Carla the laborer

Ken stripped the saddle off the tall quarter horse and slung it over the railing. He looked to the young boy standing near and commanded, "Boy! Take care of her."

"Yes, sir," the ten year old Marcus said timidly, snatching up a towel and brush to clean up the lathered horse. He hesitated and with a soft voice asked, "Sir ... did you bring it?"

Ken studied the lad with a stern expression. It was a feigned look: he liked the boy and was happy with the service he received from him. But he knew that to maintain the master-servant relationship, he needed to be hard with the lad.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of home made jerky, wrapped in cloth. He tossed it to Marcus, commanding, "Share it with the others. There's no more where that came from."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." The boy hungrily stuffed one piece -- noticeably the largest -- into his mouth, pocketed the rest, and returned to brushing down the still-hard breathing horse.

Ken headed up to the house, stopping to talk to the very elderly man sitting in an equally ancient rocking chair. "Where is she?"

The old codger jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Cookin'."

"She get her work done, Pops?" Ken looked to the wood pile and saw a noticeable difference between that which was split and that which wasn't; then glanced off to the garden which appeared weeded but was more difficult to be certain about.

"S'pose," the old man said. "Don't like givin' her an ax, though!"

"Do you want to do the chopping?" Ken asked with a smirk.

Pops laughed heartily. "If'n I had to choose between me chopping wood and her chopping off m'head, I'd probably choose the latter."

Ken smiled at the man's humor. The old man -- his great uncle, now almost 100 years old -- had lived through the Apocalypse which had been hard enough. But for the past 20 years -- since Ken had taken over the ranch as a teen -- Pops had struggled with chronic pain from a number of sources. And while he wasn't the suicidal type, Pops probably would have happily allowed someone to chop his head off and end his misery.

Ken looked through the front door's window, locating the woman inside before entering. While his great uncle may have heartily invited **** by ax, Ken preferred living for many years to come. And walking into a dark cabin filled with sharp objects and a woman in chains was only asking for a early ****.