Page 2 of Training my Human

“Depends on how bad the eruption is and how far it spreads. Given we’re sixty clicks away, ash clouds are probably of more concern than a lava flow.”

“I thought magma could roll at, like, speeds of up to thirty kilometers an hour?”

“In the right conditions and usually because the volcano is steep. Tseax ain’t that tall.”

“But still managed to wipe out a few Nisga’a tribes that last time,” I reminded.

“Yeah, the lava reached the river where they had their villages, but it took a few days. They say the high death toll most likely came from the fumes poisoning the air.” Leo pursed his lips as he took another drag. “Chances are anyone within fifty or more clicks will have to vacate their homes until the lava specialists figure out what’s going on.”

My lips pinched as I watched the dark smudge in the sky spreading. “Fuck me. I guess I’m not going home tonight.” I lived about thirty kilometers outside Terrace, in a trailer inherited from my grandmother. Nothing fancy, and I rather liked my remote spot and lack of neighbors. But that plot of land would likely be within the quarantined radius.

“You can bunk at my place if you need to. You know I got the space,” Leo offered. He lived in the opposite direction, about twenty or so minutes outside of the city. My head-to-toe inked boss might look like he should be living in a cramped shithole apartment in the bad part of town, but Leo came from money. His inherited home was a ranch situated on a few hundred acres. Not that he personally farmed. He paid people to harvest his fruit trees and rented out his barns and land for grazing. But the best part? My paranoid boss had the most insane security system in place to keep his shit secure.

“Might be we’re worrying for nothing.”

Saying it aloud jinxed it. My phone began blaring along with everyone else’s in the vicinity. The emergency alert launched quicker than expected and advised anyone receiving the message to evacuate. It went on to list all the places that might be in the path of the coming ash cloud—and yeah, my home was smack dab in there. The warning text also had words likecalm, orderly, don’t panic.Might as well have been fuel, given what ignited in its aftermath.

If I thought people were frenzied before, they doubled, tripled, quadrupled down. People randomly began wailing. A few hit their knees and prayed. Those caught in unmoving cars honked and when that didn’t move traffic thought getting out to yell, pound hoods, and shake fists would work. We also heard glass smashing and a glance showed the window of the jewelry shop broken and someone slipping inside. Why was it calamities immediately brought out the looters?

Needless to say, despite the alert advising us to leave, Leo and I took our time while the rabidly worried sorted themselves out. Along with Kalypso, we went inside the shop and shut down all the machines before grabbing everything that would fit into the back of Leo’s Suburban, which ended up being a shit ton, given the massive space. Kalypso rescued our collection of cacti, loading them into her Volkswagen beetle. Whereas my vintage Yamaha Virago 750, with its saddlebags, carried our albums of designs and past artwork.

When the streets unclogged, and with the cloud creeping closer, we vacated the shop and the city of Terrace, driving in a line behind Leo, who had to maneuver in a few spots as people who ran out of gas or encountered engine trouble abandoned their cars. Despite feeling like a bit of an ass, we ignored those trying to wave us down. I’d seen apocalypse movies. I knew what might happen. A good Samaritan would stop, offer some aid, and find themselves stranded when their vehicle got stolen.

Luckily, the evacuation zone remained just short of Leo’s ranch. With more than ten bedrooms, it had more than enough space for me, Kalypso, and a few of Leo’s friends.

While the Tseax Cone stopped spewing after one day, it took a bit longer before Terrace and the environs were considered safe for return.

I’m not ashamed to admit I spent that week mostly drunk and high. Being a bit of an end-of-times nut, Leo actually kept a ridiculously large stash of booze and dope along with food. Quality shit, I might add. Good times were had, but the fun eventually ended and I couldn’t help a bit of dread as I wondered at the state of my home.

Upon seeing it, my first thought was it could have been worse. White and gray powder did cover some parts of the property, the wind having blown it into drifts, and it kicked up in puffs when I tracked through. I wore a bandanna over my mouth and nose to avoid breathing any of the dust. Sure, the news claimed those with healthy respiratory systems would likely suffer no ill effect, but I took no chances. My lungs might be tainted by nicotine and Mary Jane, but even I had a line with my health that I didn’t cross. Call me weird. I was okay with it.

No lava reached my place. However, a surprising number of lava rocks had bombed the property. The worst damage appeared to be on the roof of my trailer, where the biggest volcanic missile landed. It left a huge dent, but luckily did not pierce it. Inside my trailer, only a fine layer of dust had penetrated and I got to work scrubbing everything down and bagging the clothing and bedding that I’d have to wash. At least I didn’t need to rely on a laundromat. My lean-to held an ancient, gold-colored washer and dryer which made a god-awful racket when run, but unlike today’s newer models, they could take a beating and keep on working. I ran a rinse cycle on it first to make sure it was actually clean before I started a load.

The outside didn’t require me to do much because an hour after I arrived, the rain came. It drenched the area for the next two days and cleansed the land. Or as my grandma would have said,That fucker God is having a piss. She didn’t hold religion in high esteem and called it a bunch of kooky nonsense.

Me? I identified as agnostic. I remained open to belief but wanted proof. Old books written a zillion years ago and old men in fancy robes didn’t convince me.

After the week of partying, I enjoyed the time alone, although I did also itch to get back to work. While Terrace had been cleared for people to return, the tattoo shop hadn’t yet reopened. Leo hired some cleaners to come in and thoroughly sterilize the place. Last thing he wanted was a lawsuit because someone claimed they got an infection. We’d be busy when we reopened though. Our website had been bombarded with requests for new ink, many of them volcano themed. I’d be using this time off to create some designs for clients to choose from. The drone footage of Tseax proved inspiring. The cone showed rivulets of magma flowing erratically in a patchwork down its sides.

When the rain finally relented, I exited my spotless trailer and began tidying my yard. And by tidy, I meant gathering all the rocks that landed in it, from pebble-sized to fist. I tossed them all into my firepit. I saved the one on the roof for last since I had to climb and I really didn’t like heights. Hated them so much I debated leaving it there, but I knew that lava stones tended to be porous and with all the rain soaking it, might get heavy enough to actually crack the top of my trailer. Last thing I needed was a leak.

So I put on my big girl panties—thongs for the curious, or as granny called them, ass flossers—and clutched that ladder tight as I climbed. I didn’t look anywhere but at my hands as I crawled to the massive dent that held the largest stone of all. Unlike the other jagged chunks, this one, while rough on the outside, was oval-shaped and too big to easily carry down so I tossed it.

To my surprise, it didn’t crack. I placed it in the firepit with the others and then grimaced. It stood out due to its size. To break it up, I grabbed my hatchet and used the blunt end to hammer at it. A few pieces of stone flaked off, but the thing remained whole for the most part. Maybe a few fires would soften it up enough it would split apart.

Over the next few weeks, I worked my ass off and came home exhausted. Meaning I did little but slump into a chair with a cold brew. Given the nice summer evenings, I spent my wind down time outside by the firepit, which I used to make dinner instead of my stove because the air conditioner worked like shit and I wasn’t about to make the trailer any hotter. I kept my meals simple. Weenies on a skewer. Burgers on a grill. Steak. Steak. And more steak. I did so love my meat.

And so did the creature that stole food off my plate!

ChapterTwo

Let me back up a second.

There I sat, comfortably ensconced in an Adirondack—which for the unknowing is the most comfortable outdoor chair you can have—with a big, toasty fire going, hot enough the big lava rock that sat in the middle of the pit glowed a bright orange.

I’d treated myself to a nice fatty ribeye, which I’d seasoned and threaded onto a skewer and held in the crackling flames. I like my meat singed on the outside, the outer fat crispy but the inside red and juicy. When I had it just the way I liked it, I stood and slapped it on a plate just as something in the fire wentcrackand loud hissing ensued.

I whirled with my plate still in hand, and sure enough, the big rock had finally split into chunks. It must have had moisture trapped inside given the steam that erupted.

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