sentences I was hooked. George could tell one hell of a story. He started out with his recruitment and detailed things he learned in basic training and then things he learned while out in the field. He’d actually been sent overseas and had killed people, nearly dying himself of the cold and starvation before finally being wounded so badly he was sent home.
I went over and put his journal with the other books we’d be taking with us. I had the absurd desire to put it in my pocket instead, but fought against the sentimental feelings. I looked at its smooth leather cover, thinking about the man who’d taken the hours to sit down and hand-write all of that information for me, in exchange for watching out for the little guy he loved. I sighed, knowing that Buster was now a part of my club. Or my group. Or maybe even my family. I really didn’t know what we were at this point, but I knew at least that I wasn’t alone. And it felt good.
***
Peter convinced me that we could both sleep without fear of attack, now that we had Buster with us. He said that all dogs had a natural instinct to protect their pack, and we were now part of Buster’s pack. At the time Peter said that, I’d looked down at the fuzzy pink thing that was now defining my place in this world, and laughed.
Pack, my butt, I’d thought. This is the sorriest pack I’ve ever seen - a social misfit, a seventy pound fruitcake, and a smelly pink mouse-dog.
A few hours later, Peter and I were startled awake by the ferocious pink mouse-dog barking at the front window. I kicked out of my sleeping bag and grabbed for the gun next to me. I couldn’t see anything in the dark.
“What is it?” whispered Peter, panic in his sleepy voice.
“Someone’s trying to get in. Stay here!” I found the gun and jumped up, taking off for the front of the house, towards my living room.
As soon as I got there, I saw that someone had broken the window, and was reaching up to unlock it from outside. There was just enough light from the moon and stars to see that the raider’s hand had a gardening-type glove on it to protect it from the shards of glass.
I flipped the safety off my gun and yelled, “Get the hell out of my house or I’m going to blow your friggin head off.”
The hand froze. Then I heard whispering. “Shit, man, you said no one was here!” The hand pulled out of the window and some sounds of scrambling around followed.
I could see some forms moving but no faces. Another voice came out of the dark, this one mean and growling.
“All we want is your food. Give it to us and we’ll go away.”
“No. I don’t have any to give. But I do have a gun and I don’t mind sharing some of my bullets. I’ll put ‘em right in your brain, that way they’ll be easy for you to carry.”
“You think you’re funny, bitch? I’ve got a gun too.”
I ducked away from where I’d been standing, taking a spot just behind the edge of the wall. Depending on what kind of gun he had, that bit of wood and drywall might not make any difference, but it made me feel safer.
“Just get the hell out of here,” I said loudly, trying to sound tough. The rest of my warning was drowned out by the sounds of Buster barking in another part of the house.
“Bryn! They’re at the back door too!” yelled Peter.
I heard glass breaking.
“Shoot their asses!” I yelled.
The figures in my front window took off, yelling and calling out to each other.
A loud BOOM! shook the walls of my house and set my eardrums to ringing. The muffled sounds of shattering glass and screams rent the air. They sounded like they were far off, even though I knew they weren’t. I shook my head, trying to get the rest of my hearing back.
I quickly gave up trying and left the front of the house to go back to the family room, where I had left Peter. I could see him now, in the light of the
I went over and put his journal with the other books we’d be taking with us. I had the absurd desire to put it in my pocket instead, but fought against the sentimental feelings. I looked at its smooth leather cover, thinking about the man who’d taken the hours to sit down and hand-write all of that information for me, in exchange for watching out for the little guy he loved. I sighed, knowing that Buster was now a part of my club. Or my group. Or maybe even my family. I really didn’t know what we were at this point, but I knew at least that I wasn’t alone. And it felt good.
***
Peter convinced me that we could both sleep without fear of attack, now that we had Buster with us. He said that all dogs had a natural instinct to protect their pack, and we were now part of Buster’s pack. At the time Peter said that, I’d looked down at the fuzzy pink thing that was now defining my place in this world, and laughed.
Pack, my butt, I’d thought. This is the sorriest pack I’ve ever seen - a social misfit, a seventy pound fruitcake, and a smelly pink mouse-dog.
A few hours later, Peter and I were startled awake by the ferocious pink mouse-dog barking at the front window. I kicked out of my sleeping bag and grabbed for the gun next to me. I couldn’t see anything in the dark.
“What is it?” whispered Peter, panic in his sleepy voice.
“Someone’s trying to get in. Stay here!” I found the gun and jumped up, taking off for the front of the house, towards my living room.
As soon as I got there, I saw that someone had broken the window, and was reaching up to unlock it from outside. There was just enough light from the moon and stars to see that the raider’s hand had a gardening-type glove on it to protect it from the shards of glass.
I flipped the safety off my gun and yelled, “Get the hell out of my house or I’m going to blow your friggin head off.”
The hand froze. Then I heard whispering. “Shit, man, you said no one was here!” The hand pulled out of the window and some sounds of scrambling around followed.
I could see some forms moving but no faces. Another voice came out of the dark, this one mean and growling.
“All we want is your food. Give it to us and we’ll go away.”
“No. I don’t have any to give. But I do have a gun and I don’t mind sharing some of my bullets. I’ll put ‘em right in your brain, that way they’ll be easy for you to carry.”
“You think you’re funny, bitch? I’ve got a gun too.”
I ducked away from where I’d been standing, taking a spot just behind the edge of the wall. Depending on what kind of gun he had, that bit of wood and drywall might not make any difference, but it made me feel safer.
“Just get the hell out of here,” I said loudly, trying to sound tough. The rest of my warning was drowned out by the sounds of Buster barking in another part of the house.
“Bryn! They’re at the back door too!” yelled Peter.
I heard glass breaking.
“Shoot their asses!” I yelled.
The figures in my front window took off, yelling and calling out to each other.
A loud BOOM! shook the walls of my house and set my eardrums to ringing. The muffled sounds of shattering glass and screams rent the air. They sounded like they were far off, even though I knew they weren’t. I shook my head, trying to get the rest of my hearing back.
I quickly gave up trying and left the front of the house to go back to the family room, where I had left Peter. I could see him now, in the light of the
Similar Books
