Chapter 5

The dogs. There was a problem. They actually had too many dogs. Eight, counting the mother. Clipper had an idea one night, and the next day he had a long talk with Girl about the dogs. He still considered them her dogs since she had spoken to spare their lives.

That morning they made four leashes and Girl picked out four of the puppies. That was chaos, four dogs on the leash for the first time. She got them into some kind of order, Clipper grabbed his bow, and they sat off for Devonsville.

They arrived shortly after noon and walked to the general store. Clipper went inside while Girl waited outside with the dogs. The man was certainly interested and bought one of the puppies within moments of seeing them. Clipper took his money, pleased. Girl had told him what she thought the dogs were worth, and the guy gave him that price immediately. The man sent them down to the diner, with instructions to look for a man named Tom Shire. They walked down the street.

The guy at the counter pointed out Tom Shire to Clipper, and he waited for the man to finish eating before disturbing him. Shire was young and strong-looking, maybe in his late twenties. The two of them went outside where Girl was waiting with the dogs. Tom bought all three of them and seemed to be pleased with them.

“I’ve got over a hundred dogs in my barn,” Mr. Shire told them, “if you ever need a dog, come see me.”

Clipper nodded. He expected to be running his own dog factory here in a little while. They’d saved three females and one male. He asked Mr. Shire about breeding his puppies, in a few months, and received assurances that it would be no problem. Good, good.

They had lunch at the diner, and spent some money at the store. Clipper got his machine oil, and he bought three welding rods that he could break the flux off of and then use to push a rag down the bore of the rifle. On impulse, he dragged Girl over to the clothing department and finally got her a pair of jeans that fit and a couple of shirts. And, best of all, a pair of nice hiking boots, so she could get out of those heavy wader things she was wearing. She was pleased and he was, also.

They departed for home, carrying all their loot. Clipper remembered they’d headed West last time, and he followed that path again, still not wanting to give anyone clues about where they lived. That night he scrambled up some of the eggs he’d bought with potatoes and they had a dinner as fine as the lunch they’d had at the diner.

They settled in front of the fire after the sun had set and spent the rest of the evening in silent repose. His mind wandered. Girl was still sleeping with him every night, to his great pleasure. He loved wrapping his arms around her slender body and falling asleep with her breath in his face. He hadn’t touched her other than that, and that seemed to be the way she wanted it. It was good enough for him, oh, heavens, it was more than good enough for him, just feeling her warmth up against his body was almost more than he could stand at times.

He loved her by now with a desperation, a yearning, something so strong that he couldn’t describe it or quantify it. He loved her so much sometimes he almost felt like he wanted to be her. He wanted to melt with her, he wanted their minds and bodies to join and be one. He felt like they were as one at times, as they sat together during the long silent evening, he imagined what she might be thinking. He remembered, every time ... he thought, I am going to crawl in bed with her tonight, with this beautiful creature, and wrap my arms around her. I am going to hold her all night. He hungered, at all times, for the feel of her body, and the smell of her.

He wondered, at times, if he could have stood it, if they had sex. If she let him make love to her. He didn’t know if he could. It would almost be too much. He wanted this for a while longer, this ... chasteness, this simple togetherness. He felt his relationship with her, at the moment, was mostly cerebral, mostly communion with her. Right now, he thought, he didn’t want to sully it with base, gross sex. Not yet. Maybe later he’d feel differently, but not right now. And, he admitted to himself, he was fifty-five years old. He wasn’t sure if he could ... perform. He sure didn’t want that embarrassment. It was just better this way, he thought. He was happy just holding her. He was happier than he’d ever been in his whole life, just holding her. She was his life. That quickly, she was his life.

He trained her with the .45, as well he could without actually letting her fire it. He was planning that, though. He tried to get her used to the feel of it, the heft of it, and the feel of it inside her clothes. He let her sight it and he tried to train her to yank it out of her belt, sight it instinctively on something, and he even let her dry fire it again a few times.

One day he took her, the pistol and rifle, and Bear, her favorite puppy, far, far up the mountain, until he figured they were five miles at least from the cabin. He set up some tin cans he’d brought and took her back ten yards. He went over the things he’d told her again. He made her load and unload the .45 clip, then with her weak hand, even behind her back. He felt like she was ready. She loaded the pistol and stuck it in her belt, and faced the can like a gunfighter. She yanked the gun out, sighted and fired in one smooth motion, and the can flew into the air. He was stunned, just absolutely shocked. He just stared at her with his mouth open. She blew the smoke from the end of the barrel and just looked at him, laughing.

“Girl,” he said, finally. “Are you sure you’ve never shot a gun before?”

She only waited a second or two. She said, “rifle, yes. Pistol, no.”

“Shit. Do that again.”

She missed the next two times, though. But the fourth shot sent the next can flying downrange. Shit, he thought. That’s not bad.

He let her fire all seven rounds. The noise and recoil didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. He had her reload the .45, and stick it in her belt. He brought out the .22.

He wasn’t sure of the ammo, it was old enough that the lead on some of the rounds had corroded, but he had her fill the tube with the .22 longs. She pumped the first round in, and sighted in on a tin can. They were back about fifty feet now, maybe more. She hit the can again, first try. She got it about every other shot after that, with the misses kicking up dirt nearby. Damn, he thought. She’s good. She’s good at every thing she tries. Damn. He was anxious to get her back to the cabin and try her out on the bow.

As they came down the mountain, Girl pointed, and Clipper spied a tiny figure, far in the distance, coming up. Then another. And another. They crouched, and he took Girl off at a ninety degree angle to their path and they laid low behind a brush pile. Twenty minutes later the men crossed in front of them, headed up the mountain. All three of them were armed, with what looked like deer rifles, at least. Shit, thought Clipper, shit. One of them he thought he recognized as the man who had asked to buy his bow in Devonsville, but he couldn’t be sure from this distance. He wondered if they were investigating the shots Girl had fired or if they were just hunting. He wasn’t going to follow them and find out. Ten minutes later they resumed their trek down the mountain and made it home.

Bow training, when it started, went as well as gun training had. He dropped the pull on the bow down for her, and she seemed to adjust very quickly to the feel of it in her hands. She seemed to have very good hand-to-eye coordination. Well, he told himself, she’s young. Hand-to-eye is not that great when your hand shakes. Within a week she was nailing the center of the target every time and he began slowly moving her backwards, increasing her range. She was very good, he thought, and he was proud of her. He wished he could find a smaller bow for her and more arrows. He badly needed more arrows.

After a month had gone by, they trekked to the general store in Devonsville yet again. Mr. Peck didn’t have any arrows, but he promised to use his contacts down the mountain and ask around. He had had other folks ask for them, too. Yes, he would do that. Good. They ate at the diner, and went back home, with another dozen eggs. Clipper wondered if he could somehow incubate a few fertile eggs, and get some chickens. Have to look into that. Fresh eggs from their own chickens would be nice. And chicken was much better than squirrel, or even rabbit.

Summer was well underway. Clipper couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d been happier or more comfortable. He knew things weren’t that great and he knew it was all because of Girl that it seemed like they were. The last two months had been better than any other part of his life he remembered. Life before the Fall now seemed like a distant memory, a former life or something. Like it was in black and white.

His chickens had been a success. After an inquiry to Mr. Peck, Clipper and Girl had walked home with a dozen fertilized eggs. From that they had ended up with ten chicks, and a trip to Devonsville and two dozen more eggs got them almost twenty more chicks. The original ten chicks were now just about fully-grown chickens and he knew before long they’d have fresh eggs, plus his own chicken making factory. He spent several days building a hen house, nailing it to the back of the house. Girl had to fuss at the dogs to get them to leave the chickens alone but at last all was well.

Every night it was the same. Even in summer, even when it was warm outside, they spent the evening in front of the fire. Of course, this high on the mountain, there was always a slight chill in the air. The fire felt good. Just sitting in front of it felt good. And when Girl sat on his lap, she felt good. Life was good.

One night, as they sat, Clipper spoke to Girl about life before the Fall. He could tell by her expressions that she didn’t believe a lot of the crap he told her, about television, giant cities, interstate highways, computers, cruise ships, and space stations and just the sheer number of people in the world. It was beyond her understanding, her belief structure. And a lot of it seemed silly to him, looking back.