cool shade, the only sound the crackle of his boots in the dirt and fallen, dried leaves and the occasional cry of a bird. To his right, leaves rustled, but it was likely a bird because the sound was small and no limbs were moving.
The day was warm enough that he soon worked up a sweat and the dog was panting. When they reached the valley floor he stopped to let the dog drink from a creek, then they cut across a fenced pasture where cows eyed them with some curiosity. He went over the fence and the dog went under, and they reached Covemont Lane.
Unbidden he remembered the elderly couple who had invited him to dinner. He hadn’t wanted to go; dinner with chatty grandparent-types was his idea of a nightmare. Their intentions had been good, and they seemed to be kind, honest people. Talking to them didn’t seem so nightmarish to him now, and he wondered how they were getting along since the grid went down. Did they have anyone, family or neighbors, who kept an eye on them? When food began to run short, would they be able to protect what they had?
Shit, did they have anything to protect? Maybe they hadn’t done any prep at all, despite the warnings that had been broadcast. Some people just ignored warnings, and sat in their houses with hurricanes or tornadoes bearing down on them, as if they couldn’t grasp that they were in danger. The warning about the CME would have been difficult for some people to process, because it was something they couldn’t see or hear.
His spatial memory was excellent. When the old couple had told him where they lived, he had marked the location on his mental map of the area. He knew about where they lived—in fact they weren’t far from him now—and could probably locate them without too much trouble.
Their welfare wasn’t his business, but they’d been kind to him. It wouldn’t hurt him to check on them, make sure they were okay.
If his memory served him, he needed to take a left on the next road. And speaking of memory, what the hell was their name? They’d introduced themselves. Richardson? Masterson?
Livingston, that was it. His first name was Jim; that was easy enough to remember. She had a very Southern double name that he just couldn’t pull up. He was safe with just calling her Mrs. Livingston.
The dog was bouncing along, looking at everything as if he was having the time of his life. There were only six houses on the Livingstons’ short street. Their house was easy to spot, since Jim drove a 1998 Cavalier that looked to be on its last gasp. It was parked in the driveway of the second house on the right. Not only that, their name was on the mailbox. Ben contained a growl. The days were long gone when it was safe to put your name on the mailbox. On the other hand, with no social media or internet searches, they were now perfectly safe from identity theft.
He walked up the driveway toward the faded-red Cavalier. The little house was nice and well kept, one story, traditional redbrick. There was a flower garden in the side yard. You couldn’t eat flowers, at least not enough of them to live through the winter. Insects had more nutrition, and God knows he’d eaten his share.
He and the pooch went up the two steps and knocked on the front door. No answer, and he didn’t hear anyone stirring inside. Maybe they had relatives who had picked them up before the CME hit, and took the old couple home with them. That would have been the perfect solution.
But the house didn’t feel empty, and he’d cleared enough houses to have a good sense about things like that. He even reached back and touched the shotgun before he remembered he wasn’t clearing the house, he was . . . fuck, he was visiting. How alien was that?
He walked around the house, looking in every window as he sidestepped flowers. He reached the backyard, and his hopes that someone was taking care of the Livingstons died a quick death.
Jim stood over a charcoal grill, intent on the meat cooking there. The wind was blowing away from Ben or he’d have smelled it. The pup sure smelled it now, and he began bouncing up and down in eagerness and the surety that these humans would give him some of the good-smelling meat. Double-name sat