Apocalypse Asunder by David Rogers Page A

Okeechobee.”
    “Ok . . . Oki . . . Okie what?” Candice stumbled over the unfamiliar word.
    “Oak-a-choo-bee.” Jessica said, drawing the syllables out to make the pronunciation more clear for the girl.  “It’s an Indian name.”
    “Lake would be a good spot.” Austin nodded.  “Fresh water, maybe some fishing.  I might even remember some of the hunting my dad tried to teach me when I was a kid.”
    “You hunted?”
    “A few times.” Austin shrugged.  “I’m not so worried about the hunting part as I am the cleaning and dressing part after bagging something.”
    “Squeamish?” she asked.
    “No, but I have to admit I don’t think I remember much of anything about how to do the butchering.”
    “Butchering what?” Candice wanted to know.
    “Things I hunt.  So we can eat them.”
    “Like what?” Candice persisted.
    “Whatever I can get.” Austin said carefully, giving Jessica a quick look.
    She understood his reluctance to give a straight answer.  “Candice, you know the food we eat starts out on a farm, right?  Both plants and animals.”
    “Right.”
    “Well, hunting is when you find an animal that’s not on a farm.”
    “Oh.” Candice said.  Jessica was half expecting some sort of distaste or distress over the concept of killing and eating something, but the girl only sounded thoughtful.  After a few moments, Candice shrugged.  “Like birds and stuff?”
    “Whatever I can get.” Austin repeated.  “But, like I said, I don’t remember anything about how to handle things after the hunting part.”
    “Well, if you’re not too squeamish with it, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Jessica said lightly.
    “Oh, that part’s on me is it?” he demanded.
    “If I’m doing the cooking part, then yes.” she admitted.  “I know where meat comes from, but I think I’d have to be quite hungry to consider going to work on . . . something with a knife, after the fact.”
    “Wimp.”
    “Domesticated.” Jessica agreed.  “Cost of living in a civilized society.”
    “I’m not so sure how civilized things are anymore.” he replied.
    “You’re not wrong.” she sighed.  “Who knows.  Maybe after you’ve brought in a couple of things, I might learn enough to help with the butchering part.”  He burst out laughing, and she gave him a stern look.  “What’s so funny now?”
    “I’m just . . . did you ever read the Little House books?”
    “What?”
    “Little House on the Prairie.” he elaborated.
    “Oh.  No, but I watched the show when I was little.” she said, then blinked at him.  “Wait, you read those?”
    “Why’s that surprising?”
    Jessica eyed him dubiously.  “You’re seven foot a million, built like a linebacker, a soldier, an Army Ranger, a professional bodyguard, and probably know how to kill with your eyelids.  You’ll have to forgive me if I find it odd that you read those books.”
    “Why?  You didn’t.”
    “I read other things.” she said.
    “Like what?”
    Jessica blushed again, thinking of the dozens of teenage romance series she’d torn through during middle and high school.  The last time she’d checked, there’d still been box after box of sweet and innocent tales of coming-of-age and school era love in the attic of her parents’ Dalton house.  “Never mind that.”
    “Now I’m really curious.” Austin said, clearly amused.
    “And I said never mind.” she insisted.
    “Well, I read lots of things.  It’s not all that rare for soldiers to read.  You tend to find yourself with idle time when you’re on deployment.  Being in the Army isn’t just shooting and getting shot at.  Sitting around on transports and at bases can get pretty boring if you don’t have a portable hobby.” he said, smiling slyly at her as he let the issue of her own reading habits go.  “But I read the Little House books when I was younger than the girlie-girl here.”
    “And what about me made you think of them and laugh?” Jessica