Into the Light

"Come back here, you little bitch!"

The words rang through the trees with a brisk clarity. The man who threatened was pissed, his voice dark with rage. It made him sloppy. She could hear his heavy footsteps on the fallen leaves, the crunching filled the air with a sharpness that was nearly as brittle as the air that morning. Closing her eyes, she sucked in a slow, calming breath. The air clouded in front of her as she slowly let it out, the footsteps growing closer.

Eva barely remembered a time when she was safe. Perhaps the last moment had been when she was 10 and her father had sat her down at their worn farmhouse table to explain to her what had happened. End of the world. Collapse of civilization. They were words that made no sense to her. They had always been isolated on the farm. Those words might have meant something to the city dwellers who couldn't fend for themselves. They would be alright. They had lasted longer than anyone thought they would on their own.

Fifteen years later, she was well and truly on her own. One day, when she was seventeen, she had found her father cold in his bed. His heart had failed after years of constant toil to provide a life for the both of them. The best she could do for him was shed a few tears, bury him next to her mother, and continue on as only she knew how. She still lived on that farm and still worked it as he had taught her. There were times when she had to leave, however, to retrieve items from the big city that she couldn't make on her own. That was how she had come across Brown Coat.

He had been walking down the middle of the road, out in the open in that coat she could see for miles. It meant that he was a city dweller, one that had no business out there in the woods. He had seen her before she could hide and a chase had begun. He was quick, but she was quicker.

Her green eyes opened as the footsteps moved past her, the curve of the hollow trunk hiding her from his view. He was less than three steps away, his breathing harsh in her own ears. A big man, she thought to herself. He was built for survival but the city had made him soft. He kept moving through the leaves, searching for her.

When he was a distance away, she stepped from the hollow tree. Her feet were light, her green plaid shirt giving her cover. It was enough to gently kneel, the Mosin-Nagant slipping easily to her shoulder. Never waste a shot, she told herself as she placed her cheek against the stock and aimed carefully. He never felt a thing as the shot cracked through the air around them and he fell heavily to the leaves beneath his feet.

Carefully, Eva stood, bolt moving as she loaded another round. She slowly crept towards the fallen figure. The rifle was trained on him as she gently kicked his boot with her own. The wound in his head was enough indication that he was long gone, but she had seen stranger things happen out there in the woods. It took minutes to go through his pockets and pack, taking what was essential and leaving the rest.

As she slung the rifle back over her shoulder, she paused as leaves rustled in front of her. Again, her green eyes slid toward the sound. She relaxed when she caught sight of the German Shepard that cocked his head curiously to one side. She gave him a look as if to ask where he had been as she stepped across the dead man and the doc fell into step at her side. Gus had been with her for nearly three years. Her constant companion. Her protector. It was all she really needed in life. No one would ever convince her differently.

Peter Hines heard the sound in the distance, but in his current state couldn't be sure whether it had been gun fire, thunder, or ... well, anything else. His brain was spinning, his body trembling. The fever from the tick bite made him feel as though he was boiling alive. He had one, maybe two days to find help before he collapsed into a coma and died, either from the poisons surging through him or the gnawing that would come from the pack of feral dogs that had been his constant companions for six days.

He changed directions toward the sound and plodded along. Although it felt like days to Peter, it was less than an hour before he broke through the underbrush and saw the distant farm house sitting in the middle of what appeared to be still-cultivated lands. It was the first signs of civilization Peter had seen in weeks, but because he was so out of it, the appreciation for it was lacking. He tried to make his way through a split rail cedar fence, instead falling to his face. He had no idea how long he lay there, unable to rise. But by the time he had raised himself to his knees -- one minute later, two, ten, he couldn't know -- Peter found himself staring into the eyes of a woman and her growling dog.

He released his hold on the 12 gauge, letting it fall to the tall, native grass, then tried to indicate his non-aggression by raising his hands in a semi-surrender fashion. But he was barely able to get them past his chest. As he teetered, both side to side and to and fro, he reached to the pocket of his vest, fumbled his fingers within it, and withdrew a crumpled piece of paper.

"Treatment..." he mumbled, before passing out and again falling to his face.

The first indication that something was wrong had come from Charlie. He was on watch that day and at ten years old, he knew when to seek help from Eva. She had just returned home from her time in the woods, Gus drinking heavily from the bucket of clean water by the back door as she placed her pack on the table. She was about to place the rifle down when Charlie came barreling in the kitchen.

"There's a man by the pasture fence." He exclaimed, his voice breathless with the anticipation of a child that was looking for excitement.

"Is he armed?" Eva asked, her soft voice barely above a murmur as she tried to gauge the situation.

Charlie was on watch. Millie was out tending to the garden. They depended on her for survival and if that man was armed, she sure as hell wasn't going to let him get within ten feet of those kids. Charlie nodded his head frantically, his blonde curls bouncing with the motion.

"Then go and get your sister and get into the cellar." She said as she took the gun and whistled for Gus as Charlie ran to find his little sister.

When she found the man, he was bobbing and weaving like a drunker sailor. He climbed through the split rail fence and stumbled flat on his face. She had only see men like him drunk in the city. They were foolish to come out this far under the influence of anything. The pack of wild dogs that barked and snarled in his wake was evidence of that.

Gus had his hackles raised as the man released the hold on his gun, struggling to hold his hands up. He wanted to appear as non threatening as possible. It was why Eva never raised her rifle. As he produced a piece of paper and mumbled the word treatment, she knew that she was in for a world of trouble.

When he had passed out again, she raised the rifle and fired a warning shot towards the pack of dogs. They scattered without further encouragement. She moved cautiously to the man, kicking his weapon out of the way before she took the piece of paper from between his limp fingers. He was ill. With what, she didn't know. He was too heavy for her to get back to the farmhouse, even with the help of the children. This was bad, she thought to herself. Really, really bad.

"Get him up, Gus." She murmured as the dog trotted to the man's side and clamped his teeth down on his outstretched hand.

Using pain got a response most of the time. Even if she could get him up and to his feet, it would be better than dragging him to the house.

Peter's body jerked as the dog's fangs sunk into his hand. His mind may have only barely been conscious of the bite, but his sub-conscious was very aware of it. A surge of adrenaline woke Peter from his stupor, and he rolled to his side in an attempt to look upwards.

He was looking into the dogs eyes as it stared back into his own. Peter realized that his hand was still within the animal's clenched teeth and mumbled reassurance to the dog. He wouldn't understand it until later, but Gus's bite had only been enough to rouse him, not rip his hand apart.

The dog let go and backed a bit, and Peter suddenly realized that he was being helped to his feet. He did his best to help, and apparently it was enough because after a moment he realized that he was once again moving over the ground on his own two feet ... sort of.

His head bobbed about as the seconds and minutes passed, allowing his eyes to catch sight of crops, stock animals, and more. Was this truly a working farm? Ranch? Both? Later, when his brain was working better, Peter would recall what he'd seen and wonder when the last time was that he'd seen such a thing. No one farmed any more. It wasn't worth the effort. Before you could hope to harvest a crop, some militia or gang would come along and -- after making you harvest it -- take it all for themselves. Any more these days, people simply lived by foraging and hunting.

Farming...? No way, impossible, his brain told him as he felt his body being lowered to a prone position and, once again, he passed out...

Impossible. Maybe for anyone other than Eva and her charges...

The house was quiet. It was past dinner time and both of the children were fed. It had been a struggle to keep them out of the extra bedroom where the stranger was resting, but Eva had done her best. They were asleep now, tucked into the beds of the room that they shared. They were getting old enough that it was time to think about getting them separate sleeping arrangements, but it seemed that they wanted to stay together. Millie had night terrors and Charlie saw it as his duty to care for his sister.

Eva had pulled a wooden chair into the room with the stranger, looking over the 12 gauge which he had dropped earlier. It was in good working condition, which told her that the man knew what he was doing. The ammo was military grade and was intended to maximum damage. She had no idea where he had come from or what he intended for her farm, but she had done her best to make sure that he would survive whatever was afflicting him.

She rose from her seat, leaving the rifle leaning against the chair. Gus cautiously raised his head from the rug beneath him, watching as she wrung out another cool cloth and switched it out for the one on the man's forehead.

She had searched his belongings and hadn't found anything that might give her a name. He had minimal supplies which meant that he must have been traveling for a long time. It wasn't unusual. What was unusual was his clothing. She only saw men wearing camo when they were working the larger cities in the area. It made them blend in to their surroundings. It was rare out there in the country.

Peter's military training had included both ends of the soldier spectrum: how to kill the enemy and how to heal the friendly. It had also included steps to take when you weren't sure with which you were dealing.

When he regained consciousness, Peter's eyes remained closed. He listened for a long while to the sounds about him, getting a feel for the lay of the land. It was obvious that he was indoors, in a bed. He heard a woman's voice, then a younger person, perhaps a young boy. When the voices indicated that he was alone in the room, Peter finally opened his eyes and looked about himself.

It had to be the farm house he'd seen from the distance, likely a regular bedroom. It certainly wasn't cell. Peter had seen enough of those in his life to recognize one without even opening his eyes. He wiggled his hands and feet to see if they were bound and was very surprised to find they weren't. What really surprised him was the sight of his shotgun leaning up against the wall, almost within reach.

He moved his body a bit more, trying to gauge how mobile he was. He'd been sick for days, and for all he knew, he'd been in this bed for days, too. He looked to the door and saw no sign of his saviors. Instinctively, he sat up further, a bit quicker, with the intent of retrieving is weapon. He didn't know whether these people were friendlies or not, but there was no harm in being armed when he found out.

Grrrrrrrrrrr...

Peter froze at the sight of the previously unseen dog. It stared at him with bared, trembling fangs. He said gently, "Good doggy. Don't eat me."

The sound drew attention from the other room, and as Peter laid back onto the bed, he said with a weak smile, "I think your dog is hungry. Hopefully not for me."

Charlie's natural curiosity had him peeking into the bedroom that held the stranger whenever he could. Eva did he best to keep him away and out of trouble. It was hard, but she soon had both children settled at the kitchen table, pouring over the books that she had scrounged up from an abandoned school. She wanted to give them as normal as a life as possible and that meant learning what they would have in school.

She had found them in the woods one day. Charlie was seven and Millie had just turned three. They were cold, starving, and days away from death. Charlie had told her once that their mom and dad were sleeping back at home. Eva knew that the adults had met an untimely end if they had allowed their young children to wander into the woods on their own. Since that day, they had been Eva's to care for and raise. Three years later, they were good kids who simply wanted to be loved. She struggled to do her best for them.

"Gus is growling." Millie said in a soft voice that she rarely used.

Eva jerked her head towards the room where the stranger was sleeping, listening to Gus as he growled in warning. Their friend must have been awake. She rose from the table, looking down at the two children as they looked up at her with questioning glances.

"Go out to the barn. Give hay to the horse and make sure the cow has been milked." Eva said, knowing that Charlie wanted so badly to argue with her. "Charlie. Please."

Charlie was gone with his sister in a matter of moments as Eva grabbed her father's old Colt revolver and tucked it into the waistband of her jeans. By the time she entered the bedroom, the stranger was talking to Gus as if that would soothe the animal. Gus was snarling, his teeth bared and his hackles raised before the stranger turned his gaze towards her and tried to make a joke with a weak smile.

"Gus." Eva said as the dog slowly calmed, slinking away from the man. "You've been here a while. He's still not use to you."

"You've been here a while," the woman told Peter. "He's still not use to you."

"How long?" he asked. "How long have I been here."

When she answered Peter, he wasn't surprised. He hadn't been near death, per se, but he'd been close enough to falling into coma out there alone in the wild that he might as well have been. He couldn't be certain whether the aches in his body were residual from the illness or from being in bed so long, not that it mattered.

"Thank you," he said, sitting up at a slow enough pace to limit the dog -- Gus, she'd called him -- to just a quivering upper lip but no more growls. "I would have died out there."

Once he was sitting up, his feet dangling over the edge of the bed, he said, "My name is Peter Hines. Like the city, not the ketchup."

He looked to Eva, expecting a name in reciprocation, and studied her for a long moment. She was a beautiful woman, not runway model stunning but definitely bring home for momma's approval. She had the look of a woman who'd been living hard since the End of Mankind, as some called the collapse of society. And yet, behind the tired eyes and weather-worn skin, there was definite beauty.

A little mascara and blush, Peter thought, smiling and nearly chuckling. Like any of that matters anymore. Soap and shampoo is 'bout'a'nuff to make any woman beautiful to man these days.

He shifted his eyes a bit, then leaned left, then right to look past Eva to the children who'd surreptitiously slipped back into the house to peek into the room. He smiled broadly -- which hurt, unbelievably -- and asked politely, "And who do we have here?"

"How long? A week." Eva said as the stranger asked just how long he had been there with them. "You had a fever that took days to break. I assume you knew how sick you were if you wrote down a treatment plan on a sheet of paper."

Gus continued to growl as the man slowly sat up, struggling to remain as nonthreatening as he possibly could be. He was unarmed. He could have easily changed that by going for the rifle that was there against the wall, but she wasn't stupid enough to leave his ammunition where he could easily find it. She had seen things go horribly wrong for people in that position in the past.

When he said his name, she still didn't move, her green eyes never once straying from his face. He was studying her intently, looking her from head to toe as if trying to decide whether she was beautiful, a threat, or perhaps both.

"Eva." She said simply, not offering a last name. "You're not from around here, are you? Men in camo usually hang out around the city and don't venture this far."

She nearly cursed under her breath as she heard him ask who else was there. She turned slightly, looking down into two little blonde faces. They were etched with curiosity about the stranger, Charlie more so than his sister. She suspected that it had been his idea to come back into the house rather than tend to the chores that needed to be done.

"Is that cow milked?" Eva asked them both, watching as they shrank back slightly at the warning tone in her voice. "Or at the very least, please tell me that the horse has his hay."

"No, ma'am." Charlie said, his eyes glancing towards the stranger once more.

Eva crossed her arms over her chest and blew out a long breath. Charlie was getting to be a handful, she thought to herself. She had no idea how he would be as he got bigger and stronger.

"Well, go ahead and introduce yourselves." She finally said.

"I'm Charlie and this is my sister, Millie." Charlie took charge, making his introductions to the stranger. "And I know your name is Peter."

"Gus is our dog." Millie said in her soft little voice, patting Gus as he wagged his tail at the little girl while still snarling at the man in the bed.

"Charlie," Peter repeated, nodding his head slightly, then grimacing at the sudden pain deep inside his skull. He looked to the little girl, then the dog, then the obvious superior of the property as he said, "Millie ... Gus ... and Eva. Nice to meet you all."

He set his eyes on Eva again, trying not to appear as if he was ogling her but likely failing. It had been a long time since he'd seen a woman so attractive who wasn't taken, likely the play thing of a war lord or just one of many whores in an urban brothel. Of course, for all Peter knew, there was in fact a man in this picture who simply wasn't present at the current time. He'd learn the truth of the matter eventually, but asking specifics at this point in time was anything but appropriate.

"I'm hungry," Peter said, looking directly to Charlie. He glanced to Eva for a moment as if to assure her that he was seeking her approval, then looked back to the boy and asked, "Do you think I could have something to fill my belly, Charlie?"

He looked to Millie, asking, "And maybe some water, too, sweetheart?"

He wanted to talk to Eva alone, but in truth, he was hungry and thirty, too. He gave Eva a moment to deal with the kids as she saw fit, then once they were alone, he told her, "I appreciate what you have done for me. And I want you to know that I will compensate you for your time and resources ... meds, food, water. I, um..."

He glanced to the shotgun, which by now he had come to assume -- rightfully -- was no longer loaded. "I also want to assure you that I won't cause you and the kids any harm, and if you want ... I'll leave as soon as I'm mobile."

Eva glanced down at Charlie and Millie as Peter asked for something to eat and drink. They both seemed to be waiting on her approval before they scurried off to do as he had asked. She blew out a soft sigh. It was hard to be a child in their world. It was hard labor and duties that she had never had when she was their age. They should have been watching cartoons and eating cereal on their couch in their home with their parents instead of working a farm with her.

"You can fix him a ham sandwich, Charlie. And some water from the well, Millie." Eva said as she watched them run off as soon as she was done talking.

She turned to look back at Peter as soon as they were alone. She hadn't expected him to offer compensation for what she had done. There was little that they needed save for a few medical supplies that she had used. That could be replenished by going into the city, something that she had been needing to do for a while anyway.

"Don't worry about it." She said with a shrug of her slender shoulders as he glanced towards his gun and stated that he wouldn't harm her or the kids.

"We could us an extra set of hands if you don't mind hard work. Charlie and Millie work hard, but there are things I need an adult with more strength for." She commented as Gus lost interest in what was happening and curled back up on his rug by the door, his weary brown eyes still staring at the man. "And I won't be giving you back your ammunition until I'm sure I can trust you."

"And I won't be giving you back your ammunition," she confirmed, "until I'm sure I can trust you."

"Sounds fair," he responded. He was becoming light headed from the exertion, minor as it was. As he laid back on the bed again he mumbled, "I think ... I think I should ... take a nap."



The next thing Peter knew he was waking up to near darkness. He sat up again, as slowly as the first time and, again, watched by Gus, who raised his head from his position at the door but did little more. Peter found the glass of water and sandwich -- now wrapped in wax paper -- sitting on the lamp table. He ate and drank slowly, offering several small bites to Gus who -- typical dog -- found a sudden but still wary fondness for Peter.

He stood only to find himself unsteady and teetering all directions as if a tapped Weeble. When he finally gained his steadiness, he approached Gus slowly, leaning to offer out the last bit of the generous sandwich. The dog growled a bit, obviously reluctant to take the food from Peter's hand. The man gently tossed the morsel to the floor instead. After Gus snatched it up, the dog allowed Peter to pass by him slowly.

The house was still but a full moon outside was filling it with soft, indirect light. Peter stood quietly for a long moment in the hall, listening for the soft breathing of sleeping bodies. He heard nothing. Had Eva removed the kids from the house for their safety? Or was he simply not hearing them? There was no sign of his hostess, but for all Peter knew, she was standing behind one of the old home's many door with a shotgun in her hand, wondering what Peter was doing.

He made his way slowly toward the front door, looking out through its window for several minutes before opening the barrier and stepping out onto the porch. Gus stayed close at hand, studying him. Peter smiled to the mutt. He'd always marveled at how a dog -- cats, too -- could sense who was or was not a danger, who could and could not be trusted, who would or wouldn't turn on them at that very specific moment.

Peter found an old rocking chair on the porch and eased himself down into it. And ... he just sat there ... thinking ... remembering. His life had been a full one, so there were a great many things to remember. Not all of them were happy moments. In fact, few of them were. And most of those that were had occurred long, long ago.

The now-32 years old had grown up in the tiny town of Hines, Oregon. It's population had been barely over 1,000 when he'd been born, and even today is was barely more than half that again. Had been, he thought. Before the end of the world. Probably no one there now.

Peter had been a middle child, with two older sisters and two younger brothers. They'd been the outdoorsy types, growing up on a working farm and ranch, herding cattle, sheep, and goats; growing, raising, and hunting their dinner; cultivating 300 acres of a dozen crops; and so much more that the typical kid only read about in books or saw on television and the internet.

Despite yearning for that life now, Peter couldn't have gotten away from it soon enough. On his 18th birthday, just six days short of graduating high school with a 3.9 gpa and a scholarship to play football for the University of Washington Huskies, he thumbed a ride to the Portland Armed Forces Recruiting Office and was on a plane the next day heading for Chicago and the US Navy Boot Camp facility at Great Lakes.

Just as he had in everything he'd ever tried in his life, Peter exceled in the Navy as well. He moved from being a lowly boatswain's mate to becoming a Navy Corpsman, but after his Commanding Officer discovered his other skills -- most notably with a rifle during a ship's crew shooting competition while ashore in the UAE -- he was shipped off to join the SEALs.

During his Naval career, he did three official tours and participated in four classified operations, in all serving on every continent save Antarctica. He liked what he did, even when he didn't like why or for whom he was doing it. He didn't like the politics behind some of his missions, but he did them anyway. He was a good soldier.

That was until he met some really bad soldiers. When some members of his unit massacred the residents of a small village on the Afghanistan-Pakistan, later raping and then killing some of the surviving females -- some as young as 12 -- Peter lost it. In a flash, he killed six men, two each with a firearm, a knife, and his bare hands. He was detained, of course, but when his civilian lawyer threatened to expose the reasons behind his rampage, the charges were dropped and he was quietly discharged from the service.

He spend the next couple of years wandering before joining a military contractor's service. But there was simply too much corruption and lack of accountability there, so -- after robbing his unit's payroll truck for almost half a million dollars -- he quietly disappeared into the Rockies.

Two years later, the world ended. Peter found it rather ironic that the collapse of civilization didn't have much of an impact on him. He'd often been asked what he would do in a doomsday situation, and when that doomsday finally arrived, he was already doing it: living off the land in the wild, avoiding people at all cost. He'd still be there if it hadn't been for that damn tick biting him.



Some time during his recollections, Peter drifted off to sleep and only came to when he smelled hot food cooking...

When Peter had passed out, Eva made sure that he wasn't in danger before she left him to simply sleep. Charlie and Millie were disappointed when they returned to see that he was out like a light, but Eva insisted that he could still enjoy what they had given him when he woke. It was a typical day from there on with chores and more school work before bedtime came.

That evening, Eva tucked the kids into her own king sized bed and slept beside them. There was something inside of her that told her to not trust completely yet. She had no idea if what Peter had even told her was true. She hadn't trusted anyone easily, especially since the end of the world.

She was awake when she heard soft footsteps on the old wooden floor, the slight creaking telling her that someone was there. Looking down in the moonlight to the children, she slowly reached for the Colt that was on her bedside table. She held her breath, listening to the noises beyond their door. Millie stirred, yawning softly before she settled again. She could hear Gus padding alongside whoever was there. Then the front door creaked open and closed gently. Ever so slowly, she allowed herself to go back to sleep.

Peter was easy to find in the morning. He was asleep in the rocking chair on the front porch. Charlie had seen him as he had gone to milk the cow, excitedly telling Eva that he hadn't gone just yet. He had been worried when he woke and found Peter's room empty. Eva knew he wouldn't have gone anywhere and left his gear behind. That would have been suicide.

Eva set about cooking ham and eggs. The skillet was sizzling as the children sat patiently at the table waiting for their breakfast.

"What's 3 times 3?" She asked them over her shoulder, giving them a grin at the little game they played each and every morning.

"9." They both answered in unison.

"And 5 times 10?"

"50!" They both answered again.

"How about 1,900,723 times 1?" Eva asked them once more as she turned from the stove with the food ready as the two children looked at her with a confused look. "1,900,723. It was a trick."

"1,900,723," said, answering her own question. "It was a trick."

"She fooled me."

Both children spun as Peter chimed in from the open doorway. Charlie's face lit up, which pleased the newest member of the household, though whether short or long term member was something yet to be decided. Millie's expression was a bit harder for Peter to decipher. She didn't look frightened, but she also didn't look as excited as her older brother.

"Smells delicious," Peter said, entering slowly and taking a seat at a spare dinner chair that was set against the wall near the door. He looked to Millie and gestured her closer with a curling finger. When she didn't move, Peter looked to the dog that had taken to watching his every movement and reassured her, "It's alright. Gus'll protect you, and if he doesn't, I'm sure Charlie can beat me up."

That seemed to go over well because after she looked between her brother, Eva, and the dog, she slid out of her chair and moved to just out of arms reach of Peter. Leaning over so that Charlie couldn't see what he was doing, Peter raised his hands -- fingers splayed -- and whispered to her, seeming to count on his fingers as he did. After a moment, Millie -- now smiling broadly -- hurried back to her chair and looked to Peter expectantly.

"Hey, Charlie, what's seven times nine?" Peter asked.

Charlie hesitated, obviously not having expected to play the game with the stranger. He opened his mouth to answer, but--

"Sixty-three!" Millie shouted.

The little girl beamed as attention turned to her.

"Right," Peter confirmed. "And six times nine?"

Charlie's gaze moved from Millie to Peter to Millie and back, just as the little girl hollered, "Fifty-four!"

"I think that's right," Peter said, donning a confused look. He glanced to the boy, asking, "Is that right, Charlie?"

The male of the house hesitated, then said, "Yes. But..." He looked to Millie again, seeing her quickly hide her hands under the table.

"Four times nine?" Peter continued.

This time Charlie craned to watch his little sister as she counted off one, two, three, four fingers, then lowering the last one counted. Staring at the three fingers to the left and six fingers to the right, she announced proudly, "Thirty-six!"

Charlie immediately demanded to know how his little sister was doing that, and while the two practiced, Peter stood and walked slowly across the kitchen toward Eva. He stood close to her -- or, as close as Gus would allow as he moved in between them and looked between the two of them -- and smiled with delight.

"Cute kids," he said softly. Then, assuming incorrectly that they were Eva's, he asked, "If it's not too personal of a question, what happened to their father?"

Eva went quiet as Peter suddenly joined them, his presence filling the room as the children turned their attentions towards him. Charlie seemed to relish having another man in the house while Millie was a bit more reserved. She watched them closely as Peter played their game, teaching Millie how to count out her 9 times table on her fingers. It was a warm, endearing gesture, but Eva still had her reservations and her doubts about him.

Turning back to the stove, she put on more food for the new comer, glancing from time to time over her shoulder as Charlie and Millie put their heads together to think more about the new trick that they had been shown. She was very aware when he stood so close to her, Gus separating them as he sat and waited for the table scraps to come.

When Peter spoke about the children's father, she glanced at him with her large green eyes and shrugged her shoulders slightly. "I don't know."

Plates of food were soon dished up and placed in front of the children. They always ate first, no matter what. She would have rather starved herself than to have sent them anywhere with an empty belly. Once they began to eat, she turned back towards Peter and offered him a plate.

"I assume their mother and father are...sleeping." She said in the only way that she knew how.

It upset Charlie when she tried to ask him about his parents. Millie didn't remember anything. He was still under the impression that maybe one day they could find them and be reunited. Because of his wish, she never mentioned that they were probably dead.

"I don't know."

Peter didn't immediately realize to what revelation Eva was leading, but he understood that the children weren't hers when she added, "I assume their mother and father are...sleeping."

He said nothing more about the missing parents, instead giving Eva an understanding expression before sitting at the end of the table away from where Eva was continuing to work the stove. His gaze moved between the children and Eva again and again.

Well, actually, that wasn't true. Or, it wasn't precise. His gaze continued to move between the children's mouths, gobbling up the breakfast eagerly; and Eva's ass, which was a delight to watch as it shifted to and fro during her movements between stove and counters. She was a beautiful woman, a pleasure to ogle. Remembering one of the lines from the pop music song that was his niece's favorite, Peter could see that Eva was no stick figure, silicon Barbie doll. But, as with another line from that same song, Eva had all the right junk in all the right places.

Peter had to pull his eyes away when he realized that -- down below the surface of the dining table -- he was beginning to harden, and his loose fitting military fatigues weren't exactly made for hiding such expansions should he find it necessary to stand and help his hostess.

Eventually a plate was placed before him, for which he expressed his deep gratitude. He literally moaned at the first mouthful, which seemed to please the children. After taking in a second forkful, munching and swallowing it, and groaning again, Peter looked to the two children and said, "Oh, so much better than the salamanders and skunk cabbage I've been eating for the last month."

In stereo the two moaned, "Ewww...!"

Peter lifted a skinny piece of fatty ham with his fingers, dangling it before him as his gaze moved between the kids and his meal. With a high pitched squeal, he mimicked, "No! Please don't eat me!"

He slurped the piece into his mouth at the combination of disgust and horror coming from the kids. The meal proceeded, with laughter and questions and answers and everything else that typically took place at meals, particularly one with a newcomer present. When it was all over and Peter presumed that Eva was going to begin assigning clearing and cleaning chores, he struggled to stand -- suddenly a bit unsteady -- and asked, "Can I help? Clean dishes maybe? Clear the table?"

It was obvious in his teetering that he was in no condition to be handling breakable dishware, but Peter was anxious to earn his keep.

Eva knew that his eyes were on her. It was almost like she knew when anyone was watching her. Perhaps that had come from the need for survival after the end had come. She had to be on edge, ready for anything, for her sake and the sake of the children. They were first and foremost among her thoughts every single day.

Once everyone had been served, she gave Gus the left over ham before she settled at her own spot at the table with a scrambled egg on her plate. She listened to the conversation that the children were having with Peter, wondering if he had any children of his own. He seemed to be comfortable around them, talking about silly things without hesitation. It was very clear that Charlie and Millie were growing fond of him. She hoped that he wouldn't break their hearts by leaving in the middle of the night.

When the meal was finished, Eva watched as Peter struggled to stand from his seat. He was still healing and a long way away from being able to help them much around the farm. She simply shook her head at him and glanced towards the children as they dutifully cleared the table and started washing the dishes.

"No, it's their job to make sure the kitchen is cleaned after a meal. They do the dishes and put them away. Millie picks the vegetables in the garden and Charlie takes care of the cow and the horse." She commented, laying out the chores that each did during the day.

Of course, the led the bulk of the heavy work to Eva each day. She was use to plowing a field or planting wheat. She could handle building a fence or splitting logs. She had been doing it since she was a child. It had come in handy when she needed to trade with some of the people around her and especially if she had to go into the city where they didn't grow their own crops.

"I'll turn on the furnace so that you can take a hot shower. I think it would be best if you rested today." She said as she stood from the table. "There's towels above the toilet and things you might be able to use in the medicine cabinet."

With that, she left the room, heading into the basement where she got the furnace going to heat the water for the entire house. Since she had turned it on, it meant that everyone in the household would have their baths that day. It was a luxury, but one that she relished each and every time.

"Millie picks the vegetables in the garden," Eva continued her explanation, "and Charlie takes care of the cow and the horse."

"I grew up on a farm, too," he said, looking to the kids. He donned a comical sneer as he continued, "Chores never end, do they...? And when you grow up, they continue, only now they call them your job."

He winked at the pair and stacked his silverware and glass on his cleared plate as Eva explained about the furnace. He wondered what she used for power -- gas, oil, natural, electric -- as well as from where the power came. One of the most shocking things with which people had to deal after the End was the lack of power. The gas, oil, and water -- for hydroelectric dams -- was still out there, of course. It just wasn't getting to the people as it had before.

It was the same story with so many other things, too. Food, clean water, medicines, and more simply stopped flowing in many areas. Some people might have thought that since 90% of the pre-End population had perished that the survivors would be up to their ears in cheap, abundant stuff.

But commerce simply wasn't that simple. The world had been a small place when planes, trains, and ships were delivering everything from fresh vegetables and plastic spoons tens of thousands of miles in just days of a couple of weeks. Now, if it wasn't made locally, it wasn't ... period.



Peter had managed to make his way outside with the kids to look around and watch them do their chores. He still hurt all over, a combination of the disease with which the tiny little tick had nearly killed him and the days of laying in bed healing. But moving helped. Except for that one time when he miss-stepped and went down to his knees. Peter was surprised when the hands he felt on his arm helping him up were Millie.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he said as he rose again. She offered to help him inside and he had a flashback to the tragedy during his last days in Pakistan that had changed his life forever, as well as nearly resulted in him being court martialed and hung. He said politely, "I'm okay, Millie. Finish you chores, and I'll show you another math trick later, okay?"

Inside, he found the bathroom ready for him: hot water, towel, soap, shampoo. There was even a razor sitting next to the sink, which made him laugh. Peter had worn his beard for over a decade, only occasionally trimming it, usually at the behest of some new lover who didn't like the scratchiness against her inner thighs. He wouldn't be shaving it today, of course, but he couldn't help but smile at the thought of Eva having reason to ask him to shave.

"Fat chance," he laughed to himself as he began to slowly -- and painfully -- strip away his clothes. He murmured to himself, "She'll put a bullet into your ass before you ever put your..."

Peter let the thought about what he'd like to put where fade away. He watched himself in the mirror as he shed his uniform, piece by piece. Eva had removed his jacket and boots while he'd been unconscious, but the rest of his clothing had remained as is during his days of uncomfortable sleep.

As he shed them, he grimaced again and again at how filthy each was. Dust and dirt could literally be seen falling away. When he reached his tee shirt, the stench caused Peter's nose to wrinkle. As men will, he lifted an arm and sniffed at an arm pit, grimacing and turning away thinking Why would you do that?

He sat on the soft toilet seat cover and shed his socks, then stood and shed his underwear. He looked to the pile of clothes, laughed, then tossed both the underwear and socks not onto the pile but into the little garbage can next to the toilet. Your mission is complete, he thought.

He turned on the water, but before he could get into the shower, Peter caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked himself up and down for a moment. Though he'd put on ten pounds since leaving the Navy, he was still in great shape. But what caught his attention were the scars decorating his body. He'd been ripped into so often: bullets, shrapnel, knives, even a pitch fork. He turned to look at his back, seeing more damage, including the most recent scar, a long slashing mark that cut diagonally down his back. Peter could remember the event associated to each and every one of them.

Enough reminiscing, he thought, as he stepped into the now-steaming shower, never aware that he hadn't properly shut the door and it had drifted open a few inches...

Millie had told her that Peter had fallen again outside. Eva was a little upset that he was pushing himself to do more than he should after so nearly dying. She had seen it from many other survivors. They would continue on as if nothing had happened, not wanting to be seen as weak and helpless. Many had died doing just that as well.

After assuring Millie that she would look after Peter, she left the little girl to tend to the garden and made her way inside. She could hear him moving around in the bathroom, readying to take a shower. He would need clothing, she thought to herself. Then she could wash what he had been wearing. She had been surprised to discover that his meager possessions didn't include a change of clothing.

She had kept her father's old clothes in the master closet. They were about the same size, she judged as she pulled out a pair of old jeans and a flannel shirt that was soft and worn from use. A clean pair of socks and a pair of boxers were placed on top of the pile as she made her way back to the bathroom. She could hear running water and the door was ajar, leaving an open invitation to walk right in.

She paused as she caught sight of him behind the glass, the hot water beating down on him. It hadn't fogged up just yet and she saw everything. He was well muscled, scarred, rugged. Everyone had scars these days, she thought to herself as her fingers clenched hard against the fabric in her hands. She had scars from being caught in a barbwire trap only a year ago. They were still puckered and red against her upper thigh. The scars on Peter's body looked older, faded slightly. He had obviously seen a hard life before he had happened upon the farmhouse.

"I'll leave these clothes for you." She called over the spray, turning her back to him as she placed the clothing on the sink. "Millie said you still aren't doing well. I need you to take it easy today before you make things worse. I saved you once. I'm not sure that I can do it again."

"I'll leave these clothes for you."

Peter flinched at the sound of Eva's voice, turning his body just a bit to hide his junk toward the stall's back wall. He wasn't sure how long she'd been there, but he was certain she wouldn't have intentionally ogled him ... would she have?

"Millie said you still aren't doing well."

She was talking about Peter falling, he knew. "It's nothing. Tripped is all."

"I need you to take it easy today before you make things worse," she went on. "I saved you once. I'm not sure that I can do it again."

"I will," he said, more out of politeness than true intent. Peter had never liked the feeling of being helpless or of being taken care of. He'd once had to be strapped down in an Iraqi field hospital because he refused to stay in his hospital bed, ripping out his stitches not once but twice in his eagerness to get back to his unit. "Promise."

As she departed, Peter realized that just as when he'd been at the kitchen table, his cock was swelling. He hadn't been with a woman in over a year, and even then she'd been a soulless whore who had simply filled a need. Peter couldn't even imagine what it would be like to have sex -- to make love -- to a beautiful, sensual, and con-sensual woman. Well, actually, he could imagine it just fine. He simply couldn't imagine it actually happening with Eva.

Peter had already been developing a sense for the beautiful blonde. She was strong and resourceful, that was for certain. And she was very protective of the children, too. She'd allowed Peter to get close quickly, but she was rarely more than just a few seconds away should there be trouble. And whether or not she'd intended him to know, Peter had seen the outline of the revolver that she carried stuffed in her belt at all times, hidden under her untucked blouse.

She wouldn't be the type to come to his bed soon, simply to scratch an itch. And she wasn't the type to let a man scratch his own itch without permission, and without a fight.

Of course, Eva wasn't allowing Peter to stay here because she was waiting patiently for a healthy fuck. She'd saved his life because she was just that type of woman; and -- though she hadn't said so yet -- she was letting Peter stay around because she wanted his help.

Was she looking for a laborer or for a soldier -- a mercenary -- was the question that came to Peter's mind as he concluded his exhilarating shower and exited to find a fresh set of clothes at the ready? He'd find out soon, he was sure. Right now, though, he just wanted to get back to his bed and rest. Nine o'clock in the morning, and Peter was ready for a nap.



He was shocked when he came to and saw the sun through the window, descending toward the distant mountains. When he rose this time, though, he felt incredible. He was still stiff and sore, but the exhaustion was greatly reduced. He sat on the edge of the bed stretching his muscles, then stood and did some other stretches. He dropped to the floor and attempted some pushups but was only able to rap off six before his head began to spin.

He found his ranch-mates finishing their chores. He offered to help, but instead found himself at the kitchen table again, eating another great meal. He complimented Eva, "You're spoiling me. You'll never get rid of me feeding me like this."

Peter saw the expressions on the kids' face at the topic of him possibly not being here one day, but he didn't say anything more about it. When dinner was over, the end of day tasks finished, and Charlie and Millie heading to bed, Peter went to his pack and retrieved a metal flask. He didn't show it to Eva until he was in the old rocker on the porch. He took a swig, then offered it out.

"How did you come to be here alone, Eva?" Peter asked bluntly. "I don't mean to pry, but ... it ... it's just ... unbelievable."

The world had been a hard place for women before The End, and it had only become harder since. Of the ten women Peter could think of off the top of his head, five were whores, two were consorts to Warlords, one was the daughter of a Warlord (who, Peter had learned, was fucking his daughter, too), one was shared by two brothers, and the last was a traditional wife.

It had been a long, hard day. While Peter slept, Eva had been repairing fence. It was long, hard, dirty work that she did mostly on her own with only Gus for company. Charlie was too young to help. Perhaps in a few years, she thought to herself as she pulled the planks of wood and barbed wire together, yanking until the wooden posts stood tall and upright.

Dinner had been simple. Chicken and carrots that Millie had picked in the garden that day. Peter ate like he was a man starving to death. He seemed appreciative, which was nice, but Eva still kept her guard up. Men like him didn't stick around for long. She had seen her fair share of people passing through the area. She had defended her home against those that wanted to take it from her. She would never let that land out of her grasp until she was good and dead.

She made sure that Charlie and Millie were bathed and tucked into bed before her day was over with. She could hear them talking through the closed door as she made her final rounds of the evening before she retired to the rocking chair on the porch. Peter was already there, Gus sleeping on the ground at his feet. He had a flask that he brought to his lips before offering it towards her. With a shake of her head, she declined and let out a long, tired sigh when he posed his question.

"My family has owned this farm for a century or more." She said as she stared off towards the mountains just on the horizon. "I was born here. My mother died when I was barely a year old. It was just me and my dad for a long time and then one day his heart gave out. It was just me for a long time until I stumbled on Charlie and Millie in the woods. They've been with me for three years now."

"We're far enough from the city that we don't get bothered. Every so often people will come along that camp on the land, but they haven't ever caused much problem. I've been lucky." She said with a shrug of her weary shoulders. "That and I know my way around a gun. Seems that men are a little weary of a woman that can out shoot and out run them."

"Hard to believe," Peter said, taking another small sip before spinning the lid shut on the flask and slipping it inside the pocket of the wonderfully clean shirt. "Ain't much law and order where I came in from, and the first thing to go after law and order is a woman's safety. I applaud you."

He asked her some questions about the ranch, about the region, about the neighboring town. They weren't intrusive questions, so Peter got answers to most of them. But when he asked more personal ones, it became clear to Peter that Eva wasn't going to tell him such things any time soon. So, he let them slide.

The sun was down, but the countryside was well illuminated by a powerful full moon. It was beautiful. It could have been romantic, too, but the pair on the porch weren't there yet and might never be. When the conversation began to lag, Peter rose and stood tall over the woman.

"I want you to know that you can trust me, Eva," he said. "I won't bring any harm to you or the children. And I'll leave anytime you tell me to do so. In the meantime ... I'm feeling better. I'll like to contribute."



The next morning, Peter was up earlier for breakfast and chores...

(OOC: Was going to write more but can't keep my eyes open.)

Peter was nearly as curious as the children were. Eva was prepared for a few questions about the farm and the surrounding area, but when he tried to ask more personal things, she shut it down. She wouldn't talk about any of it. He didn't need to know about her except her name and what she was doing there. It was simply easier that way, she thought to herself as the sun set and left them illuminated in moonlight.

Soon enough, she chose to go to bed. There would be work in the morning for everyone. Fences needed to be fixed, plants planted, tended and water. She needed to check on her fields of hay and grain before she went to track down the few goats that she had purchased to clear off tracks of land in order to plant more. It would be long, from sun up to sun down.

The next morning, she was up at dawn, cooking ham and eggs again as the children set the table and got everything read. She didn't glance up as she heard Peter enter, although she was surprised that he was joining them so early. She half expected him to sleep and recover, but it seemed that he was extremely stubborn.

"It's laundry day, Charlie. Don't forget to gather everything up and then hang it on the line." Eva said over her shoulder as Charlie nodded. "And Millie, you can help hang things this time. Don't make your brother do it all on his own."

"I can help with that ... the laundry," Peter said as he made his way to his place at the table. As he sat, he caught the curious expressions on the faces of the children. He feigned an offended look as he said, "What...? You don't think I can do laundry?"



Whether or not Peter contributed that day was a matter of opinion. He did what he could, but he was still a bit weak and had to take frequent breaks. But he could feel his strength returning, and he knew that in another two or three days he'd be back to his old self.

And as promised, he helped the kids with the laundry. He feigned a lack of understanding, constantly asking how to do this or how to do that. The kids seemed to love teaching him, so they never tired of it. They seemed to get a kick out of him getting all tangled up in a sheet, too, particularly when he suddenly became a ghost beneath it, and they had to take him down to protect the chickens he was scary all about the lawn.

And through it all, Peter often cast his gaze upon Eva. It wasn't all about ogling the beautiful woman, of course, though he did do a lot of that. No, Peter was also simply interested in how she handled herself around the farm and ranch. It was obvious to him that she truly belonged here. Most people Peter knew had never ridden a horse, let alone learned to properly and safely lift it's rear legs from the ground to clean its hooves with a pick; and even fewer could have milked a cow in the short amount of time Eva had, and despite having grown up on a farm himself, even Peter knew he would have needed three times as long.

When late afternoon arrived, Peter found it necessary to take a longer rest. He dropped into the rocker on the porch again, with a glass of tea and -- amazingly -- Gus sitting beside him, nuzzling Peter's hand until the not-so-strange-stranger relented to pet and scratch the dog's head for several minutes.

As he relaxed, Peter's mind began to think about the future. And not just the 'til I'm healed enough to leave future. He had no idea whether he'd be welcomed to remain long term, but Peter was already beginning to see himself doing so. The place could use more hands, of course. Eva had made that clear already, and even if she hadn't, Peter had seen with his own eyes the number of Honey Do's that could use being accomplished.

He was pretty sure Eva wanted him to stay or would at least come to want him so stay, once he showed his true worth. The real question -- the one that caused Peter's peter to wake up occasionally, was whether or not Eva would come to simply want him. Peter couldn't help but imagine the two of them as lovers. He was a man, after all. And she was an attractive woman. He was alone. She was alone. At least, Peter presumed she was, by the obvious lack of a man and the equally obvious lack of any conversation about a man.

Hell, she might not even like men, Peter thought to himself, simultaneously feeling disappointment and inappropriate excitement. What the hell was it about two women together that caused men to get hard down below! Oh, yeah, the answer was simple: the fantasy of lesbians wasn't about lesbians but about being with lesbians. His lips spread wide as his mind joked with him, Just gotta find a second woman.



Millie's hand slapped down hard upon the Jack of Spades, causing her to laugh in joy as she pulled back the tall stack of cards. "I win!"

"You certainly do," Peter said, shrugging his shoulders. He could have dealt that Jack off the bottom of the deck at any time, but he'd been waiting for Eva to finish her work in the kitchen so he could talk to her. "I'm out of cards. Play again tomorrow night?"

"Play again now," Millie said excitedly.

Peter feigned exhaustion, responding, "I have to go to bed, sweetheart. Six games, I'm beat."

As the kids were performing their end of day tasks, Peter again made his way to the porch and the rocker with which his back side was becoming very familiar. When Eva joined him again, Peter decided it was time to talk about the future.

"I have a cabin in the mountains, sixteen, maybe eighteen miles from here." He pointed off toward the east, toward the wilder lands of this wild land. "I have some resources there. Weapons. Ammo. Electronics, including some radio gear and a sat' receiver. I don't often talk to anyone, but it's always nice to hear what's going on out in the world."

He looked to Eva for a moment, then got to the point. "I guess I'm wondering ... should I be thinking about going back to my stuff? Or ... bringing my stuff here?"

He looked away again, toward the still bright but not quite as full moon. "I'm ... I'm not trying to ... Well, I'm not suggesting anything. You know ... between us. You don't know me. I don't know you..."

Peter wanted to say more, but he was beginning to feel awkward. He'd never been good at relationship talk, and -- of course -- the two of them didn't know one another well enough nor long enough to be discussing a relationship.

Eva knew that he was watching her. She didn't have to turn to look at Peter and the children to know that his eyes were trained on her. Men would stare at her for a variety of reasons. Some thought that she was a strange creature that was a loner by choice. Others admired her good, wholesome looks and strong body. Hard work was in her blood, but she had never once chosen to be alone. She craved companionship just like anybody else. It was hard to come by and finding someone to trust was even more rare.

Peter seemed to have gained the trust of the children instantly and completely. She hated to see them get so close to him. There was no guarantee that he would stick around once his strength returned and the last thing that she wanted to deal with was two children with broken hearts. For the moment, however, she let them think that everything would turn out for the best.

After the kids were back in bed, she found Peter in his usual spot. Gus was sitting like a traitor at his feet, his tail thumping against the old wood planks of the porch as she approached and took her seat beside him. Then he started to talk, telling her about his place a few miles away. He had supplies that he was offering to get, but then he posed the question that she wasn't sure she could answer. He wanted to know if he belonged there.

"Do you want to stay?" She asked him, looking towards him with those green eyes that were always guarded. "Look, I still have trouble trusting you, but Charlie and Millie have become attached. If you don't stay, you'll be breaking their hearts."

She didn't mention that she needed the extra set of hands. It was best to focus on the children for the time being. It was just simpler that way. There were no messy emotions involved, there was no connection between them except for the will to survive.

"If you need help getting to your cabin, I can come along. There's a man that lives a mile away from here that is friendly. He watches the farm and the kids when I have to go into the city. I can have him come out and watch everything until we return."