade with neighbors. They took a quick stroll among the pecan trees by the branch, inspecting the hulls, estimating the nuts should soon be ready for harvesting in early December. The fat and calories would supplement their diet.
On a previous excursion, Dillon thought he had seen wild persimmon trees and mustang grape vines. Dewberry vines were abundant, but the fruit wouldn’t be ripe until late April. An ornamental loquat tree planted in the front yard would now come in handy when the golden fruit ripened.
