The No Where Apocalypse (Book 2): Surviving No Where Read Free Page B

say I ever studied them, but if a fellow stands five five or five six, his feet aren’t all that big. So why he had two pairs of winter boots in size 13 was beyond my comprehension. Still is.
    Grabbing the larger pair, I stuffed a crumpled sock into the toe of each. Weeks and months of testing led me to the correct socks to use, and the right ones to crumple as well. When you have nothing but free time in your life, it’s easy to work on such complicated projects.
    With almost everything I owned either on or wrapped around my body, I began my trek. As predicted, by me, the wind had an awful bite to it. Snow, driven by the 20 to 30 mile an hour gusts, stung any of the little exposed flesh I dared to leave uncovered. But I had a trick for Mister Wind. I had snow goggles, thanks to Frank.
    Bob Reiniger - 1, Winter - 0…so far for this trip.
    Just before I made it to the road, some 30 or 40 yards from my own front door, I found myself struggling through the waist-deep snow. As much as I tried, winter had a few tricks of its own. Backing up and staying on the driveway, I finally found a better path covered by a mere two-foot snow fall. The score was even I told myself.
    When the disintegrating road was clear, I could make it to Lettie’s in a little less than an hour. Snow covered? Try two, sometimes three hours. And it was all work. This was one of those days, and something told me I’d be spending the night with them.

Year 2 - mid winter (still) - WOP

    The heat in Lettie’s place was much more moderated than back at mine own shack. Here it stayed a nice temperature where you didn’t have to take off clothes and then an hour later put them back on. Sometimes I thought about staying with them, as they begged me to. But I like my own place, my own surroundings, my own life.
    “Wolves been thick lately,” Dizzy stated. “Seeing lots of them almost every day. How about you, Bob? Same down there?”
    He knew I fed them; even warned me about doing that. The difference was that he had company—human company—while I didn’t have that luxury.  
    “Oh, a few here and there I suppose.” I lied and he knew it. I could see it in his shit-eating grin.
    “How’s your food holding up?” Lettie asked, fetching me a cup of coffee. The black gold was something I was lacking. Just another incentive to visit.
    I scratched my beard, considering my dwindling food supply. “Twenty-six jars of venison, three jars of bear — not that I’ll eat it ever.” I had just counted the day before, so I knew my stock. “Couple dozen more of veggies, handful of potatoes.”
    Lettie stopped her fussing and stared at me, a bewildered look covered her face. “Who’s gonna win? You or winter?”
    That was the question, and a fair one at that. Purposely I’d cut back on my intake a few weeks back to save my shrinking supply. As far as we could tell, winter was past its peak, for this year at least. Soon major melting would happen and that would grant my freedom to roam the woods again.
    When I arrived in this place, some 17 or 18 months prior, I was a terrible hunter. It took me a dozen tries to get my first deer. And I gave half of that away to Marge’s late husband, Warren. His story about his starving family rocked me at the time.
    Nowadays I wouldn’t give anyone anything. Not without a decent trade. If I ate, I might survive. If I gave away my food to every man, woman, or child that begged for some, I would die. That’s just the way it was. No emotion, no tears, no remorse. If the other person was likely to die anyway, why should I share and run the risk of the same?
    “I’ll be okay,” I answered Lettie, leaning back in the white-painted kitchen chair. “See anything from those folks in Covington this winter?”
    Marge reentered the room right on cue. It was her pilfering of the much-needed drugs that caused our panic last fall.
    “Nothing,” she answered in a huff. I detected underlying disappointment from her…almost as if