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Deep in the recesses of his mind a strong impetus was urging him to peep in. He had seen her once but desperately wanted to see her again, a fact that he found quite disturbing. Simon peeped in. She was lying motionless on her bed, as could be expected of comatose patient. Her face was pale, drawn, but beautiful nonetheless, her brow scarred. The white sheet, draped over her midsection, was just partially covering a hideous metal frame the purpose of which was unknown to Simon. But he was sure that some of those shiny rods were inserted in her pelvis and lower back. A month ago he had heard a doctor mentioning that her spinal cord was damaged and she was paralyzed from the waist down. “Poor thing, comatose and paralyzed,” mumbled Simon, and then wondered why his pity distinguished this particular patient from all others, which were equally unfortunate. Simon couldn’t avert his gaze from her left leg that was elevated above the bed by a system of pulleys and ropes. The white. For the first time in her life she was self sufficient and didn't rely on trading for water, food, and radaway. But she did have a lot of stock to sell, and she would eventually run low on ammunition. Though her pack were beginning to look less like wild mutts, and more like domesticated b**sts, five was way too many. She would have to find a way to detain them at home when she wanted to trade. Eventually, she might be able to train them to obey her and tell them to guard the area whilst she is away, but not yet. The only answer was to lock them in the cellar (she had the hatch fully repaired now) or finish building an enclosure around the house.It had taken many days of work to drag the fencing from the car park in the village up to the ruined house and then erect it around the grounds. She wanted a pretty wide perimeter to give the dogs plenty of room to play in, and ensure that any intruders were a good distance from the hatch before encountering an obstacle. There were still a.
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