Evan Arden 01 Otherwise Alone by Shay Savage Page A

old, and I’ve had him since half way through his first year.  I don’t know why I decided to walk into the county animal shelter that day, but he was with me when I left, and he’s been by my side just about constantly since then.
    After making myself a peanut butter sandwich, I pull one of the warm bottles of water out of the fridge and drink it down.  I stretch again, rub Odin ’s wooly head, and grab the rifle before I go out to the front porch to sit in the rocking chair and watch.
    It’s not like I really think I’m going to be found at this point – I’ve been out here in this Godforsaken place for a quarter of a year – but I don’t have much of anything else to do, and I can’t leave until I get the go-ahead to do so.  Watching at least gives me the feeling that I am doing something because I find it difficult to do nothing at all .  I wish I could read, but I tend to get very lost in a good book, and that would drop my defenses to a completely unacceptable level.
    Just because I haven’t been found doesn’t mean I won’t be.   I know this from experience.
    I pick up one of Odin ’s rubber bones from the corner of the porch and toss it out into the dust.  He stands and looks out at it, wags his tail a few times, and then drops back down at my feet.
    “You used to want to play fetch, you lazy thing.”
    Another huff through his nose is all I get in return.   I’m fairly certain what he means to say is it’s too damn hot for that shit.   I sit and tap the run-down front porch with the toe of my boot as I rock back and forth with the sniper rifle across my lap and Odin at my feet.   The heat continues to be oppressive, but there is at least the hint of a breeze in the air today.  It’s still unbearable, but it’s a slightly better version of unbearable tha n it was yesterday.   It’s a hell of a lot better than a bunker in the Middle East even without the breeze.
    Lunchtime.
    I fire up the generator and the stove to boil some water, add part of a box of pasta to the pot , and heat up some sauce.  I let the fan run while I eat because the afternoon is just too fucking hot a n d I need a little temporary relief.  The pasta is nicely al dente, b ut the sauce comes out of a jar and sucks.  I remember homemade sauces from Rinaldo ’s kitchen – his wife slapping my hand away as I tr ied to get a taste before dinner was on the table.
    While I eat, I fire up the netbook PC and wait for it to acquire enough of a satellite signal to download my email.   Odin watches for cues from me, but when he gets none he just drops at my feet with his head on his front paws.   The fan shuffles the hair on his head around, and he huffs again before closing his eyes for a bit of a nap.
    The electronic beep tells me my email has loaded.  There i s one message from Pizza Hut, offering me my choice of any pizza with any topping for ten bucks – fucking tease that email is – and three additional, similar advertisements.  I ha ve also apparently won the Swiss Lotto four times, c an obtain Canadian prescriptions for Viagra at a discount, and the President of a country I have never heard of want s to give me one-point- two million dollars from his off-shore account.
    Nothing from Rinaldo .
    I don’t delete the messages – I just shut the PC back down again.
    I wash the dishes, put them in the cupboard, turn off the fan and the generator, and then drop back into the rocking chair on the porch.  Odin wakes up and follows.  He lets out a big yaw n, stretch es, turn s himself in a circle, and then settles back down at my feet.  I reach out and ru b the back of his neck with the toe of my boot .
    My eyes scan the horizon.
    Sage brush, packed red earth, and dust devils.
    I lean my head back and close my eyes for a moment.  Visions of a cool, rainy alleyway and the sound of gunshots fill my head.  I can see my own arm upraised and the barrel of my Beretta turned on its side as a man in a dark blue suit runs