Apocalypsis 01 - Kahayatle

being.
    I went back inside and locked the door.   It seemed silly, now that there was a hole in it so big someone could climb right through, but I felt safer anyway.   We had Buster, the wonder dog, watching over his lame-ass pack.  
    I sat down next to Peter, determined to stay awake until the sunrise, watching over him and the hole in my door.   I felt his pulse and it was beating nice and strong with a steady rhythm, making me feel a lot better about his prospects.  
    Buster came over and climbed into my lap, giving me a few licks on the hand before resting his chin on my forearm.   I absently petted his fuzzy back as he snored softly, trying to figure out how we were going to get the heck out of there with Peter’s injury and our piles of crap, before those raiders came back to finish the job they’d started or get revenge for their fallen comrade.  
    Lines from George’s journal haunted me as I waited for the sun to come up.
    ***
    I looked up at Peter to ask him a question and tried not to laugh at his face.   He had a huge bruise on his forehead with a knot the size of a ping pong ball in center of it.
    “Stop laughing at me.   It’s rude.”   He was busy pushing things into his backpack.
    “No, stop, you’re doing it wrong,” I said, trying not to sound frustrated.   He was useless at this part of our planning.   My dad’s training was earning huge points from me today.   “You have to conserve space.   Condense it down into the smallest footprint possible.”   I got a little choked up at the end, hearing my dad’s voice echo in my own words.   I used to get so mad at him saying that over and over.   Why did I hate it so much?   I couldn’t remember now.
    “I’m trying.   I just have a monster headache,” said Peter, slumping to the ground.
    I pushed him gently, easily knocking him over.   “Lay down.   Take a nap.   I’ll finish this.”
    We’d decided that we had to leave later today.   This way, Peter would have one day of recuperation and then we could strike out for the Everglades after.   Last night’s fiasco had pretty much made the decision for us.
    “The cop a couple doors down didn’t have a holster, but he did have a nice mountain bike.   You need to go get it,” said Peter, tiredly.
    “I will.   Soon.   Just let me finish this.”
    “No,” said Peter more forcefully.   “Go now.   The raiders are going to be coming out soon.   They were out late last night, but they’re not going to sleep forever.”
    He was right.   “Fine.”   I looked at the dog.   “Buster, watch Peter.”
    Buster responded by doing his doggy dance and wiggling so hard I was afraid he was going to pee.  
    “God, just relax , would you?   I’m just talking to you, ding-dong.”
    Buster made some high pitched whining sounds and then let out a sharp, quick bark.  
    Peter smiled.   “He’s telling you to go, that he’ll take care of me.”
    “You talk poodle now.   Awesome,” I said as I stood.   “I think that .357 to the forehead might have caused just a teensy bit of brain damage.”
    “Just go get the dumb bike.   And don’t get killed on your way.”
    “Here,” I said, laying his gun on his chest.   “Try not to knock yourself out again.   I don’t think your puny skull could take another hit like that.”
    “I’ll hold it lower next time.”
    “No, stiffen your arms next time, spaz.   We don’t need you adding a cracked rib to your list of injuries.”
    I got up to leave the room and Buster went to follow me.
    “No, dummy, stay with him.   He needs you more than I do.”
    Buster looked at Peter and then at me for a second.  
    I gestured at Peter again.   “Stay!”
    Buster went back to Peter and laid down next to him.
    I nodded in appreciation of the training Buster had apparently not forgotten, and left the room, tucking my own gun in the back of my pants as I walked to the front door.  
    I waited a few seconds to take two deep breaths and let them out, slowly calming myself before going outside.   Everything seemed like it had higher stakes now.   People were breaking into my house with guns and threatening to kill me.   Peter had put a huge hole in one of them.   And one unfortunate soul was currently getting ready to rot on the side of my house because he couldn’t take no for an answer or read my note on the front door that said to stay the hell away.   This bike was the last thing I was going out to get before I left