《The First Thirty Days》 Shower "One minute!" a stern voice echoed off the discolored tiles. The shower was a cobbled together oddity. Lukewarm water ran from a number of elevated black barrels outside. They were warmed by whatever sunlight could be absorbed through their dark plastic sides. Lengths of scavenged green garden hose ran through small holes that had been punched near the top of the wall to the unlit area inside. At the ends of the hoses there were wired tin cans with a few holes punched through the bottoms to disburse the water. They were hung from the framework of what had once been a suspended ceiling. Remnants of the textured white tiles were still scattered throughout the building. It wasn''t really built as a shower facility. He remembered that it had been the village elementary school. They had hung whatever they could find down the main hallway to make these little cubicles. Pieces of plastic tarps, corrugated metal, plywood or whatever other scraps they could salvage that would provide a modicum of privacy. There was even a long table top with a bit of graffiti. In black marker, two sets of initials surrounded by a heart. Another work detail was assigned the task of filling the barrels every morning. They were filled early every day. By the late afternoon, when all the details were allowed to stop working, the water would be tolerable. It just depended on whether the skies were overcast or clear. Or if there were winds that kept the smoke away...smoke from the fires that continued to burn across the countryside and that sometimes darkened the sky. But it was mid September now. In a few short weeks it would turn colder. The water was brought in buckets from a small stream that ran a few hundred feet away. One of their first assignments was to remove any corpses that were floating in the stream or that were found laying along its banks. It wasn''t only the bloating human bodies but those of animals also. They had managed to catch a large draft horse that had survived. They had nicknamed the horse "Fireball". They had been mildly reprimanded for their audaciousness. Using the horse they were able to drag the larger carcasses out of the stream. It was their nearest water source. They depended on it to supply the needs of all who in the vicinity had survived. Stolen novel; please report. They were allotted a strict five minutes for their lukewarm shower. Someone had managed to find a few bars of soap in the debris. They had been admonished to keep an eye out for more during their daily work assignment. The soap was shared by all and passed down the line. Unfortunately for him, he had been directed to the last stall that day. A shard of the remaining soap no bigger than a small coin was passed to him from the adjacent stall. It was not even enough to cleanse the stench from the inside of his nose. Maybe someone would discover more tomorrow. But he had something for that. He had discovered a small bottle of anise oil in the wreckage of one of the buildings that they were clearing. Later, in secret, he would dab a tiny bit on the end of his pinky finger and swab the inside of his nostrils. If it was discovered, it would be confiscated. He chuckled to himself thinking that the smell of licorice sure was better than the foulness of decomposing corpses. "Time!" the stern voice bawled. The water shut off immediately...only a few drops fell from the can. He turned lamely and reached for his soiled clothes that were laying on what once was a student''s desk. ..to be continued Jethro He dressed quickly. He had worn the same filthy clothes four days. Any clothing that was found or could be stripped off the dead were collected and parceled out as needed. He was given a pair of trousers with a broken zipper. They were too short and two sizes big in the waist. He had found some curtain cord that he tied as a belt and a rusty safety pin for the zipper. At least it kept his pants from falling off. He was given a tee shirt with an image of an owl on the front and the word "Hooters" in big letters. The double O''s made up the large eyes of the owl. He liked its mustard color. Strangely, there had not been found any socks yet so he slipped his bare feet into the boots that were given him. He thought that they must have been made with a synthetic material as it caused him a rash that itched constantly. But at least they were close to his size and protected his feet. The nicest item was a lightweight rain jacket. It had a hood and drawstring. It helped keep him warmer in the morning chill. Someone on clothes detail must have not searched the pockets. In one was an unopened package of "Juicy Fruit" chewing gum and in the other, one of those multi - functional tools with pliers, screwdriver, a blade and even a corkscrew. Written across the back were "Bob''s Texas Barbecue" and a phone number. He thought how good a plate of hot barbecue and cornbread would taste. And last he threw on his cap. It was one of those plastic mesh baseball caps that he used to see old men in Florida wear. On the front it said ¡°Lake Okeechobee". He smiled as he thought of one of the guys on his work detail who called him "Jethro". There was little spare time to slog back to where the evening "conclave" was held. It was not a good thing to be late to the "conclave". And if you missed, you didn''t eat. You could be punished in a variety of ways. It was at the whim of the "Seers". They were the group of men who directed the work and provided spiritual direction. He had always understood the word differently. It could be that your infraction was punished simply by being assigned to an unpleasant work detail. That''s what had happened to him and which got him placed on a burial team. He hoped that with good behavior that his sanction would be lifted. Or the punishment could be more severe. The "Seers" called it "amercement". It was just a formal term for a public flogging. He had only seen it inflicted once. The terrified boy was held by his arms and legs by four men and stretched across the hood of a burned out Volvo station wagon. The masked "castigator" stepped forward and gave a short announcement. He informed the crowd of the infraction, admonished them to take heed and then shouted, "Thus it shall be towards those who would hobble the work of the Lord!" With that he delivered ten brutal blows across the boy''s exposed backside with a length of black hydraulic hose. In his mind, he could still hear that boy scream in agony. He had to stifle the thought of garroting this masked punisher until his face shone purple. Other "Seers" were watching for aberrant expressions of those in the crowd. It was better to have a look on your face that conveyed your approval. Evidently the boy and a young girl had wandered off by themselves. They had been seen kissing in what used to be a park behind the village library. It became clear to him that everyone was being watched. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. He made his way towards the pavilion. He estimated that there might be an hour and a half before the sun set. He mentally calculated that it would take an hour for the "conclave"...depending on who of the "Seers" would give the address. Some were more zealous and long winded than others. Fifteen minutes to eat whatever had been prepared and enough time to get to his quarters in the remaining light. He picked his way carefully up the street. There was destruction and debris as far as he could see. It was a horrifying maze of uprooted trees, shattered power poles and electrical lines, toppled buildings, burned and crushed vehicles, blackened craters...some still emanating a wisp of smoke. It was the shards of glass and nails that he was most cautious of. He stepped carefully. Not far from the pavilion the village water tower lay across the street. Because of its height, the tank itself had smashed into the front of the building that housed the local appliance sales. The four large legs of the tower lay crumpled and twisted across the street. He thought it must have looked like a Star Wars heavy assault walker vehicle when it came down. He made his way cautiously under the tank. He knew it was unwise but it was the shortest path to take. As he passed what was the entrance to the appliance store, there lay the carcass of a dog. The flies had come and he could see their feasting progeny on the eyes and open mouth of this yellow dog. He paused and thought that this dog looked familiar. His neighbor had a dog like this. A golden retriever he remembered they named Beau. He stooped down and gently removed the collar from around the dog¡¯s neck. The maggots didn''t bother him. Not compared to what he had been working with the last week or so. There was an attached tag on the collar. He took the multi-function tool from his pocket and clipped off the tag from the collar. He studied it momentarily, stuck it in his baggy trouser pocket and resumed his walk towards the pavilion. Conclave He crested a rise in the street as the pavilion came into view. There was an overturned end table that lay there in the weeds. He righted it and sat there for a few moments. His hip burned with pain. He grimaced...as of yet, the progression to perfect health had not commenced. The "conclave" would not begin for a few minutes. He didn''t want to be there any earlier than was required. Most could only guess at the time. Any time pieces or watch batteries that were found were to be immediately turned over to the "seers" or their subordinates. They controlled the time. He however had managed to obtain an old wind up watch from off the wrist of one of the bodies that they had disposed of. He did so undetected. It was considered contraband, and if it was discovered, he would be severely disciplined. It was a woman''s Omega brand watch. He kept it hidden, tucked under the fold of the inside band of his ¡°Lake Okeechobee" cap. He observed a group of four or five "seers" huddled in discussion under a small tree off to one side of the pavilion. They seemed quite animated. No doubt they were colluding about who would present the different parts of the program. He noticed that a number of the "Compeers" were already seated towards the front of the pavilion. They were a tight group who were a bit more impassioned about their assignments than he was. But of course, they weren''t shoveling blackened entrails into a five gallon bucket everyday either. Others were approaching the building in small groups or singly. He observed that most seemed to walk with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. "Compeers" was a new term that the "Directorate of Seers" had determined to refer to the survivors. It was supposed to convey the idea of equality. He had noted that the "Seers" seemed to be well fed. They all wore fresh khaki pants and clean short sleeved, buttoned collared shirts. It was common knowledge that "food details" were ordered to set aside certain items when they were found. The building where they were stored was brimming with assorted delicacies. Smoked oysters, kippered snacks, vacuumed sealed cheeses and salmon, canned meats, chocolates, sweets, olives and cases of wines and liquor, that had been gleaned by the "search details". These items were reserved specifically for the "seers" He smiled wryly and thought, "Well, some are just more equal than others". With a few minutes left, he rose and hobbled towards the pavilion. As he drew closer, he was greeted by a few of the straggling "Compeers"; a mechanical nod of the head, a momentary meeting of the eyes, as they shuffled blankly forward to their benches. He took a seat on the end of the last row of benches. They were simply salvaged 2x10''s laid across stacked concrete blocks. There were a few rows of plastic lawn chairs that had been found. They were reserved for the ¡°Seers" and their families; well, what remained of their families after the "day of fury". That''s what they called it now. Some of their children who had left the "teachings" were conspicuously absent. He heard a weak voice at his side say "Excuse me." A young woman holding the hand of a young child stepped in front of him to take a place on the empty bench. The child rested her hand on his knee as they passed in front of him and their eyes met. He was struck by the child¡¯s eyes. She seemed, to him, to have just stepped out of a Margaret Keane painting. She was unsmiling, numb, devoid of emotion. He could only imagine what the child had been through. A grinning seer approached the podium (the podium simply a salvaged Whirlpool electric dryer) and introduced the "conclave". He invited them to stand for the opening "laud" (song). As he stood and removed his cap, the Omega watch fell from the band and onto the concrete floor at his feet. He quickly snatched it up and secreted it in his hand hoping that no one had noticed. He glanced at the young woman whose eyes had remained forward. A broad smile had radiated across the face of the little girl. Stolen novel; please report. Meal The conclave was predictable. He had attended thousands of these over the years. He figured out long ago what the purpose was and how the techniques were executed. But, he was proud that his mind had become a formidable defense. He was able to mentally jettison nonsense immediately. It was like he possessed a psychological Maginot Line...impenetrable. But he kept his thoughts to himself. At least, he thought, he was alive and not having his fetid cadaver feasted upon by coyotes. The first ¡°presentment" was given by "Seer Erdhenne". The theme of his "presentment" was "Evidence of Our Lord''s Love Surrounds Us". He thought that this theme was somewhat premature considering the carnage that the "Compeers" were being exposed to every day. But, he had long thought that the "Seers" were somewhat disconnected from reality. The second "presentment" was given by "Seer Phobos. His theme was, "Do You Have a Complaining Spirit?" It was the typical discourse designed to instill fear and obedience into the minds of the listeners. He sternly reminded them of what had happened to Miriam and those in the "wilderness" who complained about what they had been provided to eat. His implied threats didn''t have quite the same effect as they might have had a few weeks before what had taken place. Ironic, he thought, coming from someone with wine and caviar stains on his shirt. The kitchen was set up in an open sided building a short distance away. There were no gas or electric stoves to cook on. The meal typically consisted of anything that the "scavenge teams" were able to find that day. This meal included canned Swiss chard and white rice. It had been cooked in a thirty gallon barrel that someone had managed to cut in half with a cold chisel. The half barrel set on three concrete blocks and a fire had been built under it. A few female "Compeers" tended to the fire and slowly stirred the barrels contents. A quantity of cut up meat had been added. One of the "Compeers" was proficient in how to preserve meat. There had been no shortage of dead livestock after the "Day of Fury". It could be that it was beef, horse or pork. You were just fortunate to get a piece when yours was ladled out. He speculated that it would be some time before a totally vegetative diet was instituted. Everyone was responsible for their own bowl and utensil and cup. He had found a tablespoon in the rubble and his bowl was a large tin can that stewed tomatoes had originally come in. He had cut the top off from a plastic Gatorade bottle that served as his cup. It wouldn''t have been much use for hot coffee though. But, there again, any of that found was reserved for the "Seers". He was pleased to see that a good sized chunk of fatty meat had been ladled into his bowl as he moved through the line. There was a dark liquid in a five gallon bucket on a short stool. A girl there ladled some into his cup. He assumed it was tea. He walked a ways up the hill and sat under a large oak tree. The top had been shattered by a large hailstone and one of its large limbs lay on the ground. The limb lay in such a way that it made for a good place to sit. The last vestige of the hailstone lay melting in a small crater of dirt a few yards away. By tomorrow it would be gone. He was grateful that his meal was hot. He was very hungry and he wolfed it down quickly, savoring the large chunk of meat for last. He guessed that it was horse. It was slightly gristly, which he didn''t mind. It had a mild flavor. He had eaten enough by now to accurately know what type of meat it was. He leaned back against the large limb and sipped his tea. He observed the "Seers" who had gathered together with their families. They sat in their white plastic chairs under a large blue tarp that had been strung between a tree and a snapped off power pole. To their credit, he thought, they were eating the same meal as the rest of the "Compeers". He smiled, thinking that most likely the Triscuits and pickled herring would come later. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Off to his right, the young woman and her child were sitting not far away on the grassy hillside. They had sat by themselves. To his left there were also small groups of "Compeers" sitting in the grass eating their meal or lounging in the last of the warm late afternoon sun. When he turned back, the young child had approached him and was standing to his right. It surprised him. He had not heard her approach. He squinted and put his hand up to shade his eyes as the sun was directly behind her. She stood there unspeaking, looking at him with those large sad eyes. He said softly, "Hi". She gave no response. Her eyes fell momentarily to the ground but then met his again. He reached into his pocket for the pack of "Juicy Fruit" gum. He opened it, took out one stick and tore it into halves. He gave her one half and a slight smile shone on her face. She looked at the half stick of gum as she turned it over and over in her fingers. Then she stopped, looked him directly in his eyes and in her soft child''s voice said, "You are the chosen one who shall make straight that which is crooked." She then ran off towards her mother without looking back. Shed Pt. 5 The child''s words had caught him totally by surprise. His eyes had followed her as she ran back and crawled into her mother''s lap. He chuckled to himself and thought what profound words for such a young child. People were slowly dispersing now. They were walking away in different directions heading towards their quarters. Most had accommodations nearby. Some, like himself had been assigned to lodging that was a mile walk or more away. The shelters were anything that was somewhat secure and provided protection from the elements. Most of the beautiful homes that had once been coveted and claimed before the "Day of Fury" lay in ashes. Many had been able to find shelter in the parts of homes or garages that hadn''t been totally destroyed. Some had taken residence in RV¡¯s or travel trailers that were not damaged too badly¡­ some in vans or school buses that had escaped the destruction. The "Seers" and their families had been provided accommodations in the few homes that had been left undamaged. Special details had been assigned to repair any damage to their homes. Others were assigned to search for any salvageable solar power components and install these in the homes. It provided them with lighting and other devices that would make their lives more comfortable. It also powered their well pumps so that they had running water and functioning toilets. For the most prominent, some of the homes even had swimming pools and battery powered golf carts. Each family had also been assigned two discreet "Compeers" who served as their permanent helpers. These ones became known as "Varlets" They performed such tasks as cooking, cleaning, laundry, and all the yard work and maintenance of the grounds. It was a privilege to be chosen as a "Varlet". He had taken up residence on what must have been an old dairy farm before the destruction. The old house had been incinerated and the remnants had collapsed into the basement. The roof of the old barn had partially toppled, but it still sufficiently protected a large amount of baled hay inside. It had a field stone basement with two rows of stanchions. One of the long walls was at grade level and there was a large opening in the center that at one time allowed cattle to pass in and out. There were a few rooms that had been partitioned off. One held a large amount of grain and shelled corn. He had taken it upon himself to care for "Fireball" who was anxiously awaiting her daily ration of grain and hay. Near the barn was another structure that had been used as a workshop. It was a modest structure built of rough sawn wood and a corrugated tin roof. It had a functional wood stove along the back wall. Leather reins, harnesses and other tack hung neatly from the rafters. Along one of the long walls was a bench top made from thick oak boards. An old vice was fastened at one end. A nice assortment of well maintained hand tools hung from pegs on the wall above the bench. He had made it quite comfortable¡­ a warm bed, an old wooden table and chairs, and even a kerosene lamp that he had found. A small bookshelf near the head of his bed contained a number of books that he had secretly salvaged. The "Seers" had proclaimed that only the "Scriptures" were approved reading material. Anything else was collected by the ¡°work details" and burned every seventh day. You could be severely punished if you were caught with contraband publications. An old outhouse stood a short distance from his quarters. It was a luxury for him. Most of the "Compeers" had only a five gallon plastic bucket or other type of container which had to be regularly emptied and cleaned. On the other side of the building, between it and the collapsed house, stood a windmill that surprisingly still functioned perfectly. If there was a slight breeze, he could pump all the water that he needed. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. By the time that he had fed "Fireball" and brushed her down a bit, the sun had set and it would soon be dark. He washed again from a bucket that he had filled that morning, and set in the sun to warm. There was a concrete slab outside the door of the workshop which made a good place to clean up. He was happy to get out of the foul smelling clothes that he wore. Tomorrow was the "rest day" so it would give him an opportunity to scrub these clothes as best he could. After washing outside he felt slightly chilled, so he made a small fire in the wood stove just as the last light receded. He had also lit a candle that he kept in a small jelly jar. In the far corner, under where the harnesses hung, he lifted up a small section of the worn floorboards. In between the floor joists was where he had hidden the bottle of vodka and a Colt .45 automatic pistol with one hundred rounds. He poured himself a modest amount into a pint mason jar that he kept on his bookshelf. There were another eleven full bottles that he had concealed in the hay mow of the old barn. He had discovered it, along with some coffee, during a "salvage detail" that he had been a part of. He had thrown some refuse over it at the time so it wouldn''t be discovered. That night, in the dark, he had made his way back to recover it. It was worth the risk. Across the front, the label read "Stolichnaya". This was his and it wouldn''t end up in the "Seers" coffers. He reached for the book that he had been reading. "The Gulag Archipelago" was its title. It was a story about the Russian slave labor camps. He knew if he was caught with this that it would be confiscated, destroyed and he would be severely punished. But he had lost any fear of the "Seers" that he might once have had. After all, he chuckled to himself; he was "the chosen one". The vodka was warm on his throat and belly. It had brought his mind to that perfect state of numbness. He made it through a few pages of the book. His eyes slowly closed and the candle melted into a yellow puddle. ..to be continued. Wife Pt. 6 He hadn''t slept well for quite some time. Maybe, for him, it was comparable to the trauma of those men who had come back from the trenches of Verdun or who had spent a part of their youth in the shadow of Mount Suribachi. Although he hadn''t taken part in the divine slaughter, he was left to clean up after it. Mangled, rotting, fly infested corpses lying contorted, swelling in the hot sun. Broken, splintered bones, shards of shattered teeth, and crushed skulls, mouths agape. Charcoal stick figures, burnt beyond any resemblance of an individual....like pictures he had seen of people unable to escape an ancient volcanic eruption...Vesuvius...Krakatau. Some, embraced in death...he imagined, a husband and wife, lovers, dying in terror not understanding why this cataclysm visited them. The frail bodies of children haunted him most. Silken hair matted in coagulated blood...eyes frozen open in terror...sometimes a charred stuffed animal. And the ever present stench. The type of grisly smell that clings to your hair and clothes and triggers a gag reflex and the exiting of your stomachs contents. What deranged netherworld numen would inflict this on humanity? These were the images that paraded through his dreams and caused him often to bolt upright in the dark. But tonight, he dreamt of his wife. They walked together along the shore of a quiet lake. It was late in the year and colored leaves floated down from the trees. At their campsite they roasted hotdogs over a small fire and ate potato salad. They sat together on folding chairs and watched an old Jimmy Stewart movie on a portable player. They drank wine under the light of an ivory moon, from proper glasses that she had brought. They talked about what adventures they would have as they lay in the dark in their old sleeping bags. He got up early, fixed coffee, and stood outside in his shorts listening to morning sounds. She made him bacon and eggs and burnt toast the way he liked. They walked together on a wooded trail that led to a glistening waterfall. They were the only ones there. They sat on rocks by the streams edge, sloshed their feet in the cool water and watched water bugs skitter across the surface. They were overjoyed to learn that she was carrying their first child. The arrival was just a few weeks away now. They had not wanted to know whether it would be a boy or a girl like many couples do. They wanted it to be a surprise and now their child''s arrival was so near. She had left for a few days to visit her mother who had tripped on the stairs and broken a bone in her foot. Her mother lived in a small village about three hours away. He was unable to go with her because of his work, but it would be a short visit and she would be home in a few days. They talked on the phone and he was relieved to know that she had arrived safely. The last thing that she had said to him was that she loved him and that she had a surprise for him. He was inquisitive but she just laughed and said, "You''ll see!" and hung up the phone. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. But then the "Day" happened. The sky darkened, the heavens split open and God rained down fire and hail on his beloved children. Now there was no means of communication or way to travel to where she was. At times he was paralyzed with anxiety not knowing if she were alive or dead. He had caught himself starting to pray that she was safe, but remembered that he had given up on that exercise about the second day into this spiritual utopia. It had been all that he could do to survive. Life had been turned upside down. All, in his area had come under the authority of the "Seers." It had been impossible to leave. There had been a few unsuccessful attempts. They had all been caught by the "Abettors." This was the term given to the "Seers" enforcement detail. He despised them. He thought that they were no more than illiterate goons, fanatically loyal to the "Seers." They were involved in surveillance and patrol details. When a "Defector" was caught, all of the "Compeers" were required to be present at a special conclave. It was typically the "Administrator of the Body of Seers" who would give the presentment. The "Defector" was made to stand in front, only a towel wrapped around him, a blindfold across his eyes and his hands taped together at the wrist. He was vilified, and humiliated by the "Administrator." They were told to treat this person like a leper, not even saying hello to him. They were reminded that any who broke this rule would suffer the same punishment. He said above all else, we must display unity. At the end, two "Abettors" attached a length of heavy logging chain snuggly around the man''s ankle with a padlock, the other end attached to half of a concrete block. Not extremely heavy but cumbersome enough to slow down any other attempt at escape. The last one that he saw was a young boy who he thought was about eighteen. He was not allowed to wear shoes and was assigned to a "sewage disposal detail." He groggily started to awaken. There was a rhythmic scraping sound. His eyes slowly opened and in the early morning light he saw Fireball at the door. It was a Dutch type door. The top half must not have been latched and she had nosed it open and stuck her head inside. She was pawing her hoof on the concrete slab outside the door. He threw the covers back and shuffled over towards the door. His fingers scratched up and down her face and around her ears. "I know what you want." On the window sill was a partial box of Domino sugar cubes. He took one and held it out to her in his open hand. It made him smile how she took it with her fat soft lips and crunched it down. He gave her another. She stuck her muzzle under his arm, closed her eyes and allowed the head scratching to continue. "We''re going to get out of here old girl" he said as he rubbed her ears. "We''re going to escape this madness." Coffee Pt. 7 He had found the coffee in a Ford pickup that had run off the road over an embankment. It had remained upright but set at a precarious angle with one of its rear wheels off the ground. It was what they called a "Bumpside." The term referred to the convex trim line along the body of the truck. He guessed that it was an early 1970''s model. It was painted turquoise green and cream. On the doors on both sides it said "Pedersen Construction" with a phone number. There didn''t appear to be any damage to the truck. He surmised that the elderly woman who had been driving may have suffered a heart attack from what she had experienced that day. Her small frame lay wedged between the steering column and the driver side door, her arms hung down towards the floorboards. The gases produced in her after death had caused a grotesque swelling of her body. He was reminded of a line of a poem that he had learned in school... "I was sick with dread, but I bravely said, I''ll just take a peep inside, I guess he''s cooked, it''s time I looked, and then the door I opened wide." She must have been on her way home from the grocery store. Canned goods and other items had spilled onto the floor from overturned paper sacks. A swarm of flies and ants were gorging themselves near a container of "Moose Tracks" ice cream which had melted onto the seat. There were two cans of "Hills Brothers" original blend coffee that he put in one of the paper sacks along with a roll of paper towels, a package of white handkerchiefs, and a small can of sliced pineapple. There was a tool box that ran behind the cab of the truck. He popped open one of the hatches and shoved the sack inside. The rest of the items he turned over to the "scavenge detail." Later that day on his way back to his quarters, he quietly recovered what he had hidden. He made a small fire in the woodstove and put a good pint of water in a large tin can and set it on the stove to heat. He had laid out one of the white handkerchiefs and carefully placed a full spoon of the ground coffee in the center. Then he secured the coffee with a wire twist tie that he had found. When the water was getting hot, he put the handkerchief in the water and let it steep for a few minutes. He poured the coffee into a ceramic mug that he had found alongside the foundation of the old house. On the side of the mug was written, Drink your coffee...it''s chaos out there." He had set one of the old chairs outside the door on the concrete slab. That side of the shed faced to the east. He sat drinking his coffee and watching the sun come up through the trees. Fireball was contentedly grazing in a patch of lamb¡¯s quarters a few yards away. He often made a tea from the leaves of the plants. It seemed to help the burning in his hip. It was the "Seventh Day" so there would be no work details today, though there would be a "conclave" later that night. The "Seers" had decided that the "conclave" on the "Seventh Day" would be held after the sun went down. They must have believed that it gave more dramatic effect to the weekly book burning. There was a small village about ten miles to the west named "Antler." He decided that he would ride Fireball to the village and glean whatever he could find. He thought that he would have sufficient time to be back for the "conclave." If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Hanging from a nail on one of the rafters was a worn pair of "Liberty" bib overalls. On the day that he had taken up residence here, he noticed them suspended from a plastic clothesline that ran between two cedar posts sunk in the yard. Whoever this farm belonged to before must have been about his same size. It felt good to be washed and have something clean to put on. He took a few moments to scrub his other clothes as best that he could and hang them on the clothesline to dry. In an old grain sack he put a plastic gallon jug filled with water. In another he put two quarts of oats, a few sugar cubes, what remained of the vodka and the can of sliced pineapple. Then he tied the two together with a length of baler twine. This way they would hang comfortably across Fireball''s withers. With another length of twine he tied a loop which would slip over his head. The other end he tied a bowline knot around the trigger guard of the Colt pistol. He slipped the loop over his head and tucked the .45 into his overalls. He had braided a simple bosal from some olive colored paracord that he had found. He slipped it over Fireball''s nose and led her over to the chair that set outside the door. He found that getting astride this old Belgian was easier by using the chair. He smiled to himself thinking that he wasn''t a kid anymore who could leap up on a horse like Lash La Rue. He estimated that she stood about eighteen hands at her withers. "Well ol'' girl, are you ready for our big adventure?¡±...he said. The road leading to Antler ran to the west. It normally wasn''t a heavily trafficked road. Often you could see farmers on the road moving their equipment to one of the many fields of corn or wheat that spread endlessly into the distance. But on this morning there was nothing. There were no sounds of birds, no lowing of cattle, no anxious barking from someone''s blue heeler. There was a large piece of plastic that was caught in a barbed wire fence that ran beside the road. It was what farmers used to wrap their round bales of hay in. It made a rattling sound as it flapped in the breeze. Other than that there was nothing. Fireball held her head high and seemed to have quite a spring in her step this morning, he thought. Maybe she sensed that today she wouldn''t be tethered to some maggot infested cow carcass. The morning sun felt warm on his back as they headed west to Antler. "Moses" The sign said "Stutzman Produce." Sweetcorn was $4.00 for a dozen ears or $5.50 for eighteen. He and his wife had stopped here many times over the years. She liked Sarah Stutzman''s homemade bread and apple butter. Moses Stutzman also ran a small sawmill. You could bring your logs to him and he would cut them to whatever thickness that you wanted. He had brought a number of logs here in the past. Oak, maple, and cherry that he had Moses saw into one inch boards. Out by the road the family had built a small produce stand. It was just a simple structure with a shed roof. They had painted it white. Usually it was one or more of their seven children who would wait on any customers who stopped by. They kept it supplied with fresh produce that the family grew in their two acre garden. In the spring they sold baked goods, flower baskets, maple syrup and Adirondack chairs that Moses built in his shop during the winter. Sarah, with the help from her young girls, could usually put together two or three heirloom quality quilts over the winter months. She was known for her "giant Dahlia" pattern. They were sought after by collectors. During autumn they sold pumpkins, squash and a variety of mums. People would say that they had the nicest mums in Bottineau County. He slipped down off Fireball and stood there bent over for a few moments. His hip throbbed. "I love you old girl but you''re like sitting astride a propane tank" he chuckled as he patted her neck. The produce, left untended, had all decayed and gone bad. Tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, blueberries...now a moldy putrefying mess. There was a crate of sweetcorn off to the side. He took out an ear and pulled the husk down. He thought for as long as it must have set here that it didn''t look too bad. He turned and held it out to Fireball and she took it without hesitation. He pulled the husks down on four more ears and tossed them on the grass beside the stand. "That should keep you busy for a while" he said to her. He also took one of the better ears to eat and limped up the gravel drive towards the house and outbuildings. It felt good to stretch his legs. The house was intact. A blue curtain hung out an open window and the screen door on the side porch entrance hung ajar. A pair of black muck boots sat on the steps. The drive widened as it passed the house into a larger graveled area which was wide enough to turn around a wagon with a team of horses. The main barn set a few yards behind the house and on the opposite side of the drive. The north half of the barn had been shattered by some force. Torn metal roofing lay twisted and crumpled in the barnyard and for a ways out into the pasture. Loose hay which had been carefully stored in the mow had been scattered about. The heavy beams that supported the hay mow and roof structure were snapped and splintered. There was a steel track at the peak of the roof that was used to lift the hay into the mow. Now it projected out into the open space like some giant hypodermic needle. The floor boards had blown apart and he could see only blackness into the basement below. He walked around the south end of the barn and descended down to the foundation level along the east side. There were two large openings there through the foundation wall about ten feet wide that allowed livestock to go in and out. Both led to a row of ten or twelve stalls with stanchions used for milking cows. He knew what he would find inside even before he got close to the opening. The smell hit his nose as soon as he came around the corner of the barn. If he had to describe it, he might say it was like cabbage and bananas boiled in paint thinner with a few squirts of Windex mixed in. But he had grown accustomed to it. Moses had six nice Holstein cows that he milked. He sold his milk to a local cheese business that bought milk from other Amish families also. The cows lay in their stalls still secured around their necks by the stanchion mechanism. It looked to him that they had perished not from some trauma but from starvation and lack of water. He could only imagine how they must have bellowed and struggled to free themselves when in their dim minds they realized nobody was coming for them. Toward the north end of the basement the remaining stanchions had been removed and pens had been built. Inside one of the pens were the decomposing remains of three pigs. The pen at the far end ran the entire width of the barn. Inside this pen Moses kept his two Belgian work horses and a dark standard bred gelding that was used to pull their buggy. It was here that the hurtling projectile crashed through the roof and floor of the barn. It had obliterated the pen and the horses inside. Through the tangle of shattered boards and concrete he could glimpse the blond manes and hooves of the giant Belgians. He decided to discard the ear of sweetcorn that he still held in his hand. To the south of the barn, Moses had built an open sided structure that housed his sawmill. It was a long, narrow building that protected his equipment from the rain and snow. It also allowed him to work in most any kind of weather. It was a band type saw that seemed to be the favored type for small operations. The log was rolled and secured onto a long steel frame. The saw blade, which ran horizontally between two large wheels, was set at the desired depth and then the whole mechanism, including the gasoline motor that powered it, was carefully pushed down the length of the log. The motor was powerful and the blade was thin and sharp. It took little time to make a cut down the entire length of the log¡­.unless the blade hit a nail, which happened on one of his logs once. Moses called them "yard trees." They were trees that had grown near people''s homes and had been cut down for some reason. Maybe the tree had been damaged or they had grown old and threatened to fall on the house if a strong wind came up. Invariably, over the years, people would pound a nail or screw an eye bolt into the tree to hang a bird feeder or clothesline. It was those logs that he examined carefully. If the blade hit a nail or screw it would not cut properly and the blade would need to be changed. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Typically there would be neat stacks of sawn boards positioned on the rough concrete floor waiting to be picked up. Outside there were bundles of slab wood. Slab wood was what came off the log when it was being squared up. It was tapered and mostly bark. They were held together in bundles by two wide metal bands and sold for firewood. A few paces away from the side of the building sat an old Ruston Bucyrus dragline. Two large logs had been anchored on top of supports that extended on a slight decline between the drag line and the frame of the sawmill. The drag line was used to place heavy logs onto this log track so that they could be easily rolled onto the mill using a cant hook. It was also used to load slabwood onto trucks or trailers when it was purchased. The shed and its contents had burned and lay in a blackened pile of ruins. Everything within a hundred foot radius had been incinerated. The painted mill was now just charred debris. The heat from the flames had been so intense that it had caused the boom on the dragline to sag and twist. Broken banding straps that once secured the bundles of slabwood poked through the ash. Near the cab of the dragline it smelled of burned electrical wiring and plastic upholstery seat cushions. He made his way across the drive and back up towards the house. He stepped up on the porch and although the door hung open he rapped on the siding and hollered "Anyone home?" It was silent inside the home. He walked slowly through the rooms on the first floor and it seemed to him that Moses and his family had just vanished. Everything was left as if they had just disappeared. There were plates and dishes with remnants of a breakfast meal left on the table¡­a few unfinished cups of coffee. Sarah''s quilting frame was set up in the family room. Chairs and other homemade oak furniture set properly around the room. The curtains were closed in the main bedroom. The bed had not been made. One of Sarah''s dahlia quilts lay folded at the foot of the bed. In the backroom there was a stairway that led to the basement. There were no electrical lights, but there were a few small windows towards the top of the foundation wall that let in some light. It took his eyes a few moments to accustom to the dimness. Along the one wall were shelves stocked with a multitude of jars of canned vegetables and fruit. A large rectangular table set in the middle of the room and across the other wall were more storage shelves and hooks where winter clothing hung. There were also wooden crates of fresh dug potatoes and turnips. He took a quart jar of pickled beets and one of what looked like to him to be corn relish. At the head of the stairs was a window that looked out to the west. He glanced out the window and noticed what appeared to be a chimney pipe with a cap on top that rose from a grass covered mound in the yard. He thought that it might be either a storm shelter or a root cellar. The entrance to the cellar was on the south side. It was a little more than three feet wide and landscaped in such a way that most people wouldn''t notice it if they were just passing by. Ten concrete steps led down to a small landing at the bottom. A heavy windowless door hinged on thick hardwood jambs that were anchored into the concrete wall. There was a heavy metal latch that was operable from either side of the door. He lifted the latch and pushed on the door but something was against it on the inside that would not allow it to swing open freely. He pushed against the door more forcefully with his shoulder and the torso and head of a young child slumped out onto the concrete landing at his feet. He pushed the door open further and in the dim light he could see what he assumed was Moses and his family huddled together at the far end of the cellar. It looked to him that Moses was cradling their smallest child in his arms while the other children and Sarah embraced him and each other, locked in death. Fireball was standing alongside the porch when he walked back around the corner of the house. There was a five gallon plastic bucket setting beside a cast iron pitcher pump a short distance from the steps. He filled the bucket with fresh water and both he and Fireball drank their fill. He stuck the jars of pickled beets and corn relish in the sack that he had brought and led Fireball back down the drive towards the road. On one side of the vegetable stand was a bench. He led Fireball alongside the bench and from there clambered onto her back. He took the Stolichnaya from the sack and took a long purposeful drink from the bottle. He looked at his Omega watch. It was a little after 10:00. They had come about halfway on their journey. He stuck the bottle of vodka back in the sack, the watch back inside his hatband and said quietly, "Ok girl, let''s go." They headed west toward Antler. Antler He smiled to himself thinking that he was probably the only person in the state who knew who Herbert Khaury was. The yellowed newspaper clipping hung in a simple frame behind the bar next to an advertisement for "Grain Belt Beer". Herbert had agreed to do a benefit concert to raise money for the school. When he arrived in Antler back in February of 1983, the thermometer indicated -22 degrees, but the townfolk loved him and he referred to them as "the warmest people around". Some said that "he made history for the town" and they gave him the "key to the city". Nobody could sing "Tip Toe Through the Tulips" like Herbert Khaury. By the time that they rode into Antler he was wore out and his hip burned with pain. One of the first buildings coming into town was the "Cabin Bar and Grill". The whole front entrance had been obliterated by some force. You could see the whole length of the interior from front to back. He slid off Fireball, took off the two sacks hanging from her withers, and dumped out a quart of grain for her on the concrete slab in front of the building. She eagerly began to consume it. He also took the two pairs of boots and tossed them over by a bench that sat in front of the building. The inside of the building had hardly been damaged. The polished mirror behind the bar reflected a collection of colorful liquor bottles. A row of tables and chairs ran along the opposite wall towards the back where a pool table sat. Deer heads and fish mounts hung on the walls. A chalkboard advertised the daily food special. Barbequed ribs, potato salad, vegetable, apple desert and bun for $19. He walked about halfway towards the back and stood facing the bar. He put his left leg up on one of the chairs, bent forward and stretched the muscles in his lower back. It seemed to help relieve the pain in his hip. He surveyed the selection of bottles behind the bar and his eyes lit on one that said "Bloody Butcher Gypsy Shine"....pot distilled heirloom corn whiskey made in Napoleon Ohio. He walked around the end of the bar and sat a bourbon glass on its polished surface. He grabbed the bottle of "Bloody Butcher" from the shelf, twisted the cap off, and carefully poured a full shot into the glass. He sat the bottle down on the bar, lifted the glass, and said to the empty chair across from him, "Here''s to you friend..for all the shit that you''ve been through..this one''s on the house"! He limped back around the end of the bar and took a seat in one of the swiveling chairs. He hoisted the glass, and to the empty space across the bar said, "I''ll drink to that"! He downed the shot with a tilt of the head and a quick snap of the wrist. It made his eyes squint, furrowed his brow and took his breath away momentarily. He felt the warmth of the whiskey course it''s way from his mouth to his belly. His body relaxed. It was pleasantly cool inside and the dimness felt good on his eyes after being outside in the sun all day. He poured himself another and sat looking in the mirror behind the bar. He had lost a noticeable amount of weight. His hair and beard had grown long and there was a dark hollowness to his eyes. There would be no going back now, he thought. He was on his own. After the altercation with the two "Abettors" he certainly wouldn''t be welcomed back into the group. He was sure that kicking in the teeth of an "Abettor" would be considered unacceptable behavior. He thought that they might like to execute him. He pondered if he could be be killed now even though he had made it into paradise? Was he immortal now? He chuckled to himself and thought "that''s one of those existential type questions." But that was fine with him. He despised their little class system anyway and he had had his fill of the privileged "seers" and disposing of dead bodies. He still could not get his head wrapped around exactly what had happened that day. Wasn''t there supposed to be throngs of happy smiling people, picnic tables laden with fruit and someone playing guitar music? The aftermath was turning out not to be anything that he had been led to believe. If these were the actions of a " loving god" he sure wouldn''t want to be around on the day that he was pissed off. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.He glanced towards the entrance and saw that Fireball must have wandered off. He finished his shot and thought how wonderfully numb it made him feel. He found a box of plastic bags that the owners must have used to put take-out orders in. He put the whiskey and the glass in the bag along with a few packages of beer nuts, Blue Ox teriyaki beef jerky , and a handful of Slim Jims. There was also a stack of disposable plastic bowls and spoons under the bar. He took a few of those. From the cooler he grabbed four cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer and put those in the sack also. Sure, it was better ice cold but warm beer was better than no beer, he thought. His watch showed that it was a little after 4:00...time, he thought, to start looking for a place to spend the night. On his way out, he took from the wall an antique string of sleigh bells. They were fastened to a thin leather strap with a simple buckle at one end and a series of holes punched in the other. He liked the sound that they made when he shook them. He sat on the bench outside and took off one of his boots. He had noticed that those of the youngest "Abettor" looked to be about his size. He slipped his foot in and they fit well. They were much more comfortable than those he had been wearing. Fireball had wandered north towards the town square. There was a lush patch of grass there that she was contentedly grazing in. In the center of the square stood an old two story building with arched windows and stamped metal siding. It had served most notably in the past as the town''s post office. Across the street to the east was the IOOF building....the International Order of Odd Fellows. Across the street to the west was a two story building that once housed McLaughlin''s Store. There was a unique pentagonal window on the southeast corner of the second floor. A large plate glass window ran across the front on the first floor. Looking through the window he thought that it must have been used as an apartment most recently. There was a very comfortable looking sectional couch that faced the window on the inside. This looked like a good place to spend the night, he thought. The door was slightly ajar and he walked inside and set the plastic bag of items, and the things that he had brought on a coffee table in front of the couch. Fireball had stuck her head inside through the open door. "I know what you want old girl" he smiled. He dug through the feed sack and held out two of the sugar cubes which she happily took from his open hand. He had also grabbed the string of sleigh bells and held it out for her to inspect. She nosed it and it made a faint jingling sound. Her ears snapped forward but she didn''t seem frightened. He slowly fastened it around her neck. He took a step back, saluted her and said, "For heroic actions performed above and beyond the call of duty, I bestow on you, for all to see, this distinguished award, for bravery in defense of freedom and truth". She shook her head and mane and the bells made a beautiful melodic sound. The sun had gone below the horizon now. He sat on the couch staring out the large pane glass window in the twilight of early evening. The bottle of whiskey and two empty Pabst cans sat on the coffee table. He was so relieved to have escaped the insanity that he had lived these past few weeks. He felt so comfortable and relaxed sitting here on this soft couch. His eyes grew heavy, and his head began to nod. The whiskey glass slipped from his hand as he mumbled the words to a song, "Knee deep in flowers we''ll stray..We''ll keep the showers away..And if I kiss you in the garden, in the moonlight..Will you pardon me?..And tiptoe through the tulips with me". Antler He smiled to himself thinking that he was probably the only person in the state who knew who Herbert Khaury was. The yellowed newspaper clipping hung in a simple frame behind the bar next to an advertisement for "Grain Belt Beer". Herbert had agreed to do a benefit concert to raise money for the school. When he arrived in Antler back in February of 1983, the thermometer indicated -22 degrees, but the townfolk loved him and he referred to them as "the warmest people around". Some said that "he made history for the town" and they gave him the "key to the city". Nobody could sing "Tip Toe Through the Tulips" like Herbert Khaury. By the time that they rode into Antler he was wore out and his hip burned with pain. One of the first buildings coming into town was the "Cabin Bar and Grill". The whole front entrance had been obliterated by some force. You could see the whole length of the interior from front to back. He slid off Fireball, took off the two sacks hanging from her withers, and dumped out a quart of grain for her on the concrete slab in front of the building. She eagerly began to consume it. He also took the two pairs of boots and tossed them over by a bench that sat in front of the building. The inside of the building had hardly been damaged. The polished mirror behind the bar reflected a collection of colorful liquor bottles. A row of tables and chairs ran along the opposite wall towards the back where a pool table sat. Deer heads and fish mounts hung on the walls. A chalkboard advertised the daily food special. Barbequed ribs, potato salad, vegetable, apple desert and bun for $19. He walked about halfway towards the back and stood facing the bar. He put his left leg up on one of the chairs, bent forward and stretched the muscles in his lower back. It seemed to help relieve the pain in his hip. He surveyed the selection of bottles behind the bar and his eyes lit on one that said "Bloody Butcher Gypsy Shine"....pot distilled heirloom corn whiskey made in Napoleon Ohio. He walked around the end of the bar and sat a bourbon glass on its polished surface. He grabbed the bottle of "Bloody Butcher" from the shelf, twisted the cap off, and carefully poured a full shot into the glass. He sat the bottle down on the bar, lifted the glass, and said to the empty chair across from him, "Here''s to you friend..for all the shit that you''ve been through..this one''s on the house"! He limped back around the end of the bar and took a seat in one of the swiveling chairs. He hoisted the glass, and to the empty space across the bar said, "I''ll drink to that"! He downed the shot with a tilt of the head and a quick snap of the wrist. It made his eyes squint, furrowed his brow and took his breath away momentarily. He felt the warmth of the whiskey course it''s way from his mouth to his belly. His body relaxed. It was pleasantly cool inside and the dimness felt good on his eyes after being outside in the sun all day. He poured himself another and sat looking in the mirror behind the bar. He had lost a noticeable amount of weight. His hair and beard had grown long and there was a dark hollowness to his eyes. There would be no going back now, he thought. He was on his own. After the altercation with the two "Abettors" he certainly wouldn''t be welcomed back into the group. He was sure that kicking in the teeth of an "Abettor" would be considered unacceptable behavior. He thought that they might like to execute him. He pondered if he could be be killed now even though he had made it into paradise? Was he immortal now? He chuckled to himself and thought "that''s one of those existential type questions." But that was fine with him. He despised their little class system anyway and he had had his fill of the privileged "seers" and disposing of dead bodies. He still could not get his head wrapped around exactly what had happened that day. Wasn''t there supposed to be throngs of happy smiling people, picnic tables laden with fruit and someone playing guitar music? The aftermath was turning out not to be anything that he had been led to believe. If these were the actions of a " loving god" he sure wouldn''t want to be around on the day that he was pissed off. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.He glanced towards the entrance and saw that Fireball must have wandered off. He finished his shot and thought how wonderfully numb it made him feel. He found a box of plastic bags that the owners must have used to put take-out orders in. He put the whiskey and the glass in the bag along with a few packages of beer nuts, Blue Ox teriyaki beef jerky , and a handful of Slim Jims. There was also a stack of disposable plastic bowls and spoons under the bar. He took a few of those. From the cooler he grabbed four cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer and put those in the sack also. Sure, it was better ice cold but warm beer was better than no beer, he thought. His watch showed that it was a little after 4:00...time, he thought, to start looking for a place to spend the night. On his way out, he took from the wall an antique string of sleigh bells. They were fastened to a thin leather strap with a simple buckle at one end and a series of holes punched in the other. He liked the sound that they made when he shook them. He sat on the bench outside and took off one of his boots. He had noticed that those of the youngest "Abettor" looked to be about his size. He slipped his foot in and they fit well. They were much more comfortable than those he had been wearing. Fireball had wandered north towards the town square. There was a lush patch of grass there that she was contentedly grazing in. In the center of the square stood an old two story building with arched windows and stamped metal siding. It had served most notably in the past as the town''s post office. Across the street to the east was the IOOF building....the International Order of Odd Fellows. Across the street to the west was a two story building that once housed McLaughlin''s Store. There was a unique pentagonal window on the southeast corner of the second floor. A large plate glass window ran across the front on the first floor. Looking through the window he thought that it must have been used as an apartment most recently. There was a very comfortable looking sectional couch that faced the window on the inside. This looked like a good place to spend the night, he thought. The door was slightly ajar and he walked inside and set the plastic bag of items, and the things that he had brought on a coffee table in front of the couch. Fireball had stuck her head inside through the open door. "I know what you want old girl" he smiled. He dug through the feed sack and held out two of the sugar cubes which she happily took from his open hand. He had also grabbed the string of sleigh bells and held it out for her to inspect. She nosed it and it made a faint jingling sound. Her ears snapped forward but she didn''t seem frightened. He slowly fastened it around her neck. He took a step back, saluted her and said, "For heroic actions performed above and beyond the call of duty, I bestow on you, for all to see, this distinguished award, for bravery in defense of freedom and truth". She shook her head and mane and the bells made a beautiful melodic sound. The sun had gone below the horizon now. He sat on the couch staring out the large pane glass window in the twilight of early evening. The bottle of whiskey and two empty Pabst cans sat on the coffee table. He was so relieved to have escaped the insanity that he had lived these past few weeks. He felt so comfortable and relaxed sitting here on this soft couch. His eyes grew heavy, and his head began to nod. The whiskey glass slipped from his hand as he mumbled the words to a song, "Knee deep in flowers we''ll stray..We''ll keep the showers away..And if I kiss you in the garden, in the moonlight..Will you pardon me?..And tiptoe through the tulips with me". Dream He had often wondered about dreams. He could think of casual conversations that he had with friends or family in the past on the topic of dreams. Invariably they would relate how their dreams would be about people who were close to them or events that related to something that was actually happening in their lives. It might have been a dream about their sister at a wedding or some memorable event that happened on a vacation. Their dreams, although sometimes quirky, were more closely related to their reality, connected to some familiar person or event that they knew or had been involved with. His dreams though, seldom had little connection to reality or anything that had happened or was happening in his real life. He would readily admit that his dreams were spawned from some insane bizzaro world. His were something like a Chuck Barris "Gong Show" fornicated with a "Laugh In" episode production of his semi-conscience mind. He would often wake in the morning thinking, "Where the hell did that come from"? This night he had dreamt that he was walking down the corridors of a large building..something like a shopping mall. He was unabashedly singing "Unchained Melody" at the top of his voice, to the delight of passersby. He was enamored with the beautiful resonance of his voice. It was so peaceful, tranquil. He had ended up in a dimly lit shower room somewhat like he had remembered from high school. He walked past a young man who was sitting on a tiled bench that had been built into the shower wall. He knew him from school. The young man was chattering on about something that he couldn''t understand. He walked farther into the back of the foggy shower room. Hot water and steam spit from stainless steel shower heads fastened to the tile walls. When he looked down, there were beautiful, emerald colored, smiling leopard frogs growing upwards from the shower room''s tiled floor. It was like one of those times that a person grogilly becomes awake, because the dream that they''re experiencing is so unimaginable and wonderful that they would give obecience to the "dream gods" just to transport them back, and to keep them asleep, to keep their eyes closed, to keep them from becoming fully awake, so that they could continue to experience the wonderfulness of the dream. They fight awakeness, consciousness, because the dream is so beautiful, so peaceful. He was awake now. There was no way that he could drift back through the veil and recapture his dream. He sat upright on the couch and rubbed his face and eyes with both of his hands. He chuckled to himself, "Must''ve been the Pabst". There was a full moon overhead and enough light, he thought, that you could play a softball game outside. He could clearly see Fireball laying in the tall grass beside the old Post Office building. He had always thought that such a large animal, like a horse, lying prostrate on the ground looked unnatural. He had learned a little bit about horses. They had evolved the ability to experience a type of sleep while standing up. They had what scientists called a "stay apparatus" that allows them to experience a "slow wave sleep" while standing. The same was true of elephants, bison and giraffes. In the distant past, a horse was a prey animal and the ability to "sleep" while standing up was a defense that would help them escape a predator. But a "paradoxical sleep" or deep sleep only happens when a horse is lying down. If a horse is deprived of this deep sleep, they''ll become cranky and sluggish. He wondered what she might be dreaming about right now. He smiled and thought, most likely a bucket of tasty oats, a handful of sugar cubes and jingle bells. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.He reached for the grain sack that he had set on the floor. He took out the pint jar of corn relish that he had taken from Moses Stutzsman''s basement and emptied it into one of the disposable bowls from the bar. He hadn''t eaten much these last few days. The evening before, he had eaten some of the beer nuts and beef jerky. He had stuck the Slim Jims in the feed sack. He thought how wonderful a cup of hot black coffee would taste. He thought that maybe later he could find some. He had given his water to the Abettors so he cracked open one of the two remaining Pabst. Moses must have liked his corn relish a bit on the hot side. He speculated that Sarah had included a jalapeno or two in her recipe. He ate every last bit of the relish and was still hungy. He opened the quart jar of pickled beets and spooned out about half the jar into his bowl. They had a wonderful texture and taste. Sarah put in just the right amount of cloves and cinnamon. He had laid the .45 on the coffee table the evening before. He picked it off the table, dropped the clip, thumbed the safety off and racked the round out of the chamber. He loaded the round back into the clip and then slapped it back into the pistol. Then he slipped the loop of twine over his head and tucked it back in his overalls. He felt it was more safe carrying this way. Not having a proper holster he didn''t want to risk blowing his Johnson off. He stood up and stretched his legs. It was starting to break light now. He could see that behind the couch that he had slept on that there was a kitchen and dineing area. There was a stainless steel table and chairs straight out of the fifties that set in the middle of the room. The cushions were a lemon yellow color and the metal was chromed. All the appliances were Harvest Gold colored. There were two bottles of Red Trail Frontenac wine on the laminate countertop. He opened one of the upper cabinet doors and saw an unopened package of six chicken flavored Ramen noodles and a partial box of Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pies. He took the wine, noodles and all but two of the creme pies and put them in the feed sack and slung it over his shoulder. He cracked open the last can of Pabst and walked out the door pulling it shut behind him. Fireball had awakened and was contentedly foraging on some wild apples that had dropped from a tree on the vacant lot next door. He pulled apart the cellophane wrapper that contained a creme pie and at the crinkling sound she lifted her head and her ears snapped forward. He chuckled at her face as she gobbled up the sweet treat that he held out in his hand. He whispered, "Your lucky day girl. Oats and marshmallow creme!" He worried constantly about his wife. Wondering where she was and if she was alright. In the few weeks since the "day" happened it had seemed like an inescapable nightmare. It had been all that he could do just to survive. She had surely given birth to their child by now. That is if she were still alive. He was determined that he would find her. Somehow he would get to her. "Old girl" he said, "We''re going to Charbonneau". Fried Egg He had taken a walk that morning that took him going north out of town on main steet. It felt good to stretch his legs and breathe in the cool morning air. Walking was good for his hip. It was perfectly clear and the sun was just breaking the horizon. Fireball followed close behind. No doubt she was hoping for another Little Debbi cream pie. He had tied her reins up so that she didn''t stumble on them. There wasn''t much left of Antler. In its heyday the census tallied more than 300 people who called Antler home. Now, by his observation, he thought that less than 30 had lived here. Most of the structures that he passed had been severely damaged. The northeast quarter of the town had completely burned and a blackened scorched area extended quite some distance into the grass fields to the east of town. Faint smoke wafted up into the sky from the still smouldering debris. The only living things that he saw were crows and turkey buzzards. They were carrion birds and just doing what they were genetically programmed to do, he thought, even as repulsive as it was. He had walked maybe a little more than a mile north and came to the creek that the town was named after. He noticed on the north side of the creek what appeared to be a small overgrown graveyard. He walked through the tall grass and fallen tree limbs and began to examine the headstones. One was the headstone of Jane Sieffert. She died in 1886. Engraved on the face of the granite stone were these words. " In death''s cold arms she''s sleeping A tender parent, a companion dear In love she lived, In peace she died, Her life was asked but was denied" There were a few more headstones scattered throughout the small graveyard. He slowly walked between them and took a few moments to read all of them. He wondered what these people''s lives must have been like in this barren land so long ago. What brought them here? How did they manage to survive? What challenges did they face? What were their hopes? He mused that the answers were the same for most all people; a desire for a measure of independence, a longing for freedom, an appreciation for truth and the satisfaction of a hard days work and security for their family. Something brought them here to toil on this desolate prairie. Were they immigrants escaping oppression from their native home? What were their religious beliefs? Were they just young and the adventurous sort? He could only invent the answers as those who really knew were now simply dust below his feet. He stood there a few moments more looking off to the north and east. From where he stood he could almost throw a stone into Canada. There was a cool breeze blowing through the prairie grass and he could hear the water rippling in the creek. Other than that it was serenely quiet. Fireball had sidled up behind him and was nosing him in the shoulder. "I should have named you the "Big Belgian Mooch" he smiled. He unwrapped the other Little Debbi and gave her half. A string of bubbly saliva dripped from her lips as she slurped down the sweet treat. He took a bite from his and gave what was left to her also. "You''re about the only friend that I''ve got right now old girl" he whispered as he scratched behind her ears. They made their way out of the tall grass to the road that went south into town. He thought how good an ice cold beer would taste. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.It was about 9:30 when they walked back into town. He had decided that he would search for a few more supplies before they started their journey. He thought that he could find what he needed with one more visit to the "Cabin Bar". He was tired from the walk. He made his way to the cooler, cracked open one of the warm Pabst and set it on the polished bar. Then he poured himself a double shot of Jim Beam bourbon from its bottle that perched on the glass shelf along the wall. He smiled thinking that he was racking up quite a bar tab at the "Cabin". He figured that it would take them ten days to get to Charbonneau. He was sure that he could scavenge through empty homesteads along the way to find something to eat. During the nights he could find shelter in abandoned houses or barns and could get Fireball inside if the weather turned bad. He had seen a nice wool blanket in the house that he had slept in the night before. He would take that with him as this time of year the weather could turn cold very quickly. When he had finished his drink he walked back into the kitchen area. From a cooler he took a package of vacuumed sealed Boar''s Head pepperoni and four plastic bottles of Acrtic Chiller water. On one of the shelfs he found a box of Christie''s saltine crackers. He thought that with the other things that he had found that it would be enough to last him for three or four days. On his way out he took one more warm Pabst from the cooler. The sun was shining into the open east end of the building now. He could hear the tinkling of Fireball''s bells as she nibbled grass around the corner. He put the pepperoni and crackers inside the feed sack and hung it from a hitching rail that ran in front of the bar. He felt it was the strangest thing but standing there he thought that he could smell the unmistakable aroma of fresh coffee and frying bacon. He sauntered over to the house where he had slept and retrieved the wool blanket. He walked back and draped that also over the hitching rail. He decided to stroll across the square to the I.O.O.F building. It was a simple two story brick structure. A dilapidated wooden landing and steps hung off the front. All the windows had been boarded up and the plywood that was used had weathered and delaminated. A shed roof addition clad with corregated metal had been constructed along the south side. He was certain that as he walked closer to the building that the familiar smell of frying bacon became more noticeable. As he peered around the back corner of the building he was surprised to see a small fire in a fire ring that had been fashioned out of a piece of metal culvert. Over the fire was a grate with metal legs and on it were a cast iron frying pan full of sputtering greasy bacon and a blue enameled coffee pot. On a short wooden stool there were two plastic plates with a few biscuits and a couple large brown eggs setting on them. An old grey bearded man sat in a worn lawn chair with tattered green and yellow nylon webbing and had as yet to notice him. He was wearing a pair of dark brown corduroy pants a bright yellow long sleeved shirt and a baggy denim jacket that looked two sizes too big for his frail frame. Perched on his head cocked at a jaunty angle was a black felt stovepipe hat. Pinned on the side of the hat was a large monarch butterfly. He was puffing a cloud of white smoke from a corn cob pipe between his teeth and was reaching over to stir the bubbling bacon with a kitchen fork when he glanced his way. "Well hello there sonny" he said with a twinkle.. "I''ve been expecting you for breakfast. How do you like your egg"? ..to be continued. Aristotle He must have stood there with a confounded look on his face. "Well don''t just stand there gawpin son! Pull up a chair and pour yourself a cup of coffee." the old man prodded. Another old aluminum lawn chair with orange and white webbing set on the other side of him close to the fire ring. He moved around the fire and pulled the chair back a bit and sat looking at the old man. The old man leaned closer and said, "I hope you don''t mind but I like my coffee a bit on the strong side". Then pausing for effect he said, "Just like I like my women" He laughed uproarously at his joke and slapped his knee with one hand while holding his corn cob pipe with the other. He started coughing like people sometimes do during a good laugh. The same nerves involved in laughing are the same as those that are involved in the coughing reflex. He pulled a red paisley handkerchief from his denim jacket and wiped tears from his eyes and blew his nose. He was amused by the old man''s antics. He hadn''t felt very light hearted in a while and it made him smile. There were two white ceramic coffee cups and an old pot holder setting on the ground next to the fire ring. He carefully filled both cups from the enameled pot setting on the fire grate and held out one to the old man. "Well thank you son..much obliged" The old man had stuck his pipe in his jacket pocket and took the cup with his left hand while forking the bacon off to one side of the fry pan. "You didn''t say how you wanted your egg so I''m gonna break the yolk and fry em hard" he said smilingly. "That''s fine. I''m not particular" he responded. "I reckon not, what with that beer you''re drinkin" and he began laughing again. He broke the two eggs into the hot bacon grease and when they were ready he flipped them over with a tablespoon that he took from his pocket. "What''ll ya have? Good old time flavor...Pabst Blue Ribbon beer" he sang as he flipped the eggs. When they were cooked he spooned one into one of the split open biscuits along with three slices of the fried bacon, set it on one of the plastic plates and passed it to his visitor. Then he made one for himself and took the fry pan off the fire and set it on the ground. He had raised the biscuit to his open mouth and was about to take a first bite but noticed that his visitor sat there with his head bowed. "Must be petitioning the lord" he thought and waited respectfully for him to finish. After a few moments he raised his head and they both began to eat. It was the first good hot food that he had eaten in quite some time and the coffee couldn''t have been better. "I seen ya come riden into town last night son. You and your little pony looked kinda wore out" "Yeah...we had quite a day" he replied. They both sat silently eating their biscuit and more coffee was poured. "Thankyou, I appreciate your hospitality Mister?" ... "Name''s Brumby..Aristotle Brumby. And what''s your name son?" "My name''s Van..Van Petrenko. It''s Russian" "Well, glad you stopped by Van. I don''t get many visitors these days" he said soberly. He fished his pipe out of his jacket pocket and tamped it full of Prince Albert tobacco that he pinched from a foil pouch. He reached down and took a small glowing stick from the fire to light the tobacco. "Give me your plate son" and he wrapped the last pieces of bacon in the remaining biscuit. "You need some meat on them bones. You''re about to blow away like a tumbleweed" he said paternally. "Thankyou. It is good" and he readily accepted the plate that the old man held out to him. He sat back and started puffing on his corn cob pipe until white smoke hung in the still air. The sweet smell of the tobacco reminded the young man of his grandfather who, he remembered, took pleasure from his pipe also. It was peaceful sitting here in the calm with this unusual old man. He felt safe and that this was someone that he could trust. "That was quite a storm we got a while back" the old man offered. After a few moments Van asked, "You think that what happened was just a storm?" The old man thought for a time, puffed a cloud of white smoke and with a grin said, " Well it sure weren''t no April shower! " he laughed. After a few moments of silence he leaned closer towards him in his chair, his brow furrowed and he asked in a low voice, "Tell me son..what do you think it was?" This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there...to be continued. "Conversation" Their conversation was interrupted by the tinkling of Fireball''s bells. She had walked around the corner of the building and was now standing there snorting and swishing her tail. He had learned that typically a horse snorts when they are happy and content. They often do it when they greet other animals or when they are expecting a treat. "Well I wondered when you would show up. I was expecting you for breakfast too". He got up spryly for an old man and took out a large orange carrot from his jacket pocket. She bit off chunks of it as he held it firmly in his hand, her nose and lips twitching from side to side. It brought a smile to the old man''s face. "You''re a spoiled girl ain''t ya"? he teased as he scratched her forehead. "My pa had a horse like this when I was a kid" he said wistfully. When the last bit of carrot was gone he turned and sat back in his lawn chair. Fireball followed him and kept nudging his shoulder with her velvet nose. Then she nosed the back of his stove pipe hat and it slipped forward over his eyes. "Get out a here ya panhandler. I give ya yer breakfast" he laughed as he straightened his hat. "She''s a sponger, that''s for sure"..Van chuckled, "What happened to your horse"? The old man paused and stroked his beard.."Well, I don''t rightly know. I was sixteen years old in 1944. I left the farm, lied about my age and joined the Army. They sent me off to Camp Roberts out in California and taught me how to shoot and read a map and drink beer"..he laughed. Heck, that come easy for a kid from Bonetrail North Dakota! Next thing I know I got my face stuck in the sand on some beach in Okinawa. Well, after that little exotic tour I spent almost a year in Japan with the occupational forces." He stabbed the air with his pipe and said with narrowed eyes, "You know what son? I was with the military police outside his house when they arrested that son of a bitch Tojo."..he leaned forward from his chair and spit in the fire. "Got a letter one morning from my older sister. She wrote me that ma and pa had both been killed in a wreck. They were headed down to Williston in the old Plymouth...going to buy ma a brand new Maytag ringer washer for their anniversary. A guy haulin a load of logs going north on #2 fell asleep and his rig come across the centerline. Well, they discharged me soon after that. It took me another month to get home. By that time my sister had sold off all the livestock.. and that old horse...well, I just don''t know what happened to that old girl. Anyways, that was kind of a round about answer to a simple question"...he acknowledged. "Seems like you''ve survived just fine"..Van smiled. "Oh, that I have son..had a good life...a good long life..no complaints"...he said with a wink and a smile. They sat in silence for a time; the old man filling his pipe with the Prince Albert tobacco. Van leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "I had a hard time when I came back from the war. I struggled..just couldn''t seem to get it together. For the longest time I drank too much, I partied too much..hell I did everything in excess. I just couldn''t stop thinking about everything that happened in that shit show over there" he said shaking his head. "I guess I was just trying to flush that insanity out of my mind. I was renting a travel trailer from a Methodist lady in Minot and tending bar at the Blue Rider. Early one Sunday morning I was washing my clothes at the Suds and Sun..there was a pamphlet laying there on a folding table. I picked it up... it was either that or a woman''s fashion magazine so I started reading it...waiting for the rinse cycle. It had some pictures on it...I remember how it said that all the crap that''s going on matched bible prophecy...how Satan was stirring up all this trouble. It said how this wasn''t the way things were supposed to be and said how the future would be better. It sounded plausible to me. Thinking back I guess I was really just looking for some answers...looking for some friends. There was an offer on the back and a phone number. So when I get home I decided to give it a call. This woman answers and I explain why I''m calling...she''s real pleasant and said that she would let me talk to her husband. Well we talk for quite a while and I agree to having him stop by...heck, he shows up that very afternoon. So we talk for an hour or so and he shows me a lot of things in the "good book" that I never knew..how that soon the Lord would bring an end to iniquity..iniquity..that was a new one for me"..he chuckled. "He showed me that it''s going to happen by what the bible calls Armageddon and that after that the Lord would restore the earth back to paradise. He''d come around at least once a week after that..sometimes twice. He gave me a book called "Glorious Reward" and over a few months we read through that whole book. I started going to their meetings...well, they call them conclaves. There was a lot of emphasis put on just how close we were to his "radiance"...that''s what they called it when all this would happen"...he said rolling his eyes. "They would say that "he was at the door". So, up until just recently, that''s what I believe happened a few weeks ago...I believed it was the "Day of Fury" just like they''d been teaching me about. Somehow I survived but I don''t believe it was because I''m some sort of chosen one." The old man sat and nodded knowingly. He took the pipe from his mouth and slapped the bowl against his wrinkled palm to dislodge the burned tobacco. He took a small jackknife from his denim jacket and with the blade he scraped the residue from the inside of the pipe bowl. After a while he stuck the pipe and knife in his pocket and turned towards the young man. "Well son, I''ll tell ya something that I''ve observed over my ninety some years...sometimes things happen that ya just don''t understand...but as more time goes by there always seems to be a logical explanation come about. And another thing...if I had a nickel for every religious grifter that I''ve seen come through in my life who implied that they were the gateway ta everlastin life...well...I suppose I could buy myself a new set of gold teeth." he leaned forward again and spit on the hot coals. "All the while they''re smilin and huggin ya with one arm, they got the other in yer back pocket" The young man smiled and nodded, " I think you''re right". The old man looked up towards the sky. "I get the feelin it''s gettin on towards noon. Everyday bout this time I have myself a little glass of the homemade brew. Would you care to try some?" The young man replied.. "You bet, I never turn down a good glass of barley water." This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.He followed the old man up a set of weathered steps at the back of the building and through the door into his home. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. A large round oak coffee table with three clawfoot legs sat in the middle of the room. On the table was a kerosene lamp, a lacquered cribbage board with ivory pegs and a worn deck of cards. On an open oily white cloth was a disassembled broomhandle Mauser pistol and a small bottle of Hopps #9. An antique crystal chandelier hung over the table suspended from the high tin ceiling. There were three old comfortable looking over stuffed chairs and one worn cushioned rocker that sat around the table. Draped over the back of the rocker was a Navajo blanket. Bookcases lined part of both walls and more books were placed in stacks on the floor. Above the bookcases along both long walls were scores of different taxidermy mounts of wild animals and birds. A full mount of a giant condor with outstretched wings looked down menacingly from its perch high on the wall. In between the mounted animals on one wall were framed shadow boxes full of carefully arranged flint arrow heads and primitive stone tools. On the other wall were the same but filled with a collection of insects and brightly colored butterfly specimens which were carefully pinned to a foam surface beneath the glass. In one corner was a painter''s easel with an unfinished canvas and a wooden box of paint tubes that lay open on a small wooden stand. The whole place had, which to him, was a pleasant smell of pipe tobacco, fermenting beer and old books. The old man had walked farther back into the room past some tall cabinets that served as a partition between the room that he stood in and a kitchen area. The cabinets had glass doors and on their shelves set a collection of native American relics and artifacts. Along the outside wall of the kitchen was an old Heartland cook stove and next to it a Standard cast iron kitchen sink. Above the sink two buffalo horns projected out from the brick wall and cradled a weathered M1 Garand. In the center of the room was a wide butcher block table that had originally been used to cut up meat. On it were a few five gallon glass carboys that were fermenting what appeared to him to be a dark beer. "Pull up a chair son and kick yer feet up" the old man said as he came from the kitchen. He held two tall glasses of dark beer with about a half inch of foam on the top that he set on the coffee table. "I''m fortunate ta have a propane refrigerator...It keeps my homemade brew nice and cold! How do ya like my little cabin"? he asked as he set the glasses of beer on the table. "I like it just fine" Van replied, "Have you lived here a long time?" "Oh I''ve owned this little place for quite a while...I just come over here for a change a pace sometimes...I got a nice little farm just a ways outa Westhope...nice old house and barn...lived there for most of my life." "Westhope...that''s where I just came from" Van stated. "Is that right?" the old man sipped from the glass ..."And where you and yer little pony headed to?" "I''m making my way down to Charbonneau...take me about ten days." "Charbonneau!" the old man laughed and slapped his leg... "There ain''t nuthin in Charbonneau but jackrabbits and sagebrush!" ..to be continued. Charbonneau Pt. 15 The great sandstone pillar rose from the rivers flood plain to a height of roughly one hundred and fifty feet and encompassed an area of approximately one acre. It was formed sixty five million years ago during the late Cretaceous Period. It was a time when Hadrosaurs grazed along the shores of the great inland sea and Pterosaurs flapped noisely through the skies on wings of skin membrane. Tyrannosaurus stalked three horned Triceratop and Ankylosaurus among the jumbled sandstone blocks and conifers that encircled its base. In the dense undergrowth and foliage along the broad river to the north were Iquanadons and Thescelosaurus. It was a warm world of spectacular lush forests and diverse life forms. These primordial beasts were unaware that a seven mile wide space rock weighing trillions of tons was hurtling towards their world at a speed of 45,000 miles per hour. The rock impacted the earth more than two thousand miles to the south of the great sandstone tower. It created a massive crater over ninety miles wide and twelve miles deep sending shockwaves that rippled across the entire planet. The impact caused a devastating megatsunami three hundred feet tall which destroyed thousands of miles of coastal ecosystems. The shockwaves triggered massive volcanic eruptions across the globe whose fiery lava scorched vast areas and which belched poisonous sulfurous gases and black smoke into the clear blue sky. Within a short time a thick cloud of choking hot dust and ash enveloped the entire earth blocking light from the sun for the next ten years or more. Debris from the impact was blasted out of the atmosphere. The particles rained down from the sky glowing with an incandescent heat that created massive forest fires and destruction. It was a global apocalyptic inferno. Within just a matter of hours, the majority of life forms on the planet were dead. It was an event colloquially called "the Great Dying". It is the Earth''s most severe known extinction event. It affected all life on Earth, and is estimated to have killed about 96% of all marine species and 70% of terrestrial vertebrate species living at the time. No class of life was spared from the devastation. Trees, plants, lizards, proto-mammals, insects, fish, mollusks, and microbes -- all were nearly wiped out. Roughly 9 in 10 marine species and 7 in 10 land species vanished. Life on our planet almost came to an end. But the great sandstone tower remained. He carved his name into the soft sandstone of the great pillar using a steel twenty penny nail and a jack knife. It was the twenty fifth of July, 1806. He named the stone formation Pompeys Pillar after the nickname that he had given to the infant son of his Shoshone interpreter Ts''kaka''wea. She would carry the infant on a willow cradle or beir on her back for the first six months of the expedition. The expedition would last for more than two years. When she was only eleven the young girl had been captured by a Hidatsa raiding party near the headwaters of the Missouri. She was later bought by a French Canadian fur trader from Boucherville Quebec. He had been stabbed with a butcher knife by the mother of a girl that he had attempted to rape. Ts''kaka''wea became his second wife. They would live in a village named Metaharta on the mouth of the Knife River more than five hundred miles from her home. It was recorded that he was a man of "no particular merit" but he would be useful as an interpreter of the tongue of the Hidatsa. In the end he would outlive most of the men who took part in the great expedition. He later worked on diplomatic errands during the War of 1812 and was arrested by the Mexicans in 1815 for invasion of their territory. The man''s name was Toussaint Charbonneau. The small town of Charbonneau was named after this fur trader from Boucherville. Charbonneau became a ghost town when the Post Office closed in 1960. Like so many other small towns in that country, it was built alongside the iron tracks of the Great Northern Railway. The Great Northern was the only successful privately funded railroad that spanned the continent. It ran from St. Paul Minnesota to Seattle Washington and transported the millions of bushels of wheat that sprouted in this flat treeless land. In the 1930''s the prices that small farmers received for their produce plummeted. Thousands of families lost their small farms. Advancements in machinery now made it possible for one man to do the same amount of work that before took twenty. Droves of people left and moved to cities. Many of the small towns that sprouted along the Great Northern railway were abandoned and became ghost towns. Charbonneau became one of them. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon."Yeah that''s true...there''s not much left of Charbonneau these days" he acknowledged. "My wife''s family lived there for a lot of years and my mother-in-law still lives in a little place just east of town. My wife went to stay with her for a few days. That was about three weeks ago just before the "storm" hit. She was due to have our first kid about a week ago. I know she made it there alright...we talked on the phone...said she had a surprise for me "... he told the old man. They both took a hearty sip of the dark foamy beer. The old man''s face grew serious as he wiped foam from his mustache with the back of his hand. "I see" he pondered. "Son, think about this..by the time you get there riden yer little old pony, you''ll be a daddy...if ya ain''t one already. You need some way to get there a little quicker" he nodded. "Yeah, that would be nice...but there isn''t a car or truck around that runs...most caught fire from whatever the heck happened a few weeks ago. That old horse is the best that I''ve got...we''ll make it somehow" he said determinedly. "Oh I know you''ll make it son..that''s for sure..not a doubt in my mind"...the old man encouraged. "Would ya like another homemade?..it''s on special"...he grinned. "Don''t mind if I do!..it''s very good"..Van replied. The old man tottered off to the kitchen and in a short while came back and set the two foamy beers on the table. "Met a Finnlander long time ago on a drillin rig over around Glasgow. He was the one who give me the recipe". He leaned closer and in mock mysteriousness said, "The secrets in the hops....Cascade"..he winked. Van smiled at his humor. "Is that what you worked at most of your life?...on drilling rigs?" " Well, I was employed quite often by them outfits searchin for that Texas Tea. I worked for them and mines and oh...so many other outfits that needed to know about dirt and rocks and such things. Ya see, when I come back from Japan, I went down to Grand Forks and got me an education in geology. I was always fascinated that so many secrets to the past are right there for us to find...right under our feet...ya just need a good pick and a shovel to get to them"!..he laughed. "I''ll tell ya an interestin story...bout twenty some years ago I was comin home from Sturgis...went down there for a long Fourth of July weekend..well I was minding my own business at the Caboose in Whitewood when I get a call from a buddy of mine from Marmarth...he said "ya gotta get up here and see this...you won''t believe it". So I made my way up there that Sunday afternoon...turns out some kid found some dinosaur bones on his family''s ranch. Heck the place was swarmin with people..National Geographic..Smithsonian.. some guy from England..you name it..It was a big deal..turns out it was what they call a hadrosaur...even had some skin and muscle left on it...had a mouth like a duck and ate grass and leaves and such...they called it the "cow of the cretacious"..walked this here rock more than sixty five million years ago. Well it was one of the most memorable things that I''ve ever seen. I''ll tell ya son..there''s been a lot more that''s gone on here than what your...what did you say the name a those people was who ya got tangled up with"? "They''re called "The Inheritors of the Promise"..Van replied. "Yeah..The Inheritors"..the old man chuckled. "Well things been goin on around here a lot longer than what your "Inheritors" might tell ya"...he nodded knowingly. They sat in silence for a while thinking about what had been said and enjoying the cool tranquilizing glass of beer. After a while the old man offered, "Son, I got a big ol porterhouse in my fridge back there..I could fix it up with some taters and carrots if ya like. It''s getting kinda late..why don''t ya bunk here tonight and get a good night''s rest. I''ve been thinkin about your situation with your wife down in Charbonneau and I think I got a good idea. ...to be continued.. Flamingo "Well let''s see what we got here...15-2, 15-4, 15-6, 15-8, the pairs make 20 and nobs for 1. So I got 29 there and my crib...hmm...well I''ll be danged...6,7,8,8...so that''s 15-2, 15-4 and a double run of 10 is 14. That''s about the best hand this ol rock hound has ever got! Ya see yer little peg behind them two little skunks there son?...that signifies that you been double skunked! " the old man laughed uproariously and slapped his leg. It was the scene that played across his eyes as he slept on the old overstuffed couch along the wall in the old man''s "cabin". The old man had fixed a wonderful meal of steak and all the fixings the evening before. Afterwards they had drank more of the homemade beer and played cribbage and talked late into the evening. He came to the conclusion that he had a snowball''s chance in hell of winning a game playing against an old man with seventy years of experience under his belt. As he slowly awakened that morning the first thing that his eyes focused on in the dimly lit room was the giant condor perched high above him on the wall. It seemed to be glaring ominously at him...ready to hop down and devour his liver like Prometheus of old. He sat upright on the couch and rubbed his eyes and face. With a yawn he extended his arms and stretched his back, twisting far to one side then to the other. Early morning light was coming through the windows. The house was quiet but for the rhythmic ticking of an Abingdon clock in the corner. He thought that he would check on Fireball and give her the last quart of grain. He had left the feed sack with his stash of supplies on the wooden steps outside the door. He grabbed his boots and went outside to sit on the steps, shutting the door quietly behind him. It was cool and misty but promised to be a beautiful clear autumn day. He slipped his boots on, tucking the laces inside so as not to trip on them. He grabbed the feed sack and as he walked around the corner, he could see Fireball across the square near the old Opera House. Alongside it and in front, brush and saplings had grown up for lack of care. There was also a wild apple tree a few steps off the northeast corner of the building. Fireball was foraging on the small yellow apples that had dropped from the tree onto the ground. He could hear the faint tinkling of her bells as her brown head moved back and forth. He headed to the concrete slab in front of the Cabin bar and when Fireball noticed him, she followed. "Well old girl...this is the last of the grain. We''re going to have to find you some more...or at least some more oatmeal cream pies." ...he smiled as he dumped the grain on the slab. In the dim light he made his way inside the bar, took two warm Pabst from the cooler, and made his way back to the bench in front of the building. Sunlight was just peeking above the the distant horizon to the east. He had lost track of what the date was. It had to be near the end of October. The bench that he sat on butted up to a self serve bagged ice freezer on one end. Stuck on the side was a flyer advertising the "2021 Cabin Bar Halloween Costume Party." There were prizes for best couple, most original, least recognizable and the one that took the most explanation. He smiled thinking that it sounded like fun. The "Seers" wouldn''t approve of it though. If a dedicated "Inheritor" was caught participating in the holiday he would be "cast out" and shunned. Halloween was the devil''s holiday and was steeped in iniquity. They could righteously flog a young kid with a length of hydraulic hose for kissing a girl but you''d suffer everlasting damnation for dressing up like Elvis and having a spiced rum with friends. He cracked open the second Pabst and walked south of the bar for a ways. The large pole style building that housed the fire department and post office had escaped any damage. The large doors on the south side were open and the pumper truck and other vehicles sat neatly arranged in their stalls. An old clipping hung framed on the wall. It informed that the town purchased its first fire truck in 1907 and also ordered all townspeople that their chimneys would be required to be constructed of brick. The north end of the building housed the Post Office. He peered through the double glass doors and saw a mouse scamper through a crack between the service counter and the wall. He thought that it might have been the first living thing, outside of Aristotle, that he had seen in this town. By the time that he and Fireball made it back to the old man''s home the sun was above the eastern horizon. He sat on the wooden steps finishing the Pabst beer. Fireball had followed him and stood in front of him with a look of expectation. He rummaged through the grain sack and brought out two of the remaining sugar cubes. She slobberingly took them from his open hand and crunched them down. "I should give you a carrot instead..It would be better for you old girl" he said as he rubbed her forehead. There was a faint wonderful smell emanating from inside the building. To him it smelled like homemade bread. He figured that the old man must be up and around and was fixing something for breakfast. The lights were on when he walked through the door and there was a clattering of pans coming from the kitchen. Aristotle poked his head around the kitchen doorway. "I hope you''re hungry son...there''s enough here to feed the Tenth Army" He took a seat at the table and straightened it up from the previous evening. He put the playing cards back in their dog eared box and the ivory cribbage pegs into the receptacle that had been built into the board. He picked up the broom handled Mauser and was examining it when the old man tottered up and set down down two plates of steaming hot fresh made biscuits and sausage gravy. "Dig in son...I''ll get us some coffee". He came back shortly from the kitchen and set two cups of hot black coffee on the table. "A good buddy of mine give me that Mauser before he passed. He was a platoon sergeant with an engineering battalion in Europe and danged if he didn''t end up with the occupational forces in Berchtesgaden. Him and some French guy hiked up to Adolph''s house they called...oh heck..what did they call it?...well, I forget the proper name for it but it come to be known as the Eagles Nest. He told me that it was one of the prettiest places he''d ever seen. Him and the guys he was with had been involved in disarming some German officers in the area and one was carrying that pistol. He told me that he give the guy a couple packs of Lucky Strikes for taking it." " Well, I''d say he made a pretty good deal"...Van replied. After a few mouthfulls of the biscuits and gravy the old man set his coffee down. "Like I told ya son, I think I got an idea how you can get to Charbonneau a little sooner than riden your old pony. Ya see I got a nice little car out there in the garage and I think it will get you there just fine. It''s all gassed up and runs like a top. Why don''t you leave your pony here with me and I''ll take good care of her. She''ll have plenty to eat. There''s about five thousand bushels of oats in that grain silo that ya passed coming into town... there''s plenty of corn and I''m sure I could find something sweet for her once in a while." ...he chuckled. "When ya figure out things with yer wife in Charbonneau you can just bring back the car..I''ll be around...how bout we take a look at it when we''re finished here"? Van sat thinking for a few moments. He had grown quite attached to that old horse and their shared experiences but he knew the old man would take good care of her and with a decent vehicle he might be able to be in Charbonneau that very afternoon. "Well sir...that''s probably a good idea...I really do need to find my wife and make sure she''s alright"...he said seriously. "If you''re sure it''s what you want to do...I mean...heck...you just met me yesterday...you really don''t even know me". "Son...I got a pretty good eye when it comes to sizing up people. I felt right off that you was a good honest young feller...except for that beer ya seem to be partial to"...he laughed cheerfully. "That little car will get ya there and back just fine. I bought it for my wife years ago...she loved that little car. I get it out once in a while and maybe drive out to Sherwood and back. I got an old truck out there too that I drive regular." He took his pipe from his pocket and packed the sweet tobacco into its bowl. He struck a match from a matchbook that had "The Naked Moose, Lorraine ND" on the cover and lit the tobacco. "How bout we stumble out there and see if the old girl will fire up...what do ya say?" ...he winked. "Well...that sounds ok...I''d like to see your old car." He followed the old man out of the house, down the wooden steps and around to the south side of the house in a trail of white smoke. A shed roof lean-to structure had been built off the main building with creosote posts and galvanized metal on the walls and roof. He pushed on the barn type door which hung on a metal track and slid it open. The car was covered with a grey colored linen auto cover. "Ok son, you grab that front side and we''ll get this old rag off from her." When they had completely removed the cover he stood there with his mouth open. It was absolutely the most beautiful car that he had ever seen.The old man laughed... "Kinda cute ain''t it? That there is a 1961 Buick Flamingo convertible. I bought it for my wife when I started makin good money in the oil patch. They said it''s "the perfect car for scolding misbehaving kids" cuz that front seat swivels right around to the back"...the old man said pointing with his pipe. "Well hop in son...It ain''t gonna bite ya...keys are in it"...he laughed. Van opened the drivers side door and slid into the cushioned front seat. He ran his open palm across the dash and down the chrome console. He turned the key and the 364 v8 purred to life. "Back her out on the grass and we''ll throw your stuff in"...the old man waved. Van adjusted the rear view mirror and pulled the stick on the column to reverse. It rumbled smoothly out into the sunlit yard. "That''s a beautiful old car"...Van said as he stepped out. "I sure appreciate what you''re doing for me"...he said seriously. "Happy ta help ya son"...the old man smiled as he put his supplies in the back seat. Fireball had approached and was tentatively nosing the rear taillight. "You behave yourself old girl"...he whispered as he scratched her neck. "I''ll be back for you". He turned and solemnly extended his hand to the old man. "Thanks again for everything" " My pleasure son...take care"...the old man clasped his hand with both of his. He slid again into the Buick''s front seat and pulled the stick to drive. He rolled away with a final wave of the hand. Before he veered left to head south out of town he glanced into the rearview mirror. The old man stood there holding Fireball by the bosal and was wiping his eyes with the red paisley handkerchief. Fireball stood watching him intently with her ears snapped forward. He turned the Buick left and headed south out of Antler. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Radio A favorite song of his, "Old Man" played serenely through his mind as he drove south out of town. He steered the old Buick with one hand and the other hanging out the drivers side window. The morning sun felt good on his arm and shoulder. He guessed that he could have put the top down but thought it was just a bit too cool for that and he sure didn''t want to booger up Aristotle''s beautiful car somehow. ND-256 ran south straight as an arrow out of Antler. It was a vast flat grassland with few trees. Twelve thousand years ago it was covered by a four hundred foot thick slab of ice. The retreating glacier gouged out innumerable potholes and lakes that dotted the countryside. The melting ice created an inland sea which in the distant past was estimated to be three hundred feet deep in the vicinity of what is now the city of Fargo. At the Renville corners he pulled the Buick to the side of the road. He swung the door open and stepped out to stretch his legs and ease the burning in his hip. He left the car idling. He didn''t want to risk shutting it off and then have it not start again. It would be a fifteen mile walk back to Antler. There wasn''t much to see in Renville. On one corner were a number of large metal grain storage bins and a machinery repair building. On the opposite corner was a shabby run down convenience store. From here he could either head west through Mohall, drop south through Kenmare and then eventually cross the Missouri river at Williston. Or he could continue south through Minot, head west on ND-23 and cross Lake Sakakawea on the Four Bears bridge. Lake Sakakawea was created in the early fifties with the construction of the Garrison Dam. Hundreds of members of the Three Affiliated Tribes were forcibly relocated from the land that they had lived on for more than a thousand years. He stood at the intersection gazing off to the west. He knew that although that route was a few less miles, it was sparsely populated, and if he got in a situation where he had to find food or shelter, it could be a long walk. He decided to go south through Minot. There was a large air base there on the north end of the city and he thought that he might find a clue there as to what had happened those few long weeks ago. He reached into the feed sack which lay in the back seat of the Flamingo and pulled out the bottle of Stolichnaya. His better judgement told him to put it back but his hip throbbed so. He tilted the bottle back, swallowed the last of the vodka, and stuck the empty bottle back in the feed sack. It crossed his mind that if he ever got back to the farm where he was quartered back in Westhope, that there were eleven more bottles stashed in the hay mow. He smiled thinking that there was slim chance that he would get pulled over. It was a good bet that he was the only one on the road in Bottineau County this day. He slid back into the front seat, pulled the stick to drive and rumbled away from Renville. His mind wandered back to the camp in Westhope that he had escaped from. He smiled when he thought of the little girl with the big round eyes who had said that he was the "chosen one." He hoped that she and her young mother were surviving alright in that draconian nightmare. He thought too about what Aristotle had said...that over time, usually there will come about a logical explanation for something that a person might initially not understand. He felt indebted to the old man. His clear reasoning and common sense that he displayed in their conversations were reassuring to him. It helped him to view things differently that he had formerly been led to believe. And he greatly appreciated the kindness and generosity that he had shown to him. Not many people would loan their classic car to an unshaven bum dressed in Liberty overalls who rode into town astride an old draft horse and the smell of beer on his breath. He hoped that someday he could repay Aristotle for his kindness. He was confident that the old man would take good care of Fireball until the day that he could make his way back. Wherever he ended up, he promised himself that the old horse would be a part of his family. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.On a whim he reached over and clicked on the AM radio. He turned the tuning dial to the far left and then slowly to the right. Nothing but static crackled out from the speakers. When he was almost at 1400 on the display scale a voice boomed across the airwaves... "This is KRRZ Classic Hits at 1390 on your radio dial". Then came that widely recognizable buzzing sound and an impersonal voice which said, "We interrupt this broadcast to bring you an important message. This is the Emergency Broadcast System. This is not a test. At this time, a massive relief effort is underway for a vast area of north central North Dakota, southeastern Saskatchewan and southwestern Manitoba. The efforts are being initiated jointly between the United States and Canadian governments. The President has authorized the mobilization of National Guard and military personnel units from Montana, Wyoming, South Dakota and Minnesota to take charge of the extensive effort. Hampering the operations is the uncertainty of what initially caused the catastrophic destruction. U.S. military bases around the world continue to remain on high alert. Initial security agency reports indicated that it could have been a first strike attack from a foreign entity. With more information, scientists now believe it was....pheri...ai...rst...ent...sim...rred...ssia...guska...." The voice broke up in a wave of static. He pulled the car off to the side of the road and vainly adjusted the radio dial. There was nothing but crackling static. "Damn"...he muttered as he lightly pounded the dashboard above the radio hoping the vibration would help the connection. He sat back in the seat perplexed. He thought to himself that if he was hearing a radio broadcast, that obviously meant that there were more survivors out there. And if, like the announcement said, that the military was involved in a relief effort, that it wasn''t just members of the "Inheritors" who had survived. "Inheritors" didn''t involve themselves with the military. That would mean that this whole idea of "The Day of Fury" that he had been convinced of was just nonsense. "But just what in the hell had happened?"...he wondered. He knew that KRRZ was a radio station out of Minot. If there were survivors in Minot, chances were that people living farther away had survived also...like his wife and family in Charbonneau. It was about thirty five more miles to Minot. He felt that it was there that he would finally discover the answer. He adjusted the rearview mirror, clicked off the radio, slid the stick to drive and rumbled south towards Minot. Colonel Steiger "Give me Swedes, snuff and whiskey, and I''ll build a railroad through hell." In the fall of 1886, Minot was the end of the line for James Hill''s Great Northern Railroad. Ahead of the workers, to the west of town, lay Gassman coulee...an eighteen hundred feet wide and one hundred feet deep gash in the earth carved by the forces of nature eons before. When construction came to a halt that fall, a tent city sprang up and within a few months the population of Minot increased to more than five thousand people. During the following spring, a trestle was erected that spanned the entire width of the coulee. It was constructed entirely of wood shipped in from the forests of Minnesota. In a few years all the iron rails would be laid which would carry Hill''s trains across Montana, traversing the Continental Divide at Marias Pass, and finding the end of the line at Seattle Washington. Eleven years later, an F4 tornado estimated to be a mile and a half wide, roared up the coulee, slammed into the trestle, and left it a jumbled shambles of broken, splintered timbers. He wasn''t far past 76th street when he noticed the string of blinking red and yellow lights far to the south. He surmised that these lights must be near the air base which was about nine miles north of Minot. The wind had picked up...he could feel it rock the Flamingo at times. He could feel the temperature dropping and a black ominous looking thunderhead cloud was forming off to the south directly in his path. He made sure all the windows were rolled up tightly and slid the lever of the heater control to medium. In a few moments he could feel the warm air on his feet and legs. Storms had a way of forming quickly in this vast, flat land. Warm moist air from the Texas gulf colliding with frigid air roaring south down from the Canadian Rockies and sweeping across Saskatchewan created violent dramas that played across this grassy prairie stage. He had just come past a sign which read, "Minot 7mi." when the first drops splattered against the windshield . They weren''t those soft misty drops like from an eastern Tennessee mountain rain but a malevolent hail, water hybrid hurled down from the heavens from some great celestial watering can...like bb''s ricocheting off the safety glass. He hadn''t gone another mile before the intermittent pattering became a verifiable Dakota deluge. The rain hitting the canvas top of the convertible made a deafening roar. He was thankful that the wipers worked and that Aristotle had kept good blades on them. He smiled thinking that he had been lax in the past with his own vehicles...letting the blades get so far gone that the metal frame engraved a visible arc across the windshield. He had set the wipers to the highest speed and turned the headlights on, but the rain poured from the heavens in such a downpour that it was difficult to view clearly the road ahead. He slowed to a modest speed and was able to make out the center line. "Yes sir," he mumbled to himself, " this is a big ''ol fat rain ". About two miles north of the airbase is where he met the first vehicles. He thought that he may have passed eight or ten Humvees with flashing blue and red lights. Then there were a number of military tractor trucks with flatbed trailers hauling heavy equipment, like dozers, cranes and backhoes. There were also numerous rigs pulling enclosed trailers which he guessed contained food, clothing and other relief supplies. There was a long line of school buses that had been painted military green. He could glimpse the silhouettes of the capped personnel inside from the lights that shown through the windows behind them. He saw that a ways ahead there appeared to be a roadblock in his southbound lane. A barricade had been set up across the road with flashing red and yellow lights. There was also a large portable diesel generator there that powered two large LED balloon lights. It was the kind that he had seen on road construction projects. As he got closer he could make out an armed sentry dressed in a standard hooded rain poncho and camouflage fatigues. He slowed as the sentry took a few steps forward with his arm raised indicating for him to stop. As the young sentry approached, he rolled the window down about half way. Rain poured off the hood brim of the young man''s poncho. "Hello sir...can I ask your name and where you''re coming from today?"...he shouted above the din. "My name is Van Petrenko and I just came from Antler this morning...I''m on my way to Charbonneau. "Yes sir...if you''ll just follow this drive into the base sir" ...he said pointing to the west... "you''re going to come to a large metal canopy. Our personnel there will give you some instructions and show you where to park." "Can you tell me what this is all about?...I was just on my way through Minot "...he asked puzzled. " Yes sir, all vehicles leaving the restricted area are being detained for a short interview and then can be on their way sir ". " Have there been many come through? "...he asked curiously. " You''re the only one sir"...he stated bluntly as he stepped back and directed him to the right with an outstretched arm. He steered the Flamingo to the right and proceeded up the broad drive to the entrance of the base. It was roughly a quarter of a mile off the main road. He could see the illuminated entrance canopy up ahead. It was a large shallow pitched metal roof structure that was supported by large steel columns embedded into concrete piers. A large sign in bold letters read, "Only The Best Come North". There were three different lanes for vehicles to pass through. At each lane was a well lit sentry shack manned by an armed airman. An automatic barrier gate set just past the sentry shacks which was controlled by the guard. He pulled even with the sentry shack, came to a stop, and rolled the window down about half way. A young sentry dressed in camouflage fatigues was on the phone but acknowledged him with a nod of his head. When the call was finished he stepped out and approached the car. "Hello sir, I''ve notified administration of your arrival. You''re going to proceed ahead a short distance. Take the second street to the right. When you come to the first building on your left, park in one of the spaces in front of the building. There will be an airmen there to assist you inside. Thank you sir". He nodded that he understood and was about to roll the window up when the young sentry turned on his heel and took a step back towards the car. "And can I say sir...that is one fine looking car"...he said with a grin. He mouthed a "thanks"...the gate went up and he pulled ahead back into the downpour. He turned right at the second street and saw that the building that the young airmen had directed him to was just a short distance ahead. As he got closer he saw that there were only two vehicles parked in the farthest spaces. He parked the Buick about midway down the line of parking spaces as from there it would be a short walk to the entrance of the building. He noticed that there was another poncho clad airmen who was standing in the lighted entryway of the building. On seeing him park, the burly airmen stepped out and briskly walked towards the car. As he stepped out of the car the airmen popped open a large black umbrella and held it over him to protect him from the unabated rainstorm. "Hello sir"...he barked above the clash of thunder... "I''m Airmen Komarov....I''m here to assist you to see Colonel Steiger. If you''ll just follow me sir"...as he extended his arm towards the entrance. It was only a few paces to the vestibule but in that short distance his lower legs became drenched. He could feel the cold water run down inside his borrowed boots to his sockless feet. Once inside the foyer the airmen carefully closed the umbrella, snapped the button of the retaining strap and removed the hood of the poncho from his head. "Right this way sir" The airmen pushed open another set of glass doors that led into a large open brightly lit office area. A young female airmen sitting at a reception desk glanced up and smiled at him as they walked forward without stopping. He felt self conscious dressed in his Liberty overalls and Lake Okeechobee baseball cap. On either side of the aisleway were six rows of work stations that were three or four deep. At each work station sat young airmen either looking attentively at their computer screens, conversing intently on their phone or were diligently typing on their keyboards. In the center of both groups was a large black Xerox copy machine and from the ceiling there were suspended a number of large display screens that appeared to be tuned to national news broadcasts. On one screen he recognized the solemn image of Norah O''Donnell. As he followed the airmen he was aware that with every step that he took there was a noticeable squishing sound from his saturated boots. "Clomp, squish, clomp, squish, clomp, squish"...as he followed the airmen down the polished concrete aisle. At the end of the hallway they turned left and in a few steps came to a glass partition and double doors that led to a small office where a young red headed female airmen sat. On the glass partition next to the door there was a plaque which read in embossed letters, "Colonel Axle Steiger, USAF, Minot Air Force Base". As they entered, the airmen who was escorting him stated, "Airmen Komarov and Mr. Petrenko to see Colonel Steiger". The young woman behind the desk picked up her phone, pressed one of the black buttons, and in a moment spoke, "Airman Komarov and Mr. Petrenko to see you sir...yes sir"...and hung up the phone. "It will be just a moment gentlemen" ...she smiled. In a short time the door opened and a uniformed man stepped through. The airmen snapped to attention with a crisp salute. "That will be all airman...thankyou"...the man said returning his salute. The airmen turned on his heel pushed open one of the glass doors and strode back down the hallway. "Mr. Petrenko, I''m Colonel Steiger"...he said extending his hand. "Van Petrenko...nice to meet you". "Please, come inside...I''d like to hear your story"...he smiled and motioned towards his office. The office was spacious. There was a large polished mahogany desk that set at the far end. Behind the desk were full length glass panels that spanned the entire length of the wall. They looked out over the runways where B-52H Statofortress aircraft thundered into the sky. The sky was still dark outside and a south wind hurled a cold rain against the outside of the glass. Along the wall to the left there were glass doored cabinets with built in recessed lights. It contained neatly arranged books and binders, and at the end, a small kitchenette. To the right was a long cream colored sofa that faced an ornately trimmed gas fireplace installed against the wall. He could see orange and blue flames flickering from the imitation logs behind the glass panel. A stuffed ring necked pheasant perched warily on the mantle. Matching upholstered chairs set around a glass topped coffee table in front of the sofa. Above the fireplace on the wall hung a large flat screen tv. It appeared to be tuned to a news channel but the volume was muted. To the right of the fireplace behind one of the upholstered chairs was a wheeled serving cart which held an assortment of colorful liquor bottles and a fancy stainless steel ice bucket. To the left was a paneled door that he assumed led to a private wash room. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!An elderly white haired gentleman rose from one of the upholstered chairs as they entered. He was neatly dressed in a white shirt, brown slacks and a brown cardigan sweater. "Mr. Petrenko, I''d like you to meet Dr. Freedman...he''s one our senior mental health specialists here at Minot. If you don''t mind, I thought that he might like to hear of your experiences these last few weeks as well". The gentleman stepped forward and extended his hand. "Call me Sidney"...he said warmly. " Can I get you anything to drink gentlemen?...coffee...a mixed drink"? "I wouldn''t mind having a bourbon and water...no ice"...the elderly gentleman said politely. "Anything for you Mr. Petrenko"? " Well, I''ll have a vodka tonic...ice please". As the colonel was fixing their drinks Mr. Freedman motioned for Van to take a seat on the couch while he took the upholstered chair that he had originally been sitting in. "Here you are gentlemen"...and after fixing himself a drink he sat in one of the other cushioned chairs that was adjacent to the coffee table. They had each sampled their drink and had set the glasses on coasters that were lying on the table. " Mr. Petrenko, were glad that you were willing to take some time to talk with us about what''s happened to you these last few weeks. You''re the first person who has come out from the restricted area since the event happened. We don''t really have a clear understanding of exactly what happened...I''ll explain to you later what seems to be the consensus among our leading scientists but we thought that maybe if you could relate to us your experiences we would have a better idea of what we''re facing and it might help us in the direction of our relief efforts. Can you tell us a little bit about your experiences that day?...where you were...what you saw". Van took another deep drink from the glass of vodka tonic and carefully placed it back on the coaster. "My wife and I have a little home just outside of Westhope...on the north side. We''ve lived there for about six years now. The day this thing or event or whatever the hell it was that happened, I had driven early over to St. Andrews hospital in Bottineau. I work for an electrical contractor and we had a job there installing a 400 amp service panel. I was down in one of the service tunnels in the basement running some service entrance cable. Zane...the guy that i work with quite often, had just gone back to the van outside to get the Hilti drill and some Tap-Cons. There was a tremendous explosion...it felt like one of those 500 pound slicks we dropped in Iraq. I immediately thought it was a natural gas line that had exploded or a plane had crashed outside. I ran to go up the steps but the power had gone out and the heat coming down the stairway was so intense it forced me back into the basement. I had a small flashlight in my tool pouch and after a while when the heat had subsided enough I made my way over to the stairway...but there was so much debris that had fallen into it that I couldn''t get up the steps. I had worked at this hospital before and I knew that in another part of the basement there were some window wells that I might be able to crawl through. I eventually found one of the windows but it took me a while to get out. They were painted shut...I had to break it out with an empty oxygen cylinder that was stacked there on a shelf. When I got outside...it was...well...it was just gone...I struggled to breathe...there was this hot acrid smoke...It seemed like everything was on fire. I made my way back to where the van was parked to find Zane. I found him lying behind the van. His clothes were smouldering...he had been burned... terribly burned... I knelt by his side...he was unrecognizable...I managed to get his wedding ring off his finger and I stuck it in my pocket...I thought his wife would want it. I stood there for a while slowly turning around with my mouth hanging open...half of the hospital had collapsed...there were buildings and vehicles on fire...but no people. I ran around...kinda frantically I guess for a while just looking for someone...there was nobody...alive that is. I walked south a block or two past the courthouse then east towards main street...it was just total destruction. I remember standing outside of what was left of the "Family Bakery"...we would sometimes go there for lunch...I just stood there...looking up and down the street thinking, "It''s happened...it''s really happened". " What do you mean by that"?...Colonel Steiger leaned towards him and asked. "What did you think had happened? Did you think it was an attack of some sort"? Van had reached for the vodka tonic and taken another deep drink. The ice tinkled against the glass as he placed it back on the coaster. "Can I freshen that for you"?...Colonel Steiger asked rising from his chair. Van nodded appreciativley. "Sidney...how about you"? "I''m fine for now thankyou"...the doctor responded. Mr. Freedman sat looking intently at Van...his right elbow on the armrest of the cushioned chair...his head supported by the outstretched fingers of his right hand. He reached for his drink also and took a modest sip. "Thankyou"...Van said as the Colonel held out his drink. "The thought of it being an attack didn''t really even enter my mind. You see...my wife and I...well...we had become involved with a faith group who had convinced us that the end of the world was about to happen. As crazy as it sounds, when I stood there that morning looking up and down the streets, I firmly believed that was exactly what had happened...that God has finally brought an end to everything just like they had been teaching us." " So you believed it was Armageddon and, I would assume, that you probably thought only those who were members of your group would be the ones to survive"?...the doctor asked calmly. "Yeah...at the time...that was pretty much it"...Van admitted. "Have you heard of such a thing before" ? "I''ve worked with people before who had similar beliefs...there are a number of different groups who have the same teachings"...the doctor said understandingly. Van nodded and continued. "I started walking out of town towards Westhope. I found a few vehicles with the keys in them along the way but nothing would start...it was like the electronics were messed up in them...so I resigned to myself that I would have to walk home. It was thirtyone miles back to town...I made it in two days." He paused for a few moments... reached for his glass...and took another swallow of the icy drink. "When I walked into town that afternoon I met up with a number of "Inheritors" that I knew...that''s the name of the group that my wife and I had joined. I have no idea how so many of them had survived. Sometimes they would have an early morning conclave in the basement of Seer Erdhenne''s home...maybe that''s where they were that morning. They told me that they had organized a camp for everyone...the leaders assigned us places to stay...in damaged homes or garages...even some old school buses...whatever they could find. I was quartered in a small shed on a farm on the south side of town. They formed different work details also. I was assigned to a burial detail. We either buried the corpses in a mass grave or stacked them inside one of the damaged structures then set it on fire"...but there were so many...the buzzards got a lot before we could get to them". Everyone seemed to reach for his drink at the same time. "Excuse me Colonel"...Van asked..." Could I use your washroom"? "Of course" ...he responded... "Right through that door"...he pointed. When Van had entered the washroom, Colonel Steiger and Dr. Freedman glanced at each other with a grave look on their faces. " Kid''s been through a lot Colonel" "Yes...quite an experience...I think what he''s told us so far though will help our people know what to expect as they move into the area. It was interesting to hear him say what he believed had happened...and about this religious group that he became involved with...strange". "Yes it was"...Sidney nodded agreeably. "His experience with the group isn''t uncommon though. Typical high control group....that''s what they''re referred to now by my profession." "High control"? "Yes... they all seem to use techniques...proven techniques...to exploit and manipulate people." "Like what?...can you give me an example"? "I would say primarily fear...fear of death. The promise that you can escape death with the reward of living forever in some perfect utopia...that is if you stay within the group and do what they say"... he said with a smile. "But if you decide that you don''t want to be a part of it any longer, then chances are you''ll be shamed and ostracized. Throw in a good dose of guilt and you have an effective way of controlling people. It''s very difficult for people to leave one of these groups, but I think that''s what happened with Mr. Petrenko...I think he''s left the group for some reason". "What makes it so difficult to leave for these people?...why can''t they just walk away?...the Colonel asked inquisitively "Well...over time the beliefs become so deeply entrenched...and then there may be family members involved who have the same beliefs"...he paused. Did you ever see a movie called "The Shootist"? "Why yes...one of my favorites...John Wayne''s last movie"...the Colonel replied. "Remember his character went to see Doc Hostetler" "Yes, I remember that scene..old J.B. had a terminal cancer". "That''s right...and he asked Doc..." Can''t you cut it out Doc"?...and Doc said... "I''d have to gut you like a fish". To me it''s similar with someone who has deeply held beliefs...to try to excise them would most likely cause more harm"...he said seriously. "But you think that he''s come to that conclusion himself"?...the Colonel observed. "It''s just a feeling that I get from listening to his story...his body language...his appetite for drink tells me something...and the fact that he''s here and not back with his group...why is that?...he seems to be escaping something." "Yes...I noticed that too." "I think that he''s going to have mixed emotions when you explain to him what actually happened" . They both reached for their drink. ....to be continued Tunguska He moved his hand back and forth intermittently under the dispenser that hung from the wall between the sinks and filled his hands until they overflowed. It was of the kind that run on batteries and have a sensor and that will dispense a small amount of foamy, white, antiseptic soap onto your open palm as it makes a faint squealing sound. He hadn''t experienced this luxury in quite some time. He turned a lever and an unending stream of steaming hot water flowed from an antique brass faucet mounted on a faux marble sink. He held his hands closer to his face. The creases in his palms and fingers were imprinted with an unwashed oily grime. His fingernails had grown long, and a blackness had caked under them. He was taken aback by his image in the mirror. The same grime on his hands had embedded itself in the furrows of his eyes and cheeks. He took off his Lake Okeechobee hat and set it next to the sink. His dark hair and beard had grown long...his face was gaunt...eyes sunken and hollow. He was reminded of pictures that he had seen of unwashed coal miners. That''s what he was, he smiled...a Kentucky Jesus coal miner. He filled his hands with the foamy white soap from the dispenser and vigorously began to scrub his face and neck with his rough open palms...swabbing the soap inside his nostrils with his pinky finger. He got his head as far as he could under the brass faucet and let the hot water flow over his head and face and behind his ears. He filled both hands again with the foamy soap and scrubbed his scalp and hair. He had set the stopper in the sink drain and from washing his face and hands, the water had turned a weak coffee color. He pulled the plug and let the dirty water drain from the sink. There was a fluffy creme colored face towel hanging neatly folded over a brass towel ring. He reached instead for the paper towels to dry off with so as not to soil the Colonel''s towel. He wiped down the marble countertop and mirror from the water that had been splashed on it and threw the towels in the receptacle. Then he looked at himself again in the mirror. He looked better, he thought, and that feeling of having tiny bugs crawling under his skin had diminished. When he exited the washroom, he moved to take his seat again on the couch. A platter of hors d¡¯oeuvres had been placed on the coffee table. The Colonel had taken a phone call at his desk but when he saw Van, he paused, put his hand over the mouthpiece and said, "Help yourself Mr. Petrenko. Nadja, my office manager, brought this in for us"...and then resumed his conversation. On the platter were some small toasts with cream cheese and roasted marinated peppers, crackers with fresh guacamole, prosciutto wraps with dressed arugula and parmesan shavings, and cucumber cups with cream cheese and smoked salmon. There were also chunks of gouda, cheddar, and brie cheeses, as well as green and black olives and smoked almonds. His vodka tonic had also been freshened. He smiled sardonically as he gazed at the platter of rich treats setting on the table in front of him...remembering from his time in the "camp", how delicacies like these, when they had been found, had been set aside for the "Seers" while everyone else dined on canned swiss chard and boiled horsemeat. He reached for the cold vodka tonic setting on the table. Dr. Freedman sat quietly sipping his drink...his attention focused towards the muted tv screen hanging above the fireplace. The closed captions were on, but Van was oblivious as to what was being said. He hadn''t been able to follow what had been going on in the world for quite some time. In a moment, the Colonel hung up the phone and took up his seat in the cushioned chair. He took one of the small glass dishes that Nadja had brought in and took from the platter a small selection of the hors d¡¯oeuvres. "We''d like to hear more of your story Mr. Petrenko...you were telling us about this camp that these people had set up. You must have left it at some point" ...the Colonel queried. "It was a few days ago...last Sunday. They call it the "Seventh Day" ...we weren''t required to work that day...most people took the day to get their stuff washed and cleaned up as best they could or just to sleep and get some rest. We had the whole day to ourselves...we just had to be at the "conclave" in the evening for the " presentments" and then the book burning ". "Book burning?...that sounds interesting...what was that about?...Mr. Freedman asked calmly. " Well, the "Seers" had decreed that only the "Holy Scriptures" were approved reading material and that any other books or magazines that we found in our salvage details were to be collected and burned. There were a few exceptions... "how to" books on electrical wiring or first aid or anything about food preservation...or "Foxfire" books...the "Seers" were big on those "Foxfire" books. I heard of a "compeer" who had found a complete set of them in the back of some damaged old mobile home that he was gleaning from...the "Seers" were jumping up and down over it...they rewarded the guy with a couple tins of smoked oysters and a gallon jug of "Carlo Rossi" wine...he was a suck -up"...Van smiled contemptuously..."I think they promoted him to being a Varlet". The Colonel and Dr. Freedman exchanged glances. "I had gotten up early that morning. I had planned to ride "Fireball" over to Antler to see if I could find some food without an "Abettor" breathing down my neck. I figured that I had time enough to get back for the "conclave" that evening". "I assume "Fireball was a horse"...the Colonel smiled. "How did you come up with that name?" "Well, the Seers would often talk about when this "Day of Fury" would happen, that there''d be fireballs raining out of the sky incinerating all the wicked people...basically that meant anyone who wasn''t an "Inheritor". I guess naming him Fireball was just kind of tongue-in-cheek humor...or gallows humor you might say...the "Seers" weren''t too amused by it though". "And you mentioned the term "Abettor"...what was an "Abettor?...Dr. Freedman asked. "Abettors"...Van said darkly..." Simply put they were thugs...illiterate thugs...enforcers for the "Seers"...damn goons"...they couldn''t pour piss out of a boot with the directions on the heel...but they had the power"...I despised them"...he said through gritted teeth. He reached for the cold vodka tonic and took a long drink with a detached look in his eyes. "I saw them beat a young kid...stripped his shirt off and flogged him with a rubber hose because he had kissed a girl...everyone just stood there and watched...everyone was in fear...you couldn''t say or do anything, or they''d do the same or worse to you...they said it was the Lord''s judgement...I wanted to punch that son of a bitch in the throat. And that wasn''t the worst of it" ...he said, his voice trailing off. The Colonel exchanged glances with Dr. Freedman and said emphatically, "Well, I''ll make our teams aware of the situation. You can rest assured that if these people have been involved with criminal activity during a natural disaster, that they''ll be brought to justice". Van looked directly at the Colonel and asked incredulously, "Natural disaster?...are you saying what happened was a natural disaster?" The Colonel shifted forward in his chair, clasping his hands together. His brow furrowed and he said in a serious voice, "Mr. Petrenko...have you ever heard of the Tunguska event?" "Tunguska?" ...he said puzzled... "No...never heard of that before." "The Tunguska event was something that occurred in Siberia over a hundred years ago"...he paused gathering his thoughts. "What about Hiroshima...you know what happened at Hiroshima at the end of World War II right?" "Oh yeah", he nodded knowingly..."We dropped the atom bomb....big explosion...ended the war...my grandfather would have been part of the invasion forces into Japan...he used to say that he''d have kissed Harry Truman''s ass all the way to San Diego for doing it. " The Colonel chuckled, "That''s right Mr. Petrenko...but imagine an explosion with a destructive force a hundred times more powerful than the bomb that was dropped on Hiroshima"...he said emphatically..."a force so powerful that it would flatten everything in a swath twenty miles wide and forty-five miles long. That''s what happened when you were in that hospital basement over there in Bottineau. You were almost smack dab in the center of it...but you survived"...he smiled. Van slowly shook his head. "I''m not following you sir...I don''t understand...what uh...what could have caused it?" "Meteor"...the Colonel stated flatly. "It was a meteor that caused all this. Our best scientists have classified it as a "meteor air burst". They believe that it may have been two to three hundred feet wide and traveling at a tremendous speed...they estimate somewhere close to sixty thousand miles per hour." "A meteor"...Van said quizzically..." I always thought that those things just burned up in the atmosphere...you know...like a shooting star". "Well, I''m learning about this as I go along too Mr. Petrenko"...the Colonel admitted...but from what I understand, sometimes these objects are so large, and their trajectory is such that it doesn''t impact our planet but just comes extremely close...a near miss you could say. Our scientists say that this one came within twenty thousand feet of hitting us. As a matter of fact",...he paused and reached for the television''s remote control..." if I can work this thing there''s something I''d like you to see. This is an animation that''s been produced that shows us quite accurately what happened". Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.The animation began to play on the television screen. It realistically showed a large meteor tumbling through the darkness of space at an extraordinary speed...the planet earth in the distance...getting closer and closer with each passing second. The viewer could see that the trajectory of the lifeless rock was going to bring it very close to impacting the planet. The view suddenly changed to that of a person standing on a city street. The meteor entered the atmosphere at a high altitude. It went streaking across the clear blue sky like a glowing fireball...leaving an immense trail of steam, dust and smoke. As it passed overhead there was a tremendous explosion and a blinding flash of light more brilliant than the sun. The animation depicted the shockwave that followed. Small buildings and homes exploded from the force...cars and trucks were flipped and tossed through the air like chaff. Trees and power poles shattered like dry twigs...electrical lines snapped through the air like whips. Then the view changed as if the person was slowly lifted above the town and was gazing into the distance along the path that the meteor had taken. It was a scene of complete devastation and ruin. The land and everything along the meteor''s path were either scorched black or on fire. A thick dust clouded the light from the sun. The view held for a few more long seconds and then the screen went dark. Van sat staring at the blank screen. He slowly started shaking his head back and forth. "A meteor"...he muttered...still gazing at the blank screen. "Every crazy thing that we all believed and went through...and all along it was a dang space rock...old Aristotle was right"...he whispered. His head dropped into his hands...the fingers of both hands running back through his hair...his eyes swollen and red. He slumped back into the chair and sat silent. The Colonel and Dr. Freedman glanced at each other solemnly and then set their drinks on the table. After a few moments the Colonel asked with concern, "Where are you headed Mr. Petrenko?" " Charbonneau...I''m on my way to Charbonneau "...he said, his face brightening. "My wife and child are there. I''m going to get to Charbonneau if I have to crawl there"...he said determinedly. The Colonel smiled..."There''s not a doubt in my mind that you''ll make it there Mr. Petrenko...not a doubt. Mr. Petrenko, I want to tell you how much I enjoyed meeting you and our conversation. I think that you''re a man who''s honest and truthful and always tries to do the right thing. We need more men like you"...he smiled. "I wish you well on your journey. If there comes a time when you need help with anything, don''t hesitate to reach out to me". At the entrance to the base, he turned the Flamingo right and headed south towards Minot. The sun had come out and the skies had cleared. Before he left, the Colonel had offered him the use of the exercise facilities. There was a tiled shower room there with endless hot steaming water. He stood under the spurting showerhead for what seemed a very long time just letting the hot clean water wash over him. He had been graciously provided with an assortment of toiletries...a pair of scissors, a comb, a couple disposable razors, some wonderful pine scented soap and a small vial of cologne. It took him a while to shave the hair from his face as his beard had grown long. When he was finished, he looked closely in the mirror, rubbing his face like men do after they shave and thought Kaydee would be happy. Just as he was finishing up an airman entered carrying a pair of fresh and folded fatigue pants and shirt, a couple clean pairs of issue socks, a brand-new pair of suede desert sand boots and a new utility cap. "Sir, the Colonel sent me down to the supply hut...he wanted you to have some fresh clothes for your trip. Would you like me to do something with your other gear"?...he asked respectfully. Van looked towards the bench behind the sinks where he had piled his clothes; the Liberty overalls, the worn boots that he had taken from the young "Abettor", the mustard colored "Hooters" tee shirt and his signature "Lake Okeechobee" mesh hat. "No...I''ll keep them...brings back fond memories...thanks for the new clothes"...he smiled. On his way out he passed through the same front office area as he had when he entered. The young female airman at the front desk rose from her chair as he approached the door. She held in her hands the plate of left-over hors d¡¯oeuvres that had been neatly wrapped in clear plastic. "Sir, the Colonel wanted you to have these for your trip"...she smiled. He thanked her and, in a few moments, had set them on the front seat of the Flamingo. Driving slowly through Minot he thought that life looked quite normal. There were vehicles moving up and down the streets, people walking about, and businesses were open. He turned off Broadway and drove east on 1st Avenue and after driving a few blocks passed the "Blue Rider" where he had tended bar years ago. The place looked the same as he remembered. He wondered if there was still anyone working there that he knew. They had built a new outdoor deck off the east side of the building. He smiled when he remembered that it was just a parking lot when he had worked there, and it was where he had first met Kaydee. It was about five o''clock one Friday afternoon...he had just started his shift when she walked in. She had been out walking her little dog...a miniature Yorkshire terrier when a loaded gravel truck drove by and the guy driving had hit the jake brake. The sudden noise startled the little dog and Kaydee lost her grip on the leash. The frightened dog had run under a car that was parked in the lot next to the bar and the end of the leash had flipped up and snagged on an exhaust bracket. He remembered that she was a bit distraught and had pleaded with him to help rescue her little dog. He had gone out with her to the parking lot and after a few moments of crawling under the car had managed to disentangle the leash where it had snagged. He remembered how happy she was as she held the little dog close to her face...the little dog licking her on her nose and cheek and she mildly chastising her in that funny voice that people use when they talk to cute little dogs. He had managed to get grease and dirt on his clean shirt from crawling underneath the car. Kaydee had been so apologetic. She had been so insistent that she would take the shirt and wash it for him that he had smiled and agreed to it. He put on one of the tee shirts that the Blue Rider sold to patrons and let the beautiful dark-haired girl take his other shirt away so that she could wash it. She had brought it back the next day to the Blue Rider but he wasn''t working that day. When he did return for his next shift, a girl that he worked with smiled coyly and teased him that a dark eyed Indian maiden had left a package for him and that it was on a shelf under the bar. He found his shirt neatly folded along with another tee shirt. He had smiled when he shook it out and looked at it. On the front was a picture of Mount Rushmore, but instead of the faces of Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt and Lincoln, it portrayed the images of four prominent Indian chiefs. There was also a note pinned to the shirt with a straight pin with a turquoise-colored bead on the end. It read, "Thank you so much for helping me and little Wanahca". She had told him later that Wanahca was Lakota for bloom or flower. She had drawn a heart, a smily face and left a phone number. He had teased her so many times that the whole experience with her dog was just a charade and a ruse that she used just so that she could meet him. She would just smile and roll her dark eyes. He asked her out and they went to the State Fair. They had rode the Tilt-a-Whirl, shared a deep fried pickle and curly fries, and walked through all the animal exhibits. As the sun was going down, they sat in a far corner of the grandstand and listened to a young local girl sing Dolly Parton''s song "I Will Always Love You". He turned west at Gasman corners on 247th avenue. It would take him almost three more hours in the old Flamingo to get to Charbonneau. The old Buick purred across miles and miles of flat countryside bursting with alfalfa and corn, wheat and an endless expanse of blue sky. At the Four Bears Bridge he pulled off and parked near the river¡¯s edge on the gravel area to the south side of the bridge. His hip was bothering him, and he wanted to get out and stretch his legs. He had rummaged through his things in the back seat and had found the Bloody Butcher bourbon that he had taken from the Cabin Bar in Antler. He poured a generous amount of the bourbon into a plastic cup and topped it off with some bottled water. He had taken that along with a couple of the prosciutto wraps that he placed in a paper towel and stood in front of the car looking out across the Missouri. He could almost visualize the flatboats being poled laboriously up the river by bearded sweating men...sometimes cursing the blazing heat and the fickle currents. And there sat a uniformed man in the prow studiously scribbling in a leatherbound notebook his observations of what passed before his eyes. He imagined the challenges and struggles that must have befallen these hardy men on their voyage through this unknown, uncharted land, and finally the joyous celebration when, after two and a half years, they found their way home to St. Louis...home to their beloved wives and families. It was just 4:00 when he wheeled the Flamingo back onto 247th avenue and headed west across the Four Bears bridge. The late afternoon sun was low and off to his left. With luck he could make Charbonneau in just under two hours. "I''m almost there Kaydee...I''m almost home"...he whispered. Home "Church Leaders Face Charges" He had gotten into the habit of getting up early in the morning. He usually rose around 4:30...well before the sun came up...depending on the season. He enjoyed the stillness and the quiet. He would brew one large cup of coffee in the drip machine that set on the kitchen counter-top and when it was ready, sit bare foot at their round oak table and read the "Standard". The article headline that had caught his attention that morning had been expected. It described how the leaders of a small fundamentalist religious sect by the name of the "Inheritors" had been charged with various crimes including receiving stolen property, assault and false imprisonment. There was a photo of them being led away in handcuffs. The thought crossed his mind that he might be subpoenaed to testify at their trial. It mentioned that a conviction on the more serious charges could get them a $20,000.00 fine and fifteen years in the State Pen at Bismarck. It could be that they might have to go for a while without their Beluga caviar and single malt scotch, he thought. Life was slowly getting back to normal for his little family. They had lived with Kaydee''s mother in Charbboneau for almost a year after "the event." It had worked out well for all of them. She lived in the big old farmhouse that their family had owned for years. It was spacious and provided plenty of room for everyone. He had spent the time doing some remodeling, installing a second bathroom, and replacing some siding boards on the old barn. Kaydee''s mother had been so much help in caring for the twins. He had thought often about that late afternoon when he wheeled the Flamingo up the gravel drive to her house. Kaydee had been standing at the back screen door brushing her long black hair not knowing who it was driving up in this strange car. Then, after he had gotten out of the car, and taken a few steps towards the house, and recognizing who it was, she burst out the door and ran to him with arms wide open and tears streaming from her dark eyes. They had fallen back into the thick soft grass that grew in the front yard. They lay there embracing one another for a long time...eventually talking about what had happened...conveying how anxious they had been not knowing what had occurred or whether they would ever see each other again. Kaydee had been doing everything that she possibly could to locate him but her efforts had proved fruitless. They had held each other as they walked across the yard and up the old squeaky steps that led into the house. She had pulled away from him as they walked through the door. Kimimela, his mother-in-law, who had been standing at the window, had tearfully embraced him. "My son, my son", she had cried. Kaydee had walked across the room and had gently lifted a swaddled bundle from the crib that set near the picture window on the far wall. She smiled as she passed the bundle carefully to him. "This is our son"...she had said..."Eja". He took the tiny bundle and cradled it in his arm and gently pulled back the soft cotton cloth that surrounded the child''s face. The sleeping child was the most beautiful thing that his eyes had ever fallen upon. It had been the most prideful moment of his life. As he held his first-born son in his arms, he felt all the pent up thoughts and emotions of what he had endured over these last few weeks come rushing in on him and he struggled to contain himself. It was then that Kimimela had approached him, carrying in her arms another swaddled bundle. "My son", she had said gently, "this is your daughter Chante". Kaydee had taken Eja from him while he took the soft bundle into his arms. They had been on either side of him, both embracing him as he stood there dumbfounded, gazing at the angelic face of his daughter who he held in his arms. Kaydee had laughed and said, "I told you that I had a surprise for you!" It was about a month after he had arrived in Charbboneau that they had decided to drive to Antler and return Aristotle''s old car. Kimimela was happy to care for the children. He had told Kaydee all about Aristotle and the generosity that he had shown him. She was anxious to meet this old man who had been so kind to her husband. It was mid December and the trip there and back would take them about eight hours. They left early one Saturday morning just as the first rays of light were breaking off to the east. He had started both the Flamingo and Kaydee''s old Ford truck so that plenty of warm air was blowing from the heating vents. They had decided to travel north and cross the Missouri River at Williston and then head east to Berthold then north to Antler. After they had returned Aristotle''s car, they would head home through Minot and stop at the "Blue Rider" for dinner. They crossed the Missouri River on the Lewis and Clark bridge south of Williston and made their way into town. The bridge had been the largest infrastructure project in North Dakota history and as they crossed he gazed up and down the length of the slow moving river. They had decided to stop at "Gramma Sharon''s" restaurant for breakfast. He had ordered blueberry wheatcakes with cinnamon and Kaydee had gotten Belgian waffles with whipped cream. Sitting there, he thought how wonderful it was to enjoy a delicious, hot breakfast with his beautiful wife. He thought back to the few weeks that he had spent in the "camp" and the things that he had eaten just to stay alive. He smiled and thought to himself that maybe with enough time he would not be able to recall the taste of boiled horse meat. They headed north out of town on highway 2, and in about ten miles came to where the road curved off to the east. He remembered that Aristotle had related to him that it was here where both his mother and father had been killed in the accident with the log truck. He so looked forward to seeing the old man again. There was so much to tell and talk about. He imagined that by now, Aristotle had become informed of exactly what had caused this destruction that had visited their little corner of the world. He could imagine his knowing reaction as he nodded his head and puffed white smoke from his pipe. He could hear the old man say ..."Well son, I''ll tell ya something that I''ve observed over my ninety some years...sometimes things happen that ya just don''t understand...but as more time goes by there always seems to be a logical explanation come about." He had been right. There was a logical explanation for what had happened...not the superstitious thinking that he had been induced to believe. They had stopped at the Cenex station in Berthold for gas and then headed north through Carpio and across the Souris Wildlife Refuge. It had been a beautiful drive across this fertile land. They had traveled through the heart of the "central flyway" where millions of waterfowl pass every spring and fall from their nesting grounds as far north as the arctic and their wintering grounds as far south as Central America. He observed that in just about every pothole or creek that they passed, there were a few Canadian geese or green headed mallard ducks sitting on the unfrozen surface of the open water. It was quiet when they pulled into Antler that day. The first thing that he had noticed was although it hadn''t been repaired yet, the damage to the Cabin Bar had at least been boarded up and made secure to the weather. He had wheeled the Flamingo up in front of the sliding galvanized metal door that led into Aristotle''s garage and when he got out of the car, he saw that a note, written on yellow paper, had been stapled to one of the posts. Kaydee had gotten out of the truck and had wrapped her arm in his as he pulled the note from the post. It read: "Hello son, I took off for my little farm in Westhope last Tuesday December 7th. If you happen to stop by while I''m gone, I sure am sorry...but we can meet up again sometime I''m sure. We had quite a caravan come through town a while back. I haven''t seen that many green vehicles since I was in Camp Roberts! They was just checking on people and helping any that was injured. They was good young fellas..all of them. I told them I was fine and doing alright. They left me some canned food and some rice and beans and a big ol'' block of "government cheese". I''ll be danged if they didn''t have some pipe tobacco too. You can just pull my old car inside and lock the door with the padlock. There''s a gallon jug of the homebrew in the fridge... help yourself to a glass or two. There''s a brick in the wall just to the right of the back door that''s not mortared in. Slide it out and there''s a key to the door under it. You can even spend the night if you need to. Them soldier boys even filled my propane tank so just turn up the thermostat if it''s too chilly. Just don''t leave any of those empty Pabst cans laying around..haha...P.S. ..we got a lot to talk about what happened...oh...and your little pony is doing just fine...I borrowed the neighbors horse trailer and brought her back here to Westhope...your friend Aristotle Brumby. Van had taken Kaydee inside the old man''s "cabin" that day. She had been fascinated by Aristotle''s collections. She was especially interested in a ceremonial pipe that had been carved from catlinite. It had been carved in the form of an owl with a flattened stem formed from ash wood and had been decorated with dyed horse hair and porcupine quills. She told him all about how the stone had been named after George Catlin, who, she said, was the talented nineteenth century painter from Pennsylvania who had created so many beautiful paintings of the plains Indians and life on the western frontier. She told him how the best stones came from a quarry in Pipestone Minnesota. She knew so much about her culture and the unique customs that had been passed on down through so many generations. It was obvious to him as he sat and listened to her that this was what she truly believed in. He remembered how, when he had told her about what he had experienced in the days soon after the "event", she had gotten a profound look of sadness on her face. It had bothered her. She hadn''t said much...only, "My people are not like that". He regretted ever encouraging her to join him in what the "Inheritors" had induced him to believe. They had taken a walk around Antler that day. They had dressed warmly and although the temperature hovered around fifteen degrees, there was no wind and the sun was out which made for a pleasant walk. He had shown her the "Cabin Bar" and she had smiled when he told her about the bar tab that he had racked up there and that someday they would stop again and settle up. They walked past McLaughlin''s Store with the unique pentagonal window and then north out of town to the little graveyard by the creek. They had stood there for quite a while...it had been so quiet. Walking amongst the old gravestones and markers she had closed her eyes and whispered words in her language that he didn''t understand. They had treated themselves to a cold glass of Aristotle''s homebrew and although they had considered spending the night there, had decided to travel home to Charbonneau the same way that they came. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.It hadn''t been but a few days after they had returned to Charbonneau when the cold winds had swept down across Alberta and Saskatchewan from the icy storehouse of the Canadian Rockies. It was the kind of cold that gave your footsteps that sharp, squeaking, crunching sound and formed a frozen crust on your beard from the exhalation of your breath. The kind of cold that burned your lungs and made your nose go numb. For ten days straight the ice and snow had fallen from the sky drifting the roads and piling up in front of the porch steps. Every other day a McKenzie County plow truck would rumble by keeping the road passable. His late father-in-law had kept a John Deere model A affixed with a snow plow in the tool shed east of the house. He had installed two types of engine heaters in the old tractor. One was simply a replacement dipstick with an electrical element that kept the engine oil warm and the other was an engine block element that kept the engine coolant warm. With a shot of ether starting fluid, the old tractor would usually fire right up. It had kept him busy that winter...keeping the drive plowed out and the vehicles running. About every other week they would either drive to the Supervalu in Fairview or over to Jack and Jill''s grocery in Watford City for their shopping and whatever supplies that they needed. He had ordered a trailer load of ponderous pine logs that he cut up with his chainsaw and fed into the outside wood boiler that had been installed west of the house. It heated the water that circulated through a heat exchanger inside the plenum of the furnace. He would stoke the boiler every morning and late afternoon and it had kept his little family warm and comfortable those long winter months. He had thought often about Aristotle and had decided in the spring when the weather was milder that they would make the trip again to Antler for a visit, and if he wasn''t there they would drive to Westhope and hopefully find him at his farm. It was towards mid April when the arc of the sun had climbed higher in the sky and the icicles hanging from the eaves pattered a steady drip that splattered at the base of the stone foundation of the old house. He had been sitting at the kitchen table having a cup of hot coffee and a warm, buttered slice of Kimimela''s homemade bread. Sunlight was streaming across the old table from the windows that faced to the south and the warmth that it brought to the kitchen was welcomed. It was just a few minutes past ten when the postman had pulled up in his canary yellow Wrangler and stopped at the mailbox at the end of the driveway. He had set there for just a few moments but then had reversed and backed-up the length of the drive until he was close to the house. By that time Van had his boots on and had shuffled off the porch to meet him. "Gotta certified letter for ya Van...ya gotta sign for it"...he hollered. Old Oskar had been delivering mail in McKenzie County for almost thirty five years and he talked loud because he was profoundly hard of hearing. Van signed for the letter and thanked him. Oskar smiled and shouted, "Not long till spring!...Stay warm!" ...and he gave a wave and a honk as he sputtered down the drive trailing blue smoke. Van tossed the copy of the Minot Daily News and the light bill from the McKenzie Electric Co-operative on the table when he came back inside. The letter was from the Niklaz Law firm in Minot. He had no idea what a law firm in Minot would be sending him a certified letter for. He took the butter knife that was laying there on the table and cleanly slit the top of the envelope. He unfolded the letter and began to read. Dear Mr. Petrenko, We are sorry to inform you of the recent passing of Mr. Aristotle Brumby of Westhope North Dakota. Some time ago Mr. Brumby made arrangements with us for the dispensation of his estate and has named you as a beneficiary. Please contact our office when it is convenient for you and we will make the arrangements to fulfill Mr. Brumby''s wishes. Please be assured of our warmest condolences. Alexa Niklaz / Niklaz Law / Minot ND After reading the article about the "Inheritors" he had folded the newspaper and laid it on the table. Everyone was still asleep and the house was quiet. He poured another cup of water in the coffee machine and added one level scoop of coffee without changing the paper filter, and after a few minutes, when the machine had finished burbling, he poured the black coffee into his thermo cup and quietly stepped out the back door. A motion sensor tripped the flood light mounted on the outside wall and illuminated the south side of the house. It was nice in that it helped him find his way across the yard without stumbling into something. He thought that he would sit in the shed, in the quiet of the morning and watch the sun come up, like he had for so many mornings before. Just as he reached the door of the shed, a timing switch had turned off the flood light on the house. He had wired the shed a few months previously...installing a small sub-panel for a few circuits and lights. He would often come out here to tinker on things or just to sit and read. The shed was pretty much just how he had left it on the morning that they had started out for Antler. The leather harnesses still hung from the rafters...the small cast iron wood stove against the back wall, and the hand tools hung orderly above the workbench. The table and chairs set as before...a kerosene light and the bed he had slept on. On the small table, still, the copy of "The Gulag Archipelago" that he had convinced himself that he would finish reading one day. He slumped into the old chair that set beside the bed and turned on the small table lamp with the crooked shade. He often just sat and shook his head...reflecting on everything that had happened to his family these last few months. Especially this twist of fate that had brought them back to this very same little farm where he had taken shelter for those long, few weeks after the "event." Little did he know at that time just who the farm belonged to. The young lady at the law office in Minot had told him how they had helped Aristotle with his affairs for many years. She had discussed with him how Aristotle had stopped in one sunny afternoon last January and had made the arrangements that named him as the beneficiary of his estate. He had smiled and related to her about having out-lived his family and just about everyone that he ever knew. He had two granddaughters living far off in Florida that he hadn''t seen in years. He knew that they were both well off. One of them and her husband owned a hotel in West Palm Beach and the other owned a brokerage firm in Miami. He had talked about his friend, Van, and how this young man had fallen on some difficult times and how he had decided that he couldn''t think of another person that deserved more of a little help than him. They had also assisted Aristotle with the arrangements to have the damage to his property repaired. Farmers Union Insurance had taken care of hiring a contractor for the site clean-up and within a few months they had poured a new foundation and set a brand new three bedroom modular home with a gas fireplace. An Amish crew from Rolette County had come in and had re-built the damaged end of the old barn and replaced the entire gambrel roof with new sheets of galvanized metal roofing. She had told him how he had taken in stride the loss of his old farm house. He had managed to poke around a bit, in the rubble, and salvage a few things that hadn''t been consumed by the flames...a silver nugget from a mine he had worked at in Nevada, a handful of old coins that he had collected, and an old brass compass from the Marble Arms & Manufacturing Company from Gladstone Michigan. Those things had been left on the table that set in the middle of the room along with a partial foil pouch of Prince Albert tobacco and a worn corn cob pipe. A neighbor, Ivo Svendsen, had stopped by that morning. His wife Hela had fixed up a container of her original Klubb and ham recipe that Aristotle loved so much. Ivo had found him behind his old truck on the backside of the barn, near the wide opening that led into the stalls. A feed sack full of grain lay there next to him. The emergency responders had concluded, that most likely, the lifting of the grain sack from the bed of the truck had caused a strain that was too much for his old heart to handle. He sat there and thought how all the time that he had been taking care of his family in Charbonneau those frigid months, he had been oblivious to all that had passed back in Westhope. The National Guard had set up a type of morque facility in town. The nearest funeral home in Bottineau had been destroyed in the "event." They had a small ceremony there for him. Ivo, his wife Hela and a few of the guardsmen had attended. The young guardsmen had become aware that he had fought on Okinawa and spoke in subdued voices amongst themselves about what that experience must have been like. He had been dressed in his favorite bright yellow shirt and was holding his stovepipe hat with the monarch butterfly pinned to the side. He was buried next to his wife in the Westhope Cemetery on an overcast day in February. The first faint glimmers of light were becoming apparent off to the east as he looked out through the old single pane windows across from where he sat. He thought that it was going to be a beautiful clear day. There was a rhythmic scraping sound coming from the door. The top section of the Dutch door must have come unlatched and Fireball had pushed it open with her nose. She stood there with her head inside and pawing the concrete slab outside the door with her hoof. She had learned how to unlatch the door to her stall in the barn. That was something, he thought, that he should probably put on his list to fix today. She had let herself out a few days ago and had helped herself to about a half row of snap peas and a dozen ears of ripe sweet corn in Kaydee''s garden. He smiled, remembering that he had heard Lakota words that day that he had never heard before. "I know what you want, you big mooch"...he said as he got up out of the chair and walked towards her. On the window sill next to the door was a partial box of Domino sugar cubes. He took two and held them out to her in his open hand and she took them with her fat, soft lips and crunched them down...bubbly saliva dripping from the corners of her mouth. "The old man was right...you''re just a panhandler...but we both made it home didn''t we"...he smiled. He scratched her on her broad forehead and around her ears. She shook her head and blond mane and the string of bells that hung from her neck made a beautiful melodic sound. "The end" Thanks for reading my story. [email protected]