Gunnar nailed the last board over the windows, or the spot where the windows used to sit. Five days of scrounging and he had managed to pull a band-aid solution out of his ass to fix the high winds' damages. He hoped it would keep the rain out when the next storm came. The winds never blew with the same intensity as they did day zero, but some days they came close, just like the storm which had passed through about a week ago.

He looked at his water collection system with a frown. The barrels were overturned; clearly, his efforts to hold them to the soft desert ground had gone with the wind. He ran back inside to get a few containers to collect the little bit of water still in the plastic containers.

After returning from the cellar, he noticed another creature sniffing around his water barrels. A tan body stuck out of the blue barrel and a tag wagged from side to side.

"Hey," he called out and banged a stick against the hard, blue plastic. The dog shuffled back out of the container with good speed. It sat on the ground and looked up at him with big dark eyes. Its drooped face didn't drag much sympathy out of him. "Get out of here, ya mutt!" he yelled and tried to shoo it away. The dog stayed in place, only cocking its head to the side.

Gunnar tensed. He knew having this thing around could be dangerous. It didn't look as fierce as the German Sheppard and Dobermans that guarded some of the houses the Shadows would 'visit', but he wasn't fooled. He'd been bitten one too many times to trust a beast like this. He walked around to the side of the house and picked up a trash can lid and a stick. He banged the two together, faster and louder until the dog was spooked and ran off into the fields. He set the barrels back upright and covered them in case that beast came back.

In the morning, a crash echoed outside his boarded window. Gunnar shoved his bare feet into a pair of mud-crusted boots, grabbed the hammer and made a run for the yard. If this was the gang that took down Trevor, he needed as much advantage as he could get. Reasoning with them probably wouldn't work in his favour again. The question of joining of them remained. He had finally escaped that life, but living under poor circumstances was still better than not living.

As he neared the door, he peered through the cracks in the boards to see what waited outside. He couldn't see anyone in the backyard area, so he tore through the living room to get to the front area. The driveway stood empty too.

Another bang came from behind him this time. His fingers curled tightly around the hammer, and he took a practise swing near the lamp, clipping the couch slightly. He could do this. Violence or words? Words or violence? Whatever impulse took over would be his solution. No time to think.

He swung the door open with the hammer raised and scanned the yard. Still no people to his left or his right. His eyes shot over to the water barrels. All but one had been knocked to the ground. Gunnar groaned and went over when suddenly he saw a large paw on the upright barrel.

"Get!"

The dog looked back at him with a natural pout on its dark wrinkled snout. Its paw dropped from the container, and Gunnar nodded. Good, the thing knew some limits to keep it safe. It seemed to crouch down for a moment before it propelled itself up in the air, aiming for the top of the barrel. The container slammed to the ground with a familiar thud.

"Whadda' ya think you're doing?"

The dog ignored him and stuck its head inside to look for yesterday's treasure. After clawing away and shuffling its large body in and out a couple times, it retreated and stared up at Gunnar, clearly unimpressed.

"What? Ya think I'd leave ya the water? Go find a lake or something."

The dog cocked his head to the left and dragged its paw in the dirt.

"Fine, the river. Go to the river."

With a sigh, the dog stretched out its paws and laid its stomach flat on the ground. It continued to look up at him with expectant eyes. The dog clearly wasn't scared of him anymore even when he reached for the trash can lid. Gunnar didn't like how the animal was looking up at him like he owed him some sort of favor. He didn't want to take care of another living thing. He had failed so miserably with Aida that it would be unjust for him to give it another shot.

Gunnar retreated inside and shut the door with a shaky hand, almost expecting the dog to follow him. Instead, it had just sat there immobile as its dark eyes followed his every move. You're better off out there, mutt. Nothing good came to those he was supposed to take care of.

Two swift kicks removed his boots, and he collapsed onto the hand-me-down style couch. He went for his sketchbook and dove right into a fresh page. As the lead tip pressed into the crisp paper, his body started to relax and his shakes turned into swifter movements.

Her almond eyes took shape after her dainty chin and her thin nose. The charcoal couldn't do justice to her light hair, the color of honey. Gunnar remembered the way she could stare him down for at least ten minutes when things didn't go her way. She would have made a great wife someday, making whatever man crazy enough to put up with her cater to her every whim. She had had Gunnar wrapped around her little finger and they both knew it well. It didn't matter though; he would have gone to the edge of the world and back for her regardless.

Then why didn't you?

Gunnar swallowed hard. He had chosen Mischa. The odds of her living were higher than Aida's. At least, that's how he liked to justify it. He had heard the crash and the start of his sister's scream. The scream that came when life flew from out a person's chest. It probably would have been quick. He had been too far to make it in time. Rob lived in a nicer neighbourhood than they did and father. Fancy paint for a street rat. In the end, they had all made bad decisions, from Rob going for the drugs to Vita's lack of self-respect. At least his choice had put someone else higher than self-destructive habits.

A clawing noise came from the back door, and Gunnar narrowed his eyes. He picked a pillow off the couch to shield himself from this beast otherwise there wouldn't be a door tomorrow with the rate it grated away.

"Okay, ya grumpy son of a bitch," Gunnar said as he opened up the door. The droopy faced dog sat tall and looked up at him, only blinking twice. "There's no home for ya here, better keep looking."

The dog let out a short whine and dropped its gaze to the ground. Gunnar waited at the doorframe and figured his presence would scare the thing away soon. He had enough of a beard to look a bit grizzly. Gently stroking the coarse blonde hair on his jaw, he got an idea. He kept the pillow close to cover his sensitive areas and crouched down to the dog's level with his eyes narrowed.

"Go!" he said as he had heard people tell him for years. The dog must have sensed the slight quiver in his heart as it sat still. Gunnar sighed and chose just to sit down beside the thing. They were almost of equal height at this level.

"Ya don't like listening to people either, do ya?" Gunnar looked back into those dark eyes without much of response. "Can't blame ya."

After five minutes of sitting a few feet from each other, the dog stood up and walked off toward the empty desert. Gunnar couldn't help but laugh when he noticed the dog's gender. Clearly, the dog could back up his firm attitude with a strong set of his own. The animal sprinted after about twenty seconds, flying across the flat space like a drag racer.

Gunnar set to work on fixing up the barrels. Weighing down them with a layer of heavy rocks separated by a layer of plastic to keep out the dust and dirt could work. He wandered the property for an hour trying to find the ideal candidates for his project.

Around supper hour, when the hot sun was done burning Gunnar's pale, exposed skin, a familiar face came back around the cabin. He didn't look as sad, nor did he give off the impression he'd take no for an answer. A limp rabbit dropped from the dog's jaws as he stared up at Gunnar with those dark eyes. He snorted, and his eyes flickered to the couch.

"Well, I'll be damned. Ya might just be worth keeping around after all. Come on in, then."

The dog wandered inside while Gunnar picked up the rabbit. The fresh blood trickling onto his palm had to be a good sign that the animal hadn't been rotting for days. The problem remained that he didn't have a hot clue what to do with a rabbit or its meat. He searched the counters for a large hunting knife, some rubber gloves and went out back to a wood stump. The dog followed him out back.

"Ya worried I'm not going to share?" Gunnar asked and raised an eyebrow. The dog's eyelids drooped as he stared at Gunnar. "I will, as soon as I figure out what to do with this thing."

He held the rabbit by one of its hind legs and looked over its body as if a magic map would spring out and tell him what to do. The fur didn't look good for eating so that must be the first step. The hunting knife tore through the rabbit's body with force he hadn't expected. Blood dripped down to the ground, and the dog happily lapped it up.

"Leave this rabbit here till I get back, ya?"

The dog was too consumed with cleaning the ground to notice Gunnar's departure to the kitchen. He fought a smaller yet sharp knife he hoped would work better. The rabbit sat in the same spot when he returned much to his surprise. He picked it back up and slowly scraped away at the fur. He wasn't too happy with the results so he decided just to tear away at the furry flesh until the meat gleamed in the sun. Next, there were all the guts to deal with.

"What do ya think? Ya want these parts?"

The dog's eyes went wide, and his tongue traced the outside of his lips. Gunnar pulled and cut away at the guts, letting them fall to the ground for his new hunter. An instant later, the dog pounced on the remains and ignored Gunnar's presence. Gunnar added sections he didn't feel like eating like the head and feet to the dog's feast.

He racked his brain for what to do with this meat now. Fry it? Boil it? Barbecue it? Too bad microwaves didn't work anymore. He kept cleaning the rabbit until the meat looked like product he was used to. Any way he wanted to do this would need heat which meant dragging out the propane stove. The dog was still consumed with the rabbit parts so the protein would probably be safe. If not, Gunnar's skills didn't even guarantee that the rabbit would turn out.

Once inside, a large steel pot caught his eye and he filled it with drinking water the storms hadn't reclaimed. A clear view from the window would have been handy right now, but protection trumped convenience again. He grabbed a few spices off the shelf after smelling them to find those that didn't seem too rank.

The dog chewed on the rabbit skull like a toy ball while Gunnar set up the stove and got the water boiling. He didn't want to waste the water rinsing off meat which was going into more water but his grandmother's voice nagged at him so many years after her passing. Dirty food, dirty health.

A few hours and small propane tanks later, a rabbit stew had finished brewing in time for the sun to go down. Only the blue flame of the propane stove lit up the ground and the dog's gentle outline. The smell meant the meal must be done. He boiled it longer than he thought was needed just in case. No need to catch all kinds of diseases now. A quick flick of his wrist extinguished the blue flame, and he picked up the pot. The dog got up and followed him into the house.

Between the two of them, they finished up the rabbit stew in no time. It had been months since Gunnar had eaten real meat. Never in his life did he think he'd go ahead and cook anything he'd had to butcher himself. He couldn't go back now; the juicy taste of fresh meat beat out the canned food any day. There wasn't a drop left in the pot to be found.

"You did good, little hunter," Gunnar said. The dog came up to the couch and nudged Gunnar's knee with his snout. "You like the name Hunter?"

The dog nudged his knee one more time, practically rubbing his scalp on Gunnar's hand. Gunnar reached out tentatively to pat Hunter's head, but the dog wasn't satisfied since he leaned in for more. A couple more rubs on the head pacified him, and he walked over to sit in front of the unlit fireplace. Gunnar smiled; maybe this could work out after all.