Read Online Holding Their Own VII: Phoenix Star by Joe Nobody - Free Book Online
Authors: Joe Nobody
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movement would disturb Terri, and the young mother needed her rest. Besides, he wanted some place to hide their campsite, and so far, the surrounding territory wasn’t cooperating.
The food bins inside the pickup’s shell had been divided into two categories – perishable and not. Letting food spoil would be inexcusable, so the order in which they consumed the fare was pragmatic and had little to do with appetite or the food pyramid.
Pulling out a plastic bin, he spotted a small bag of apples, several freshly dug potatoes, and a plastic container of green beans, no doubt grown in one of the many gardens that now occupied every open parcel of ground around Alpha. The earthy smell of the small red tubers made his mouth water.
His pack contained a German Infantry stove, a small metallic device that when folded was about the size of a deck of cards. Designed for use in the field, the unit took little space and was so simple it rarely malfunctioned. He would have some fried potatoes!
A jug of water allowed a sparing rinse and scrub, his fighting knife making quick, clean slices through the skins. He decided to mix in the beans. A feast!
He used the large pan from his mess kit, mixing the potatoes and beans together. They had learned a hard lesson about salt, packing several pounds for the trip. He quickly seasoned the dish with a pinch of the sprinkles from a large plastic bag of the granular mineral. Someone, somewhere in Alpha, had discovered a cache of small pepper packets that had once been passed out in fast food restaurants. Terri had bartered for a few handfuls to spice what were often bland creations.
Pausing to yearn for fresh onions or a slice of bacon, he shrugged and ignited a small cube of chemical fuel under the stove. You can’t have everything, he mused. We should be thankful for this.
It took three fuel packets to heat the bean-juice to a boil and soften the potatoes to his liking. He used a fourth to heat coffee water while he arranged his apple slices and again salted the main course.
Using the tailgate as his dining table, Bishop savored the first forkful of the hot dish. A door opened, signaling Terri was awake and saving him a decision on whether or not to bother her. “Are you cooking something?” she asked, meandering to the back of the truck while rubbing sleepy eyes.
“Welcome to Bishop’s Desert Grill,” he greeted. “Beans and taters are the special of the day, madam.”
They shared the fork, each taking turns eating directly from the pan. Separate plates and utensils meant more dirty dishes and less available water. They giggled, both trying to eat the other’s bites, a few of the contests ending in a playful nudge, others in a kiss.
They finished eating, each taking pulls from Bishop’s Camelbak to wash down the meal. Terri couldn’t sample his coffee due to the caffeine and the pass-through to Hunter. Bishop carried the pan a few steps into the desert and used sand to clean the surfaces, following up with a conservative rinse and rub from the jug.
The couple relaxed a moment to digest their meal, sitting on the tailgate, holding each other, and gazing at the stars. Terri squeezed a little closer to her mate, nuzzling Bishop while he tried to locate the Big Dipper. “Do you really think we’ll find a good home?” Terri ventured, her mommy-mind unable to dismiss the topic.
“There has to be some place that isn’t complete chaos out there. Even if we’re isolated, as long as we are safe and have plenty to eat, I’m cool.”
Terri considered her husband’s statement for a bit before responding. “That works for a while, but eventually we are going to need other people. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a mountain woman, married to a mountain man with a life that borders on antisocial.”
Bishop nodded, “I doubt there’s another Alpha out there. Remember the last time the Colonel was in town? He basically told us as much. Will we find another Meraton? Probably not,
The food bins inside the pickup’s shell had been divided into two categories – perishable and not. Letting food spoil would be inexcusable, so the order in which they consumed the fare was pragmatic and had little to do with appetite or the food pyramid.
Pulling out a plastic bin, he spotted a small bag of apples, several freshly dug potatoes, and a plastic container of green beans, no doubt grown in one of the many gardens that now occupied every open parcel of ground around Alpha. The earthy smell of the small red tubers made his mouth water.
His pack contained a German Infantry stove, a small metallic device that when folded was about the size of a deck of cards. Designed for use in the field, the unit took little space and was so simple it rarely malfunctioned. He would have some fried potatoes!
A jug of water allowed a sparing rinse and scrub, his fighting knife making quick, clean slices through the skins. He decided to mix in the beans. A feast!
He used the large pan from his mess kit, mixing the potatoes and beans together. They had learned a hard lesson about salt, packing several pounds for the trip. He quickly seasoned the dish with a pinch of the sprinkles from a large plastic bag of the granular mineral. Someone, somewhere in Alpha, had discovered a cache of small pepper packets that had once been passed out in fast food restaurants. Terri had bartered for a few handfuls to spice what were often bland creations.
Pausing to yearn for fresh onions or a slice of bacon, he shrugged and ignited a small cube of chemical fuel under the stove. You can’t have everything, he mused. We should be thankful for this.
It took three fuel packets to heat the bean-juice to a boil and soften the potatoes to his liking. He used a fourth to heat coffee water while he arranged his apple slices and again salted the main course.
Using the tailgate as his dining table, Bishop savored the first forkful of the hot dish. A door opened, signaling Terri was awake and saving him a decision on whether or not to bother her. “Are you cooking something?” she asked, meandering to the back of the truck while rubbing sleepy eyes.
“Welcome to Bishop’s Desert Grill,” he greeted. “Beans and taters are the special of the day, madam.”
They shared the fork, each taking turns eating directly from the pan. Separate plates and utensils meant more dirty dishes and less available water. They giggled, both trying to eat the other’s bites, a few of the contests ending in a playful nudge, others in a kiss.
They finished eating, each taking pulls from Bishop’s Camelbak to wash down the meal. Terri couldn’t sample his coffee due to the caffeine and the pass-through to Hunter. Bishop carried the pan a few steps into the desert and used sand to clean the surfaces, following up with a conservative rinse and rub from the jug.
The couple relaxed a moment to digest their meal, sitting on the tailgate, holding each other, and gazing at the stars. Terri squeezed a little closer to her mate, nuzzling Bishop while he tried to locate the Big Dipper. “Do you really think we’ll find a good home?” Terri ventured, her mommy-mind unable to dismiss the topic.
“There has to be some place that isn’t complete chaos out there. Even if we’re isolated, as long as we are safe and have plenty to eat, I’m cool.”
Terri considered her husband’s statement for a bit before responding. “That works for a while, but eventually we are going to need other people. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a mountain woman, married to a mountain man with a life that borders on antisocial.”
Bishop nodded, “I doubt there’s another Alpha out there. Remember the last time the Colonel was in town? He basically told us as much. Will we find another Meraton? Probably not,
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