Free Surrender the Sun: A Post Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller by A R Shaw

the kitchen? I’ll help you get this parceled out.”
    She didn’t say anything or move a muscle. She wasn’t sure she wanted him in her house, but then again something inside of her didn’t want him to leave, either. He was protective. He was strong, and something in her trusted the man even though she shouldn’t.
    A slight smile pulled up the corner of his lips. “You can hold the gun on me the whole time if you think that will make you feel safer. I’m not going to hurt you or your son.”
    She’d forgotten she had the Glock in her hand, but he hadn’t. The hand holding the gun, moved down to her thigh so that it was in plain view at her side.
    He looked at the Glock 17 and then looked her in the eyes again. “Do you know how to fire that weapon?”
    She nodded.
    He looked skeptical.
    “The kitchen is this way,” Ben interrupted, and the visitor looked at the small boy before he followed him from the foyer, stepping around Maeve as he did.
    Maeve shook her head but followed the guys into the kitchen after putting the handgun back in the closet.
    “What’s your name?” Ben asked the hermit.
    Maeve watched as he set the pack down against the kitchen cabinet carefully. The bundle must weigh a ton, though he lifted it with ease. He turned on the water to let the tap warm, but even with a gas furnace only cold water ran out.
    “Sorry, we ran out of hot water,” Maeve said.
    Bishop used the nearby soap to wash his hands anyway. He looked at the boy while he washed and said, “My name’s Bishop. What’s yours?”
    “I’m Ben, and that’s my mom, I mean…”
    She stepped forward behind her son. “I’m Maeve Tildon.”
    “Yes, I know your names,” Bishop said.
    “Bishop knew your dad, Ben,” she said, not wanting her son to think she would just let any hermit or stranger into their home.
    “He did?” Ben asked, but Bishop let his silence be his answer.
    Maeve caught his reluctance to speak about Roger, but Ben did not. Perhaps that’s why Bishop was a hermit. He didn’t want to talk about anything to do with the war, not even Roger.
    “Do you have a sharp knife?” Bishop asked.
    “Yes,” she said and quickly rummaged around the kitchen to find her best tool for the job. She also retrieved a box of resealable bags to use and a marker to label the packages with.
    “We were beginning to run out of food. My car isn’t working either, so this is very kind of you. We’re also out of power, so I can’t put them in the freezer. Can I keep the meat outside?” Maeve asked, trying to find a solution.
    “No. Someone will take the meat, and the smell will attract the wildlife. Not safe to keep outside.”
    “Where can I put it then?”
    “In a cooler in the garage where the temperature is still well below freezing,” he said as he dried his hands on a towel.
    “Can I get you something to drink before you start?”
    “Water, please.”
    Maeve rolled up her sleeves and washed her hands too after she gave him the glass, which he drank straight down at once.
    Then Ben pulled himself up on the barstool so that he could watch what was going on.
    Bishop looked for a knife sharpener from the drawer where Maeve retrieved the knife, but there wasn’t one in sight, so he opened a cupboard and grabbed a ceramic mug, the big kind that a devout coffee lover would continuously refill.
    She watched him as he flipped the cup over and ran the flat side of the blade against the exposed stone. He did this a few times on each side and tested the edge again. He seemed satisfied with the sharper blade then and opened the pack of elk.
    Pulling out a clear bag with two long strips of meat, Bishop rinsed them under cold water and then patted them dry with clean towels that she’d laid out for him. He began slicing the lengths into small steaks about an inch apart, and Maeve picked them up and put them into the smaller bags, sealing them inside with as little air as possible. When they were done with those, she retrieved