Survival

Chapter 35 Nice to meat you

Gunnar nailed the last board over the windows, or the spot where the windows used to sit. Five days of scrounging and he had managed to pull a band-aid solution out of his ass to fix the high winds' damages. He hoped it would keep the rain out when the next storm came. The winds never blew with the same intensity as they did day zero, but some days they came close, just like the storm which had passed through about a week ago.

He looked at his water collection system with a frown. The barrels were overturned; clearly, his efforts to hold them to the soft desert ground had gone with the wind. He ran back inside to get a few containers to collect the little bit of water still in the plastic containers.

After returning from the cellar, he noticed another creature sniffing around his water barrels. A tan body stuck out of the blue barrel and a tag wagged from side to side.

"Hey," he called out and banged a stick against the hard, blue plastic. The dog shuffled back out of the container with good speed. It sat on the ground and looked up at him with big dark eyes. Its drooped face didn't drag much sympathy out of him. "Get out of here, ya mutt!" he yelled and tried to shoo it away. The dog stayed in place, only cocking its head to the side.

Gunnar tensed. He knew having this thing around could be dangerous. It didn't look as fierce as the German Sheppard and Dobermans that guarded some of the houses the Shadows would 'visit', but he wasn't fooled. He'd been bitten one too many times to trust a beast like this. He walked around to the side of the house and picked up a trash can lid and a stick. He banged the two together, faster and louder until the dog was spooked and ran off into the fields. He set the barrels back upright and covered them in case that beast came back.

In the morning, a crash echoed outside his boarded window. Gunnar shoved his bare feet into a pair of mud-crusted boots, grabbed the hammer and made a run for the yard. If this was the gang that took down Trevor, he needed as much advantage as he could get. Reasoning with them probably wouldn't work in his favour again. The question of joining of them remained. He had finally escaped that life, but living under poor circumstances was still better than not living.

As he neared the door, he peered through the cracks in the boards to see what waited outside. He couldn't see anyone in the backyard area, so he tore through the living room to get to the front area. The driveway stood empty too.

Another bang came from behind him this time. His fingers curled tightly around the hammer, and he took a practise swing near the lamp, clipping the couch slightly. He could do this. Violence or words? Words or violence? Whatever impulse took over would be his solution. No time to think.

He swung the door open with the hammer raised and scanned the yard. Still no people to his left or his right. His eyes shot over to the water barrels. All but one had been knocked to the ground. Gunnar groaned and went over when suddenly he saw a large paw on the upright barrel.

"Get!"

The dog looked back at him with a natural pout on its dark wrinkled snout. Its paw dropped from the container, and Gunnar nodded. Good, the thing knew some limits to keep it safe. It seemed to crouch down for a moment before it propelled itself up in the air, aiming for the top of the barrel. The container slammed to the ground with a familiar thud.

"Whadda' ya think you're doing?"

The dog ignored him and stuck its head inside to look for yesterday's treasure. After clawing away and shuffling its large body in and out a couple times, it retreated and stared up at Gunnar, clearly unimpressed.

"What? Ya think I'd leave ya the water? Go find a lake or something."

The dog cocked his head to the left and dragged its paw in the dirt.