would leap into the mouths of monsters-gladly sacrifice themselves-so he could live. They would follow his orders completely, without wondering if those orders were right or wrong, no moral judgments, and no arguments.
Tyr bound to his master and relayed what the acute canine noses and ears sensed in the air. He relayed that information through feelings and impulses: feelings and impulses Rich's mind translated into something like words.
People in homes, some alive some dead. Musty smell of something big in the woods to the east. Guns firing on the far side of the lake. Helicopter coming.
Richard stood and drifted across the lawn. After a minute, a green dual-rotor Chinook chopped overhead flying west to east, the sound bounced around the lake basin.
Should he signal the helicopter? Might they rescue him?
No. Whatever the helicopter's destination, it flew to a place more dangerous than the estate. The world out there, beyond the fence, was disintegrating piece by piece.
Richard could not comprehend why these gifts had been granted to him of all people. However, he now knew he belonged at the estate. It was his; he owned it. Just like the dogs. The man before had merely been a caretaker.
The helicopter disappeared beyond the mountains.
– Richard pushed aside the plate of crumbs that had been a roast beef sandwich minutes before. He reached to the carpeted dining room floor and grabbed the rifle he had found in the elaborate basement armory.
Even before arriving at the estate, Richard would have recognized the gun as a military assault rifle. Now he knew more.
He held a Colt M4 carbine. The weapon weighed a hair under six pounds, sported a barrel length of fourteen point five inches, fired with a muzzle velocity of 2,900 feet per second and energy of 1,645 Joules, all while shooting the full range of 5.56 millimeter ammunition within an effective range of 600 meters.
No instruction manual came with the rifle; he did not read about the specifications of the M4, he remembered them.
Stone stood and the gun settled into position against his shoulder in a manner consistent with the army handbook. That day marked the first time in his life he ever held such a thing, yet it felt familiar to him.
'Yes, I know how to do this. I remember.'
With his finger inching toward the trigger, he aimed toward a chair at the far end of the table through the iron sites, envisioning it to be- The dining room blurred and disappeared; his balance wavered. The walls of the mansion no longer surrounded him. He stood on a dusty street against a stone and mud dwelling. Metal cookware hanging from a drying line strung across the tight passage rattled in a gust of wind. A pair of goggles protected his eyes from grains of sand and dirt blowing around. He heard a voice over a radio talking to his unit leader.
'Repeat, Super Six-Four is down. Chalk four, what's your ETA to the crash sight?'
Shouts behind him.
'Skinnies!'
'Technical in the square!'
A burst of machinegun fire.
A Toyota pick up truck rolled into a dilapidated square in front of the soldiers. A man wearing a bandana over his face fired rounds from a heavy machine gun mounted in the truck's bed while a mass of civilians carrying AK-47s followed behind the Toyota.
His shots killed two of the militiamen, but for every one that fell another swarmed in from a side street, or a rooftop, or an alleyway.
'RPG!'
An explosion knocked him…
…to the dining room.
Richard dropped the weapon and staggered. His hand grabbed the high-backed chair at the head of the table but he managed only to pull it to the ground with him. Man, chair, and carbine fell to the floor.
Tyr, the Norwegian Elkhound, raced in.
Are you injured?
– Tall shelves lined the walls of the largest room on the second floor. On those shelves, he found maps, charts, and reference books covering topics from plumbing to computing. Like the rest of the mansion, the style resembled something vaguely Victorian but without the usual frills.
A door led from that library to the master bedroom and its attached full bath. The antique bed and dressers there gave the room a cozy, old-world feel as did a big thick rug and a barrel-top desk dating to the early 1900s.
Stone rested the M4 on a nightstand, took off his sweat jacket, and sat on the bed. Tyr and Odin stood nearby.
After falling over in the dining room, he had focused on communicating with the dogs. Following two hours of trial-and-error, he managed to organize them into groups, including several patrols of three assigned to walk the perimeter fence while others occupied static guard positions.
Rich gave Tyr and Odin quick pats on the head.
'I'm getting the hang of this. You guys are starting to understand me, and this whole memory thing…well I've never felt like this before.'
With each passing hour, he realized the power of the gifts, particularly the power of knowledge.
'Boy, things would have been a lot easier in the old days with something like this. I mean, if my car broke I had to pay fifty bucks an hour for some grease monkey to tell me there's a loose wire. What if I could fix things that broke or I knew all the answers about financing without going to Mr. Munroe? I mean…really.'
With the knowledge unlocked in his new memories came confidence and strength. He would not shoot his foot with the guns. He could plant a garden and grow vegetables and he felt the keen instincts of a hunter so if the pantry ran empty he could slay white tailed deer or rabbit, skinning and harvesting those kills with the skill of a seasoned taxidermist and butcher.
What kind of person would he have been in the old world with the benefit of these memories?
Such confidence would have spawned the ambition Mr. Trump thought Dick lacked. With the memories of the world's greatest entrepreneurs, he could have turned his business degree from that community college into a thriving enterprise. With the expertise of a veteran financial planner, his investments would have turned to gold. Imagine how fast he would have climbed from third string Safety to starter with the memories of football's greatest players!
Perhaps one did not need supernatural powers to be superman; perhaps it merely required knowledge.
'Wouldn't that have been something, huh guys?'
No reaction from Tyr or Odin.
Richards's cheerfulness faded.
'Oh, I get it. No small talk, is that it? We're not going to share any jokes? Tell me, why do dogs sniff the butts of other dogs?'
He laughed.
The dogs did not respond.
Richard stopped laughing.
'I see. Well, even with you around, I'm still alone, aren't I?'
The dogs did not respond.
'Okay then. Good night.'
Before his fingers touched the light switch, the room went dark. The stream of power from the outside world finally ceased.
He froze in the darkness for one second…two…three.
Richard heard a distant click followed by a whir. He heard circuits snap and felt electricity flow through the building again, but when the light came back on it shined a shade dimmer.
He swallowed hard.
'The generator kicked on.'
