that?"
"Oh, I don't know," I laughed. "You know, greeting card writers probably."
She laughed, a deep, throaty laugh so very unlike her petite form. "I think you're right," she said.
"Here you go," I said, holding out the bag. "One ALICE bag, Merry Apocalypse." She just looked at me with a bit of a glare and took the bag without saying anything.
Clearly there was more to her story than what I knew, and it didn't seem like it would be "merry" at all.
She opened her awkward sack and began pulling out cans and containers of food, putting them in the new backpack.
"Hold up," I said, "I have something else." I went back to my storeroom and grabbed some MRE’s. Taste like crap, but a lot more nutritious than those cans, and a whole lot lighter. I went back in the living room and handed her a dozen.
"What's this?" she asked.
"Meals ready to eat," I said. "Not the greatest tasting things in the world, but very nutritious, calorie rich and lightweight.”
"Okay, thanks," she said, and started to add them to the bag.
"No no," I said, "take out those cans. They are too heavy. And remove all the contents of the MREs and put them in the inner pouches in the pack. They are lighter and take up less space that way."
She looked at me for a second. "Makes sense," she said, then pulled out the cans and started disassembling the MRE’s. She put in the MRE’s, and added back some of the cans anyway. Then she pulled out a knife from her backpack.
"Could I see that?" I asked.
"Sure, I just found it in my foster dad's garage as I was packing up to head out," she said.
It was a decent knife, like a small hunting knife. "Let me get you something a little better," I said, and headed back to my storeroom. I had a brand new KA-BAR that would do nicely. It had a sheath and came with a whetstone. I also had a little Mora knife that was probably the sharpest blade I owned. It was a little small for my tastes, and had a gaudy orange sheath and handle, but it also had a fire stick built in. I went back to the living room where Erin had spread out her gear on the floor, including her clothes. I stopped as she looked up at me.
"See anything else you can replace or supply?" she asked.
Damn ... smart girl.
I think she was starting to trust me, at least a little.
I gave her the knives. "The big one is a KA-BAR. Funny story, the knife maker got a letter from an old mountain man who told them he 'killed a b’ar' with it, but the only thing legible was the 'K' and the 'bar,’ and the name stuck. That's a combat knife. Put it within easy reach. I have some paracord you can use to tie it to your thigh so that it doesn't bump around."
"Okay," she said, putting down the knife. Then she held up the bright orange Mora. "And this one is for slicing up Skittles?"
I laughed. I really liked this girl. "And anything else that needs a really sharp knife. That one has a full tang, even though the handle is plastic, and is sharper than Robin William's wit."
She looked at me strangely. Yeah, before her time.
"Anyway, it's without a doubt the sharpest knife I have. Mora is Swedish steel, the best, and it stays really sharp after a lot of use. Damn fine knife for thirty bucks. It has a fire steel in the handle. Scrape the back of the knife, or any carbon steel knife, on the fire steel and you'll get a spark."
She pulled out the fire steel and held it against her leg, then struck the knife down it. Nothing happened, except she looked at me with a question.
"There's usually some kind of coating on them that you have to scrape off. Just do it a few more times," I said.
She swiped it again and a slew of sparks bounced off her bare leg, but she didn't even wince.
Speaking of bare legs... "I have some clothes that might fit you. They're old BDU style uniforms that my nieces liked to wear when we went camping. They might be a bit musty, but they're real
"Oh, I don't know," I laughed. "You know, greeting card writers probably."
She laughed, a deep, throaty laugh so very unlike her petite form. "I think you're right," she said.
"Here you go," I said, holding out the bag. "One ALICE bag, Merry Apocalypse." She just looked at me with a bit of a glare and took the bag without saying anything.
Clearly there was more to her story than what I knew, and it didn't seem like it would be "merry" at all.
She opened her awkward sack and began pulling out cans and containers of food, putting them in the new backpack.
"Hold up," I said, "I have something else." I went back to my storeroom and grabbed some MRE’s. Taste like crap, but a lot more nutritious than those cans, and a whole lot lighter. I went back in the living room and handed her a dozen.
"What's this?" she asked.
"Meals ready to eat," I said. "Not the greatest tasting things in the world, but very nutritious, calorie rich and lightweight.”
"Okay, thanks," she said, and started to add them to the bag.
"No no," I said, "take out those cans. They are too heavy. And remove all the contents of the MREs and put them in the inner pouches in the pack. They are lighter and take up less space that way."
She looked at me for a second. "Makes sense," she said, then pulled out the cans and started disassembling the MRE’s. She put in the MRE’s, and added back some of the cans anyway. Then she pulled out a knife from her backpack.
"Could I see that?" I asked.
"Sure, I just found it in my foster dad's garage as I was packing up to head out," she said.
It was a decent knife, like a small hunting knife. "Let me get you something a little better," I said, and headed back to my storeroom. I had a brand new KA-BAR that would do nicely. It had a sheath and came with a whetstone. I also had a little Mora knife that was probably the sharpest blade I owned. It was a little small for my tastes, and had a gaudy orange sheath and handle, but it also had a fire stick built in. I went back to the living room where Erin had spread out her gear on the floor, including her clothes. I stopped as she looked up at me.
"See anything else you can replace or supply?" she asked.
Damn ... smart girl.
I think she was starting to trust me, at least a little.
I gave her the knives. "The big one is a KA-BAR. Funny story, the knife maker got a letter from an old mountain man who told them he 'killed a b’ar' with it, but the only thing legible was the 'K' and the 'bar,’ and the name stuck. That's a combat knife. Put it within easy reach. I have some paracord you can use to tie it to your thigh so that it doesn't bump around."
"Okay," she said, putting down the knife. Then she held up the bright orange Mora. "And this one is for slicing up Skittles?"
I laughed. I really liked this girl. "And anything else that needs a really sharp knife. That one has a full tang, even though the handle is plastic, and is sharper than Robin William's wit."
She looked at me strangely. Yeah, before her time.
"Anyway, it's without a doubt the sharpest knife I have. Mora is Swedish steel, the best, and it stays really sharp after a lot of use. Damn fine knife for thirty bucks. It has a fire steel in the handle. Scrape the back of the knife, or any carbon steel knife, on the fire steel and you'll get a spark."
She pulled out the fire steel and held it against her leg, then struck the knife down it. Nothing happened, except she looked at me with a question.
"There's usually some kind of coating on them that you have to scrape off. Just do it a few more times," I said.
She swiped it again and a slew of sparks bounced off her bare leg, but she didn't even wince.
Speaking of bare legs... "I have some clothes that might fit you. They're old BDU style uniforms that my nieces liked to wear when we went camping. They might be a bit musty, but they're real
Similar Books
