Flesh and Blood

Rather pleased with the number of hits I already have, so here's another chapter. Please review if you have the time though. :)

4
He awoke to very stiff limbs, aching from the injuries he had sustained from the explosion. Rolling over onto his back, Three Finger stretched out his lithe body, feeling and hearing a few snaps and pops. His chest was still sore from where the whore struck him with the axe and he tenderly touched the wound, playing with the stickiness of dried blood and pus. Itching his rump, the man stood, lowering the cache of food he had left once again hanging from the tree. First, he would vomit – which came minutes after lowering the meat – then get something back into his stomach before he started another day of work. Today he would salvage what he could and move onward.
A few car keys had been undamaged in the blast and he took a few out to the graveyard, pressing some buttons. One large blue vehicle whistled and peeped at him and he jumped up and down, as he had been hoping to hear that very noise. He loved the noise new cars made, even though any car made one of his absolute favorite noise: screeching. Opening the back door, he threw out the remnants of family possessions from the car’s previous owners and hopped behind the steering wheel, putting the key in ignition.
Pulling into the front yard of the cabin three minutes later, Three Finger jumped out of the blue vehicle and charged into the black skeleton of a house, taking several trips as he filled the car for his trip. Randomly he would take whatever came into his view and pleaded to be taken, from food to weapons to objects which did not seem to have any true use. Oftentimes Three Finger would recall something from the mere sight of a camera or broken jar and have the impulsive desire to include it in the collection of moving items. Food of course was first priority, because food meant survival, but he was quite sentimental regarding something reminding him of his family.
Picking up an old phonograph, now useless from the flame’s harmful heat, something fell from the wobbly table it sat upon. Leaning down, Three Finger picked the mystery object up, brushing the ash and dirt from its once soft, furry face. He squeezed it in his mangled left hand when he remembered the possession belonged to One Eye. On certain nights, One Eye would hold the stuffed toy as he slept, as though it could protect him from the flashing fire in the black sky. The big man had always hated lightening, but he hated the thunder even more. When the ratty old stuffed bear could not help comfort him, he sought the warmth of Three Finger’s back against his chest, holding him tighter every time the serrated white lines would illuminate the sky and produce claps of earth shaking noise. Exerting a whispered chortle, Three Finger closed his eyes as he held the charred bear close to his nose, inhaling soot and the still present scent of his younger brother. The memory and smell made him damp in his nether regions, suddenly excited by the physical remains of his pack mate, but he pushed the memories aside and took the toy back to the car, laughing in his improved mood.
Should one home ever be made uninhabitable, such as now, the family always had another to take its place. Backseats, storage spaces and front seat filled with food, weapons and belongings, Three Finger drove off, destination only three hours away. Soon he would be sitting in another cabin, similar to the last, engulfed in woods and most likely overgrown by weeds and moss. The second cabin had not been used since two summers after One Eye was born and thus might need some fixing before autumn came, but at least this was better than a house reduced to charcoal.
Halfway through the trip, the car came to a sudden stop and Three Finger stumbled out just in time to sick up the tongue and heart he had consumed for breakfast. Grunting to himself, he clamped and arm around his middle and wandered away from the car, leaving the front door open wide. He followed the sound of rushing water and discovered the river which ran through Bear Mountain, falling to his knees when he reached the edge and gulping down the cool liquid. Of course, vomiting every morning was not always fun for Three Finger, but he knew it would pass in time, just like it did with his mother.
Seeing himself in the water, he paused and finally stood, unhinging his overalls and rolling up his stained, filthy shirt. There at the river he took a long look at his image on the rippling surface, touching the gristle and gash, staring at his tattered, skinny body. His hand drifted upwards to his belly, still small and flat yet, despite his sickness. Three Finger glanced at his middle and lower regions, contemplating the fact that other than a cleft, he did not much look like one of the Lesser Half. His mother and the whores the family would hunt were not as thin as he, and they were usually bigger and softer than he, especially in the chest, and lower vicinity. Three Finger liked the way those bits felt whenever he played with or ate them, but he was troubled by the fact that he did not have them when he had a sickness such as this. With his hips so bony and hard, would he accidentally stab the pup when it got big enough inside him?
Then, the matter of his age was to be taken into consideration.
The mother was very old, without question, when she disappeared from life. She had birthed the three remaining members of the pack and with One Eye’s bringing, she could take no more. Three Finger knew it had to do with her age, as well as the size of the pup as he was spat from her. She bled very much that night and the strain depleted her strength to a point that she fell asleep and never woke again. What if Three Finger was also too old? How old could one be before exhaustion to take them into death? He had no idea of the age of Saw Tooth, who it seemed would have lived forever had the explosion not occurred, nor did he know the mother’s age. Would the man even be strong enough to spit the pup from him when the time was right??
The meditation was troubling enough that Three Finger backed away from the stream as though he had stepped into hot coals. Rearranging his clothes, he gave the water one last look before heading for the car again.
He halted in surprise when he heard a loud crash, but soon found himself grinning.
Food had found him.