Two Worlds (closed for DeathsKnight)

Reluctantly I had sat down on the sleigh. Since Chris wouldn't put the water bottle in my hand when I reached for it, I had no other choice.

I was glad to sit, but I kept flexing my muscles, afraid I would get cramps or strain them on the way back, if they cooled down too quickly. I intended to drink a few sips, and then help Chris to cut the meat, build a fire, set up poles to dry the meat etcetera, but he only took the limbs off, and put them on the sleigh. He did this so quickly and routined, I was sure he wanted to take the deer back to the bunker to cut, smoke and dry the meat.

So I just sipped from the water. It tasted strange. Bland. Kind of too often boiled. It was still water though, and I drunk and watched the surroundings. All was peaceful, the sunlight was bright and getting warm, most of the predators were taking a nap now, which would keep until early evening, only a soft wind rustled through the very springy light green leaves of the tree I was sitting under. Down the other side of the hill I saw a lush vegetation around a watering hole. Up here there were the ruins at one side, the blooming tree, some others with only a very light shade of green at the tips of the branches and some shrubbery.

"Gooseberries!" I pointed when Chris sat down beside me, "red or black-currants, or both, and those might be raspberries, and the trees, apple and pears, and some plums? And this one, a cherry? Did you and your people get a lot of useful things out off these ruins?"

A little surprised I put my hand on his arm when he asked me if I was ready for the walk back.

"Yes, I am fine, but isn't that a beehive-stall back there? Did you get a lot of honey from it? Do you already know how the hives survived the winter? Mind if I take a look, two of our hives are big enough to split!" The last words I had to say a bit louder since I was crossing over to the small, a bit ramshackle little house at the back of what clearly once had been a blooming farm garden. It looked as if someone had set fire to one corner while smoking out the bees. The damage wasn't too big though, and I could understand why no-one had repaired it, certainly if it had happened when Chris was on his own.

"I hope no skunks have build a nest inside!" I joked, carefully trying to open the door. "Do you have the key with you?" I wondered why someone would lock a beehive, but of course if you have all your hives in one stall, you also have all your honey in one place, which might attract a robber or two.

He got up from the sleigh and followed her, "The farm was part of the bunker, practically a test in self-sufficiency, the Army sold the farm to a civilian, but kept the bunker and the surrounding area unsuitable for farming. Now that nobody lives here, the place had run wild. I can remember that before the fever struck, certain people in the bunker actuially tended the crops and hives. But after the fever we started to steer clear from things that we could not really cook in a meal."

He watched her try the door, "There's only bees in there and since I've run out of allergy tablets, I prefer to stay far away from the bees and let them do their thing. Those hives would most likely be overflowing with honey. After you have rested a bit and you know how to handle bees, I will give you the key." A bee buzzed passed his head, "But right now, I have meat to get into pieces and into the deep freezer." He turned and took hold of the sleigh's handles, it was a bit unwieldy with the extra weight, but soon enough the sleigh gave in and started to move.

So they had suffered from a fever which had made them afraid to eat things which hadn't been boiled. It must have been a bad fever, and I wondered how many of the bunker-people hadn't survived it.

Even my careful handling of the door had stirred up some bees and out off the hole in the corner a few bees flew out. I smiled. The buzzing of a bee is such a sunny sound.

"Hello," I whispered, "don't fly around to much, only the cherry-tree is blooming." I wondered why they had flown out off that hole, and a quick inspection showed me the flight-holes were closed off with a small piece of colored wood. I opened them as fast as I could -Chris was already tugging at the sleigh- but since he hadn't shown much interest in the bees -he even seemed to be a bit afraid of them, he had run out off allergy pills he said, which might mean he had a reason to be afraid off them- I wondered if the flight-holes had been closed for a lot longer than just the last winter.

I turned and followed Chris after a last look at the surroundings. The people who lived here must have loved it. It had belonged to the Army, Chris had said. I never had connected the Army with farms and bees. My father and some of his people had told me about some encounters with Army people they had had, and other people sometimes made remarks about the Army, and all of it together made me decide the Army was a useless piece of excrement a long time ago. Slowly I ran my fingers over the bark of an apple tree.

I was very glad Chris' people had found this bunker and figured out how to enter. I wouldn't be surprised if the fever Chris had talked about was a trap the army had set for trespassers. Or maybe the fever had killed off all the Army people. Or almost all army people. Anyhow, I didn't matter anymore, the Army was no threat any longer here. I wondered if they had enslaved Chris' people, like they had wanted to do with my father and his friends.

My fingers had reached a low hanging branch. It hung too low, in too odd an angle. Close to the stem the branch had been partially broken a long time ago. With a loud snap I broke it of completely. A few green twigs grew on the mostly dead wood, and with a content smile I broke them off and bound them with one of the straps on my belt beside the pheasant. They would smell lovely in a day or three when the new leafs budded, and in a few weeks they would bloom. The bunker would lose some of it strange smells.

With quick strides I followed Chris and the sleigh. I hadn't lost much time on him, but enough that he had to maneuver the loaded sleigh downhill on his own. The return of a strange rustling way back in the wheat made me turn my head. For a stretch of a few meters the stalks moved, then it stopped again, only to start again after a few seconds. I really missed Herta. She would have told me if I had to be careful. Too bad I hadn't taken her with me this time, but her time to whelp had been to close.

Chris had been alone for too long, I thought. One of my people would have noted I wasn't following and would have waited. No use in going out together if you didn't help each other and didn't take care of each other. Chris gave me water, told me to sit down, but I had a feeling he didn't see me as an asset. I had been watching his back -literally too- both on the walk to my campsite and to here, and again now I watched out while he pulled the sleigh. I had talked about what to do with deer, and now he just wanted to freeze all the meat. If the freezer broke, all would go to waste.

Something brown broke out off the wheat. Too far away, and to quick to make out what it exactly was, it was too small and brown to be a saber, it could be a bear cub, it moved kind of unsteady, but as it had run a few meters along the track we had used about half an hour ago, I saw it was a wolf or a dog of some kind. I knocked an arrow and whistled. Out off the corner of my eye I saw Chris looking my way, and the brown form halted a moment, and then ran straight towards me.

"Herta?" Unbelieving my eyes I dropped my bow and ran the last meters towards her.

Chris Evans

I was aware of Eydis, she moved around like somebody on a nature walk, I started to wonder if anything actually got done with efficiency where she came from. We tracked her movements for her precious bottle, then she gave it up mid-way, she was now talking to bees and collecting apple tree twigs. I shook my head, the meat had to get processed and frozen, it would last for a while, but there was still much to do outside the bunker. Eydis whistled, slightly irritated I looked at her, but she was looking in front of us, her bow drawn and ready to fire.

I saw the movement of the creature, instinct kicked in before I could even think about what I saw. In a fluid motion, the rein of the sleigh fell from my hands and the SMG appeared at my shoulder, thumb selecting Burst, sighting down the sight, finger tensing on the trigger...and the Eydis ran into my line of fire.

"What the hell is wrong with..." I didn't finish the sentence as I realized that it was a dog. Warily I started to scan the surroundings, if the dog was here, most likely there would be company and company was never a good thing.

"Nothing is wrong with her. She is in labor." I told Chris, wrapping my arms around Herta, I had felt muscle tractions rippling through her abdomen.

Scolding her softly, I lifted her up in my arms and maneuvered her chest on my shoulder, the only way I could carry good fifty-five kilos of dog. She yelped softly.

"I know it is uncomfortable, but walking would be worse, you know that," I told her under my breath. Around fifty meters separated me from Chris and the sleigh. He just watched me. It must look hilarious, me carrying a dog only around twenty-five kilos lighter than I was.

Step after a step I made it to the sleigh and put Herta on it. Chris protested. Herta only sniffed. A sleigh with meat on it wasn't that different from a travois with meat on it, and she had learned very young not to touch meat she hadn't hunted herself. I took my quiver off my shoulder and put it against the sleigh, then I took my vest off and made a bed for Herta.

"On here, Herta." Obediently she lay down on my vest while I told Chris she wouldn't touch the meat. I took a quick look below her tail and found things looking a bit peculiar for a bitch only just in labor.

"Did you whelp? You stupid bitch, did you whelp in the field, heard my voice and decided to look for me and leave the pup behind? Was it dead?" She wailed, but not because she understood me, she just responded to the loving tone in my voice and her pains.

I looked back at the field. Nothing moved, just the wind rustled the stalks evenly. Warily I undid the knots around the pheasant and the apple-twigs and put them on the sleigh.

"I have to take a look, Chris. If she whelped in the field, the pup won't have a change. And I think she has whelped because it was a strange irregularity in the change of movements once which made me look back at the field constantly. Cover me, please?" I don't know why I asked it, I was sure he wouldn't start pulling the sleigh back to the bunker.

Walking slowly at first, but making much longer strides than normally, I slowly picked up tempo and was running smoothly and fast after twenty meters.

The stalks broke with a loud crackle when I bursted into the field. Herta's track was easy to follow, she had followed the track Chris and I had made.

My eyes on the ground I ran for a few hundred meters, stopped dead, pulled my shirt over my head, wrapped the pup (a wonderful black male, yelping ever so softly when I picked it up and weighing a bit under a kilo) in it and bound the arms into a sling. I glanced at the edge of the woods, over the field around me, no yellowish back was visible, I slung the pup over my shoulders and turned back. I was getting out off breath, my legs hurt like hell, my side burned like fire, but I made it back to Chris almost as quickly as I had run out into the field.

"Water," I panted. He handed me the bottle while I unwrapped the pup and with a wet tip of my shirt I cleaned the pup's snout, trickled some water on Herta's snout and took a sip myself.

"Here little devil, now get comfortable beside your mom."

I walked back to pick my bow up. Walking only moderately fast felt good on my legs, my breath steadied and my side had stopped burning when I reached the sleigh again. Quickly I donned my quiver and my bow, and took one of the reins of the sleigh in my hand.

"Lets get them inside." I fixed my eyes on the three low hills in the distance, under the middle one was the bunker.

"I am sorry, Chris, I won't be able to travel with three or four newborn pups and a recovering mom. I have to ask for your hospitality for a few weeks. I'll help you hunt, and plow and clean and whatever else is needed, and I'll let you choose the pup you like best." I sighed, tried to put the sleigh in motion. Chris was still just looking at me like I was the weirdest thing he had ever seen.

"Stupid bitch. She has pulled a stunt like this once before, I had to leave her at home while I went on a hunt because she had injured her leg. My youngest brother asked her a few times if she missed me on the first day, and on the second day he said -when he found her sniffing at what he supposed was my track- "Where is Eydis, Herta, where is Eydis?" and off she took."

I watched it all happen and not for the first time what was wrong with her, oh she showed much love for the animals and plants around her, but sometimes it seemed like she acted before she thought. I slid the SMG back into position, behind my back, "I will really make a bad dog owner, I picked up the remaining rein and then took the other one from her, "I can handle it. Let's go." Of course the fact that the dog would not eat the meat was not the thing that bothered me. I had no idea through which contagions the dog have traveled and if those contagions got in the meat...

Well some things just couldn't be helped, I pulled on the reins and the sleigh started moving again, it only struck me now that even though we lived in the same area, it also seemed like we lived worlds apart from each other. Pondering this thought I kept my eyes on our surroundings, perhaps I should start to understand that she had her way of doing things and didn't quite know how I operated. Of course being alone for so long now, I had to understand as well that I needed to adapt to having another person around.

Only problem was that when she and her dogs were ready, they would just move on and most likely return to harvest the natural resources here for themselves since I could not use all of it. What if they decided that they wanted to get in to the bunker and take it for themselves? Well...that will never happen. It was my home and my home alone.

I had to take a little jump to prevent the runner gliding over my foot since Chris pulled with such force the sleigh almost leapt into motion. Of course it helped the terrain sloped downhill slightly and Chris being stronger and not still recovering from a bad tummy like I was, worked in his hands as well.

He would be a bad dog-owner? Why?

"Did you have a dog when you were little and it got killed?"

The sleigh moved on past me. Herta looked up at me, and licked her pup. I sighed. I felt the adrenalin leaving my body and shivered. I had to keep moving otherwise I would want to sit down. The breast-band wasn't enough clothing on my chest to keep me warm. I walked on behind the sleigh.

After a few moments it came to my mind I would need to build a box for the pups, and I would need hay or straw to make a bed in it. Straw was still on the field. A small stripe along the path looked like it had been plowed and harvested more often than the rest of the field, there were much less grasses and flowers growing in it than everywhere else, but it hadn't been harvested last autumn.

I wondered how long Chris was on his own, and how much work he had to do inside the bunker. It was clean inside. Very clean, and it was a very big place. Pondering these questions I pulled my loincloth out off my leggings. I was very grateful I took it off five days ago when the cramps started. Bad enough Chris had to launder my leggings -which was brown and which I had cleaned at the spring and on the morning in the field- but thinking of how my loincloth would have looked had I kept it on, made me shiver with embarrassment. Quickly I folded it double and bound two straps around the ends. It now was a kind of hammock like sack swinging at my side in which I could gather straw.

I had to be quick though, Chris already was almost at the end of the field. As fast as I could I cut bundles of straw and bound an improvised band, which I made from more straw, around them.

Jogging I caught up with the sleigh. Herta looked fine, was giving birth to a second pup. The path was rising slowly now and it looked like Chris was straining a bit at keeping the pace he had set out with. Should I, or should I not? I did.

A bit behind his hands I gathered both the reins in one hand and pulled with just enough force to ease his burden somewhat.

"I have to keep warm." I glanced back. "This one is checkered!" I announced. "Brownish and white, I think."

The bunker looked much closer already. It would still take us around twenty minutes to arrive at the door though.

Time enough to tell Chris a bit about my family. Herta would love to hear my voice, and maybe it would have a calming effect on Chris as well. Somehow he made a bit a skittish impression on me. Like a half wild dog. Like if he had bad experiences with people.

In a soft voice I told him how my mom and Irene had met Frank, how they had spent most of the first two dark years on a farm and how they escaped the fire which burned the farm and the barn down. I told him how they then encountered nan and her grandson Peter who where fleeing from scavengers who had taken over their cottage. Peter was fifteen at the time, nan fifty-five. I told him nan had died three years ago.

"None of them new where to go to," I continued my family's history, "only Peter had a vague idea of finding a safe spot in the Crater Wildlife Sanctuary. And so they traveled west. The few belongings the scavengers had allowed nan and Peter to pack into a wheelbarrow, found a place on the cart, the wheelbarrow too and nan took care of the kids. Frank and Peter hunted, my mom and Irene drove the cart and looked after the cow. A day or five on the way they butchered the calf. Meat for them and more milk for all. Late in the autumn they arrived at a village. With loads of corn they had gathered from a field. They spent the winter at that village, mom and Irene gave birth, and soon after that they left. Without the cow. That the villagers kept as payment for the food and care my family had 'consumed' despite Frank, Peter and nan working their asses off, the load of corn they had brought and the horse and cart being put to use for hauling in wood."

After a deep sigh and a shiver -I was getting cold and talking would help me cover the last part of our way- I looked around. We were almost there.

"Here one sees this is a crater. The wall is much steeper on the inside too. On our side of it is just a faintly curved range of hills with gentle slopes. And forest and prairie and some farmland. Of the farms in the sanctuary only Parker's is in use still. Theirs was the biggest, the ranger's station was beside it too, and a small restaurant/hostel and when everyone ran out off gas some of the other farmers moved there.

Parker's is almost as far from our home as your place is.

Oh! Chris look, the last pup is almost white everywhere!"

I listened to her as she spoke, it seemed more like she used her soothing tone directed towards the dog, while telling me more about herself. Of course the fact that she intended to help to keep warm and the slight tremor in her voice told me that she was getting cold, despite the warming temperature. I came to a pause and looked back at the growing dog family on the back of the sleigh, "No I never had a dog, but I saw the impact the death of them had on people and though I'd be able to look after them, that kind of attachment will only hurt me and I have had enough hurt in my life."

I unbuttonned my jacket and slipped it off, revealing the ugly scar on my arm, the dog-tags and the olive vest underneath. Holding the jacket out to her, "I know it's only a short while, but it should help." Picking up the reigns again, I waited for her to accept or reject the jacket and then pulled the sleigh into motion once more.

I was still thinking about "I saw the impact the death of them had on people and though I'd be able to look after them, that kind of attachment will only hurt me and I have had enough hurt in my life," when he took his jacket off and offered it to me.

"Thank you very much. It certainly will help, I burnt way too much calories before," I smiled while I slipped my arms in the sleeves and closed the buttons. The jacket was way too big on me but it smelled very nice and felt nice too. It felt warm, and smelled just like him. A new shiver ran over my spine, from feeling warm this time.

"If you hurt before, maybe it is time for some fun now," I said softer than before, falling in pace with him again. Walking two paces behind him, I enjoyed watching his muscles move under his skin. He had a scar on his arm. It was an old scar, it had healed well and it didn't seem to bother him with the use of his arm. Carefully I reached out and touched the scar with my fingertips for a moment. His skin felt smooth and warm.

"That wasn't a hunting accident. It has healed well," was all I said. The path stopped rising and I stopped pulling. Two fast steps brought me to his side. Silently we walked the last fifty meters over flat ground before he opened the door. I cringed my nose, the air meeting us smelled so different from the fresh air outside. Well, Herta and the pups would soon change that, and two people living inside would help too.

"I'll build a pen with the shelves in my room, if I may take them down. For the moment that will be enough to keep the pups in. In a day or two they need something sturdier to keep them in, if they are like their mom," I grinned and gathered the three pups in my shirt. "Do you have a bucket I can soak my shirt in for a while? I am afraid it needs to be washed again, just like my vest. I don't usually dirty my clothes that much that they need to be washed every day though."

I patted Herta on her head and caressed her flank.

"Is there still one in there, or are you done? Anyway, time to take a few passes, old girl," I smiled. "Follow me. Chris, I'll be with you in ten minutes, but then I need some of yesterday's broth for Herta first, please, and you need breakfast before we start cutting up the meat, and I too. I know you lost time by walking around with me, but we got a nice pheasant, and from now on you'll get ahead of today's schedule."

Herta needed a few moments to sniff here and there, and a few more inside my room while I improvised a pen in the corner the shelves were -I just pulled the little table more to the middle of the room and wedged two shelves between the legs, and I pulled the lazy chair a bit to side to block one end of one shelf- with half of the straw I made a bed inside and put the pups in it.

The little yelps they made got a demanding tone and obediently Herta stepped over the barrier. She made herself comfortable on the nest, and the pups started to fight for the best teat. One boy and two girls. I hoped they would turn out to be as good hunting and guard dogs as their mom and dad were.

With a sigh I looked at my shirt.

Her sudden touch on my scar sent a light shock through me, like static, of course her statement needed no answer as it wasn't a question. As the ground levelled, she let go of the reins and fell into step next to me. The silence was one of those safe ones, you knew that the other was there and no talking was needed, after I had unlocked the door, she went into her ballistic stage again and I just watched her in bewilderment as she made off with the puppies and the dog. Shaking my head, I dragged the sleigh into the room next to the opening, hooking the carcass onto the line, I pushed the button and watched as the meat got transported to the processing area. Going first to the storage room, I got two dog bowls, then going to the kitchen, I filled one with water and the other with left overs. I carried it all to Eydis' room, I found her dressed in my jacket and her leggings, staring at her shirt, "Here." I handed her the two bowls, watching as she placed it down for the dog. "I think a bucket won't be necesarry, come along." I led the way down the corridor and pushed open the second to last door, it was the laundry room, six industrial washing machines and two dryers stood against one wall and the other wall held wash basins.

"I think the basins will work much better to soak your shirt in." I turned to look at her, pausing as she had that "exploration" look on her face as she looked at everything. I waited for her to look back at me, before I continiued, "If you wish, we can clean out a kennel for Herta and the puppies."

Only a few hours ago I had wondered what more marvels there were here to discover and now I stood in a room filled with machines to do laundry with!

Chris had brought water and food for Herta, in bowls on which in very neat letters was printed "dog". I wondered if there were smaller bowls with "cat" printed on them, and still smaller bowls with "bird" or "mouse" printed on them. The bunker people sure had a hang to label everything. Even this room was labeled on the outside, a small plaque beside the door said "laundry room".

"I think the basins will work much better to soak your shirt in." Chris told me. I nodded. They would be. My thoughts turned back to the labels and the room I was in now.

The labels were strange, if you lived here, you would know what room was for which purpose, wouldn't you? Even beside the door of the room Chris had put my things in, was a small plaque saying "staff" and an empty space beneath it in which one could slide a piece of paper. I saw no need to label rooms. You would know who lived in what room, wouldn't you, if you lived here? I didn't know in which room Chris slept yet though, and I wondered if I would find his name beside a door. Would that mean beside my door would appear "Eydis, Herta and pups"?

I supposed the machines here were used for what they were intended to, and not for storage like my father's people did. Six very big machines to do laundry in, and two even bigger machines I had no idea what they were used for. Six big basins along one side. A broad work top along the length of last wall, with a neat row of neatly fitting metal boxes on rolls underneath it. The boxes were labeled too: "Dirty Laundry" and "Laundry". Above the work top were shelfs. On it stood a few irons. Big irons. And so different from the ones my father's blacksmith made. These had cords with plugs at the end and a wheel with an arrow on it, and beside the wheel on the iron was written something under he handle, those had a lid under the handle which you could open to put hot coals inside the iron.

The whole room smelled like my clothes had smelled when Chris handed them to me this morning but even stronger: very pungently pine and very sharp soapy. On a big shelf stood containers and canisters. "Detergent 90", "Detergent 60", "Detergent 40", Detergent 20", "Bleach", "Softener", "Stains Remover" and "Anti Bacterial". On some something was written in much smaller letters too. Especially on the "Stains Remover" and "Anti Bacterial". This was so different from our laundry room! Laundry rooms, actually, we had an indoor and an outdoor one.

My eyes wide open I looked at Chris.

"We have and indoor and an outdoor laundry room," I told him before I could stop myself. I had now idea why I felt the need to tell him this, and I had no idea why I wished I hadn't told him.

"If you wish, we can clean out a kennel for Herta and the puppies."


My brain went in overdrive. Were kennels something like pens? Didn't he want the dogs in my room? Didn't he want them inside? Where were the kennels?

"For the next few days at least I would like to keep them in my room, if you don't mind, but after that it would be a good idea to have the pups in a kennel, when we take Herta hunting, if a kennel is a pen, a stall? Where are they?"

Not waiting for an answer, I walked over to the basins and found a stopper above each basin. I put my shirt on the bottom, rolled the sleeves of Chris' jacket which I still wore, put stopper in the drain, opened the blue faucet.

"Should I put some drops of that "Stain Remover" in to get rid of the blood while it soaks?" I pointed to the big bottle. "Does "Bleach" do the same as the sun? Does it whiten white and lighten colors?"

My stomach grumbled. I closed the faucet.

I barely had time to process her questions as she fired them off, I wondered if I'll ever get used to it. "The kennels is outside, I will take you later on to go see. The kennels is a large enclosure, made out of chain-link fence. There is a sleeping area with insulated rubber and a wool blanket, two bowls, bothe self-feeding. One for water and one for food." After my brother had passed I had found that it became easier to live in silence, all this talking was giving me a headache.

"You can use stain remover or let it soak in the washing soap, both will do the trick and yes the bleach does whiten whites and wash or fade away other colors." I watched her with mild amusement, wondering when the next barrage of words would hit me. "If you want I can prepare breakfast, we can have the quail for dinner. I also need to get the left-overs in a fridge and get to the deer." I turned away and paused, "Perhaps see if there's a shirt that might fit you."

A shirt which would fit me? The kennels were outside? It wouldn't matter if we locked the pups in when we went hunting or worked in the field, but I didn't like the idea of having Herta and the pups that far away from me during the rest of the day, or during the night. I went to the shelf, took the container "Stain Remover".

"I left the coveralls in the bathroom this morning," I said, "I'll get them, you don't need to lent me more clothes," I was a bit embarrassed. He seemed to change clothes much more often than I was used to do. Everything he wore today had smelled very clean when he undid my restraints this morning. Better to talk about something else.

"At home the kennel is beside my house," I explained, upgrading the small pen I sometimes had a few chickens in, or a few rabbits. Or a few not housebroken pups when I had to do something which would keep my attention from them. "There I would hear it if there was a problem during the night. If your kennels are outside, I would feel a bit worried during the night, but it would be ideal to put the pups in when we work outside."

I coughed, wrinkled my nose, squinted my eyes shut and held the container, which I had opened a bit absentmindedly to sniff at the content, as far from my nose as I could while I closed it again. Tears formed in my eyes when I looked at Chris.

I shuddered.

"Are you sure this has not gone bad?" The expression on his face seemed to indicate the stuff was perfectly okay, but I wasn't quite sure. It seemed he was doing as bad a job of keeping a straight face as I when my youngest brother had wanted to try the pig slobs at the age of three. He never tried it again. I would never sniff at these containers again.

"It smells awful," I defended myself while I blinked my eyes. I dithered if I should pour some in with my shirt. Tentatively I opened the can again, my head turned to the side. The smell still hit my nose before I had decided if I really wanted this stench on my shirt. Somehow I felt like three, and not like twenty-two when I poured some in the basin with my shirt.

"I am not sure if I will be able to appreciate breakfast after this," I complained, "but I am hungry!" Quickly I put the container back.

"I'll help you with breakfast, and the rest. That way I'll learn what is where the quickest. The pheasant will need some time in the earth oven, and I need some clay to wrap around it after I gutted it and plucked the feathers. It will be wonderful juicy that way." I walked over to where he was waiting for me in the door. "I could leave the feathers on, but these have really nice colors. Maybe I'll sew some on my vest. At the back. They won't stay on long, but it looks nice for as long as they last."

I looked at her in amazement, first she acted like the kennels was in another building, then she didn't want to use the stain remover because it smelled "awful" but dumped some into the water anyway. Next she wanted to sew feathers into her leather jacket, bake the pheasant in what sounded like the ground and covered in mud...yeah...OK right, I have heard about the mud part, apparently it acted like a steamer, keeping the juices inside and baking the bird to a tender juicy meal.

"OK let's get some eggs, bacon and bread into you, then you can explain this oven of yours, or we could use mine." I turned and walked down the hallway to the kitchen, of course waiting for her to catch up, "Then I'll show you the kennels, they are part of the building and if you wish, we can move you to the kennel master's lodging, that way you will be with them when they sleep and be able to see them when you wake." We came to the kitchen and I paused to get the eggs (which I have collected from the coop...yes the bunker is THAT self-sufficient) and bacon (home or is that bunker-made) and the bread, I cut off four slices of the heavy bread and placed it back into the fridge, then fired up a pan to bake the eggs and fry the bacon.

"I saw you get a strange look in your eyes when I mentioned the Army earlier on. You have bad memories about them?"

The food smelled like food and looked really appetizing when Chris cooked.

My mind went back to the kennels. Ambling along behind him, I had ben too busy wiping my eyes and wondering if he had frozen eggs and how old they would be. The one time my eldest sister tried to freeze eggs in the ice-hole, the shells bursted. The kennels were inside. That was good. There was a room close by. That was good too. But we would look at it later, after breakfast, and after the deer was butchered and the pheasant cleaned.

I took plates, glasses, mugs and cutlery out off the cupboards and drawer, and I found the honey and sugar beside the coffee and teas in an other cupboard. I stacked it all on a pile. Then I saw a stack of trays on a commode beside the door and got one.

"I saw you get a strange look in your eyes when I mentioned the Army earlier on. You have bad memories about them?"

Arranging the plates and stuff on the tray, I found it too small, and went to get another one.

"Not I, if you don't count the trouble Parker's had with the so called Salvation Army last summer, but my father and his people got in a bad fight with true Army people 23 years ago. They only wanted to cross a piece of land and got under attack despite them waving a white flag and offering to negotiate a toll. They lost eight during the fight, five got wounded badly, one of them died when they fled, and two died when they had reached us. Or when they reached my people because I was still an egg and a sperm then." I chuckled a moment.

"They had pressed two female Army people who had been hiding from the fight in their back into helping to carry the wounded through the forrest and over the hills. They didn't need much pressure though, Laura and Danny were glad to accompany them since they hadn't wanted to be in the Army at all. They were very young girls who had fled to a bunker with their parents, who were Army people. Laura and Danny never talk about the Army, only if my father or one of his friends curses the Army they add a few of their own. The Army and that bunker must have been a really bad place," I sighed deep. "My uncle was one of the wounded, and Frank had to cut his right hand off, the fingers were an ugly festering mess. The other survivor limped as long as he lived."

I listened to her, almost burning the bacon. There was people out there masquerading as my family? That just wouldn't do. But like she said, it happened 25 years ago, perhaps that group didn't exist anymore. What was this Salvation Army she spoke of? As far as things went, she was the only person outside of the bunker that I've seen for about six years. I took the bacon and eggs out of the pan and placed them in the plates. After switching off the plate, I arranged my eggs on the slices of bread, switched on the kettle and got out two cups, one for her tea and one for my coffee.

"Not all Army personel is like that." I fingered the dog-tags around my neck, "I have been born and raised in the strict, disciplinarian environment, but never have we ever attacked anybody who did not attack first." On recollection, there wasn't any time that I could recall us ever having to defend ourselves. I looked at the tray and gave a smile, "Once the water boils, I'll carry that, it is a bit laden at the moment."

"Not all Army personel is like that."I have been born and raised in the strict, disciplinarian environment, but never have we ever attacked anybody who did not attack first."

I nodded, although a bit hesitantly. My stomach rumbled. The food smelled devine.

"I am sure your army is different. The elder members of my family told me so many people usurped positions they weren't entitled to in the first years, it is a wonder there are free people at all. The Salvation Army is one of them, I think. We didn't talk about them much after we had finished with them, but one of Parker's people made a strange remark, along the lines the salvation army only saved souls before the Big Blast and not farms and food."

He had played a few seconds with the strange rectangular pendants he wore on a sturdy chain when he told me not all Army personnel was the same. I wondered why, what they meant to him. It seemed something was written on them, but since they hung behind the seam of his shirt most of the time, I wasn't sure.

I almost moaned when Chris slid the eggs and bacon on the thick bread slices. It was warm inside and even warmer in the kitchen. I opened the jacket I still wore a bit.

"Once the water boils, I'll carry that, it is a bit laden at the moment," he nodded at the tray with the plates. It was quite full.

"Okay," I smiled and took the two glass pitchers I had found, filled them with water and placed them on the tray with the glasses, the honey and sugar. "Are the twigs still on the sleigh?"

Absentmindedly -he was studying the teas, and quickly I pointed to the satchels I had laid on the tray already balancing on my left hand- he indicated they were.

"Great," I smiled. "The same table as yesterday? Yes? See you there in a minute or two then."

I set the table, one pitcher in the middle, one a bit to the side, poured water in the glasses and drained most of one, then I took Chris' jacket off and hung it on a chair. Within two minutes I was back with the apple tree twigs and arranged them in the pitcher on the side, just when Chris came out the kitchen, steaming plates and mugs on the tray.

Before I sat down, I pulled a chair out for him.

I poured the water into the mugs, placed them on the tray and walked into the common area, once more aware of how many weapons lay around. I placed the tray down and took the seat she had pulled out for me. "Thank you." I rested my elbows on the table, "This Salvation Army, they used to be a non-profit organization who held food kitchens, clothes drives, charity auctions and all of that to help poor people." I placed my hands on the table, palms down, "There is no other Army, there is just one. If those people had attacked your folks and wore the colors and used the weapons they had either gone off the reservation, stole it or even worse..." I took a deep breath

"Or they have control of a bunker and are not Army at all." I looked at her then, "One thing I can not condone, is what they did, the fact that it had happened so long ago only makes it so much worse. All those years back we still had structure, we still had control, there was command and communications with the others. So I fear that if they have survived all these years, those stores might be running empty and they might be moving on, looking for a new bunker or even other resources...like your family."

I hung a sachet in my mug and looked at the color slowly spreading off of it. Some light brown twirls, getting thicker and darker by the second. I had chosen "breakfast tea" it seemed appropriate, but now I wondered if it was still okay. I had never seen tea getting such a strong color. It smelled nice though.

Chris talked about the salvation army. It seemed very important to him I understood he was no part of it, that his army was no part of it, and that his people hadn't attacked my father's group all those years ago. I wondered why, he was only a small child then and he wouldn't have been a part of the fighting force surely, so I wouldn't held him responsible for what happened.

I listened carefully.

"I don't know if they had access to a bunker, they only had a few guns, and almost no ammunition. As soon as we arrived, and some of my father's fighters, we were able to deal with them easy enough. No casualties on our side, a few wounded at Parker's but most of the attackers dead because of course we attacked their back. We were too late to save the fields Parker's hadn't harvested yet, though. They had burned them, when Parker's refused to hand the farm over to them." I looked at Chris, pointed at my now deep dark-brown tea.

"Is that alright? It looks almost like your coffee, but the smell is completely different. It smells nice," I assured him, "and the food smells delicious. Thank you for cooking."

I scooped some egg on my fork and tasted it.

"Very nice indeed, these eggs, they taste very fresh," I told him after I had emptied my mouth. "Not at all like the ones my sister froze once."

"Those salvation army suckers wore all kinds of clothes. Mostly old and ragged. I, we, think they were just a marauding band. Just one of those groups wanting to profit from other people's work. We don't get much of those, word has spread we defend ourselves, my family, my father's group and Parker's and that we help each other."

Another forkful entered my mouth. Now with bacon.

"Wonderful!" I complimented, swallowing the last bit in my mouth.

"They surely had run out off supplies. I don't think they were able to find much on the way to us. We did a scavenging tour about eight years ago, and decided it wasn't worth the risk anymore. It took us five days on horseback to reach an abandoned city with a mall, and we found only some towels, books, paper and pencils and such. Nothing edible, no seeds, no clothes worth taking."

Now I tried the breath. It tasted nice, but it could have used a bit more time to rise, it was quite compact.

"I don't know if there is just one army though, Chris. I have heard about an army city far east, and they are quite despotic it seems. We had some people who fled from them staying over winter two years ago. Now a tale told by someone who fled from somewhere for whatever reason will be tainted, but still. Those people left us too and who knows what they tell about us. We have heard other stories about other army groups too. Most were not very pleasant to listen too."

"I think they're more militants than Army, I just can't think that even under Martial Law, they would act that way." He nodded at her remarks about the food, "The eggs are fresh, there's a chicken coup on the other side of the building, unfortunately no cows or goats, so I don't have milk, butter or cheese, but I make do with what I have. The grain I manage to get is enough for the chickens and for me."

I ate my food and took a sip of my coffee, "That tea is supposed to look like that, I'm not much of a tea-drinker myself, but my brother drank that stuff each morning. Also since most of it is kept in cold-storage, in air-tight containers, so it should last long and that's kind of fresh. Nobody drank of it since my brother passed away." I took a bite of food and chewed slowly, thinking back

What was martial law? I shook my head and forked more eggs into my mouth. I knew what militants were, that were aggressive people. And yes, that description fitted the salvation army like a glove.

I perked my ears when Chris said he didn't have goats or cows. We had enough goats. I couldn't make him an offer though, because he felt silent after he told my tea was supposed to look like it did, and about how his brother liked it.

Quietly I took the sachet out off my tea, and took a sip. My, was that bitter! In a good way though, but it needed some honey to take the edge off the bitterness. Maybe I had left the sachet in too long? I added two spoons full of honey and stirred. Took another sip and smiled.

"Like this it tastes wonderful," I said softly, "kind of uplifting ..." I took another sip and looked at him. It seemed his thoughts were somewhere else. In silence we ate, I with more zeal than he for a while, until, after a little while in which I had put another spoonful of honey in my tea and drunk half, he seemed to relax and ate with more taste again.

"Our billy-goats have been busy already," I said softly, "I could talk with my people and we could give you a good nanny goat, maybe two, as a thank you and in return for the food Herta is going to eat. What happened to your brother, did he get the fever you talked about earlier? We lost three of our little ones to measles a five years ago."

"He went out hunting." I took a sip of my coffee, "He hunted like you did, with a bow and arrow. Said that it was the stalking, tracking and challenge of hunting like that which made it worth his while." I looked at her and then down at my food. "He shot a buck, but as he was slaughtering it, a bear decided that it was his buck. Like an idiot he took the bear on with nothing more than a bow and a skinning knife. He made it to the bunker, died just inside the door in my arms."

I took a deep breath, "That was three years ago. Been alone ever since. You're the first person I have seen since then." I finished my food, stacked the plates and carried it all to the kitchen, I returned and got my mug, motioning for her to follow. "I will appreciate the goat, I really miss having milk to drink, I still have lots of powdered milk, but the taste just isn't the same." I pushed open the door to the butchery and led the way inside, the air was cool, the floor tiled with white tiles, the basins, cabinets and shelves all in stainless steel. The ceiling bristled with hooks and railings, I placed my mug aside after taking a swallow and drew a knife from the magnetic holder on the wall.

"Well, let's get the cuts sorted and then get some dried and the rest into a freezer." I lifted the carcass from the hooks and placed it on the stainless steel table with the drain holes. I then started to cut out the back muscles

Stunned I sat at the table, watched Chris clear it.

Three years he had be alone. Here, in this enormous place under the ground. I slumped back on my chair and let my eyes wander the place. It showed. Everything was clean, but weapons lay on almost every table, some chairs were stacked in a corner, some were pushed under tables.

Only this table had a friendlier look, a dinner-table look. The others looked like work benches. Or display counters in arsenals.

Chris' handwave woke me up. Silently I got to my feet and followed him. I was lost for words. His backside distracted me somewhat from the somber thoughts I had.

The room he led me to, distracted me even more. Such an enormous wealth was shown here, once more I wondered why the people who build this place used so much metal. Wood would have been so much cheaper for the cabinets, table, worktops and everything else. Only the floor and the ceiling wasn't made out off metal. And a few spots on the walls. It was cold in here, much colder than in the commons or my room. I shivered. I was still wearing only my breast-band and my leggings.

Metal was much more durable than wood though, but still, all this shiny, gleaming metal was worth more than a few cows. Milk!

"Chris, powdered milk? How does one make that? We make as much cheese as we are able to, every time we butcher a young bull calf, and sometimes we dry it and then grate it, one could call that powdered milk, but ..." I shuddered. It would taste awful mixed in water.

He had taken a knife from a metal sheet at the wall, but not from a hook. It looked like it hovered against the sheet out off its own free will. I carefully tipped against one of the other knives, counting them as I tried to figure out why they stayed where they where.

23 knives. Big ones, small ones, thin, lean ones, broad ones. And then there were hatchets. Six. Also in different sizes. The knife I tipped against wobbled a bit under my finger. Afraid it would fall down, I pressed my finger against it. It moved, slid sideways a bit and the handle moved a bit away from the sheet and the blade moved closer.

I released the pressure a bit, and the handle moved back with a soft thud. The knife stayed in its new position. I moved it a bit farther. It stayed. I was baffled. I carefully moved the other knives and hatchets around a bit, and they all stayed in the new position I had put them in. I put all the hatchets in a line low on the sheet, their backs up. With the knives I made two stars above the line, one inside the other. They all stayed were I had put them. I stepped back, and looked at my work.

"The whole sheet is a magnet! Chris, the whole sheet is a magnet!"

I continued to work, I had read about the ways to preserve milk somewhere, but not a lot of it had sunk it to be remembered, "Well I don't know how to make it, all I can tell you is that extreme cold or extreme heat is the best ways, the heat one tends to make the powdered milk taste cooked." I looked up, "As can be expected if you're taking into effect that you're using heat..." I trailed off as I watched her arranging the knives on the magnetic strip. Not that I was astounded by what she did, more the fact that she wore basically pants and a bra inside a cooler room and of course she had a nice back, it even had a few scars, but still it looked nice. Then she stood back and looked at me with this incredulous expression on her face.

"The whole sheet is a magnet! Chris, the whole sheet is a magnet!"

"Yes, it is indeed, the whole idea is for the knives to stay in place, so that you don't have to go looking for them in a drawer and that you could see if the blades are clean. It's also easier to take them from the wall than from a knife holder." I motioned to her clothing with my knife, "Perhaps you'd like to get the overall? We're going to be here for a while."

His explanation was logical. But the fortune the people who build this place had spent, it left me breathless.

"Perhaps you'd like to get the overall? We're going to be here for a while." Chris pointed at me with his knife. I didn't feel cold now though, with the adrenalin rush from discovering this enormous magnet. But I knew I would as soon as I calmed down. And then the cold would hit me even harder. So I just nodded and went to the bathroom where I had left it earlier this morning and changed.

"I don't know how to make it, all I can tell you is that extreme cold or extreme heat is the best ways, the heat one tends to make the powdered milk taste cooked." Chris had said when I played with the magnet and the knives. Did that mean they cooked the milk until all the liquid in it had evaporated? That would work, but it would take an awful long time, a lot of energy and someone would have to stir it al the time.

I knotted my belt over the coverall, grabbed my leggings and my moccasins and dropped them on my bed on the way back and looked in at Herta and her pups. They were asleep. All three of them, Herta only twitched an ear when I bend over to take a close look. It meant she was exhausted, but also that she felt safe. Safe enough to get into a deep sleep.

"Herta and the pups are deep asleep," I told Chris when I entered the butchery again. "Shall I slice the meat you cut off in steaks, ragout and fine slices to dry? Would you want a few nice pieces to dry as a whole, with some herbs rubbed in? To cut up for cold meat?" I asked while I selected a long, thin knife and a short one. I needed a cutting board, and some bowls, so I just opened a few cupboards until I had found what I needed -even an enormous amount of plastic boxes in all sizes and rolls and rolls of plastic bags with paper covered metal bands to close them rolled in- and stacked it all on the worktop beside the table Chris was working at. In two goes, since I couldn't decide between boxes and bags. A few nice slabs of meat were already waiting for me to cut them up.

I picked one, and weighed it in my hand.

"Steaks, I think?" I asked. "I saw you don't wrap anything in leather or leaves, or straw yesterday when you showed me the freezer, so I took these," I waved at the boxes and the roll of bags. "Do you realize how wealthy you are?" I put the meat on the cutting board. Even that was made out off plastic. "It takes a lot of time to sand a slab of wood until it is smooth enough to be used a carving board. And then you have to mark them, otherwise you'll end up cutting meat on a board someone has cut garlic on, or onions. Or you'll cut vegetables for a baby's stew on a board someone has just cut peppers on. And then they'll crack and all the work you did to get it, is ruined."

I picked another piece of meat. It had quite some sinews in it.

"Stew," I announced and started to cut it in big chunks, which I put in one of the bowls on my table, leaving the sinews intact. "I'll scrape the meat off of those later," I said pointing at the longish cuts I put in another bowl. "Do you need the bones for buttons or something else, or could Herta gnaw on them?"

The next piece I took looked just right to dry as a whole, so I just put it in a bowl and picked the next piece from Chris' table.

"Jerky?" I asked and started to cut it up in the flimsiest stripes.

"I have been thinking about what you told about the milk powder. About how you think it is made. Much too impractical for us, I think. The time it would take until all the water in it has evaporated, all the time someone would have to stir it, the wood we would need for the fire, it isn't in a sound relation to the result of a handful of powder. Now if one could do it with hundreds of liters at once, that would be great. But we can't. We only have two cows in milk at the same time usually."