What a Day

She looked over at him and gave a silent look of reproach. He saw the look; he always saw the look. He asked her, “what?”

To be fair; this didn’t actually happen anywhere other than his head, but he could certainly see it taking place. He knew his wife at least as well as he knew himself, so he was incredibly accurate in predicting her behavior.

To be fair once more, they almost never fought. Oh they disagreed all the time: quite a bit in fact, but there was never any animosity. And one of the best things about his wife was that she was not afraid to admit when she was wrong; and quick to say she was sorry if she felt she was. He himself had to remember that on the occasions when he might be in the wrong; and made a point to apologize if need be.

He knew that she had been opposed to his plan to “meet”, was a better word than confront whoever it was that owned Fido.

She had demanded that he give her the keys to their dented solar car the previous evening, because she was concerned that he would leave without her. If he was being honest with himself; that was a great plan, and he absolutely would have done it, if he had thought of it before her.

But that’s not how it had turned out.

So that ended with him in the middle of this road, in a lightly falling rain, with a shockingly Yellow poncho covering his piece meal body armor, and her approximately sixty yards away near their dented solar car.

Fido was in the back of their car and he was barking excitedly. “My love,” he told her. “Let Fido out now.” He was using his throat mic to send this request to his wife. He was worried that the people in the short bus would be able to pinpoint her position if the beast kept up with the song of his people.

He told her, “I don’t want them to know where you are, so release the Hound!” He could imagine her either rolling her eyes at that, or more likely letting out a cute little chuckle.

He was watching the group of individuals from the bus as Fido barked.

Each of them looked towards the pair of small buildings a little more than seventy-five yards northwest of the short yellow school bus. These small buildings were businesses, and his wife was between them with their car and the dog. He did notice that the individual on the roof continued to point a rifle of some sort at him. He admired the focus; and was fairly confident that his body armor would protect him, unless the person had something like a Barrett fifty. It would still likely be comparable to taking a major league fast ball to the body if he were shot. He was not looking forward to that. He knew; based on the focus of the individual atop the bus, that they would be his first target if this meeting went south.

He could tell that his wife had let the beast out because it continued to bark. Several things occurred at once. Fido made a beeline towards the people from the bus. He knew that back in the day; the greyhound was the fastest dog on the planet. It was bred for speed, and could reach upwards of forty five miles per hour if it tried. Fido was a good boy, but he was no greyhound. That being said; he felt that the beast had to be doing thirty miles an hour as he raced to the people from the bus. It took a little less than three seconds for the good boy to cover the roughly seventy five yards from where his wife was, to the girl who was also running towards Fido.

The smallest figure from the bus had spotted the incoming hound and was running to meet it. The other people who had disembarked from the bus were also moving in the direction of the incoming dog; they just were not running. But that figure on top of the bus continued to keep a rifle trained on him.

For his part; he put his hand on his pistol, but did not draw it from its’ holster. He also did not reach for the assault rifle that was at his feet. He knew that there was a shallow trench about five yards away that he could reach in a second, after retrieving his rifle from the ground, if it came to that.

He glanced sideways to see Fido crash into the young girl who had run to meet him. He figured that he would have had some problem staying upright if Fido had hit him travelling near thirty miles an hour. Fido wasn’t a huge dog; more like a medium size beast that was almost large. The good boy did weigh close to thirty pounds, and he knocked that girl; what was the old saying, yes, ass over teakettle.

He looked from the girl and the dog, rolling about the ground, and the figures from the bus who were nearing the wriggling pair. The girl was laughing and the people around her had broad smiles on their face. He turned his glance to the top of the bus, where he could see that the individual still had a rifle trained on him, and suspected that person was not smiling. So he waited.

“Babe,” his wife spoke into his earpiece. “It’s okay my love,” he responded. “Let’s see what happens,” he continued with, “but keep an eye on the guy on the roof of the school bus.” He considered a moment and spoke into his throat mic. “if he starts shooting, I want you to hit the bus with a grenade.” He knew that his wife had a grenade launcher there at the car.

He watched the frolicking dog and girl, along with her comrades, for nearly a minute, then made a decision.

He slowly leaned over and picked up his assault rifle by the sling. He just as slowly rose, and slung the weapon over his shoulder. He made a point of not looking at the figure on the bus who was holding a rifle on him; and he slowly started walking towards the group who was happily watching the dog and the girl wriggle around on the ground. He trusted to his body armor to stop any round if the figure on the roof got trigger happy. Even though he thought his armor would stop any bullet, he did make it a point to get in between the figure on the roof of the bus, and the small group gathered around the beast and his person. He hoped that this would make the person less likely to fire on him if there was a chance that the bullet would miss him, and hit one of the others.

He made sure to keep his hands away from his weapons, and to smile. It was easy to smile; watching the girl and her dog. The joy she felt was almost a physical thing; and Fidos’ tail was wagging so hard that it looked like he might take off any moment like some strange hybrid dog-helicopter.

The girl finally got up off the ground; despite Fidos’ attempts to keep wrestling with her.

She was a pretty dark haired girl in her mid-teens if he was guessing her age. She turned to him and studied him briefly. Fido was jumping around her till she made a kind of chuffing sound, and a gesture with one slim hand. This caused the good boy to go into a classic “sit” position next to her. The dog was still wriggling, but was sitting next to his person.

She took several steps toward him; he made sure to keep his hands away from his weapons, and to continue to smile. The others in the group were watching the two of them; and he suspected that the figure on the roof was still pointing a weapon at him, but thought it highly unlikely he would be fired upon in the current situation.

The girl took another tentative step toward him and said, in a soft voice. “You found my dog.” It was a statement, not a question; and he responded, “I did.”

At this point the young girl launched herself at him, and threw her arms around him. She hugged him with surprising strength, all the while saying “Thank You! Thank You! Thank You!”

Much later that evening he lay in a comfortable bed with his wife in one of the guest rooms. To be fair, it was one of their rooms and it had been vacated so that they could sleep there this night. It really had been an incredible day. They had started out this morning in an abandoned rib joint, and had met more people today than they had in nearly seven years. His wife was sleeping next to him and he smiled as he thought about meeting the group of survivors. He had told the girl; Charlotte was her name, that she had done a great job training a great dog. They had been amazed that someone would go through the trouble of returning a dog in this day and age; but he told them that you just don’t keep someone’s dog. That’s not cool.

He smiled some more as he recalled meeting everyone over a fancy dinner table and introducing his wife. He had told the group “I’m John, and this is my Love.” His wife poked him gently and he said, “I mean, my Wife.” Once again a gentle poke of a slim figure prompted him; “this is Diana.”

One of his last thoughts as he drifted off to slumber was, “what a day!”