Free Remedy Z: Solo by Dan Yaeger Page A

three arms of the “star” folded back on each other, creating a wedge. A thin leading edge and a thick trailing edge made for a heavy-hitting killer. The handle was made from a deer thigh-bone, fastened by a threaded tang and a bolt. This one was called “Ebony Ivory”; in reference to its black blade and ivory-coloured handle. It was also a reference to an old song I used to cringe at. My grandfather played an old-time radio-station when I drove places with him when I was a kid. Granddad would play AM radio when we drove into the outdoors, to the tip or hardware store or just to get an ice cream. "Ice cream. I loved ice cream," I smiled and remembered those good times and the face of an irreplaceable man who meant so much to me. 
    “Would I ever enjoy an ice cream again?” I thought. What I didn’t know was that I would be part of a reversal of fortunes and that even the frivolous thought of having ice-cream again would not be so improbable. But I was only at the beginning of that journey. I lost that thought as I strapped Bob and Ebony on my hips.
    A small skinner knife I called “Otto” would provide the means to manage game I shot. He was on my belt. His name came from the distortion of brand name which was on his blade; a brand of the knife from when German blade smiths made some of the best knives the world had seen in a place called Solingen. If you didn’t know this before, here is another vestige of the past. It is something to research and understand further if you ever read this book. Panther and Orion, bowie knives and also favourites, had been forged in the same place. My old friends; I would never leave home without one of them. Orion was a heavy-bladed knife that was thick, scarred with grinder marks from the original owner and almost indestructible. A scarred old combat veteran; Orion was a hunter like the man who wielded him. Panther was his twin, almost the same knife with its own stories to tell. The blades held an edge like no other knives I had ever owned. Both Panther and Orion were strapped to my legs with some thick leather straps. "Bad-arse!"
    I would also take an Austrian army knife. "Only the best, eh Soldier?" I smirked as the deadly, tactical-looking knife entered my hand. This knife was a gift from my dad. It was relatively cheap in its day, overlooked by much of the market and massively underrated as a combat knife. It sat in a durable plastic scabbard (or frog) that I had strapped to my chest and pack-harness; ready for action. This one was pretty simply named: “Soldier”. The name said it all really; a solider of a knife that killed whenever I needed it to. I wished I had one of his Austrian handgun cousins but firearms weren’t so easy to come by. People had largely been disarmed in the controlled consumerism, the paranoia, pandemics, anti-terrorism and drug-fuelled violence leading into the Great Change. Guns had been guilty by association; they were in the wrong place and in the wrong hands at the wrong times. Stringent controls were introduced in the 2020s. My dad was a landowner, hunter and competition shooter with an impeccable record so he was allowed hunting rifles. I was his willing pupil and learnt to shoot and be responsible and was accorded the same privileges. My arsenal of guns had largely come from my dad. My guns were mostly comprised of rifles and a couple of shotguns; no pistols.
    Handguns, like my favourite 9mm pieces, were reserved for military or police forces only. When Divine had hit, soldiers and police had become some of the most dangerous assailants; the journey into addiction and turning brought out the devil in every man. In that place between normal person and mindless zombie, they had wreaked havoc. Funny how people just assume that people in a uniform and a power position would act in the right way. In the exodus out of Canberra, I recall a Divine-addled policeman flagging a convoy of cars down at a bridge. Cars were backed up back across the