The No Where Apocalypse (Book 2): Surviving No Where Read Online Free PDF Page A

poisoned. They’re bent on revenge.”
    That didn’t make me feel any better. Susan Weston was every bit as crazy as her younger brother, and slightly more sadistic in my best estimation. I hoped she didn’t come looking for revenge here.
    “Say, you never did tell me your whole name,” I said, noting his face flush.
    “Can’t say I offered it,” he admitted. “Joe, Joe Smith.”
    It took a moment for me to catch the meaning, but when it hit it brought a grin with it.
    “The Reverend Joseph Smith,” I said, laughing at the end. “As I live and breathe, the true prophet has returned.”
    He took another sip of tea and winked at me. “Now you know why I don’t go offering it all the time. Has a way of decreasing my credibility, you understand.”
    Hey, this was the end of the world. Who was I to judge?

Year 3 - early spring - WOP

    Joe and I hung out together the rest of the day and into the evening. I fed him again near dark and asked him to spend the night. He didn’t try to dismiss my offer, much as I expected.
    His Colt revolver sat on the kitchen counter by the sink all that time. Never once did his eyes glance towards the weapon. Something deep inside told me I could trust him. Even though I knew better, I left it there during the night. Of course, I had slipped the bullets from it when Joe went out to relieve himself before turning in for the night.
    Resting on the couch, I listened to him toss and turn on the saggy boxspring in the lone bedroom. Dizzy and I had always said we were going to find a twin mattress somewhere within five miles to replace the original; the one that ended up covered in blood when my first victim came calling with a knife. More than a year later, the search was still not done; hell, we hadn’t even bothered to look.
    When I rose to stoke the fire sometime in the middle of the darkness, I dared a peek into the dimly lit room behind the couch. It took my eyes a moment to adjust. By the time they did I found Joe sound asleep. Lying on his back, with his arms spread wide, I heard him mumbling. Maybe that’s what woke me up. It could have been the snoring as well. I wasn’t used to too many other sounds being alone so much.
    By morning, I was finally comfortable on the couch and awoke to kitchen clatter sometime after sunup. Through crusty small slits, I peered towards the sound to discover Joe busy by the stove.
    “Good morning, friend,” he nearly shouted. “God has blessed us with another beautiful day.” His sincere smile back on display, and so infectious. “Let us rejoice, and give thanks for what he has given us.”
    Okay, that was enough talking to last the day. While I wasn’t a morning curmudgeon, I certainly wasn’t as bright and happy as this fellow.
    “As long as I don’t have to pray,” I croaked, sitting up on my elbows, “you can give all the thanks you want.”
    I saw his chest heave several times with suppressed laughter. “You don’t have to talk out loud to pray,” he countered. “You don’t even have to say anything to God, even in your conscious mind.” He tapped several times at his own bald skull.
    “Every time you take a breath, you’re thanking God. Every time you pause in your day and admire nature, you’re thanking God.” Joe shoved a cup of something my way; a steaming cup of something. This steaming cup smelled suspiciously like coffee.
    He had my attention and I sat up straight. “Where’d you find coffee? I thought I was out.”
    Winking once, he went back to the stove. I noticed the bend in his back, leaning forward like it caused him less pain. “I had some in my pack,” he replied, gingerly picking something up from the stove. “And this.”
    He held out what I knew to be hardtack — a cracker like food made with flour. Something like that lasted a long time, rarely spoiled, and traveled well. In other hand, he extended a smaller plastic container.
    Popping the lid, the smell of fresh raspberries struck me. And what a