The Difference

By Daniel Jenkins

Daniel was content living life as a drifter. That was until he received a call from his late Uncle Ted's attorney. Life as he knew it would drastically change as he faces his destiny. Evil has taken hold of his world and he must now journey into another to save it. Join Daniel and his companions as he battles Demons and humans alike in a last ditch effort to save the human race. This epic journey will take you from a small farm in Minnesota to a land in another dimension. You will question everything you believed in before as Daniel takes his final journey into The Difference. Corruption, Demons, conspiracy, it's all waiting for you as you delve into Daniels unwaivering quest to save his wife. This is a book about nothing, yet everything. The characters you are about to meet will leave you wanting more for the story is not yet finished. Of that I can guarantee.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel Jenkins
• Release date: Feb 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311046482

Daniel Jenkins

Daniel Keith Jenkins is a pseudonym used by author David Picka. David grew up in the small town of Fairmont MN. He began his writing career in 2011 after deciding television was indeed a waste of time and turned it off. His first novel The Difference began as a government conspiracy regarding the H1N1 virus. What was meant to be a short story turned into something else entirely. Much like the lead character Daniel in his novel David has mostly been a drifter much of his adult life. Several journeys through various states have brought him back to live in Fairmont where he continues to write finding the quiet Southern Minnesota lifestyle a perfect place to develop new characters and ideas. His second novel which is tentatively titled After The Difference is currently in the works with a release date of Fall 2014.

Book preview

Book 1

Entre'

It began to get strange around November. Before I can begin this tale you must be brought up to speed so we are all together on this. The virus was in full swing, all countries had been infected. The U.N. had declared mass inoculations, they were mandatory. Dissention prevailed however and the masses that distrusted their governments soon became enemies of the state. By January 2010 the Council of 300 had replaced the U.N. Security Council. 300 men, presidents, bankers, and captains of industry declared martial law on the planet. Those who resisted the vaccine were rounded up and placed in quarantine. Only those with the mark walked free, for the shot did indeed leave a mark. The mark was to be presented when requested by authority to show citizenship. The mark was needed for food and water and if one did not possess the mark, well, you were simply put away for processing. Many had tried to counterfeit the mark and were eventually caught. You see the mark was a bar code of sorts. It was scannable and impossible to duplicate without the inoculation. Those caught trying to mimic the mark were executed on sight as traitors to the Council. Here is where it really gets weird.

I had been told of the inoculation lines from others before me. It was not as easy as just going in for a shot. There were the tests, many tests. The tests were scanned and people were herded into one of two lines. The significance of the line did not become apparent until months later when people started dropping dead with no medical justification. The Surgeon General said the infection mutated in certain people causing the sudden expiration of certain individuals. These certain individual people soon exceed 10 million throughout the world. The booklet required to be completed before the shot was 66 pages long. By this point most people were so panicked by the propaganda they would do anything for the shot. News reports were broadcast 24/7. There were no more soaps, sitcoms, or sports anymore. The 300 had taken control of the media and it was wall-to-wall infection. Images of hospital wards filled with infected patients as Third World countries were digging mass graves in an attempt to pacify the stench of the dead. Children and women were suffering under the strains of the infection as it mutated. It all began as something less severe than the seasonal flu, but it soon became something much worse.

Anyway, back to the tests. From what I could gather, the test came in three parts. First was the lineage section where you were to trace back your family lineage as far as you could remember. For some reason your ancestry and bloodlines were of great importance to the health officials. Secondly was the intelligence section. This was the longest aspect of the test in which you unknowingly take a general intelligence test as well as explaining your trades and skills. Generally, what you were good at. The last section had to do with you allegiance to the New World Order and the Council of 300. I'll explain the N.W.O. in a second. In order to get the shot this pamphlet had to be completed within an hour, for there were many who needed the shot you see. The last three pages were the fine print and when I mean fine print I mean very, very fine print. By the time you made it this far the pressure was on, skip the fine print and just sign. The fine print ended in the mass murder of millions.

Let me take a moment to explain who exactly I am. My given name is Daniel; my last name is no longer relevant. My age was 35 in 2010, how old I am now I could only surmise for where I was things were different. When I say where I was, well, that's when weird takes on an entirely different meaning.

First I need to get back to the tests and the lines. All the inoculation centers in my country were essentially the same everywhere. Every town of sizable means in my country had an empty Wal-Mart, K-Mart, Sears, you know, the huge discount chains. You know the ones that were built with everyone wondering how they were going to prosper in such a small community. Truth be told they were not built for prosperity but for eventual processing. Here is how it worked in my town, and I'm sure it was the same across the country.

Every major city was assigned a manager. When I say manager I don't mean mayor or any other elected official. I mean someone whose job it was to manage the inoculations and the subsequent aftermath. The managers were appointed by the Steppe Council. A City Manager had the life expectancy of about 6 months after appointment. What's a Steppe Council you ask? The Steppe Councils came about in March of 2010. That's when the New World Order was implemented and life on this planet changed forever. The hierarchy went something like this. The Council of 300 controlled the planet. The North American Command, a Council of 12 appointed by the 300, reported directly to the 300 regarding affairs in what were once Canada, the United States, and Mexico. North America was divided onto four sections according to the time zones. Each time zone was referred to as a Steppe and headed by an appointed Steppe Director. The Steppe Director appointed City Managers. Any city under a population of 100,000 was absorbed by its nearest largest city. City Managers were on the front lines; therefore they were often in the crosshairs of guerilla dissidents. Every continent on the planet was run this way.

By decree of the Council of 300 all borders were eliminated. This was accomplished under the guise of the infection. Nations could not be allowed to horde the inoculation, nor be short of the shot. It was imperative that everyone alive get the shot for the survival of the human race. Nations that resisted the border elimination were themselves eliminated by the 300's vast military. Every country who got on board pledged their allegiance to the 300, pledged their militaries, and their governments became absorbed. Individual governments were a thing of the past, and like I said, those who resisted felt the full force of the Council's armies. I remember the 17th of March, that's the night I through my TV out in the front yard. North Korea, bless their eternal souls, were one of the last of the hold outs.

Negotiations had come to a standstill after North Korea had been denied a seat on the 300. It was kind of surreal at the time as I was making lunch for Bo and myself and we had the World News Network on in the kitchen for background noise. They were talking of the final round of negotiations with North Korean leaders meeting in what once was London at the Chamber on the Thames, once called Buckingham Palace. This was where the Council ruled, where the new World Court convened, and believe it or not where the Chancellor lived. Who was the Chancellor? His name was Nathaniel Henry and he was, before the infection, head of the U.S Federal Reserve. He was appointed Chancellor on February 15th after unrest amongst the peoples concerning being ruled by too many at one time. That's how everyone had gotten on board; they now had a common leader. The King of what was Europe was also the King of what was Africa and so on. Henry was allowed no powers at all by the Council. He was merely a figurehead for the people and his job was to present fiery speeches on the Network promising more freedoms and democracy and then the people settled down, at least for a while. Unbeknownst to them the planet was now under the control of the 300, and that was a fact.

Anyway, back to lunch. Reports coming out of the Chambers were grim to say the least for North Korea. The first Earth Shakers hit Pyongyang at 12:30 my time. It came without warning and very quickly indeed for a country in negotiations. Earth Shaker missiles do exactly what their name suggests. They shake the Earth, crumbling any man made structure for miles. I had heard later nukes had been suggested, but the 300 wanted the land usable for reasons that may shock you or at this point or maybe not. That day 3.8 million innocent men, women, and children were dead within the first 20 minutes. The capital was hit the hardest and within half an hour three more major cities were targeted. But the missiles were just the Entre' and at 5:30 my time the land invasion began. North Korea had always been surrounded; they just realized too late how strong the massed troops were. By this time the nation was in shock and mass confusion and there was no aid on the way, only death. Council forces were led by a fella with the name of Yang Soo from what once was China. You know when you meet someone then walk away thinking, What an asshole, that was General Soo. The General had orders from the Council, and they could not have been clearer. He was ordered to eliminate the entire population.

Imagine if you would a circle with a dot in the center and surrounding that circle was another circle. The outer circle was Council troopers. They advanced inward from all sides and met at the center dot. The General figured the odds were 60 to 1 in his favor so that meant one Council trooper for every 60 North Koreans left. The Chinese side took the largest of the civilian casualties for that was where most of the refugees were headed. Unfortunately for them Yang predicted this and doubled his troop strength along that line. Of course, the World News Network was in tow, covering every sickening minute of the slaughter. I had forgotten lunch at this point and was watching in utter disbelief and nausea.

The moment that defined not only the campaign, but the New World Order happened at 7:50 p.m. my time. Allow yourself to imagine this, or perhaps you may want to skip this part. I was well into a fifth of whiskey when the news cut to a live field report on the outskirts of what once was China. The anchor and camera operator were with a squad advancing on a small village, which consisted of a few thatched mud houses, a starving cow and a couple of chickens. The anchor was just about to start his spiel when a trooper yelled critters on the loose. The camera pans away from the anchor to follow the troopers' sights. A boy about 8 years of age is running across a field with his 3-year-old sister in tow. She keeps falling; she cannot match his desperate pace. I know the boy knew what was coming and I pray to the Light that the little girl had no idea. Two shots were fired in quick succession. The boy went down first, a full metal jacket entering his heart and within a heartbeat the little girls head was just non-existent. Her body stood upright for a couple of seconds, as if it were waiting instructions from a brain that no longer existed. The child's ragged slip was blowing in the wind with her tiny hand still outstretched as if trying to reach her brother who was already on the ground. How can I see all this so vividly, that's simple, the news put the scene to slow motion and it was played at the top of the hour, every hour, for the next 3 days.

Wow, did you see that? cried the trooper in his Texas accent. He turned to the camera, Please tell me you fucking got that on tape? The troopers name was Dellwood Atwater from Arlington Texas. Dell had an I.Q. of 70 and all the makings of a serial killer. He was born to a drug addict and his mother sold him to a Mexican drug dealer at the age of 3 months for a quarter pound of meth. Dell was kept like a dog until the age of 12 but the biggest problem with Dell was after 12 years in a cage his mental state had been reduced to that of an animal. He escaped and hitched to Dallas where he blended in with the other homeless. At the age of sixteen Dell wandered to Arlington and at seventeen had murdered his first victim. The boy was only five when Dell seduced him away from a playground and choked the lad to death in an alley. After disposing the body in a dumpster Dell sound found his next victim who was only four. Dell snatched her from her home and brought her to the underside of the Challis Bridge where he called home. Sex never was Dells thing; he had never had it and wasn't particularly interested. Death was his deal, especially children, since he was robbed of his own childhood. He tortured her for two days before her heart gave out and her life tragically ended. This child was eventually found stuffed in a plastic bag, abandoned along a dirt road. An artist's rendition of a possible suspect had the local cops looking to question Dell in a big way so he headed north to Iowa where he enlisted in the Council forces. After six weeks of basic he was shipped to what once was the Chinese border where his killing spree continued. Dell never did make it back to Texas because after bragging about his rock star status for two days he was found crucified to the side of a shed with his genitals stuffed down his throat to quiet him for good. His squad left him there to bleed out and it took 15 hours for Dell to die. Why did I tell you Dells life story, well, it will become self evident later on.

That was when the TV hit the front lawn. I had seen the future and wanted no part in it. What happened next for me could be taken either as destiny or penitence. I know it is too early into it for you to make a judgment so perhaps at the end of the tale. At the end of 14 days, I later found out 56,000,000 N. Koreans had been eliminated from Earth. 37,000 Council forces had perished, with over 8,000 by the hands of their own comrades. You see, these 8,000 men still had the Light touching them and could not bring themselves to the slaughterhouse of women and children. They were shot as deserters and there were no prisoners that week although many approached troopers with their hands raised pleading for the lives of their children and themselves. Nobody who could walk upright was allowed to live and when the troopers departed, it would be 6 years 6 months, and 6 days before anyone was allowed in what was once North Korea. The dead were left for the carrion, which for the Council was the most cost effective means of cleanup.

Back to whom I am for a moment, for I'm sure you're curious by now. As I said, my name is Daniel and I live 15 miles north of the city of New Brussels in which once was the state of Minnesota. New Brussels is your average Minnesota small city with its 2010 population being 3000, but that was declining rapidly due to the infection. I live on 30 acres of wooded land left to me by my Uncle Ted. Ted never had any children so I came by this property as I was his only nephew. Ted was killed when his pickup came up over a rise and slammed into the back of a grain trailer in the fall of 2007. So he willed me his farm which included a two bedroom, 1 and a 1/2 bath two story dwelling and a typical big red barn containing two female mares, one goat, tack, and a five year old Tick Coon Hound named Bo. The farm was quiet and peaceful with nothing surrounding the acreage for miles. What I like most was the fact that nothing could be seen from Danbury Road, which ran parallel to my property. If you glanced over from the road, you would see nothing but a farm that looked abandoned for years. Fall was spent chopping wood and deer hunting whereas spring gave way to fly-fishing on the Danby River. I had hired a gal from town to come out every day to care for the horses as I knew nothing about the equestrian way of life until Dana agreed to come out and help. She taught me about tack and ferrying and changed my drunken life for the better. We'd spend hours in the summer exercising the mares which were named Red and Brown.

What I liked most about Dana was her simplicity. Dana was five years my junior, beautiful and slender with long brown hair and brown eyes. She had been divorced for about a year when we met and to say I fell in love with her was an understatement. Every now and then she would catch me staring as she walked the horses or hell, even cleaning the barn. I couldn't help it as I was struck hard and at a loss as to what to do about it. It was quite an issue with me as either I could summon the courage to ask her out and take the chance of rejection or leave things be and remain good friends. Rejection could mean an uncomfortable work situation where she might just quit and acceptance could mean my bachelor days would be over. I knew I wasn't a bad looking guy and I stayed in relatively good shape for someone my age. I guess if I had lived a normal life I may have been quite a catch for some lucky lady. The problem here was my life was anything but normal. After I walked out of my parents’ house I fled to the American underground. I went completely off the grid and remained that way for years as I felt I was born free and I was damned if I was going to hand over a dime to the government. Also and most importantly was Baal. He became my destiny, my enemy, and my life. I'll get back to that son of a bitch in a while. I wasn't sure if she knew the kind of things that occupied my spare time and If I was to tell her the things I already knew I believe she would have hopped in her truck and left laughing. I had alluded to some subjects during our rides just to judge her reaction, most of the time she would simply laugh and tell me to get with the program.

She dismissed everything as me just trying to make conversation because what interested her the most was the infection. When was I scheduled for the shot? Did you hear the latest death toll in New Brussels? I hear the National Guard now wear black? Did you hear the rumors about Wal-Mart? This is what was on Danas' mind until she escaped through that door with me in Montana and then she learned the truth. She had gotten the shot before we met, before I could warn her. That was probably the biggest mistake of my life, getting her involved in this madness. I should have left her with blinders on; she may have been able to live a halfway normal life. Not that life was normal anymore, but she had been classified as necessary and would have been protected. Sometimes at night when I look into these new heavens that have become so familiar I pray to the Light for Dana and wish to return to her. Abandoning her with Sal was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. But I remember Solomon's first lesson, Destiny unravels as it should; Solomon would say and I guess he was right. Although I sometimes hated him for it he was right for the path had become clear, that I could not deny. If I thought I did bad things in my normal life wait until you hear about what happened in the Difference? I was destined to be transformed from an average Joe to a god.

Every three months Bo and I would head to town in the truck for supplies. Now, when I get supplies, I mean I overstock like tomorrow could be Armageddon. I learned that from my friend Sal in Buenos Aires. I first saw Sal on the internet about 2 years ago when I was surfing the internet one drunken evening. He was on a You Tube video ranting and raving about the N.W.O. and the Illuminati. He was 55 years old, balding and pissed. At just under 5'6", what he lacked in stature he made up for in passion and intelligence. I emailed his website asking for more information for I had heard of the New World Order and a little of the Illuminati, but I had pushed them aside as conspiracy theories. Sal started flooding me with information and every morning my e-mail was full of attachments and web references. Since I didn't have to work, I spent most of the winter of '08 consulting with Sal and learning everything I could. I spent that winter devouring everything I could from government to religion, making connections, seeing things clearly for the first time. By the time the spring rains thawed the Danby River behind the red barn I was enlightened. I met Sal in person for the first time that spring. He flew into MSP INT. for a conference in St. Paul on limiting government intrusion on personal rights.

I picked him up at the airport and took him to the conference then back to his hotel for a quick dinner. That dinner lasted from 6:00 that night until 4:30 that morning. Sal talked mostly and I listened as I was simply a novice compared to his experience. Sal and I did to have some lively discussions regarding religion and its historical role on influencing government. Religion was something I had taken great interest in that winter, particularly because I knew nothing outside the Catholic teachings I had as a boy. I was beginning to lift the veil on a connection, but it was elusive and I had nothing concrete to share with Sal that wouldn't make me sound like an idiot. The cocktails flowed throughout the night, but we were both careful not to get too sauced because we knew this would be our only meeting in person. I pressed Sal with the question of the afterlife, things like, what happened when you died? Where did you go? Did you even exist as a being anymore, or do you simply expire like a flame in the breeze? Sal brushed all these things aside.

Daniel, there are more important things to think about right now, your own immortality will take care of itself. he said.

But I couldn't brush it aside because it had been bugging the hell out of me for some time. Do you ever have that nagging feeling that there's something about you that's off just a bit? I'm not talking crazy off, just not right. It's that feeling you get when...did I mention I don't think I can die.

Before you toss me aside let me elaborate. At the age of 21 I was in a car accident. There were three of us in my roommates' Blazer. We hit a sedan doing about 60 siding sideways. I remember the headlights coming and Jeff, who was driving softly whisper oh shit. The next thing I recall was walking down the road towards an accident brushing glass off my jacket. I reached the first vehicle which looked vaguely familiar, but it was hard to tell because it was twisted into this white sedan. I peered into the window and saw my best friend Jeff. Jeff was very dead and my other friend Greg, on the passenger side, seemed to be stuffed primarily under the dash. Greg's head rested just on the edge of the seat and his eyes were open, staring at me accusingly. Blood was drooling out of his mouth and seeping out of his left eye. The most disturbing was the fact that he didn't look peaceful like dead people in the movies do. I'll never forget that look in Greg's eyes. I must be dreaming, I thought as I sat down on the pavement and listened to the quiet ticking of car engines cooling down. As I was being loaded into an ambulance a county sheriff was telling me how lucky I was to be alive. Of the two cars involved in the collision everyone died except for me.

Next it was my 30th birthday. It was a bright sunny morning heading to town for smokes on my Harley. I had her cranked to 70 on a straightaway when the rear tire locked. I knew enough to lay it down and try to ride it out. I slid off the pavement into an escarpment off the tar and flipped. Suddenly I was airborne watching as the bike slowly rode the air next to me. The only thought I had at the time was that it sucks to die on your birthday. I watched as the bike struck the trunk of a fence line tree and I kept going. I rolled into a soybean field and stopped. I was looking at the sun wondering how painful it was going to be when I moved. Something had to be broken, a guy doesn't take one like that a simply brush himself off and walk away. I slowly got up, brushed myself off and started walking back home. It took a tow truck to unwrap my bike from around that tree.

A few years later with a particularly bad incident with the IRS and the bottle I had gone into suicide mode. I was 33, still single when most guys my age had kids and a wife. The Feds were ramping up to clean me out so yeah, I had been a bad boy. It was as if the harder I tried the further I fell and I had gotten tired. I would sit in the living room in my chair every night with a bottle and a loaded .38. I would stare at that pistol for hours, trying to summon the courage to do what I thought needed to be done. I already had the image in my head on how they would find me, and it was messy. Anyway I looked at it was going to be messy because I wanted a head shot. I finally summoned the courage to put the barrel in my mouth. I stared at the ceiling thinking of how shitty gun oil tastes and pulled the trigger. Nothing, I thought, must be a dud, so I triggered the gun again only to get nothing but a dry click. Now I was getting pissed so I pulled the gun out of my mouth and flipped open the cylinder. Sure enough, 6 rounds staring back at me. I tried again, click. I pulled the hammer back and fired, click. I triggered the gun six more times just to be sure and the result was nothing. Enraged, I pointed the gun up and put a bullet through my ceiling. I set the pistol aside and contemplated this for a while before drinking myself into oblivion.

My next attempt was Christmas Eve and I had the holiday blues in a bad way. I had always hated the holidays because they were family times and I was alone. Sure, I had parents, but they lived in California. Dana had stopped earlier in the day while I was looking up instructions on how to tie a hangman's noose on the internet. It was only noon and I was already well into my first bottle of bourbon. Dana had come bearing gifts and that only made my day even worse. I hadn't bought anyone a Christmas present in 15 years and I had to think of something quick. Man, I felt like such a dickhead, and then it dawned on me the perfect gift. I asked her to wait in the kitchen as I grabbed a tablet and pen. I hastily scribbled a short letter and stuffed it in an envelope and wrote Dana, Merry Christmas on the front then quickly snuck to the upstairs bathroom and slammed some mouthwash. After composing myself I found her listening to the Network on the radio. I should have thrown that damn thing away months ago. The awkward small talk went like this:

Merry Christmas Dana

Back atcha; she replied Don't even think your spending all day out here by yourself.

Oh no, my parents are coming in from California, they'll be here around six. I lied.

After some chit chat about the holidays and family bullshit I started sweating.

Daniel, are you feeling alright? she asked.

Actually no, I need some air, let's go check on the mares; actually at this point I just needed another drink.

I grabbed my coat and slipped on my boots and we headed to the barn. The temperature was already ten below and it was supposed to drop to 20 below after dark with a chance of snow. The frigid temp slammed into me like a wall when we left the house. Now I was freezing because of the dampness of my clothes and started shivering. I knew if I didn't get a drink in me soon I was going to go apeshit. In the barn I handed her the letter and she accepted it with the usual oh, you didn't have to get me anything. Dana opened the letter and tears swelled in her eyes as she started to read.

Merry Christmas Dana

Bill of Sale

Chestnut mare named Brown

Saddle w/ stirrups, your choice

Red checkered saddle blanket you like so well

Cinch, your choice

Life time of free boarding

All the grain and hay she needs, also free for life

Cost: 0.00

Thanks for being there when I needed you the most. I know how you feel about Brown and now she's yours.

I love you Dana Hendricks

Many a night was spent thinking about why I added that last sentence. I did really love her, but why tell her on the day I was planning to hang myself. I was just drunk enough not to feel embarrassed I guess. Dana was staring down at the letter and her whole body was shaking. She looked up at me and the tears were flowing freely now. Time seemed to stand still as I looked down upon her and the only thought that came to mind was that I had blown it. I was kicking myself for the I love you part for a woman as perfect as Dana did not deserve to get involved with a person like me. All I could do now is brace myself for the rejection as my mind drifted back to the noose awaiting me in the living room. As she looked up at me with her perfect face I was once again reminded that the thought of us being together was just another one of my drunken fantasies. In the summer her skin would tan to a golden brown. In the winter it reverted back to a creamy porcelain color that when backed by her reddish brown hair was flawless. Now her face was red as she sobbed, looking at the barn floor and pretending to be swiping hay back and forth with her boot. She suddenly looked up to the ceiling and screamed. Now, I don't know about you guys but I hate seeing women cry for any reason. In the flash of a second it registered in my mind that this would probably be the last time I ever saw Dana Hendricks. Why the hell did I add that last sentence? The screaming really freaked me out and I was just about to turn and walk away when she suddenly leveled her gaze with mine.

All I got for you was a fur lined hat and those leather gloves you pointed out that day at the hardware store. she said softly.

Dana, don't worry about, all I could give you was a used horse. I replied jokingly.

Truth be told Brown was anything but just a used horse. I found her and Reds' papers in my Teds desk drawer shortly after his funeral. They were both sired with champion bloodlines. Their father was named After the Fire and although he had never won the Trifecta he had come in second three years in a row at the Kentucky Derby. Ted was presented with the two then colts in Memphis by a fellow named Jackson Hillship. It turns out Mr. Hillship was a terrible poker player and owed Ted a lot of money. The bill listed the horses' lineage as well as the debt settlement. I about crapped my pants when I saw $100,000 each. When I saw that Ted had taken this guy for a couple hundred grand I leaned back in my chair and toasted him for his good fortune. The letter was signed:

To Mr. Theodore Hanska

2 mare colts'

1 mare chestnut in color, white face, white tipped tail, and white forelegs.

1 mare auburn in color, solid color, no other markings.

For settlement of $200,000 gambling debt, paid in full this day June 3rd, 2005

Mr. Jackson L Hillshire, esq.

Dana was looking at me with those brown eyes. To be honest for a second it was like she was in a trance and I was getting nervous. Then she came to me still sobbing and placed her head to my chest. Then the beat down started without warning. First it was two fists to the chest then alternating pounding with each blow a new word.

Do you have any idea how long I've waited for you to say that. she sobbed.

Dana, don't get so excited it's just a used horse, besides I can't ride two at the same time. I really didn't know what to say.

Brown had always been Dana's since the day she arrived at the farm. I remember the first day I approached her about the mares. She came highly recommended by the veterinarian when I was there asking about a Ferrier. At the time she was working part time at the Handy Dandy Hardware as a cashier. I introduced myself and asked if she as looking for any more part time work. She was still trying to pay off the deposit on her new apartment and she readily agreed. I must admit from the very start she was very intimidating. It wasn't just her looks but she immediately started asking me questions about the horses.

What breed are they? she asked.

Four legged I replied, I really knew nothing about horses.

Sorry I mean they're both mares, that much I do know, other than that they're just two horses. I quickly added, trying not to sound like an idiot.

Give me directions to your place, I'll be out a 6:00 tomorrow morning, I'll check them out and let you know. was her reply.

I drew a map and the what if thoughts ran through my head all the way home.

What if she doesn't like the horses?

What if she hates the barn?

Ted had kept an immaculate barn as far as I was concerned. It seemed to have been built around these two horses. There were two roomy stalls, both brand new. Two separated brush down stalls fully supplied with all the grooming essentials including floor drains. Fresh straw and hay bales were kept in the upstairs portion. Ted had built an ingenious type of elevator using a platform and counter weights that allowed one person to either rise or lower the platform fully loaded. The walls were insulated and two massive barn fans had been installed at each end for the summer months. I wondered how cold horses could get in the winter and made a mental note to ask Dana. There were two tractors lined next to the corral exit. Both were John Deere and both looked practically brand new. One was equipped with a front-end loader and the other with a snow blower setup.

The tack room was the focal point of the entire barn. Two swing doors allowed you to enter the room which was approximately 15 feet wide by 25 feet deep and was located at the main barn entrance with the room itself accessible from a single door off to you right as you entered the barn. Inside the tack room is where a lot of money had been spent. The walls were double insulated and lined with cedar. The ceiling was about 12 feet high and sheet rocked with two ceiling fans at each end of the room. The workbench extended almost the entire section against the outside wall with almost every mountable power tool needed for operating a farm. Ferrier tools hung from the north wall, all polished and ready. Ted's saddle collection (12 in all) rested on a long pole that ran parallel to the workbench. Two heavy duty cabinets were filled with blankets, bridals, etc. A small refrigerator was in one corner filled with bottles of liquid and pills only a veterinarian could decipher. Looking around I was proud of the barn, I just hoped Dana would be impressed as well. The corral area was plenty big for these horses to run during the day, or so I thought. I would soon learn that these horses were not like dogs nor were they regular horses. I kind of had an idea of that but the truth came out when Dana finally arrived at six. I let the horse out into the corral and headed down the end of the drive to meet her. She got out of her truck and examined the barn from afar.

It looks kind of old she said.

It'll keep the rain out I replied beside its much nicer on the inside.

Just to warn you up front I've worked a lot of farms around here and I will not deal with pigs or sheep, they're filthy. she stated firmly.

I've got a goat, but I let it loose the day I moved here, I was hoping it would just wander away, but the damn thing keeps hanging around. I spied through the trees trying to spot the goat but it was no where to be seen.

Fair warning she said I'm not a vet but I do know the basics, I don't know what kind of shape these animals are in and I'm not a miracle worker.

The horses look fine to me, but then again, you're the expert. I replied.

Any idea how old they are, the last place I worked we had to put down three because of neglect and old age? she said with regret.

The papers I found say they're both two years old, as far as I know they're both broken, although I've never tried to ride either one. I said feeling like a pansy, although I admit the mares were kind of intimidating.

Well you might as well give me the full tour, I usually know within five minutes whether or not I'll work a barn. she said.

I cleaned it up a little after we spoke last night, I probably could have done better, but I ran out of time. I said.

We walked to the barn with me in tow and that as on purpose. Dana was dressed in tight worn blue jeans that accented every curve. She wore a simple brown checked shirt with no collar and cowboy boots. The shirt was a western button up so it was difficult to determine the size, see I was afraid of this. I knew when she got here I was going to start checking her out. She's hopefully going to be an employee hornbob, so keep your dick in your pants, and think baseball or something. I needed Dana, the horses needed Dana, and maybe even the damn goat needed Dana so I hoped she approved of the joint because women like her are hard to come by. As we entered the main entrance I realized we hadn't even discussed hours or wages. I guess I'd have to wait and see if she wanted the job first. Dana stopped once inside a waited while her eyes adjusted to the light.

At first she said nothing, she just started walking around. She inspected the stalls then she climbed the loft and I demonstrated the platform. She tried it herself and was amazed at how easy it pulled and lowered. Dana jumped on the front-end loader and said she had been driving tractors since she was five, she knew them all, and I believed her. She walked over to the wall just outside the tack room and was inspecting a thermostat I hadn't noticed before.

This is for a Hooper Hot Water System. she said with amazement.

I'll bite, what's a Hooper? I said.

I've read about them in Modern Equestrian Magazine, they heat the floor with hot water pipes buried under the concrete, but this system must have cost more than the entire barn. she stated.

Wait until you see the tack room. I said confidently.

Oh no, not a tack room, you didn't say anything about a filthy tack room. she said,

Just to let you know I get extra for cleaning and organizing the tack room, most I've seen should have just of been sealed off and condemned.

This one doesn't seem that bad, come on and check it out. I said eagerly.

Please don't tell me this entire room is for tack? she said as we inspected the outside walls.

I opened the swing doors and flipped on the lights. With the all the lights on the room seemed like an operating area. There were fluorescents mounted flush in the walls and the ceiling. The fans whirred to life and a light breeze greeted us as we entered. Dana said nothing; she just stood in