Read The No Where Apocalypse (Book 2): Surviving No Where for Free Online

spoken to him. Though it seemed the world was ending for me, maybe — just maybe — things were getting better.
    Another hour of chopping and all that happiness was gone. Just typical.

    I saw the wanderer on the road but for some stupid reason I missed his weapon. I even waved at the poor ragged soul, considering him another potential friend.
    I was just about to call out a happy greeting when I noticed the flash of sunlight off the side of his stainless steel 12-gauge. The first volley rang out in the morning air like a cannonade of wars long past.
    He gave no warning of the imminent attack. Simply ignoring my friendly gesture, he fired at me. Missing with the first shot, he pumped the action, preparing for a second.
    Sprinting for the bench where my gun laid resting, I heard the thud of the slug as it buried into the logs in the cabin just behind me. I didn’t see him pump the gun again, but I heard it split the otherwise still crisp morning air.
    I spun, leveling the Glock at him. However, he beat me to the punch. It was all in slow motion. I swore I could almost see the slug tumbling at me through the air. I pulled my trigger just when it made impact, knocking me to the ground.
    Flailing in the dirty sand like a wounded animal, my hand searched for the pistol I had dropped when struck. I was hit, and hit well. In my left side, not a shot to the hand like before.  
    The pain was immediate and my side was on fire. How I had ever mistaken a shot to the hand for one to the side was beyond me. Finding the Glock, I raised it and fired again as my assailant attempted to clear a jammed shell from his shotgun. It took three shots, but he finally went down.
    Touching my wound with my left hand, the pain shot through me. Though it wasn’t a dreaded shot to the stomach, one that would kill me with an infection eventually, it wasn’t a flesh wound either.
    For a moment I considered standing up, but the searing in my side told me to stay put. I rolled my head and checked my attacker. What I noticed mostly was the bottom of his worn boots; worn so low that holes were more prevalent than leather. If he were alive, if he was planning another attack, he would have been moving. I watched for a long time and finally determined he was dead.
    Trying to catch my breath, I rolled my head. My eyesight blurred as I tried to concentrate on the indigo blue sky above, dotted in places by clouds so white they almost hurt my eyes.
    I needed to get up; I needed to assess my wound. But my strength faltered with each shallow breath my lungs squeezed in and out. I tried to focus on the pines, and then a bird that fluttered past. My vision swam with each passing moment.
    I had a problem. I was in terrible trouble. Worse yet, I was all alone.
    My attacker was dead; and I would soon be as well.
    The pain consumed all and the dark sheet of unconsciousness lowered on my eyes.

Year 3 - late spring - WOP

    Days later, my eyes opened again. I hadn’t died. What a break.
    I was home, finally. And my home; the actual place I’d left so long ago. Much to my surprise, nothing had changed. Shelly greeted me at the door and kissed me passionately.
    “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, her voice sweeter than I recalled. “I was so worried about you. But you’re home now. Come, sit and relax. The game is on.”
    On my television was a football game. It was the Bears to boot!   If the mighty Chicago Bears were playing, that could only have meant it was fall. Had it really taken me six months to make my way home?   Last thing I remembered in No Where was budding trees and dwindling snow banks.
    A familiar recliner replaced my old, worn in one, but I couldn’t place where I’d seen it before. Settling in, Shelly placed a cold beer in my hand, the sweat from the bottle moistening my calloused fingers. She kissed my forehead and I took a swig of the liquid only to discover it was warm, almost hot.
    “Don’t you like it?” she asked, perched on the arm