M Banner - Silo - Summer's End

A wet, slobbery tongue landed on her nose in a rapid-fire motion. She turned her head, trying to avoid the never-ending slobber maker. The dog’s focus went to her ear, leaving a smeared mess of goo, licking her earlobe in an upward motion.

“Ugh, gross! Someone get this dog off me!”

A scarred hand came into view and snatched the dog’s collar made of chain links, yanking the animal up and away in a blur of matted hair.

Summer rolled to her side, then pressed to her feet, wiping the drool from her cheeks, nose, and ear. It felt like she’d just taken an hour-long spit shower.

The animal’s front legs were off the ground when Frost yelled at it with his face only inches away. “God damn it! I told you to stop!”

Frost made a fist and drew his arm back, then let it loose, landing a sharp punch on the animal’s snout. The dog yelped with its legs still dangling, looking helpless. Frost brought his hands together and shook the dog hard in a choke hold.

A few seconds later, Frost let go with one hand and drew his fist back, readying another strike.

Summer ran and jumped on his free arm, screaming at him. “Stop it! You’re hurting him!”

Frost let go of the dog and flung Summer loose with a sweeping arm maneuver.

She hit the floor hard, tumbling across the room, coming to rest with her back against the wall. The impact stunned her for a moment, knocking the wind out of her chest.

Summer gasped for air, while the dog ran to her, turned around, and stood in front, its teeth showing, snarling at Frost like an angry wolf.

“Don’t you show me those teeth!” Frost snapped, his face red.

The dog took a slow step forward with its ears angled back and front shoulders low, growling with a foamy drool dripping from its mouth.

Frost started toward the pooch with fire in his eyes.

Krista jumped in front of him, landing a pair of stiff arms on his chest, stopping his advance. She was much shorter and half the man’s weight, but she didn’t seem to care. “That’s enough! We’ve got business to discuss.”

Fletcher never moved from his position behind the chair. Neither did the red-haired man, both apparently content to let Frost handle the situation on his own.

Edison hobbled past Krista and Frost, making his way to Summer. The dog let him pass, keeping its focus on Frost, who was engaged in a stare-down with Krista.

“Are you okay?” Edison asked, unable to bend over because of his back. He held out his hand to Summer, palm up.

“Yeah, just needed to catch my breath,” Summer said after a painful grunt. A few more breaths came and went before she was strong enough to stand. She got up without Edison’s assistance and went to the dog. The hound was still in defense mode, its attention solely on Frost.

Summer put her hand out, aiming for the fur across his back.

“You might want to rethink that. He doesn’t like to be touched,” Fletcher said.

Summer stopped her hand short of contact. “What’s his name?”

“Sergeant Barkley.”

“Easy there, Sergeant, everything’s okay,” Summer said as the mutt swung its head around and looked at her. She let her hand drift forward, watching for clues from Barkley. The dog didn’t react, so she continued until she made contact.

Barkley’s ears released the second she began to pet him, running her hand across the top of his back.

Frost and Krista separated.

“Now that everyone knows where they stand, how about we sit down like civilized human beings and take care of business,” Edison said, his focus moving from one person to the next.

“Come here, boy,” Frost said, snapping his fingers in the process.

Barkley never moved.

“I said come here!”

The dog planted his rear end on the cement with its tongue hanging out, panting like a freight train.

“I don’t think he likes you very much,” Summer said, wrapping her arms around the canine’s neck, giving him a hug. “Do you, boy?”

“Yeah, well, screw that dog. Fucking turncoat,” Frost said, turning away from Krista and returning to his side of the table. Frost sat in the middle chair, with Fletcher and the red-haired guy taking their respective seats as well.

Summer gave Barkley a few more rubs, ignoring the odor. She wasn’t about to complain. It wasn’t the dog’s fault. He just had a lousy owner.

Right then, Heston came through the door, carrying an extra folding chair. He must have sensed the tension, his eyes running a quick scan of the room. “What the hell did I miss?”

“Just a little misunderstanding,” Edison said. “But it’s all under control.”

Heston put the chair on the side of the table opposite Fletcher. Summer planted her butt in the new seat, assuming it was hers since she was the reason for it.

Krista sat across from the red-haired guy, giving him a smirk and shooting her eyes at the top of his head. “Still rocking the red, hey Dice?”

“And you the black. Nice headband, by the way. Bad hair day?”

She laughed. “Bad hair week. Been a little busy.”

“Aren’t we all.”

Edison shook Heston’s hand. “I’ll take it from here, Burt. Thank you.”

“Just yell if you need my guards. They’ll be right outside.”

“Thanks, but I think we can handle it from here,” Edison answered as he sat down across from Frost. “We all want the same thing.”

Barkley nestled in next to Summer and sat down, his neck pressing into her hand. She understood what he wanted and went into petting mode, scratching and rubbing, while keeping an eye on everyone in the room.

Stanley Fletcher sat quietly next to his boss as the monthly meeting continued, his ears tuning out all the dick-measuring, testosterone-filled rhetoric.

Edison and Frost were engaged in a temper-charged battle for the lead moderator position, discussing today’s exchange with sharp words. None of this was a surprise. It happened each month.

Fletcher’s focus was on what would take place in a few minutes, when the meeting was about over. At least, that was the timing he expected.

The two leaders seemed content to put the altercation over the girl and the dog behind them. Fletcher figured Heston and his well-earned reputation had something to do with that, his men stationed outside with the only rifles in camp.

The girl sitting across from Fletcher was obviously nervous, her eyes giving away her emotions. He remembered those eyes—amped up and wary—from their encounter. It was only moments after she’d been rescued from the rogue Scab gang his team had hunted down and eliminated to restore order.

Her name was Summer, the same name that Slayer and crew had found on the back of the necklace recovered at the defunct cannery. Not a common name to be sure, but it did seem to fit her.

Granted, Fletcher had only met her once before today, but somehow his gut knew the name fit. Perfectly. Not for some mythological reason. More along the lines of a name matching the intellect hiding behind the eyes. A unique name for a unique person type of thing. She wasn’t pretty by classical standards, but there was something endearing about her.

Perhaps it was her cleverness. Or her wit. Not many her age could have given Frost’s patrols the slip—twice. Men who’d gunned down plenty in recent years and could hunt with the best of them.

Her ability to escape against overwhelming odds indicated she had plenty of guts and a set of balls bigger than his. More so since she’d accomplished those feats while traveling alone and unarmed. Impressive.

Summer was no slouch, that was for sure. The girl had skills. Yet, despite her smarts, he got the impression she was a bit off center from the short conversation he’d had with her. Not an obvious choice for Edison to drag along to an important exchange like this.