“I’ll gather kindling from the yard while you carry in as many logs from the woodpile as you can.”

Jason looked at his uncle for a second, then shook his head in resignation.  “I see you took the hard job for yourself.”

“Yeah, well… you’re in better shape,” he grinned, “and younger, too.”  He tossed his backpack of hastily-gathered supplies on the small table beside Jason’s pack, and started out the back door.  Jason watched him leave, then looked at the meager cache of food they brought with them.  It wasn’t much, but with the supply of canned goods already in the pantry, it should last a few days.  Their last meal was likely to be far less satisfying than your basic death-row inmate gets for his last day...

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