Four dogs hovered over the dead monsters. She recognized two as German Shepherds. The other two wore heavy black and gray coats with curly tails and white underbellies.
Sheila, terrified, hastily withdrew but tripped over a dead Mutant and fell to the pavement again. Her savior’s shadow cast across her prone form.
Stubble adorned his cheeks but no outright beard. Long but kempt hair rested on his shoulders. He wore heavy gray pants and a black T-shirt underneath a military vest. A black baseball cap topped the ensemble with a thigh rig and holster strapped to his legs.
For a moment, Sheila wondered if she had exchanged inhuman attackers for a human one.
He asked, "Are you hurt?"
She was malnourished. She had cuts that would not heal and bruises that would not fade because her body was vitamin-deprived. Bugs lived in her hair and cold sores lined her mouth. Yet she answered, "I'm fine."
Sheila tensed as the dogs approached.
The man said to them, "All dead?"
It appeared he listened to unspoken words before responding, "Good. Sweep the rear of the building quick, then we’re out of here."
Amazingly, the dogs moved off in haphazard formation.
The man returned his attention to Sheila.
"I’m Trevor. You got lucky. This was my first day out this far. If this had happened yesterday you’d be dinner or worse for those Mutants."
"Do I…Do I know you?"
"No. No one knows me."
She did not bother wondering what that meant.
"Listen," he explained in a tone that bordered on indifference. "I’ve got a safe place. You can come with me if you’d like. I’ve got food and you can get cleaned up."
Demeanor notwithstanding, she saw something in him she had not seen in a long, long time: confidence and strength.
He slung the assault rifle over his shoulder, held a hand to Sheila, and then lifted her easily as if she were a paper doll.
The two walked across the street to the bank parking lot. Trevor guided her to a camouflage-painted Humvee. After helping her inside, he whistled to his dogs. They galloped across the intersection to the car.
One of the black and gray canines approached him directly while the other three jumped in the rear cargo bed.
"Nothing? Good. Hop in, Tyr."
The hound did as commanded. Trevor sat behind the wheel, started the car, and drove them away.
– They traveled northwest on Route 415 passing office buildings nestled on tree-lined lots, a bowling alley, and scattered houses. Ten minutes after leaving the bank parking lot, they arrived at Harveys Lake.
Mid-sized, wooded mountains surrounded the large lake on all sides, creating the impression of a massive, odd-shaped bowl. A small road ran the rim of that bowl between the homes on the mountainsides and the boathouses on the water.
Trevor swung the Humvee onto that perimeter road. The summer and permanent homes around the lake-most grand, others bland; several very old others very new-sat quiet.
Sheila gazed at the houses hoping people might stand on their porch and wave.
"Are there people living out here?"
"I searched most of the houses already. I’ve only found hostiles."
"Hostiles?"
"That’s what I call anything that wasn’t on this Earth before all this. Most of the houses around here are just empty now."
Sheila asked, "But, where did all the people go?"
"Some were killed in town, I suppose. Some died at home. Others followed the advice of the idiots on the radio back in July sending everyone to rescue stations at schoolhouses and government buildings. Bad idea. Those stations got overrun."
Trevor seemed uninterested in conversation. His eyes focused to either side of the road, as if on guard for ambush. She searched for something to say.
"So…a…do you live with anyone? I mean, other than your dogs?"
Trevor corrected, "K9s. And no, I don’t live with anyone else."
Silence again and this time it stuck for several minutes until he finally said, "We're here."
‘Here’ referred to a large home-a mansion-on the safe side of a tall black iron fence. He pushed a button on a garage-door control and the front gate slid open.
Sheila surveyed the estate from the passenger’s seat of the truck.
The driveway traversed a gentle upward slope as it approached the house. A two-story garage with apartments above occupied a fair chunk of the grounds. Sheila could not guess the purpose of the round slab of concrete with the big white "H" in the center. Whatever its use, it dominated a wide-open clearing to the side of the mansion.
The grounds stretched off into a wooded area behind the main home. She saw more buildings and possibly a barn, back there.
As the Humvee pulled toward the main house, Sheila experienced an anxious twitch as she realized Trevor commanded many more dogs. They moved around the lawn and buildings with purpose. This was not an oversized kennel or a guy who collected dogs the way old ladies fill their homes with cats. Order and discipline governed the animals.
She watched two groups of three dogs-Dobermans and Rottweilers-march along the inside of the fence. Others sat straight and still at what must be guard positions; two at the main gate, two on the front porch, more by the garage.
Another dog hustled to the end of the driveway and sat rigidly awaiting the arrival of its superior. Its Master.
When the Humvee halted, the four-legged riders in the cargo bay jumped out as did Trevor, leaving Sheila alone in the car. She grabbed the door handle but hesitated.
A legion of dogs roamed the grounds. All fierce, strong, sturdy, and mean; no toy breeds in sight.
Trevor faced the waiting dog, a Doberman Pinscher. The animal moved its head slightly and its eyes focused on Trevor. If it made noise, that noise did not reach Sheila's ears. Regardless, it communicated-on some level-with the Master.
Trevor nodded and then craned his neck, searching the skies.
Sheila finally got out but stayed against the car door.
"A devilbat tried to land in the compound after I left this morning. They scared if off but those things tend to come back."
"A devilbat?"
"I’ve tried to catalog everything…everything new. A devilbat is sort of like a bat but really big. I think there’s one or two over in Shavertown. I’ll have to check it out."
"That's, um, great, I guess. Good little dog-I mean, K9."
She stepped away from the car as hesitantly as if she were a baseball runner taking a lead from first. Her step turned into a wobble. Trevor grabbed her arm and steadied her stance.
"We had better get you inside. This might be too much for you right now."
– Sheila spent most of that first evening in a hot bath filled with water from the estate's deep well. She washed away the grime, the stench, and even a few bugs but-most of all-she washed away the memories of that hellish summer, sending them down the drain with a layer of filth vigorously scrubbed from her skin.
Trevor outfitted her in new clothes. While not stylish by Sheila’s standards, the rugged pants and shirts did not stink: a big improvement in of itself.
He provided bandages, ointments, and antiseptic solutions to treat her cuts and scrapes as well as simpler things, such as toothpaste and floss, skin moisturizers and deodorant.
For the first time since June, she felt human. Despite the K9s wandering the halls, Sheila believed she found her paradise after serving a summer of penance in Hades.
At dinner, her stomach moaned when Trevor broiled steaks-pulled from a huge freezer-and paired them with garden-fresh vegetables, preserved fruits, and a rich red Sryah.
As they dined that first night, he told her about the farming family he found a few miles away: "A middle aged man and woman with a teenager and an eight year old. They’ve got pigs, cows, a couple of sheep, and a cornfield. We struck a deal. I left a dozen K9s to guard their home and two Border Collies who’ll keep the livestock in line. I’ve got medical supplies they can use and I send them gasoline for their equipment. In return I get meat, vegetables, milk and maybe wool."