Survival

Chapter 56 Change

Gunnar finished equipping the cellar with some new supplies, emergency food and water, since he spent far too much time down there using up the reserves. Hunter had led him on a day trip to the treed mountains past the snobbier end of the city and they had found a deer, which had transformed into a good supply of dried meat that he had to hide from Hunter as the mutt's appetite never ended.  

The old homeowner had also been a hunter. He had kept and a notebook and a voice recorder about his hobby that Gunnar used to his advantage. The pages of writing intimidated Gunnar as the letters began to swirl the more he stared at each cluster, so he stuck with the pictures and the recorder before this turned into school all over again.

The weapons practice with Trevor had paid off, and he'd been able to use a knife to take the animal down. Hunter had just known how to draw the deer to the right spot, and Gunnar lunged after that. Bit of a rush, being strong enough to take down his own meal with his bare hands. If he ever needed to fight off intruders, he'd be in better shape, although the ribs that the deer had helped bruise in the struggle argued with that.  

As if they could read his mind, voices floated over from the front yard.

"This should be it," a higher, woman's voice said.

"You're sure it's so far out of the city?"

His hand went for the knife without even having to think about it. He trod a quiet and careful trail toward the front. The group was big: a grown man in good shape, a woman, some others and... red hair. He blinked twice to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him.

"These were the coordinates we looked up on the map, right Quinton?"

She turned and Gunnar glimpsed her mud-coated boots, the tight black material she liked to call pants, and a baggy, beige jacket that they'd give to someone in juvy. Her head whipped around from the front porch to the road leading in. Did she think the place was a dump or a home? This was the first time he could be proud of a place he had lived. With nothing to compare it to, maybe he was just imagining its niceness.

Hunter came out of the backyard and bounded toward him with another rabbit. Gunnar's eyes widened, and he shook his head. Worst guard dog. He would give away Gunnar's position and advantage. Even if it was Mischa, he still had no idea what she or the others wanted. There weren't enough rooms to share either if that's what they sought.

As Hunter's paws bounced off the gravel and sand, the heads turned in his direction. Gunnar stashed the knife in his back pocket. He stood then began to walk, maybe selling the lie that he too had just come around the corner. Not likely, but worth a try.

"Gunnar," Mischa cried. Her thin body could hardly keep up with her feet, kicking up dust in the faces of the others.

Her arms felt foreign around his body, and he flinched at first, forgetting what a tender touch was like. Relax, it's Mischa. He wrapped his arms around her warm body and ran his hand over the rough fabric of her jacket. There was a person under there, a woman he had assumed was dead for months and here she was, in his arms. His chest swelled and he looked down at her fiery hair.

"I thought ya were dead."

"I've very much alive," she said with a smile.

Everything else disappeared and it was as if they were still holding each other as the storm rolled over, as if not even a minute had gone by.

But it had.

"Where were ya? Why are ya here?"

Her smile kept the world at bay until she opened her mouth to speak. "We came to find you guys. It's a long story, but I figured out where you were staying, and we've been making our way here ever since."