Read Online AFTER by Ronald Kelly - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ronald Kelly
Tags: Language & Linguistics
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Phyllis went about the business of preparing the meal, which did wonders for her sagging spirit. Just going about the motions of doing what she did best made her feel useful and in control once again.
Phyllis first went along the slope above the ledge, finding bits of dry vegetation and twigs for a fire. Then, heaping the tinder on the rock floor, she lit it with a cigarette lighter that had been left in the front pocket of the backpack. Soon, a small but sufficient campfire was blazing. Phyllis took a filet knife and deftly slit the squirrel from chin to crotch. Without a trace of squeamishness, she skinned and cleaned the squirrel, then seasoned the raw meat with a delicate blend of spices: oregano, garlic, and a dash of rosemary.
Afterward she impaled it on a long stick, which she held steadily over the fire. Phyllis had grown up with a father and three brothers who were avid hunters, as well as fishermen. She recalled childhood weekends when she would accompany them on hunting trips into the wilds of Maine. Even at a young age, she had possessed a love for meat and a knack for dressing out game, be it mammal, fish, or fowl.
It wasn't long before the flames had cooked the squirrel completely through. The aroma of the meat smelled absolutely delicious. Compadre rose up on two paws and whimpered inquisitively. "Your reward for a job well done, my friend," she said, twisting a hind leg off the broasted squirrel and tossing it to the dog. Compadre wolfed it down like he had been without food for weeks. Phyllis knew that simply couldn't be the case, though. The Malamute was too healthy; his coat was thick and glossy and there was no hint of weight loss.
Phyllis sat and ate her lunch slowly, giving her stomach time to adjust to the sustenance it was finally receiving. If she hadn't, she would have likely puked up everything that went down. She pulled an old plastic Coke bottle from the pack. It still had a little water left over from a stream she had come across earlier in the day. She took a swallow of the tepid liquid, then took another bite of seasoned squirrel.
She looked out across the landscape that lay before her. She saw no sign of a town or even a road. All she could see were treetops: pine, cedar, and scrubby mountain oak. Their foliage wasn't as green and full as she expected. Instead, it was dull and lusterless, some even turning yellowish brown. She lifted her eyes and stared at the sky. The baby-blueness that once comprised Earth's lower atmosphere was dyed an ugly pale brown, almost beige in hue. A few clouds hung in the sky, but they were no longer white and fluffy. Instead they were black and sooty, like the smoke of a wood stove.
"Who did all this, Compadre ?" she asked out loud. "Do you know? Who caused the Burn?"
At the word "burn", the white Malamute bared his fangs and growled.
"Yes," she said, pulling at a stringy piece of squirrel with her teeth. "I know exactly what you mean."
A few moments later, after they had finished eating, Phyllis packed her black roll back into the backpack and stood up. "So, my benevolent savior," she said to the dog. "Which way should we go? Or are you ashamed to be seen with an old gal like me?"
Compadre jumped up. Resting his large paws across her shoulders, he licked her dimpled face. Phyllis laughed. "Do you love me… or are you just sneaking one last taste of squirrel?"
The dog dropped to the ground and barked. It was a strong, throaty bark that reminded her so much of her Sandy. Then the Malamute turned and started onward up the slope.
Phyllis sighed. "Okay, you're the tour guide. Hopefully, you know this area better than I do." Cautiously, she started up the embankment after him, wishing she had more dependable footwear. Gucci was stylish and all the rage, but they were shit for walking in, especially beyond red carpets and the sidewalks of Rodeo Drive.
As evening fell, Phyllis and Compadre had navigated several hills and found themselves in a narrow
Phyllis first went along the slope above the ledge, finding bits of dry vegetation and twigs for a fire. Then, heaping the tinder on the rock floor, she lit it with a cigarette lighter that had been left in the front pocket of the backpack. Soon, a small but sufficient campfire was blazing. Phyllis took a filet knife and deftly slit the squirrel from chin to crotch. Without a trace of squeamishness, she skinned and cleaned the squirrel, then seasoned the raw meat with a delicate blend of spices: oregano, garlic, and a dash of rosemary.
Afterward she impaled it on a long stick, which she held steadily over the fire. Phyllis had grown up with a father and three brothers who were avid hunters, as well as fishermen. She recalled childhood weekends when she would accompany them on hunting trips into the wilds of Maine. Even at a young age, she had possessed a love for meat and a knack for dressing out game, be it mammal, fish, or fowl.
It wasn't long before the flames had cooked the squirrel completely through. The aroma of the meat smelled absolutely delicious. Compadre rose up on two paws and whimpered inquisitively. "Your reward for a job well done, my friend," she said, twisting a hind leg off the broasted squirrel and tossing it to the dog. Compadre wolfed it down like he had been without food for weeks. Phyllis knew that simply couldn't be the case, though. The Malamute was too healthy; his coat was thick and glossy and there was no hint of weight loss.
Phyllis sat and ate her lunch slowly, giving her stomach time to adjust to the sustenance it was finally receiving. If she hadn't, she would have likely puked up everything that went down. She pulled an old plastic Coke bottle from the pack. It still had a little water left over from a stream she had come across earlier in the day. She took a swallow of the tepid liquid, then took another bite of seasoned squirrel.
She looked out across the landscape that lay before her. She saw no sign of a town or even a road. All she could see were treetops: pine, cedar, and scrubby mountain oak. Their foliage wasn't as green and full as she expected. Instead, it was dull and lusterless, some even turning yellowish brown. She lifted her eyes and stared at the sky. The baby-blueness that once comprised Earth's lower atmosphere was dyed an ugly pale brown, almost beige in hue. A few clouds hung in the sky, but they were no longer white and fluffy. Instead they were black and sooty, like the smoke of a wood stove.
"Who did all this, Compadre ?" she asked out loud. "Do you know? Who caused the Burn?"
At the word "burn", the white Malamute bared his fangs and growled.
"Yes," she said, pulling at a stringy piece of squirrel with her teeth. "I know exactly what you mean."
A few moments later, after they had finished eating, Phyllis packed her black roll back into the backpack and stood up. "So, my benevolent savior," she said to the dog. "Which way should we go? Or are you ashamed to be seen with an old gal like me?"
Compadre jumped up. Resting his large paws across her shoulders, he licked her dimpled face. Phyllis laughed. "Do you love me… or are you just sneaking one last taste of squirrel?"
The dog dropped to the ground and barked. It was a strong, throaty bark that reminded her so much of her Sandy. Then the Malamute turned and started onward up the slope.
Phyllis sighed. "Okay, you're the tour guide. Hopefully, you know this area better than I do." Cautiously, she started up the embankment after him, wishing she had more dependable footwear. Gucci was stylish and all the rage, but they were shit for walking in, especially beyond red carpets and the sidewalks of Rodeo Drive.
As evening fell, Phyllis and Compadre had navigated several hills and found themselves in a narrow
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