“She does. She does.” I pause. “Cheese sandwiches?”
Pook smiles. “We can fix something like that I’m sure.”
“Then maybe this relationship’ll work out,” I say.
A Word from Michael Bunker
My first time up on the Shelf! That’s right. Although the Pennsylvania stories—including my original stories that have been gathered into The Pennsylvania Omnibus, the short stories I’ve written in the Pennsylvania world, and the dozens of fanfic stories (some of which were published in the Tales from Pennsylvania anthology)—have had fun exploring the world of New Pennsylvania, I personally have never written any stories set in the derelict cities built on the limestone Shelf that cuts across the primary occupied continent of New PA. A few of the short stories, including Bob Crosley’s fantastic short story Shelf Life, were set in the cities on the Shelf, and it’s from Bob’s story that I drew life and inspiration for “Kristy’s Song.”
I mention this because it highlights a fantastic reality that’s been brought about by the new paradigm that is indie publishing. “Kristy’s Song” is substantially fanfic written by me based on fanfic from another author set in my own original, created world of Pennsylvania! It’ll be fun to see if any other authors (or Bob himself!) decide to expand on the world of New Detroit, upping the game even farther!
Also, I should mention that Kristy—the brilliant, brave, and indomitable mutt from my story—is based on my real childhood dog named Kristy, whom I loved and still miss terribly. I hope you’ve enjoyed my little story, and if you liked it, make sure to pick up all of the other Pennsylvania tales while you wait for Oklahoma, the next Amish/Sci-fi novel set in the Pennsylvania universe. And hey, the universe is expanding. In October of 2015, I sold a film/TV option for Pennsylvania to Jorgensen Pictures. JP is currently developing the universe for production into a feature film or television series. So, stay tuned!
And if you’d like to keep up with me, please visit my website at http://www.michaelbunker.com/ and sign up for my newsletter. I’m always giving away free books and writing blogs about things like how to roll the perfect cigar.
Unconditional
by Chris Pourteau
He wasn’t old, the dog. Not too old to run. Not so old that he felt the need to wander into the woods and simply lie down until death took him. Not so old that he didn’t miss the boy terribly. He was still young enough to enjoy life and love the boy’s sharing it with him.
But now he was on his own. Alone.
He’d lost the boy. After the Storm of Teeth, when his pack had been forced from its home. Then came the time of fear and scavenging. And searching for the boy.
That’s how he thought of him—the boy. Not like the Man, who sometimes forgot him outside when it was too cold. Not like the Woman, who was kind more often than not and sometimes slipped scraps from the table into his bowl.
Not like the Baby. Once when she pulled his tail, he’d nipped at her, and the Man had whipped him. Pulling his tail had hurt, and he’d barely scratched the Baby with his teeth. Less than fearsome, more than playful, to teach her a lesson that hurt begat hurt. But the Man had given the same lesson to him.
The whipping had scared him more than hurt him then, but now he was glad for it. Without it, he might never have learned to think before he acted. And lately, that lesson had served him well.
All the other members of the pack outranked him. Even the Baby. He was and always had been the runt. Except for the boy. The boy had always just been the boy. After the Baby joined their pack, the boy had also become a runt, like him. Last in line to eat, behind the Baby. Sometimes forgotten entirely and left to fend for himself. But those times were the dog’s favorite, when the boy would seek him out for companionship. They explored runthood together.
The boy would come and find him, and they would happily flee the squalls of the Baby to run a squirrel up a tree or a rabbit into the brush. Unlike the Man or the Woman or the Baby, the boy had never treated him as anything other than equal. Never made him do anything he didn’t want to do. Never beat him. Never shouted at him. Never asserted senior runt rank in any way.
And so he loved the boy as a playmate, a second self, a twin runt. They shared everything. Sometimes it was a ball the boy threw. Sometimes he grabbed one of the boy’s furs because it smelled so much like him, and the boy would pull on it and try to take it back. That was a fun game. And play-fighting. The boy would offer his hand, knowing his second self would never do him harm. He’d gnaw the boy’s fingers and the boy would make disgusted sounds and wipe his hand, and he’d chase the hand under the fur the boy used to dry it. Sometimes he’d catch the hand, and their game would start all over again.
Each had absolute access to whatever the other had. Except the boy refused to eat from his bowl. Though when the Man and the Woman weren’t looking, sometimes the boy let him eat from his bowl. But otherwise, they shared everything.
Mostly that was love, one for the other. Without expectations or conditions or demands, other than to know the one would always be there for the other. Would always protect the other. As they proved with the stray, on the day they’d even shared danger for the first time.
Long before the Storm of Teeth had come, they were walking in the woods near their home. A stray ran up on them, baring its teeth and looking for trouble. The boy froze in place, and though the dog was small, he moved between the boy and the stray to protect his twin. Teeth bared. Spinal fur erect. The stray had been much bigger than him. Most dogs were. More desperate seeming. Hungry, even.
That day, for the first time, he’d heard the boy shout. It surprised him. It wasn’t like his own bark, but it sort of was. The same, but with different sounds mashed into one. His bared teeth and the boy’s loud barking had scared the larger dog off.
So they shared this instinct too, he’d realized then. The instinct to look out for one another. As he was trying to protect the boy, so the boy had used his strange bark, aimed at the stray, to protect him. Twins in more than just spirit then, he’d decided. Love was also one runt sacrificing for the other. Theirs was a shared runt love.
That thought made him happy, but remembering it and the day they’d faced down the stray also made him sad. It made him miss the boy all the more. Part of him feared walking in the world made by the Storm of Teeth without the boy’s bark beside him to protect him. Part of him feared not walking beside the boy to shield him from that world with his own teeth. All of him missed the boy entirely. His stomach ached with the longing for his twin’s companionship. To chase a squirrel or a rabbit or a ball. To do anything, really, as long as it was done together.
In the days following the Storm of Teeth, his memory was one long stretch of boredom punctuated by flashes of terror. Eating when he could. Hiding and waiting until it was safe to move again. At those times, his thoughts couldn’t help but turn to the boy, and each day he felt a hole open wider inside him where the boy had been. He whimpered when he was sure he was alone and no one—and nothing—could hear.