"It's probably a deer or something."
"How confident are you? Should we send someone out to get it?"
"I am never going to be confident enough to make that call."
"I'll come look."
Tim is our unofficial leader, at least I think so. When we joined up with him, I was thankful that I wouldn't have to make the decisions anymore for me and my mother. Why they decided to stay with us and not desert us on the road somewhere is more a testament to his character than his intelligence; if I were in his position, I would have left a long time ago. I guess he really did want conversation. For as stern and serious as he can be, we see cracks of humanity in his wrinkled face. Sometimes he crinkles a smile and I see the remnants of what used to probable be well-worn smile lines. But there is certainly less joy these days than what he probably grew up with. To be honest, I’ve been with him for the past thirteen months and the only two things I definitely know about him is that he lost his family to a pack of vampires and he loves John Deere. At least, I think he does.
"You're not wearing your hat!" It's the first time I’ve seen him not wearing his green John Deere hat. He walks up the stairs to our makeshift post without making a sound on the creaky boards. I’m at least fifty pounds lighter than him and I’ve never been quiet on it.
"I reckon it was time to wash that old thing. It's drying out in the back now." He’s a man of simple sentences. He’s also a man who has a pretty big bald spot in the middle of his graying brown hair. I thought he was in his mid-30s, but now he looks like he’s in his early 50s. Like I said, I know he likes tractors and that’s about it. Maybe he has a particular fondness for weed whackers.
"So what do you think? Deer?"
As he leans over the balcony, he moves his head slowly right and left, delicately scanning the woods for any trace of movement. "Hmm. Maybe I’ll go check it out."
"You sure that’s a good idea?"
"Can’t hurt, right?" That was his idea of a joke.
"I can go with you if you want."
"No, you stay here. I’ll only be a minute. You keep watch. I’ll wake Eric. You can raise the alarm to him while I’m gone." Our system is as such: At night, one of us stands out here and watches for intruders. We don’t have any light so we do our best by the moon and whatever our ears can detect. Since civilization is pretty much done, there’s a lot less noise pollution to throw us off. When we hear something, it’s always important because it either means food or trouble. We set up a PVC piping system that goes from out here down into the living room where another person is on guard, but it’s more relaxed. You can read or talk to someone; your only job is to alert the others if there’s trouble.
"How confident are you? Should we send someone out to get it?"
"I am never going to be confident enough to make that call."
"I'll come look."
Tim is our unofficial leader, at least I think so. When we joined up with him, I was thankful that I wouldn't have to make the decisions anymore for me and my mother. Why they decided to stay with us and not desert us on the road somewhere is more a testament to his character than his intelligence; if I were in his position, I would have left a long time ago. I guess he really did want conversation. For as stern and serious as he can be, we see cracks of humanity in his wrinkled face. Sometimes he crinkles a smile and I see the remnants of what used to probable be well-worn smile lines. But there is certainly less joy these days than what he probably grew up with. To be honest, I’ve been with him for the past thirteen months and the only two things I definitely know about him is that he lost his family to a pack of vampires and he loves John Deere. At least, I think he does.
"You're not wearing your hat!" It's the first time I’ve seen him not wearing his green John Deere hat. He walks up the stairs to our makeshift post without making a sound on the creaky boards. I’m at least fifty pounds lighter than him and I’ve never been quiet on it.
"I reckon it was time to wash that old thing. It's drying out in the back now." He’s a man of simple sentences. He’s also a man who has a pretty big bald spot in the middle of his graying brown hair. I thought he was in his mid-30s, but now he looks like he’s in his early 50s. Like I said, I know he likes tractors and that’s about it. Maybe he has a particular fondness for weed whackers.
"So what do you think? Deer?"
As he leans over the balcony, he moves his head slowly right and left, delicately scanning the woods for any trace of movement. "Hmm. Maybe I’ll go check it out."
"You sure that’s a good idea?"
"Can’t hurt, right?" That was his idea of a joke.
"I can go with you if you want."
"No, you stay here. I’ll only be a minute. You keep watch. I’ll wake Eric. You can raise the alarm to him while I’m gone." Our system is as such: At night, one of us stands out here and watches for intruders. We don’t have any light so we do our best by the moon and whatever our ears can detect. Since civilization is pretty much done, there’s a lot less noise pollution to throw us off. When we hear something, it’s always important because it either means food or trouble. We set up a PVC piping system that goes from out here down into the living room where another person is on guard, but it’s more relaxed. You can read or talk to someone; your only job is to alert the others if there’s trouble.
