 
SIXTEEN SECONDS

### An Epilogue To Humanity Novel

### Volume One

### Aubrea Summer

# ©2014 Aubrea Summer

### Desert Rebel Publishing
To My Muses, All My Love

You Breathe Life Into My Art

You Are My Heart, My Soul, My Sanity.

Wednesday, This One Is For You
Table Of Contents:

Prologue

Part One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Part Two

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

More From The Author

Free Sample, Burn This Way
SIXTEEN SECONDS

### Prologue

Ten pairs of starving eyes watched their prey move tentatively down the sidewalk. They stayed off the pavement, tucking into overgrown shrubs. Their need to remain silent battled their overwhelming desire to attack. The only sound ringing down the vacant street was the jingle of tiny metal rings against their slightly larger like. One wrong move or one unexpected sound would trigger flight. Prey grew scarcer as winter snuck in. Every kill was important; a matter of living or dying, but this one was small. The pack was larger than the meat would feed. They would have to hunt again later. This would do for now.

In unspoken commands, the largest of the group ushered the rest into a semi-circle, coming around the brush and locking eyes on their prey. This pack hunted often together, working without the trappings of sound to flank their unsuspecting quarry, forcing it into the corner where two buildings met. They'd found this method of hunting quite successful. The kill wasn't always without danger. Sometimes the prey would fight back, gnashing teeth and scratching extremities making their best attempt for survival. A few times they'd lost a member at the design of potential prey. Repetition brought skill, however, and they'd learned the most difficult of lessons fast. The smell of blood was always an indicator. Those tarnished with its stain were typically aggressive, while those who were timid and in hiding went without much of a fight. Unfortunately, the easy ones were thin and frail, offering little sustenance or meat. The aggressive ones, the ones with bloodstained footsteps and collars, those were far more plump and often worth the risk. Predators understand risk. Ten against one should prove easily favorable odds, as long as they stayed together.

Stay together: The unspoken rule.

The pack rushed in, no longer cautious of being seen or heard. Their prey was suddenly aware, whirling to face the crescent moon of advancing hunger, a shift in the breeze carrying a sensory warning of the progressing danger. Fear was buried beneath age old desires for survival, yet managed to raise an eyebrow, enough to freeze legs needed for running. It simply stood there silent, without a tremor, until the first fist closed around fur and flesh, tearing skin from tissue and meat from bone. If they'd remembered, or ever known what it was, they'd have noticed the worn collar. They never had the chance to learn. They couldn't care if they had. Food was all that mattered. The tinkling of tiny metal rings against the pavement could barely be heard above the loud snap of the vertebrae that once held the dog's skull to its spine. Buttons. 72654 Bridgeport Street.
PART ONE

### ***

Chapter 1

The world hadn't ended, but damned if it wouldn't have been better off. Five seconds. Roland abandoned the thought to a new mental dilemma; a sniper rifle, or a cigarette. He couldn't decide which would currently bring him more joy. Three seconds. His eyes shifted to the skyline. Clouds crept in over the edge of the far buildings, framing the city in pre-monsoon ambiance. Rain meant fresh water, clean, drinkable water and the chance to exist a while longer. Exist. That was it. Roland long since gave up the concept of "living". This was not life. This was merely survival to him now.

They milled about below his perch on the outlying ledge of a top floor window balcony. Roland made camp here a few nights back, after the marauders came through. After they took the young girl and killed the others. They were of no kin to Roland, but the bond of weary travelers kept the group closely knit. The girl, whose name escaped him now, would sing occasionally, just a few words to some song from long ago. It was all she could manage, but it was a nice distraction since music in general was obsolete. All things end, however, except this wasted planet. Earth seemed to stumble on without the awareness that the desperate corpse of human kind refused to relinquish its rigor mortis grasp on the planet's coattails, weighing down every forward movement until they were only fruitless mimics of recovery. There could be little hope of salvation when what was left of the human race only proved how parasitic they could still be, even when there was nothing remaining to take. Whether he cared for the condition or not, Roland was lucky to be alive. The five men came upon the sleeping group in the night, silently, slitting the throats of Mary and Josh, taking the school age girl and fleeing. They hadn't seen Roland, propped up where he'd fallen asleep against a knotted tree trunk on the far side of the camp. He made no effort to intervene. Making plans was out of the question these days. It took more than eight seconds to maneuver an idea into a tangible plot of rescue. It took too long to even worry on the memory. Roland felt little guilt about it. He felt little of anything these days, wondering briefly how different he really was from the drones that prostrated below.

Food would soon become a necessity, and Roland was unable to salvage any of the meat from camp. The looters snatched the rest of the cleaned deer carcass they'd brought down in a successful hunt. Beans it would be, again. Roland was to the point where contemplating the taste of his leather boots wasn't as ridiculous as risking the time to think about it. He was sick to death of beans, and beans were definitely not worth the energy of a thought. The deer meat was. Roland's stomach rumbled at the memory of the steaming steak he'd had days ago. It was so tender and warm, filling his nose with the smoky aroma from the fire, perfectly seared in the exterior of the meat.

"Son of a bitch." Roland jerked straight up, hand instinctively pressing against his head, just behind his left ear where the tissue is thin over the bone. That telltale zap of electrical current accompanied by the high pitched, shrill toned note executing off key harmonies through every tissue of his brain halted his memory. The thoughts were gone, the silence thick and welcome, pressing between his ears.

"Over some deer meat?" Roland shook his ringing head, angry at himself, but trying not to continue entertaining it. He'd only earn himself another fry, and two in one day gave him a migraine. Eight seconds. Eight little strikes of the smallest hand on a clock. He'd timed it on so many occasions. It never varied. Person to person differences held no sway over the allotment of time. As long as you changed thought patterns prior to the cutoff, you could avoid getting fried. Usually Roland was well practiced at the matter, except when he was hungry.

A muffled, skin rippling thud resounded below. Roland cocked his head to find the source, thinking only briefly that he'd heard it before somewhere. He chased off the thought with another. The drone lay in painted stains of red across the sidewalk, nothing about the splayed limbs resembling natural or suggesting life. They did that sometimes, walked right over the edge of some windowsill or rooftop. Roland didn't understand why. He couldn't rightly ponder on it much. They didn't appear to have a reason for it. Maybe they were just done existing. There were definitely days that Roland would agree with that. Seven seconds. He was pushing it today. He blamed it on his still boisterous stomach. Beans it would have to be.
Chapter 2

The single school day felt longer than the lazy freedom of summer would ever dare to be. Alison never minded it so much before. Everything was changing so fast, everything except the face of that blasted clock. Two birthdays had demeaned her life's goals since she began teaching at the elementary school, and still she couldn't decide if this was going to be the path she took. Alison always wanted to be a teacher, and now that she was, she didn't know if she truly wanted to be anymore. All the reasons she clung to so fiercely about the importance of free thinking and education through college were thrown in her face the instant she was given her position. It wasn't about the children or the future anymore. It was about control and conditioning, and inside Alison Reece died a little every day. As badly as she wanted to throw her arms up and stomp down the hallway, a desolating fear kept her behind her battered wooden desk. To take a different route now would mean starting all over, and that took a certain financial leniency many people don't possess. There weren't a whole lot of options either at this point. Stagnant and uncertain was still better than unemployed and broke. Steven, the crazy art teacher, swore every day that the world was coming to an end.

"They took the guns already." He would seethe. "They monitor us through every cell phone and security camera. They are preparing for a military take over. We won't be citizens anymore. We'll be prisoners. We can't even fight back. They already took the guns..."

His rant would run in a circle like this until someone walked away. "They", of course, were the government. Alison usually listened when Steven vented. He was pushing early retirement and the school board wasn't arguing. Their take on his sanity was slightly relevant to the unkempt white wire bushes that scoured the entirety of his brow, constantly slicked down by the stump of what was once his right index finger. While the board members would be grateful to see him go, his students voiced the opposite. His eccentric appearance guised genuine compassion and an undiluted fervor for teaching, making him a favorite among the youth. He greatly reminded Alison of the adults from her childhood and by comparison, Steven was qualified to write self help books.

When she was in grade school, which is the earliest Alison can dig up a clear recollection of actually listening to adults, she'd heard the same conspiracy theory diatribes from her parents and their friends. Growing up in a city like Los Angeles, she'd been subjected to the overwhelming melting pot of political views and personal opinions. She'd watched children kill other children in schools, planes fly into buildings, and countless wars fought with no peaceful outcome. Alison had no false ideals about the world. Now, older than her mother had been when Alison was born, she found herself growing discontented with the direction this human race was running.

A full Senate term after DuPont discovered the massive underground oil field in Wyoming, they had their people in place, inserting them in the slots that served best to maneuver forward. Silently the US receded from the United Nations without any public knowledge or press coverage, black balling the rest of the world. Before American's received their next electric bill, the gun ban was passed. There was no vote. They simply made it law, and enforced it. People organized and argued, protested and rallied; fell and bled and died. It changed nothing. Nothing could stop it. Those who turned in their firearms and ammunition of their own accord would not be considered a threat, nor would they be punished. Those who did not would be searched out and penalized with incarceration. They weren't fooling around either. Every member of every United States service branch was now domestic, and there were more uniformed bodies than facilities to house them. Military deployed into the cities, overwhelming and overtaking them, systematically tracking down all non-complacent registered gun owners. They were sought out and dispatched if they did not comply. They didn't bother bringing them in to face trial. They shot them with the very weapons they took from their hands.

The population did not go quietly, and lives were lost on both sides in the process spanning through two winters that they so lovingly called "The Cleanse". Military troops were ambushed by militia groups that organized in defense of their rights, which didn't seem to matter anymore. As sure as she was that many people still possessed firearms and vengeance, Alison knew they were still too few. The killing stopped, the country quieted, and the oppression was swept under the rug by the wagging tails of the media hounds. You can put a spin on anything if you're willing to burn for it later.

Steven wasn't alone in his beliefs. Most people simply resign themselves to the abuse from a higher power when they lack the means to correct it. They were most undeniably lacking the means these days. Folks still quit their jobs and kids still dropped out of school. Grocery stores still charged too much for hormone ridden meat and gas stations still ran off the blood and lies bred by war. The only difference was that nothing changed. Nothing was allowed to. Courage in human beings is a funny thing. They waste it on frivolous moments in their younger years, and abandon it when it's needed most. If no one would fight back, oppression would only grow stronger, until there was no resistance left. That is how society falls, when courage is long since forgotten. Unfortunately, fear is a far more powerful motivator.

The bell rattled Alison from her thoughts, signaling lunch break. She pushed her wire framed glasses up her nose for the twelfth time since breakfast, and the millionth time since birth. "All right kids, see you in forty five minutes. Remember, the basketballs must be returned to the same monitor you check them out from."

Her words fell on the distracted ears of almost thirty rambunctious children who still cared enthusiastically for cartoons but could finally remember to wear undergarments and match their outfits without their parent's instruction. While she empathized deeply with their troubles, she envied their complete ignorance of them. Lunch meant freedom, and freedom means everything to children. _When does that fade?_ Alison wondered at her sour mood today, rolling her eyes. Usually she was better at keeping her dark thoughts away. Every day was one long bad feeling. There was a constant, ominous shadow in the back of her mind. She couldn't shake it. Nothing ever happened, and still it wouldn't go away. One more month and she'd be free for a few. A nice trip down the coast was in order. Maybe she could get some work done on her novel. She'd been putting it off for a while. She worried writer's block might be a terminal illness for her.

"Miss Reece?" A timid voice begged her attention from the doorway.

"Yes Sera?" Alison smiled at the waif of a girl. Sera was by far her brightest student, and the paintings Steven had shown her were fine work for the hands of a child. There was no doubt the girl was gifted, and Alison was fond of little quiet Sera.

"Are you busy? Um... I mean, I guess, can I talk to you?" Her voice sounded more hesitant than usual, maybe even a bit fearful.

Alison's concern responded. "Is something wrong Sera?"

The child stepped closer to the desk. "Please, come with me. Please. I think I did something wrong Miss Reece."

The fear in her voice was genuine. Alison was across the room following close to Sera's side as the little girl led her into the hallway. The teacher stayed silent, seeing such a strange look in Sera's eyes. She didn't quite know what to say. Then there was a tiny hand around her fingers, guiding her towards the bathrooms. The children were allowed to go in the restrooms the first and last ten minutes of lunch, as there was a monitor present at those times. They could always ask, of course, to go at other times, and would be granted a pass. The initial ten minutes were up, and the students scarce. The clamor of laughter and yelling could be heard from the cafeteria. They were otherwise alone in the hallway, which suddenly felt huge and alien to Alison. She'd been through here a thousand times, but right now it held all the mystery of the deep sea floor. Little Sera pushed open the bathroom door, silent and petrified. Alison followed, still wondering why she had no words or questions. She simply turned the corner of the entryway in the wake of the tiny blonde girl that would change the future of the world.
Chapter 3

One might taste the slight foul creep of bile in the back of their throat when looking over the scene below. Roland was used to it, aside from his instinct to avoid such a time consuming thought. They walked right past the mess on the sidewalk, not even looking at it, traipsing through blood spatter like leaves on the grass in the park. They died all the time, mostly from starvation. Roland often wondered, for intermittent micro moments of time, why they didn't eat certain members of the fallen. He'd seen them turn on each other before death, bigger ones eating smaller, weaker ones. He'd watched groups of them loom over the dead bodies of others and gorge themselves on all the meat they could get from the corpse. Then, sometimes, they just ignored the dead. They weren't people, they weren't friends, and for some reason, they weren't even food. Grief was not an intact emotion, littered by the wayside with everything else they were missing. Still, Roland found it odd, seeing that so many others who weren't drones took to cannibalism after the war. Food ran short. People ate other people. Roland never had. He refused several offers from passing "merchants" to purchase the meat. That was one thing Roland didn't have to think about.

The distraction lengthened Roland's ability to reach a decision. Damn it if a cigarette wouldn't be relaxing. No serious thinking was needed there. The rifle, however, would make him feel better. Making decisions was far more difficult when you had to stop thinking about them every few seconds. Some people couldn't do it, couldn't control it. They opted out. Droves of people gave up. Three seconds. That was still a sore spot. Roland couldn't always control that one. She'd been everything to him. She didn't have it in her to fight. She gave up. She... Roland slammed his hand into the concrete sill. Fried twice in one morning. He needed better distractions, constant diversions. This involved physical activity. He didn't have to think to run, not consciously anyway. It was time to get out of this area. Maybe he could find a place with less of them aimlessly wondering the streets, numb and robotic. Seven seconds. Time to move.

Gathering up his dwindling supplies and carefully arranging them in the oversized backpack took less effort than a long piss. It would have been quicker if he didn't have to stop planning every five seconds or so and look up at the clouds. The sky offered interruption, a separation of consecutive thoughts. The storm seemed to stay above the horizon, not venturing high enough to spill any rain. Roland would need water sooner than the clouds would provide it. Five seconds. The rifle. He finally decided. He could put a few of them out of their misery. Cut that one close. Seven seconds. It took all morning to make that choice. Roland didn't think it was wrong to shoot them. They weren't really alive, anyway. Five seconds is good. Back to baseball stats he could never forget and didn't have to think about. In 1999 Jeter had one hundred and two runs batted in. That little cushion was one of the only reassurances Roland had.

Office buildings. The thought is fast and leaves no other clue. Those giant water bottles. Roland put it together. Memory flitted through time to time, if it was a quick thought. He'd found water that way before. Keep it short and sweet and he would find it that way again. Roland often thought of himself as a rat, a rodent, a terrified, sketched out half crazy beating heart in the dark trying only to find the scraps to stay alive. This whole thought never came as one segment, of course. Roland wouldn't allow it, and right now, he wasn't hungry either.

There were offices in this building. He'd seen them. Six seconds. Focusing on furniture and broken glass, he headed out the door towards the ground level lobby. The place smelled like hot fresh death. The carpet still looked brand new. Idle, haphazard notions rattled around for a moment before they were tossed out like grenades with no pins. The inside of Roland's head could be likened to alternating strands of Christmas lights set on flash mode. One idea is allowed to light up, one thought, but it must burn out fast enough as the next section, or idea, flickers on. The former thought hasn't fully dissipated, it is merely dormant. It can be relit once another has interrupted the consecutive execution of the thought. There are always new thoughts turning on, turning off, pausing, waiting, developing, reawakening, and sometimes even becoming whole. If he is patient, eventually the lights will have cycled through enough times to leave at least a few bulbs warm.

The ground floor persuaded Roland to send his breakfast hurtling against the bottom of a nearby wall. Beans don't match the paint. He could have sworn he chewed them. Three seconds. He ignored the desire to contemplate the moment, throwing an arm over his nose and mouth to ease the stench. Why were there so many? Two seconds. Roland scanned the corpse strewn lobby for a water cooler, quickly realizing why they were all in here; what had led to this mess. Sometimes you can't stop a thought, no matter how you try. Sometimes you get fried for the good ones. They'd ripped each other apart, fighting desperately over the last of something we took for granted. The majority must have died before they ever had a sip, crushed and trampled under the naked bleeding feet of the horde. There were so many of them. The doors were electronic, sealed now that the power was out. Roland cursed, holding his head. Maybe they got in before the electricity failed. Although the lobby resembled the aftermath of the blitzkrieg, the decay wasn't nearly enough for it to have been that long. How did they get inside if there is no way out? Five seconds. Roland had climbed the fire escape, never leaving the room he happened into through the window he broke. There was no water here now, and no more time to give care to wonder.

Back upstairs, back through the jagged glass under-bite of the remaining window, and back down the fire escape. Roland jogged the familiar streets, ignoring the slap of the pavement through the thinly worn sole of his left boot. It would be without one soon, just like the rest of the world. They seldom even looked his direction, yet somehow still knew when he approached; ducking behind dumpsters like frightened alley cats and scattering into the closest shell of a sanctuary. As if he could really harm them. As if there was anything worse that could be done. He'd heard of them attacking the living, ripping at skin and biting like animals. He'd never seen it. He wasn't even sure if he believed it. None the less, Roland still found it uncomfortable to walk too close to them, to be among them at all. Everyone stayed out of the cities. That's why he was here. He wasn't terrified of them, not like most others were. He could pass by and scavenge where others wouldn't. The worst part, the eerie overwhelming kicker, the thing that set his teeth on edge and made his skin dance in tiny shudders was always the silence. The only interruption of an occasional bird chirping or the scuttling of windblown paper across a crumbling street merely added to the unnatural looming dread. They did not speak. They never had.

Roland cut through the park, disregarding the putrid smell of yet another drone corpse, laid to rest on a bench. They were all going to die eventually. Four seconds. It still surprised him that any at all remained. Some basic instinct for survival kept them foraging, kept them searching for food and water, kept them in their prolonged state of vacancy. They were here, all right. Roland could reach out and touch them, if he had the nerve, but they were not "here".

Four million, three hundred thousand babies born that year... Eight million, six hundred thousand parents not thinking twice. Four million, three hundred thousand children entering an unknowing population; children born hostages of some internal hell they could not break free from. Maybe they didn't want to, maybe they didn't know how, maybe they couldn't. Hell, for all Roland knew, maybe it wasn't as bad as where he was now. He didn't want to think about it, and not solely to avoid being fried. It was still too easy to set off the aching echo where a heart once beat. It hadn't been long enough to get a college degree, let alone forget completely. Three seconds. Drones or not, they had all been somebody's children. Six seconds. That would be enough lamenting for the lost. He would join the ranks of the untimely if he didn't get into gear and salvage some provisions.
Chapter 4

Why she had chosen her, Alison would never know. Maybe it was because she was nice to little Sera, and so few others even knew her name. Whatever the case, Alison felt some pride in the act. She'd been chosen by this tiny, quiet child; selected from the other adults in the little girl's life to bear witness to her secret, which, up until now, not even little Sera Rais knew much about herself.

The bathroom was empty, bellowing an echoed retort from the closing door. Bland tile reflected yellow lighting across the peeling paint of the stall doors, all of which hung open except for the farthest, closed but not latched from the inside as a thin gap could be seen between the door and the frame. Alison grew uneasy, though she couldn't pinpoint why. The last minute felt like half an hour, creeping by in limping seconds. Up until now, she had not been worried, more cautious as to the cause of Sera's plight. More often than not, kids over-reacted to social situations or emotional stimuli. Sera appeared frightened, but Alison remembered her own childhood well. She'd been a lot like Sera; quiet, shy, introverted to a dangerous extreme that kept her isolated in her peer group. Other children picked on her often and she spent many a recess alone with a book. That still didn't explain why she had been led into the bathroom.

Sera stopped in front of the closed stall. "I left her in here."

Now a plague of goose bumps flocked to Alison's skin, finding perch across both arms and the back of her neck. "Left who in there, sweetie?" She exhaled her new found anxiety.

"May." Sera replied with a sniffle.

"Who is May, dear?" Alison stepped closer to the door.

"My doll." Sera wiped at a tear trying to escape down her cheek.

Relief flooded Alison's thoughts. May was a doll, and nothing was really wrong. "Why did you leave her in there Sera?"

The girl's simple answer brought Alison's concern rushing back.

"I was scared."

Unsure as to why this set her on edge, Alison put her hand on Sera's shoulder, only to feel it trembling. "Honey, she's just a doll. What are you scared of?"

Sera pulled away and shoved open the stall door. "She's fixed." The child offered no further response.

On the floor beneath the toilet paper dispenser sat a raggedy old cloth doll, propped up against the wall. Alison gave the doll a once over glance, blonde braids on either side of her head hung down over the blue jean jumper she wore. The little doll didn't appear at all peculiar to Alison, yet Sera stared at it as if it were alive, sitting and waiting to cock her head and blink her button eyes. Of course, nothing happened. Alison almost laughed at herself, realizing she was just as guilty as the child; all this build up in the imagination of youth.

"Sera, she looks fine to me. Why did you leave her in here?" Alison bent her knees and reached for the doll.

"NO." A lightning strike of tiny fingers, Sera snatched up the doll, clutching her tightly.

"Oh honey, I wasn't going to hurt her." Alison rumpled Sera's hair with her fingertips.

"No. You don't get it." Tears now misshaped and blurred the planets of her eyes. "She's fixed, and she was messed up real bad. The other girls..." Sera trailed off into silent sobs.

Alison didn't understand. The girl was at least right about that. "Take a deep breath and try to explain it to me." Alison was thankful for their privacy. She didn't think Sera would open up easy, or at all for that matter if anyone else were around.

She leaned against the wall, facing away from the teacher and keeping her head down. "You won't believe me." The words came through as a whisper from the folds of the doll she pressed her face into, almost inaudible, though clearly sad.

"Trust me kiddo." Alison again made physical contact, placing a soft hand on the girl's trembling shoulder and gently directing her, introducing her eyes to the understanding in another's, to reassure her she was listening.

"You promise not to make fun of me?" Bright blue eyes pleaded with Alison through tiny clumped wet lashes.

"I promise." Alison smiled.

"And, you have to promise not to tell anyone." Sera was done crying now, countenance fixed in a stare far more serious than any adult would expect from a timid child not even a decade old. It was almost as if making the decision to tell flipped some new light on behind those eyes, an awareness previously hiding behind closed shutters.

"My mother says they'll take me away."

Hardly conscious of the gravity around this moment, not realizing it would be the hardest promise ever made to break, and the greatest secret ever to be entrusted to another, Alison placed one hand over her heart and repeated her oath. "I promise."

Sera appeared satisfied with the answer, nodding ever so slighting and sliding into a sitting position on the floor, back pressed firmly to the wall as if it were the only thing holding her up.

"Okay."

"Okay." Alison slid down beside her, tucking her long patterned skirt between her boney knees. "What happened?"

Sera let out a shaky breath, slowly lowering the doll from her chest, and opened up with the pressure of a fire hydrant, barely taking a breath between sentences.

"Cindy and Lisa were calling me names and then they took May. I asked them to give her back and they laughed and told me I was too stupid for school and that I was too old for dolls. I started crying and they laughed more and then I grabbed May and they wouldn't let her go and kept pulling and pulling. They," Sera stopped, a choked sob erupting from her diatribe. "They tore her to pieces, Ms. Reece. Her arms, her legs, her head. They ripped her apart. Then they just threw her on the ground. Lisa pulled my hair and they walked away and laughed more." Sera stopped again, wiping her eyes on her doll, little May, who looked raggedy but still quite intact to Alison.

"Sera, honey, I don't understand. May looks just fine. Are you sure they tore her up?" Alison's worry spiked, wondering what would prompt this young girl to make up such a story.

"I knew you wouldn't believe me. No one believes me." Sera's arms folded across her chest, clutching the doll close to her.

"I'm just trying to understand, Sera. You say that they ripped her up, but from right here I can clearly see that she is fine." Alison tried to keep her voice free of accusation, channeling only concern and curiosity.

Sera's fragile countenance crumbled into itself, pulling her eyebrows low, wrinkling her freckled nose and pursing her lips in frustration. "I told you, she is fixed now. I fixed her. I can fix things, if I love them." Sera paused, her blue eyes darkening like monsoon skies. "I fixed Mommy too."

Razor blade chills worked their edge against the hairs on Alison's neck and arms, bringing them sharply to attention. This was quickly becoming disconcerting, more serious than she had expected. There was something skewed here, something glistening in this child's eyes that told Alison she truly believed this story she was telling. Sera did not strike Alison as a liar, always quiet and extremely bright for her age; not at all the type of girl who would lie for the benefit of the interest it drew. Alison felt she needed to push, to gather more information about the story, to ask what she meant about her mom. Sera's mother never came to the parent-teacher conferences or the school meetings. Alison never thought much on it. Many parents these days were scarce to invisible in their children's schooling. Drop them off, pick them up. Repeat. Before she opted to make a phone call to the girl's home, Alison wanted to hear the rest of Sera's story.

The shrill echo of the warning bell resounded through the bathroom, startling Alison. Sera remained crouched in her defensive huddle, unflinching, saucer eyes fixed on Alison, lower lip trembling like the last autumn leaf on a barren tree. The bathroom would soon be overrun with children rushing to get in and out before class resumed. Alison had no time left to ease the answers from tiny Sera. Realizing she'd been silently staring at the child, Alison forced herself to gather her words and regain her composure.

"If you don't want to talk to me, honey, maybe we should call your mom. Maybe she can come pick you up at the office and take you home." Although she hadn't meant it as a threat, the implication bounced off Sera's face.

"NO."

The force of the child's refusal took on a life of its own, bellowing forward a sudden gust of wind that ripped past Alison and tore at her skirt. The hinges barely held as the stall doors flew open, swinging all the way wide just to slam closed again, simultaneously crashing against their frames and releasing a deafening blast into the tile walls. Alison jumped, spinning around expecting to find someone there, something; an explanation for the accosting. They remained alone, two figures frozen in an empty bathroom, watching the scraps of paper towel settle back down from their temporary dispatch, dancing through the air like flakes of snow. Alison dug her nails into her palms, forming unconscious fists to stop her hands from shaking. She found the act of turning to face Sera almost as difficult as swimming in a dream.

"Sera..." Alison was at a loss. What could she possibly say? What just happened? Her mind had yet to process what seeing eyes surely witnessed. There must be an explanation. There had to be something. Alison's jumbled thoughts were interrupted by a giggling clutter of four girls, piling through the doorway in a noisy rush. They quickly stopped, catching sight of Sera and Alison, still unmoving against the far wall. Sera was on her feet, eyes lowered to the paper-riddled floor, still clutching her doll.

"Jeez, how many of those things do you have?" A dark haired, pig nosed girl gestured to Sera and to ratty old May, smiling in the manner of a guilty criminal being released due to a mistrial.

"I told you." Sera whispered so only Alison would hear, and flitted out the door before she could respond, leaving the teacher standing, stunned, at the beginning of the end.
Chapter 5

"Shit." Roland brought his hand to his mouth, using his depleting saliva to clean the new wound on his finger. Wiping off the blood, he inspected the injury. Not too deep. As long as he kept it clean he'd be fine. An infection these days could kill a man. Five seconds. Not that he cared much. The funny thing was, death didn't scare him anymore. Fear required thinking. It took too long. Fear wasn't worth it. Death lost a pocket ace in the apocalypse.

Donavan Street, Shovley, and then down Delaney; Roland headed away from the burnt out remnants of the city's center. There was nothing left there. Too many scavengers, ravenous looters, and drones picked the remaining sundry supplies clean. He would have to do it the hard way, door to door, pilfering cabinets for canned food and basements for stored water. Roland survived this long because he was patient and diligent in his searches. He'd spent many days without food, growling back at his stomach and recycling his saliva to prevent his tongue from turning to dust. Occasionally he would get lucky. Two weeks ago he'd actually found a make-shift storm shelter in a suburban basement stocked with supplies; food, water, ammunition, batteries, first aid supplies, even shaving razors and soap. Those damn thieves were probably shaving right now. Seven and a half seconds. Roland shook his head. All the supplies were gone now. They'd all been at the camp. Why hadn't they just stayed in the shelter? Six seconds. He was slipping. Back to the important part: Water. One word. One, oh so important little word.

Roland jogged through the streets under the slanted eyes of the wooden skeletons that used to be buildings. The industrial area separating downtown from the outskirts felt like a dungeon. Nothing lived here. Even the wild dogs avoided the area. Structures collapsed fairly regularly, toppling onto whatever happened to be in the path. Roland did not want to tempt fate. Using more energy than he knew he should, he quickened his pace. The break in uniform gloom could be seen beyond the cross street that bordered the old train tracks. Houses speckled the avenues in the distance. He'd have to go farther. He'd been here before. There was nothing left to take. Four streets down. First right. First left. Write them down. Four seconds. He stopped long enough to pull out the remnants of a notebook. Missing both covers and half the spiral binding, Roland resorted to a string tied around it like the ribbon on a gift. This only made it more of an inconvenience to use. He quickly jotted down the street names. He kept track of the places he'd salvaged. No sense in wasting time doubling your own tracks. Not much sense in trying to remember for too long either. That took focused thought.

Massive multi-story house, gated all the way around. Cement block wall along the back. Five seconds. He could get over the wall. There's no way the drones would be in there. Might make for a good base. Enough thinking. No time. Adjusting the weight of his pack on his shoulders, Roland started around the back of the house and realized he immediately had a problem. The block wall sat at the top of an almost sheer face dirt hill that descended at least twenty feet down. There was no way to climb up it directly. One would have to do a balancing act atop the chain link and razor wire front fence to reach the access to the rear wall. At that point you might as well brave the barbed wire and tumble over the front fence. Roland crested the incline and changed his mind on that. Along the inside of the front fence for at least three feet in every direction, there were animal traps. Large, rusted, metal hinged monsters with gaping jaws and teeth made for shattering bone waited for you on the ground. This place had been set up for defense. That could mean it was still occupied. Roland had no gun. He carried several knives and a set of old brass knuckles, but no gun. Whether or not the owner still resided in their fortress was hard to distinguish. There were no tire tracks of recent crossing the property. No smells of food came from the home. No sound could be heard. Roland saw no footprints in the silt like dirt across the front yard. It was worth the risk. What else was he going to do today?

The toes of his boots found difficult perch in the links of the fence, but he was able to get a grasp and pull himself up enough to struggle for new holds. Using the sleeves of his shirt tugged up around his palms like gloves, Roland managed to grip a strand of the wire between two barbs. He was up, one foot on the edge of the brick wall and the other pushing off the fence to land precariously next to the first on the eight inch wide shelf they now occupied. From his new height, Roland could see into the back yard and up to the door. Relieved, he found the pathway clear and shifted his balance to take another step. Relief did not last long. As he moved forward, a sharp tug pulled him back. A strand of the wire was loose and had found refuge in the mesh on his backpack. Momentarily off kilter, Roland turned, struggling to free himself of the barbs, succeeding only in tangling it worse. If he tried to take the pack off, he'd surely slip. There didn't seem to be another option at this point. Cautiously he unthreaded one arm from the strap, teetering on the ledge of the cement blocks, failing to avoid looking over his shoulder at the drop below him. The sun-bleached dirt beamed with the sparkles of broken glass, spotted here and there with football size rocks and angry dry shrubbery. With one arm free, Roland grappled with the wire still linking his pack to the fence. He had wire cutters in the bag, if he could get it open from this sideways tightrope walk. He could ditch the bag. Fight with it later. Six seconds. He needed the bag for supplies, along with the lock pick kit he'd gratefully discovered last summer. Frustrated with the inability to think it through, Roland gave the bag a hard tug. That did it. The previously unflinching wire let go, but not of the bag. The force of Roland's yank separated the wire from the fence, giving a sudden slack and sending Roland backwards, boots losing their placement on the wall.

"Shit." His protest fell from his lips as he plummeted towards the earth below. First contact met him at the conclusion of a drop almost twice as far below as Roland was tall, due to the incline. His head hit against solid stone, and the rest of the plunge went black.

Scratching sounds. Feet in the dirt. Bodies against bodies, crowding and blocking out the sun. Roland's eyes wouldn't open. Something thick and crusty seemed to prevent his lids from rising. Pieces of memory came back. He'd fallen. Damn it. Was he still at the bottom of the hill? The feel of the ground beneath him answered his unspoken query. Roland lay face down in the dirt at the base of the precipice, arms beneath him useless until he could place them. Sliding his left arm from underneath his abdomen, he wiped at his eyes. Dried blood. That's why he couldn't see. How long had he been out? Five seconds. Pay attention Roland. Through the slit of his right eye, he could suddenly see the severity of his situation. He was down, weak, and surrounded. They were all over; drones. Most wore little more than rags at this point. Their clothes, long since neglected, merely wore away. They investigated him as he lay there, unsure of what to do. He'd better get up, get out of there. Four seconds. Propping himself up on a bent elbow, Roland tried to count the herd. Ten, maybe fifteen of them paced the area, all sizes and degrees of despondency. His movement backed them up. They must have thought he was dead. Scavengers. Out of the corner of his eye, Roland could see the backpack several feet above him. Climbing to his knees, he eyed the pack around him. They never looked scared, but something shone in the eyes of the closest four. They were hungry, and he'd been dinner. Was it disappointment he saw? Could they even be capable of such an emotion? Six seconds. It didn't matter. Time to go.

A sharp pain ran through Roland's ankle, worsening with the weight he attempted to put on it. The ankle gave out. He was down again, on his side. The ground behind him crunched audibly with footsteps approaching. Lifting his torso up once more, he tried to look behind him. Before he could turn his head, a quick pinching, almost like a vice closing and opening, and the sound of cloth ripping sparked his anger. He flipped over, facing the offender. One of the larger of the pack stood a foot away, a piece of denim from his jeans hanging out of it's mouth. Blood rose to the surface of the wound on his calf.

"Are you kidding me?" Roland yelled at the drone. "Did you just fucking bite me?"

He anticipated no answer. It was merely an exercise in venting. He'd expected the group to back up when he spoke, but they did not. They did exactly the opposite. They moved closer together, circling in on him as he crouched there. A jolt of fear ran through Roland, surprising him as he typically ignored the sentiment. This time it was an impulse he couldn't escape. Their eyes focused on the wound on his leg, the red blood trickling into the dirt, clotting into brown mud beneath him. Get up. Move. Run. Again, Roland pushed his pain tolerance as he rose to his feet. Like snakes striking, the two larger drones sided up to him. The first grabbed at his arm while the second made another move to bite his thigh. Instinctively, Roland swatted the initial assaulter away, shuddering at the feeling of the flesh against the back of his hand. The first hit the ground, crawling backwards towards the pack.

"Back off, fucking monsters." Roland's confidence rose, watching them retreat a few steps.

It didn't last long. Responding to some unheard command, the group rushed at him. Somewhere in his mind something screamed _they're just children_. It didn't matter. Logic was lost when all the clocks stopped. Children or not, they intended to take him down. This was pack mentality. Test for weaknesses, attack, test, attack, wait, regroup, attack in full. The first two that reached him dove under his blow, affixing themselves to his wounded leg, pulling at his injured ankle, trying to bring him to the ground. As he focused on shaking off the primary assailants, the rest of the pack moved in. They were all over him, swarming him like a noxious cloud of flies. They smelled of rotten garbage and old meat, fingernails like filthy razors and tiny mouths biting everywhere they could reach. Roland fell to his side. There were simply too many. He couldn't get them off of him. Two for each arm, three for each leg; several just snapped and growled, trying to get a piece of whatever they could make contact with. His fist struck bone and skin over and over. It only stopped them long enough for another to take their place. The thought wouldn't leave him alone. _This is how I'm going to die? After all of this! Really? No..._

"LYRIQUE!"

Roland dug his fingers into hair, pulling and ripping to clear a line of sight. A voice, female, rang out from somewhere close by. Another swing cleared the two closest to his face, allowing an instant of sight from his curled up position on the ground. Black fur, gleaming white teeth, and a flash of red came barreling into the pile. Limbs flailed and bodies went flying like bowling pins at the end of the lane. Roland rotated onto his stomach and closed his eyes, covering his face with both hands. He could hear the snapping of bones and the tearing of fabric. The sunlight against his eyelids grew stronger. He was no longer surrounded. He opened his eyes to see the pack retreating down the street. Two lay near him, off to the left, injured but not dead. Blank eyes returned his gaze. Couldn't have been more than eight years old...

"Ugh." The air escaped Roland's lungs in a cloud as something heavy came down on his back. Two feet... Paws? He couldn't turn his head to see, but a shadow was hovering over him. It had to be a bear. It was pure mass and unmovable weight. Four seconds. Roland might as well have been a pile of dirty laundry for all the sway he held beneath those paws.

"Lyrique, stand down."

The command took the pressure off of him, and he whipped around to a sitting position, fingering his knife he'd been unable to get at beneath the pile of drones. Unsheathing it, he faced his new foe. Sitting patiently at the feet of it's owner was the biggest dog Roland had ever seen. Clearly a Rottweiler, the dog panted and stared at him, head cocked sideways and tongue lolling out to the right. It looked perfectly harmless now, maybe even a little goofy. The owner, however, was far from playful. She stood a good half foot shorter than Roland, dark hair a mess of braids and beads, eyes shielded by tinted aviator glasses. The sun glinted around her, reflecting from the glass ornaments she adorned herself with. She might have been twenty five. She might have been thirty five. Roland couldn't tell. Her clothes hung loosely over her frame, which was indistinguishable in her attire. A long machete hung at her side and a nine millimeter pistol rested, clipped to her thick leather belt. She wore brown work boots that appeared a few sizes too large and what may have been a pair of riding pants years ago. Now they were pieced together by patches of leather and thick string. She offered no smile, but ignored both weapons and stepped closer to Roland. The dog followed, like a shadow, always at her side.

"You all right?" Her voice was low, calm, possessing a resonance of authority he hadn't expected.

Roland simply sat there, returning his knife to its sheath, knowing if she wanted to kill him it would take but a word to the dog. "I'm fine. Just a few holes." He winced as he tried to stand, slowed by the throbbing in his ankle and the sudden change of stance in the dog.

"Easy, Lyrique." The girl repeated the word, leading Roland to guess it was the dog's name.

"Thank you." Roland extended a hand, finally, standing precariously on his injury. "I'm Roland."

The girl and the dog stared at his hand as if it were a dead fish. To his surprise, she laughed. "You're welcome. I suppose we've forgotten our manners." She stepped forward, Lyrique watching cautiously. Her hand grasped his, slender fingers a feminine contrast, but strong and calloused, just as rough as his own gravel buffered skin. "I'm C. This is Lyrique." A giant paw went up into the air, looking for a handshake of her own.

Roland couldn't help but laugh, wondering at how long it had been since he'd genuinely found any amusement. He stepped forward slowly and took the offered paw. "Nice to meet you, Lyrique. Leereek." He mimicked the pronunciation, chuckling as she massacred his hand with a giant wet tongue, letting go of her paw and stepping back. "Cool dog."

C, as she called herself, laughed again. "She's my bitch." Lyrique's head snapped to the side to look at her owner, letting out a simultaneous snort. C just stared back at her and stuck her tongue out. "Well, you are."

Another deliberate huff came from the dog before she sat down and pretended to ignore the humans in her presence. C glanced back at Roland. "Your ankle is broken isn't it?"

He nodded. "I think so. It hurts like hell."

C gestured over her shoulder with her thumb. "I have a truck parked a few blocks back. I'll come get you."

Roland began to protest, although he didn't know why. He had no other options. "You don't have to help me any more than you have." He stuttered, knowing his time wore thin but feeling it necessary to complete the sentiment. "You already saved my life."

She was walking away before he completed his strained sentence, Lyrique at her side, red bandana catching the sun. With her back to him, she called over her shoulder. "What the hell else are you going to do?"
Chapter 6

"Mrs. Rais?"

The voice on the other end of the phone sounded hesitant. "Yes. Who's calling?"

"Mrs. Rais, this is Sera's teacher Alison Reece. Do you have a moment?"

The silence lasted a few seconds, followed by a shuffling sound and then the closing of a door. "Yes, I have some time. Is something wrong?"

Alison let out a silent breath of relief. She'd worried for a moment that Sera's mother was going to hang up. "I don't think anything is wrong. I'm calling more out of concern. Sera and I had a talk today, at her request, and it left me a bit unsettled. Is she doing all right at home?"

"She's fine." Mrs. Rais cut her off sharply. "There is nothing wrong with her home life."

"I'm truly sorry. I didn't mean to imply that anything was wrong. I was only asking if she was upset." Alison realized her error too late. She should have used different words. The woman was obviously defensive, which in turn raised Alison's suspicions.

"And why would she be upset, Miss... What did you say your name was again?"

"My name is Alison Reece. I didn't mean to offend you. You see, Sera had a small altercation with some other girls in her class and they hurt her feelings." Alison decided to test something. "They tore up her favorite doll. I'm sure you know since she's home now, but I was simply concerned about her. She was upset." Alison waited quietly.

"Miss Reece, I honestly don't know what you're talking about. Sera has her doll in the back yard right now. She was fine when she came home. I think she might be telling you stories, Miss Reece." Her tone was condescending.

"Oh dear. Well I suppose kids enjoy their stories. I am glad to hear she is well." Alison hesitated, toeing the line between ending it now and pressing further on the woman's nerves. She'd already rubbed her the wrong way, might as well go all out. "How about you, Mrs. Rais? Are you all right?"

"Miss Reece, I am not one of your students." Her tone was harsh, cold and brash. "My well being is none of your concern. I do thank you for asking. Good bye."

The line went dead. "Well that was too far." Alison supposed aloud, her lazy old tabby cat lounging on the pastel purple sofa beside her. The feline yawned, not interested in her conversation. She'd have to take it up with little Sera Rais tomorrow. Alison pondered dinner and drew her curtains for the evening.

### ***

"Jesus." Alison snapped awake at the sound of the telephone ringing. Blindly groping her bedside table, she located her glasses and the time. Three thirty in the morning. Now who would possibly be calling at this hour?

Managing to only stub her toe once on her way through the living room, Alison tore the phone out of its cradle and ended the noise. "Hello?" Her voice was thick with sleep.

"Alison Reece?"

"Yes? Who is this?"

"It's Sera's mother, Debbie Rais. You called me earlier."

"Mrs. Rais, yes." Alison shook off the stupor of sleep and came to attention. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes."

Alison waited for her to continue. She made no effort, the phone silent. Alison lost patience. "What's wrong? Is Sera okay?"

"Yes. She's...She's okay."

"Mrs. Rais, are you okay?" Alison could hear the tears in her voice.

"I'm not hurt. I was... She..." A choked sob burst through the line. "Can you come over Miss Reece, Alison?"

She didn't know what else to say. "Yes, yes of course. I'll be right there. She what, Mrs. Rais?"

"It doesn't matter. Please, hurry. We are on the corner of Hensley and Grove. 7640 Hensley. Please, don't call the police."

The line went dead again. Alison's hand shook as she buttoned her sweater, asking herself why she was doing this; why she'd been told not to call the police. By the time she grabbed her car keys from the counter, her whole body trembled.

The cold air didn't help with her shakes. It took her three tries to start the car, forgetting the clutch once, stalling out the second, and over-cranking the starter on the third, but she was in gear and moving forward. It was a quick drive, enough time to thoroughly psych oneself out at most. Alison knew the area. She'd lived near here a few years back. The neighborhoods were nice; big lawns and fences for privacy. It never entered her thoughts that Sera's parents had money. The girl always wore blue jeans and standard issue t-shirts. Looking at the house creeping into view, Alison questioned who shopped for the girl. Sitting on at least a third of an acre was a half a million dollar home. Two stories towered over the front lawn and the driveway wrapped around the rear to unknown designs. Alison could see little more beyond the path her headlights illuminated. Shadowy bodies of trees guarded the borders of the property. The massive iron gate retracted from both sides up to the pillars adorning the entryway, far quieter than Alison would have expected judging by the size. She continued on up into the drive way, bringing her car to a stop next to the Lexus that cost more than her yearly rent. Her fingers still trembled as she killed the motor and pulled the keys from the ignition.

"Why am I here?" She whispered to herself, shaking her head and opening the car door. There was no going back now. Someone had surely seen her pull in or they wouldn't have opened the gate.

Lights guided her up the porch and to the front door. A tiny blue button to the left of the entry resembled a door bell. Alison tentatively put her finger over it, wondering if she should knock instead, if that would be quieter. The decision was rendered unnecessary when the door swung open, inward, washing her in soft light and warmth.

"Alison Reece." A thin woman in a long pearl nightgown stood in the doorway. Her lengthy blonde hair lay atop her head in a loose bun streaked with gray. Her eyes were heavy; dark brown tinted the lower lids, marked with the look of an insomniac.

"Yes." Alison took the outstretched offer of a handshake. "You must be Debbie Rais?"

The older woman nodded, gesturing for Alison to come inside. "Yes. Thank you for coming. I'm sorry for being rude on the phone earlier. Things have been odd around here."

She led the way inside after closing the door, past a staircase that spiraled up to the top section. Alison's eyes were everywhere. There were paintings on the walls worth more than her car. A Baby Grand Piano greeted them in the living area, grinning with perfect ivory teeth from the rear of the room. White leather sectionals faced a monstrous television set, spanning the majority of the wall. Mrs. Rais strode purposefully to the end seat next to a glass coffee table littered with paperwork. Alison nervously sat across from her, glancing over the documents scattered about. Most of it seemed to be printed emails. Alison couldn't make out the words without appearing nosy. She sat, and waited, and waited. Her host seemed to have forgotten she was there, avidly turning pages in a tiny black book.

"Mrs. Rais."

"Debbie." Her piercing blue eyes flitted to Alison's. "Please, call me Debbie."

"Debbie." Alison began again. "I don't mean to be so forward, but why am I here in your living room at four in the morning? Why did you call me? Why did you tell me not to call the police? Is someone hurt? What is going on?"

Debbie remained unscathed by the firing squad of questions. Her composure kept intact, her eyes back to their searching task through the tiny book. "No one is hurt. I was afraid you would think I was crazy, so I told you not to call the police, which in hindsight made me look even crazier. I had no one else to call. No one would believe me. I thought maybe you knew more than you let on earlier. Your call was odd, as if inspired by something you weren't used to. Something my dear little Sera did or said. I thought maybe, just maybe, you might believe me if I told you the truth. Sera is different, Miss Reece."

"Please, call me Alison." The teacher felt uncomfortable calling an older woman by her first name if she was addressing her formally by her last.

Debbie smiled gravely, her teeth much like the piano keys, demonstrating what money could do. "Alison. Again, thank you for coming." Folding over the page she'd finally found in the book, she closed it and returned it to the mess on the table.

"Is Sera all right?" Alison braved another question.

Debbie nodded, giving Alison her full attention now, sitting back against the couch. The satin of her nightgown rippled, the thin fabric fluttering with her movements. "Sera is fine. Although I'm worried about her, she is perfectly healthy and mentally sound. Trust me. I have taken her to more doctors than you could imagine. There is nothing wrong with her, yet something isn't right." She rose, gliding over to the bar next to the piano and pouring some brown liquor into a rocks glass before recapping the crystal decanter. "I don't know how to explain this, so I'll start at the beginning."

"Sera's dad left when she was young, barely four. He said nothing, just took off one night with all the cash he could find and all of my jewelry. I never heard from him again. That never bothered us. I come from a well off family, and we've never hurt for anything. Sera's always been given everything she needed. She is so loved. I would do anything for her. That's why I am so shaken now. I don't know what to do."

Alison waited patiently for her to continue, fixated on the intensity Debbie exuded when she spoke of her daughter.

"When Sera was almost six, she began demonstrating a certain, let's say skill, for lack of a better word. She can, well..." Debbie paused, looking past Alison as if there were someone else behind her. "She can manipulate things around her in a way I have never seen. She simply focuses on what she wants, and it happens. I know this sounds insane, Alison, especially to an educated woman such as yourself. I assure you, I am not crazy and everything I am telling you is true. Would you like some tea, dear?"

The normalcy of the question in the midst of the absurd conversation startled Alison, delaying her reply. "Yes, please. That would be lovely."

"I'm sure you're a bit tired. I'll be right back." Debbie was gone, the giant room empty and ominous without its host.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Alison leaned forward to glean what she could from the paperwork on the table. Doctors' reports, all stating a clean bill of health sat beside emails from psychiatrists suggesting alternate programs and medication. Nothing mentioned what Mrs. Rais claimed about her little girl. One of the emails, consistent to the same sender, presented a more serious tone. This specialist, a Dr. Blavnik, reiterated his desire to send Sera to see a colleague he'd worked with many times; a consultant he believed might be able to help her. He'd included telephone numbers and addresses. Judging from the multitude of similar emails, Mrs. Rais had not taken his advice and he was not about to stop giving it. A tea pot sung its faint airy pitch from the kitchen somewhere far away. Alison pulled her eyes from the table. It was none of her business. The thought snapped back a retort she couldn't ignore. _It's about to be your business._

"I hope you like sugar. I didn't think to ask before I made your cup." Debbie carried a delicate silver tray bearing one florally adorned tea pot, two hand-painted white china glasses sitting atop tiny saucers, and an array of spoons and doilies.

Alison graciously accepted her setting, letting the steam from the tea fill her nostrils. Lemon and orange scents wafted off the hot beverage, reminding her brain she was awake and not dreaming. "Thank you."

"I'm sure you had time to browse the doctors' notes." Debbie's voice held no animosity, merely surprising Alison with her forward manner. "Don't worry. I left them there for you to see. Read over it. It won't tell you anything. No one can tell me anything. I have all but given up. I'm terrified someone will try to take her from me because they think I've gone insane."

"The first time it happened she was barely six. She was young when her father left, but Sera has always been more intelligent than other children her age. It bothered her emotionally and she didn't know how to process it. She would get so angry sometimes. I didn't know what to do. I would send her to her room and make her count the steps just to calm down. It seemed to help, until one day. It was afternoon, around three o'clock, not that it matters much what time it was I suppose. Sera had one of her tantrums, throwing herself on the floor and screaming and crying. I sent her to her room. As always, she counted the steps out loud for me. I assumed this would be the usual; she'd go to her room and calm down and I'd go take her a snack and then we would be all right again. Not this time. When she reached to top step, she turned around to look back at me. Her eyes seemed so far away, they way a child looks when they have a fever. I moved to go to her, and suddenly the huge crystal chandelier came crashing to the ground from the vaulted ceiling, less than six feet away from me. Now before you make a decision and conclude I am heading to the nut house, let me continue."

"Of course I didn't attribute this to Sera. Why would I? We continued on for a few weeks. Sera's tantrums subsided quite a bit. I hoped to all that's holy, praying she had just grown out of it. She still wasn't happy, though. This bothered me, being her mother and wondering all the while if it were my fault. That was when I first began seeing the psychiatrist. It wasn't at all for Sera, but for me. I needed to be whole to be a good mother. It helped a bit. Sharing my pain lessened the guilt. They prescribed anxiety medicine. That is the norm for single mothers these days you know. Xanex, Prozac, Valium. I was never a fan. Regardless, none of this helped with my daughter. She'd grown resigned to solitude whenever she had the chance. She hardly played with the limited friends she did have. She barely played with me. Not knowing what else to do, I decided to confront her; to ask her what was really wrong and get down to the base of things. We needed that, mother and daughter. We needed to understand each other."

"I was not harsh, let me make that clear. I was calm and sweet and soft spoken. I sat on her bed and asked her what was wrong. 'Nothing,' she would say. So I asked about school and her friends. This also took me nowhere. I asked about her father. She shrugged. She turned away. I asked again. This time she started crying. She told me she was angry at him. He'd left her. He didn't love her. He didn't care. Why did her daddy have to leave? Other daddies stay. She said she saw them at school. She started to cry, harder, sobbing. I jumped up to hug her and she turned from me. She said 'I hate you for letting him go'. My heart about broke. I told her to calm down. Count to ten. Think about what she said. She started counting softly under her breath, through her tears. Then she was blank. That empty, far-away look washed over her face; the same one from the night the chandelier fell."

Debbie paused, guiding a shaking hand to lift the rocks glass. Her hand rattled less on the way back down. "This is where you will probably get up and walk out of the house. This is when I earn myself a brand new shiny strait-jacket. Alison, I swear on my mother, this is true. When she looked back at me, I took a step back. I was frightened. I have never been afraid of my own child before. In that moment, she could have been a stranger. Every blanket lifted from the top of her mattress, Alison. Every toy rose off of the shelves; three, four feet in the air. I shut my eyes and opened them again. Nothing changed. My daughter stood in the middle of a world where gravity only affected her. Everything waited, suspended around her; waited for me to lose my mind. I didn't know what else to do, Alison. I turned around and ran. I panicked. I screamed. I ran for the stairs so fast that I tripped over the rug at the top. I fell, down to the bottom. I laid there knowing I was hurt, feeling something in my arm that wasn't where it needed to be. I passed out. When I woke up, I swear to you Alison, I was laying on this very couch here with my daughter sleeping on the floor below me. I had no injuries. Trust me, I checked thoroughly. I went upstairs, not waking Sera from her spot on the rug. Her room was in perfect order. Nothing hovered, moved, or acted out of place. I went back downstairs, carried my daughter up to bed, and never asked her about it again. I believe she is something special; different. As much as I am afraid, I have no reason to be. Somehow that tiny girl changed my clothes, mended my broken arm, and moved me to the couch two rooms away. All by herself? Aside from the Carrie routine in her bedroom, this is enough to make me believe. She is healthy, mentally and physically, and she is more powerful than anyone, child or adult, should ever be. Now that you've heard me out, feel free to be honest with me. I think I can handle just about anything at this point."

Silence. Stunned, stock still, deafening silence. Alison heard a ringing pick up in her right ear. Her hesitation was not from doubt. This woman was either telling the truth, or fully believed it to be. After the incident in the bathroom, Alison was not opposed to considering Sera could have done these things. Debbie Rais was not insane. She spoke well. She was clearly educated on a college level. She loved her daughter; that was obvious. What could she gain from lying to a school teacher? Alison blinked, realizing her eyelids were turning into anvils. Another blink chased sleep away.

"Mrs. Rais, Debbie." Alison corrected herself. "I don't think you're crazy. Sera is not your average child. I can personally provide an eye witness account. She told me she "fixed" the doll that the other girls ripped apart at lunch. I didn't actually see that. What I did see was, well, I mean, all the bathroom stall doors opened and slammed shut without anyone touching them. It happened when Sera yelled. It could have been a gust of wind from the main hallway doors opening. It could have been coincidence. One of the other girls saw Sera holding the doll, though. She said something that made me believe Sera was telling me the truth. She asked her how many of those things did she have, in reference to the doll. That made me wonder, but I had no more time to talk to Sera and she was upset. That's why I called you later. I didn't know what to think or what to do." A weight lifted from Alison as she showed her hand, sharing the burden of what was considered a secret.

Debbie simply nodded. "I don't doubt it for a moment."

Alison remembered the eerie statement Sera made, everything making a little more sense. "She told me she "fixed" you too. I didn't understand that at all. Now I think she meant the night you fell down the stairs. She can..." The school teacher stopped midsentence. "Wow."
Chapter 7

The ride might have been enjoyable, minus the throbbing in his head, the sharp jolts of fire from his busted ankle, and the intermittent splattering of dog drool that fell over his shoulder and onto his arm. The city slipped away behind them, a miniature on a distant coffee table as they drove toward what used to be government owned land. No one owned anything anymore. No one wanted what remained. C said little, occasionally attempting to discourage her giant dog from using her shoulder as a head rest, giving up on it eventually. The silence made Roland uncomfortable. This stranger was doing him a favor. With charity and compassion buried under the rubble of a crumbled society, this was unheard of. Six seconds. Look out the window. Focus on changing scenery. Make small talk. Above all else, do not think.

"Sucks, doesn't it."

Roland turned. "Huh?"

"I said, sucks, doesn't it."

"What does that mean?"

Her hands changed position on the steering wheel, strips of cloth fluttering from the braided strands of colorful fabric adorning her wrists like tattered bracelets. "Not being able to think. It sucks."

Roland chuckled. "Yeah. It definitely sucks."

"Why does that amuse you?" She slowed the truck, bringing the battered Ford Bronco to a right hand turn, veering onto an even more weathered dirt road.

Roland's ankle throbbed in anticipation of the bumps ahead. "Just funny. You put it so lightly."

"Hmm."

"Hmm usually implies a deep thought." Roland attempted to make a joke. Conversation lagged these days. You had to jump around. Change the topic. Avoid deep subject matter. Evade prolonged thinking.

"Or lack of any at all." She smiled, pushing her sunglasses back up the bridge of her nose. They fell right back down on the next bump, a little too big for her thin face.

"Where are we going?" Roland looked back out the window. Another dollop of drool plopped onto his shoulder.

"Lyrique, back off." C tried again to convince the dog to use her own air and not theirs, to no avail. Her massive box of a head bounced back and forth between the front seat head rests, periodically slinging slobber onto the driver and passenger.

"I'm taking you to my camp. We sort of have a doctor. Maybe we can get your ankle fixed up and those bites sterilized. You don't need to be getting an infection from their dirty teeth."

Roland quizzically glanced at this girl next to him. That was a long sentence. That was a long thought. Five seconds. He backed off. His stomach grumbled, earning a sideways look and a raised eye from Lyrique. He couldn't help but smile. When she lifted one eye, the brown contrast of her decoy spot slid up like a cartoon, dramatically enhancing the human expression on the face of the dog. "She's cute."

"You're hungry. We're almost there."

The roof of what was once a barn came into view through the trees. The gray slats that composed the structure were warped, some almost splintered down the middle. The formation sat at a slant, the roof having been designed to keep water run-off and angled from the top of the peak all the way down to the ground, making one broad side and a triangular blueprint for a base. Other buildings came into sight; all wooden and rustic in their weathered states. Smoke rose from the distance. Roland could smell meat cooking. His stomach snarled and saliva filled his mouth. As the truck rounded the front of the barn, Roland realized it was a garage, the original wall torn down and separate bays walled up within the external constrain. They slowed to a stop at the next structure, which must have been the main house at one point. It was the only building standing two stories. Every other dwelling sat only a single level high.

"C'mon. Let's get Doc to take a look at that ankle." C hopped down from her seat and Lyrique plowed over it, right behind her. Roland popped his door open. C yelled from in front of the truck. "Wait, I'll help you out."

With one arm over her shoulders, slouching the seven inches that separated them in height, Roland limped alongside C with Lyrique trotting ahead of them up the stairs to the front door. The dog stopped at the door, scratched once with her right paw, sat down and waited. They joined her, C raising a hand to turn the knob.

"Nice try girl."

The hallway creaked, the only greeting inside the residence. C hobbled under Roland's weight, guiding him through a door at the end on the left. The room opened up, far larger than Roland had expected. Maybe they'd torn walls down to expand. Either way, the place closely resembled an emergency shelter. Different size beds lined one wall, shelves and cabinets above sinks lined the other. In the rear was a curtain strung from the ceiling around what must have been the only private bed in the room. A woman and two men stood next to the counter, ending their conversation abruptly and focusing on the new arrivals.

"C." The tall, hefty man greeted her. "You know she's not supposed to be in here."

Lyrique let out a whine, knowing what would happen next. "Out, girl." Toenails clicked on the wooden floor. C let the door shut behind her dog.

"Who's this?" The other man, thin and older with a gray beard, squinted at Roland.

C moved them closer to the first bed, unburdening herself of the weight and letting Roland sit down. "This is Roland. He was in some trouble in the city and he broke an ankle. At least that's what I think it is. I brought him back. Figured Doc could take a look at it. The Ferals bit him up pretty good. Roland, this is Eric," she gestured to the older man, "Chassis, and Doc on the right."

The burly man stepped forward, offering a mammoth hand to Roland, who tried not to wince under the man's grip. "Nice to meet you, Doc."

The room lit up with laughter. "It's Chassis." The man chuckled. "She's Doc." He thumbed over his shoulder at the woman approaching.

C grinned reassuringly at Roland. "Don't worry. It happens all the time. Chassis is our mechanic. Doc is our, well, doc."

The woman laughed. "I'm Penny. You can call me Doc. They all do. Let me see the leg."

Roland leaned back, sliding his jeans up. Penny leaned down, gently removing his boot and then his sock. For a moment, Roland was embarrassed it might be potent. He let the thought go. Better to think of other things. This was pure luck; this girl finding him when he needed help the most. Six seconds. A warning bell rang somewhere beneath buried consciousness. Something was odd here. Three seconds. Roland focused on the woman tending to his injury. She was probably nearing fifty years old, with reddish-brown hair in a braid down to the middle of her back. Friendly creases from years of smiles circled her mouth. Only the lines beside her eyes gave away her worry; her time in the trenches of the apocalypse. Her dark eyes bore sorrow like wounded windows to her soul. Without knowing her beyond her first name, Roland was positive this was an amazing woman. He let it go, mindful of the time he'd given it already.

"It's not broken. You've got a bad sprain, but the bone is intact. I can wrap it up good and you'll have to use crutches. Unfortunately the only pair I have are a bit short for you. They will have to do." Penny migrated to the cabinets, rounding up gauze and antiseptic. "We'll still need to clean out those wounds."

"We're heading back over to the shop, ladies." Chassis and Eric crowded the doorway. "Let me know if ya need anything Doc. C, glad you made it back safe. Don't forget, Steph is doing a big dinner tomorrow night and wants everyone there."

"Lyrique wouldn't miss it for all the venison jerky in dry storage." C gave a short chuckle and the men were gone.

"If you have other things to do, C, I can take your friend to a spare room so he can rest when we finish up here. Go get cleaned up. Your dog is probably going crazy without you."

C laughed a little more. "She's sitting outside the door waiting. I can hear her breathing. Thanks Doc." She cracked the door. "You're all right here, aren't you Roland?"

He nodded, trying not to move much as Penny wrapped his ankle. "I'm good. Thank you."

"Leave no man behind." She offered a bogus salute. Without her dark glasses on, Roland could see the liquid honey brown of her eyes. It didn't help to determine her age. They were honest eyes, the warmth in them genuine. "Wasn't going to leave you there. Who knows what would have happened. See you in a few." With that, she was gone.

"I mean to thank you as well." Roland slid his pant leg farther, trying to expose the bite on the back of his calf.

"Hun, you're going to have to take off those pants. You've got nips up and down the backs of both legs." The torn fabric of his denims displayed the marks without allowing the freedom to clean them.

Roland couldn't remember the last time he'd taken his pants off in front of a woman, or the last time he'd owned a pair of boxer shorts for that matter. Seven seconds. Not a worthwhile debate. Rising gingerly, he put his weight on his good leg and undid his belt. Food was scarce. The belt was always in need of a new hole, just a little tighter as a little more of him wasted away. His jeans clattered to the floor around his boots, belt buckle sending an echo through the room. He ignored the feeling of being exposed, pulling his shirt lower and focusing instead on not thinking at all.

### ***

Two knocks against his door roused Roland from the half sleep he'd fallen into. "It's open."

Lyrique pushed in first, brushing by C as she entered with a folded pile of clothes in her arms. "I think these will fit you well enough. We can wash your clothes for you and then you can have them back." She set the stack on the bed beside him. "Doc mend you up all right?"

Clearing his throat, Roland nodded. "She did. Nice lady." He hesitated, not wanting to offend his host but unable to ponder on it long. "I don't really need the clothes." He put a hand over the clean t-shirt on top of the pile. "You all have done enough for me already."

C's hand was over his, cold despite the summer night. "Don't be silly. There are so few people left, why would we turn away someone who needed help?"

His eyes fell on the bracelets she wore for the second time. "Did you make those?" The question came with no prior thought.

Her eyes narrowed, her hand retreating to her side. "Yes. Why?"

"No reason." Roland didn't understand her sudden change of behavior. She hadn't been short with him before. Six seconds worrying about that? He shook his head. "They're pretty."

"Thanks." She stepped closer to the door. Lyrique finally finished smelling everything in the room and sat down at the foot of the bed. "Well, there is food downstairs if you're hungry. Do what you will with the clothes."
Chapter 8

"He seemed excited that I finally agreed to it."

Alison cradled the phone between her ear and her shoulder, slipping on her second shoe. "Well it can't hurt. I told you I'd go with you. When are you and Sera meeting with him?"

Debbie paused, papers rustling in the background of the phone. "Sunday, at noon. His office is downtown. Dr. Blavnik is adamant this man can help us. Apparently he specializes in obscure forms of child psychology, bordering on the ostracized sector of the psychologist community. If he knows weird, we've got the right man."

"Sounds good Debbie. I'll talk to you soon." Alison hung up.

She'd finally convinced Debbie Rais to listen to the doctor's suggestion. There wasn't much more they could do, and now that someone else had solidified and confirmed her child's unnatural talents, Mrs. Rais was determined to find answers. Alison couldn't deny that it all frightened her, but at the same time, she wanted to see what would become of it. Never in her life had she been a part of something so special; a party to something so different that no one had laid claim to it before. This little girl could do things with thought that science had yet to master. Where had it come from? What were the limits? Telekinesis wasn't real, until three days ago. Healing by touch? That was for books and movies until now. Who knew what else existed within this little girl. Alison had too many questions to let fear dictate her involvement. She intended to see this as far through as she was allowed; an outsider along for the ride of her life.

The week scratched rusty nails across her blackboard, threatening that Sunday would never arrive. It did, along with surprise rain showers. Debbie picked Alison up in her Lexus, Sera strapped into the backseat with her face in a book. She mumbled a hello to her teacher and went back to reading. They drove in silence, ignoring the static creeping in and out of the radio station. The streets ran with tiny rivers. They saw so little rain here that no one ever thought to build accordingly. Streets flooded often. Drains overflowed. There was nowhere for the water to go. Debbie navigated carefully, finding a parking garage close to the office address and slipping five dollars to the parking attendant for her voucher. Sera paid no mind to the sudden darkness inside the garage. She never even looked up until her mother said her name.

"Sera, honey, we're here. Don't be nervous okay sweetie?"

Sera sighed, overly dramatic for a child of eight. "I'm not nervous mom. I'm just tired of doctors."

The words hit Alison in their innocence and intelligence combined. Of course she was. "Well thank you for letting me tag along, Sera."

Sera caught her teacher's eye as she shut her door. "You're supposed to be here, Ms. Reece."

The words were spoken as if they were ultimate truth, firm and reassuring. Far too mature for the mouth they came from. They gave Alison the shivers. She wanted to respond, but couldn't bring herself to say anything more than polite would require. "Thank you."

"Let's go sweetie. We don't want to be late."

Sera laced her fingers into her mother's hand and Alison walked on the other side. The building was empty except for the janitor rolling his cart towards the office suites. They took the elevator to the third floor, following the directions Debbie printed from the email, and down the second hallway on the right. The door at the end faced them, boasting in brass letters 'Dr. Kenneth Ridley'.

"That's it." Debbie guided them down the hall.

The door sat ajar, soft natural light shining in a beam through the crack. "Hello?" Debbie gently pushed the door open. "Dr. Ridley?"

"Come in." A soft voice could be heard from inside the office. "Please come in."

Debbie opened the door fully, bringing the rest of the room into view. A large window sat opposite the door, letting in most of the light in the room. Shelves lined the walls, overstuffed with books. A desk sat at the rear, wooden, heavy, cliché. In the center was a couch, a chair, and a small table next to the chair. Alison wondered if all shrinks made a point to have the same furniture. A man sat at the desk in a high-backed leather chair, much younger than she expected, barely older than her. With his thick sandy hair and devastatingly sincere blue eyes, the doctor looked more like a surfer than a shrink. Up until now, Alison hadn't believed psychiatrists were permitted to be attractive people. She could understand why that would be a distraction.

"Hello. You must be Deborah Rais." An offered hand as he stood before moving from behind the desk.

"Dr. Ridley. Yes. Please, call me Debbie."

"It's a pleasure to meet you. That would make this lovely young woman Sera Rais." He squatted down to shake her hand, smiling like an angel with flawless marble kindness; practiced and perfected.

Sera searched his eyes for something, her tiny hands at her sides. Suddenly she smiled, all teeth and hope, the expression igniting a similar look on her mother's face. "I'm Sera. I know you from somewhere, doctor." Her smile grew wider. "I had a dream about you. You can do what I can do, can't you?"

Debbie's eyes snapped to find Alison's. They shared a look of shock. This was more than either woman expected, and Sera knew more than they all did. Dr. Ridley didn't respond. He walked back behind his desk and pulled a small wooden boat from his top drawer. Placing the boat in the middle of the desk, he sat down in his chair.

"Sit down, Sera, please. Make yourselves comfortable." He smiled at the adults hovering nervously behind the young girl.

Sera took the seat across from him. The women remained behind her, unsure of what to do.

"Can you move this boat Sera?" Dr. Ridley devoted all his attention to the girl, keeping the smile on his face.

Sera nodded. "Yeah."

"Do it."

Sera spun to look over her shoulder at her mom, silently asking if it would be all right. "It's okay Sera." Debbie squeezed her daughter's shoulder. "Go ahead."

"It's safe here, Sera." Dr. Ridley rocked a bit in his chair. "No one will make fun of you. You're very special Sera. We know that here. Now go ahead. It's okay. Move the boat."

Birds chirped outside the window, oblivious to what went on inside, although they could likely hear Alison's heart beating through her chest. Sera closed her eyes. Her tiny lips moved soundlessly. Suddenly the boat began to shake, wobbling until it rose into the air. Hovering above the table, two feet from where it sat before, the tiny wooden figure turned in a circle. Slowly, it dropped back to rest on the desktop. Alison realized she'd been holding her breath. Letting it out, everything was clear. She wasn't crazy. Debbie was sane as well. What happened in the bathroom was real, which meant the story Debbie told her was also true. There was no turning back now.

"Good Sera. That was amazing." Dr. Ridley handed her the boat. "It's an antique. It was a child's toy a long time ago in Europe."

"You do it now, Doctor." Sera handed him back the toy. "I want you to."

"Well Sera, part of the reason I am so glad you're here is because I need your help. There are a lot of people like us, people who can heal or move things. The problem is that none of us can do it like you can. It comes and it goes. It isn't always on demand. Does that make any sense to you Sera?"

Sera nodded. "Yes. No. I understand what you mean, but why can't you just do it? It's just counting."

"Counting? Sera what do you mean by that?" Dr. Ridley was obviously growing anxious. He'd never been so close to the solution.

"When I would get mad, mom would make me go to my room. She told me to count, to calm down. I would count the stairs when I went up. Sixteen stairs. That's it." Sera shrugged tiny shoulders, such an odd movement to watch a little girl make.

"Is that what you're doing? I could see your lips moving. Are you just counting?" The doctor struggled to stay calm, his enthusiasm bursting his composure. He still didn't understand her simple logic.

"Listen, doctor." Again, there was the influence of maturity she already possessed. "It's easy. Think about what you want. Think real hard. Count to sixteen. Think real hard the whole time you're counting. It's easy. Sixteen seconds."
Chapter 9

Dreams were the only place he was safe. Roland didn't understand that, but he'd take what he could get. Unfortunately, he seldom remembered his dreams. That required thought, and that hurt, as if the memories themselves weren't bad enough. Sometimes, in dreams, they came through clear as day, and cut sharp as razors. Faces, songs, places, vacations, dancing; her. Babe Ruth had two hundred and five hits allowed in 1923. He'd snap awake tangled in his sheets and keep going over old baseball stats to clear his head. As long as he switched players or teams, he could use that for a while. The sun peaked over the window sill, beckoning weary arms to lift covers and feet to make purchase on the cold floor of morning. Roland wrestled out of the blankets, tugging on his shirt and lonely boot. His clothes stunk. C was being polite yesterday. He should have taken her up on the offer for laundry. Reluctantly looking over his shoulder, he found the clean clothes still sat on the dresser. Swallowing his pride, Roland donned the loaned garments and piled his by the door. Fresh socks. While he did his best not to think about it, his feet reminded him it had been a long time.

His crutch gave away his entrance. There would be no sneaking around on these noisy things. Five seconds. C sat at the kitchen table, Lyrique sprawled out in a sun spot beside the chair. Several other faces were present that he'd yet to meet. He'd missed dinner the night before. He hadn't felt up to it. Penny brought a plate to his room, which he gratefully accepted while bowing out of the social scene. He still felt off. He couldn't put a finger on it, but something was amiss. This morning, his head was clearer. Food and sleep in a safe place did wonders for a road weary man. A teenage girl sat beside C, tangling strings together with glass beads, giggling at Lyrique when she snapped at the slow moving flies. An older woman sat with Penny at the other side of the table, each working on an article of clothing; sewing, patching, fixing things that could no longer be replaced. Everyone smiled as Roland sat down, and introductions were made. The young girl was Stephanie and the woman who could have been her grandmother was Dot, short for Dorothy she said.

"Will you do my hair like yours?" Stephanie held the braided rope up to C.

"Steph, I told you a hundred times. Quit cutting it and I will. I can't do it when it's short chick."

"Are you hungry Roland?" Penny stood, setting down her work. "There's a pan of eggs and some hash on the stove still."

Roland's stomach growled, thankfully quiet enough to only amuse him. "That would be great."

Laughter rang out beyond the kitchen, a man's voice, chatting about how nice the rain would be when it finally came. Roland listened to the conversation, hearing something else behind it. Something distant, familiar once but so foreign now. What was that? Guitars, piano, drums. Someone singing. Off in the distance. All you need is love. Music. Every nerve ending in Roland's brain went insane with agony. Grabbing his head, he hit the floor beside the table. Vaguely aware of something soft and wet sliding up his face, he tried to breathe through the pain. The ringing in his head slowly subsided from unbearable to numbly throbbing. He opened his lids, finding two huge brown eyes staring back from above a whiskered snout. A slab of pink tongue fell sideways from a crooked mouth of massive teeth. Lyrique licked his face again. Everyone gathered around him, concern painting a mural of faces.

C was closest, partially in an attempt to keep Lyrique off of him. "You all right Roland?" She knew her question was redundant, but knew no other way to proceed.

Roland sat up, slowly pulling himself to the chair. Using the fallen crutch as a prop, he balanced himself back into the seat. "No. No I'm not all right." He tried to piece together what was going on. Normal conversation. Normal laughter. Books on shelves, dinner parties, a functional community. A mechanic and a doctor, who could help, who could think. Music. That's right. He'd heard music.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Everyone looked at C. "Go on, guys. I'll explain it to him."

The room cleared out fast. Doors shut in different directions. Voices carried off into the distance. Roland waited, glaring at C, dying to know but unable to put together a long enough theory. He wasn't about to get fried again.

"So?"

"So." Her reply was not a question, almost a resolute sigh, accepting a task she knew she must complete.

"So how did you do it? How did you cheat the NID?" Roland was upset, but more excited than he had been in such a long time.

C slid the chair across from him back, sitting at the head of the table. "It's sort of a long story. Do you want the whole thing or do you just want to know the specifics?"

Roland debated for a second. "Well, do you want to tell me the whole story?" He felt her hesitation. They weren't that close. They'd only met yesterday.

C laughed nervously. "Not particularly."

"Then don't. Answer one question." This time his reply was uneasy. "Can you help me?"

Her lips parted, a sigh forcing its way free. Her eyes told him she knew he would ask that; she'd been asked before, and something about it hurt.

"Are you willing to die to find out?"
Chapter 10

The clamor was deafening. Sinch felt that last explosion in his chest. His team moved behind him, staying close in the confusion. They had one goal. They all knew what they had to do. No one questioned the captain's orders. Ridley built this squad, ground to sky, teaching them everything he knew. These days you didn't have to ask someone to fight for you, they were already looking for a cause. A people without just government will fight or fall. The four members of Moonlight Squad and their leader, Charley Sinch, stole through the smoke blinded hallway. Most of the personnel fled when the doors blew off the building without visible cause or weapons. They thought they were so clever, hiding the new Defense Center in an old hospital. Loose lips disclosed the storage warehouse, and that was enough for the rebels. Ridley had been waiting for a moment when they could strike with enough man power, enough believers, and a target worth destroying.

After The Cleanse, all firearms and ammunition collected by the government were distributed to three large warehouses across the US. These buildings were kept secret by officials; excessive amounts of guns and bullets locked away from the population they'd once belonged to. There had been talk of overtaking these facilities for two years, and now it was real. They'd located a major vein in the throat of the corrupt leaders, and Ridley wanted it ripped out; start the bleeding and attack while they are weak. Sinch motioned for his unit to close in. They were nearing the hold. In his mind, he knew they'd never get out alive. It didn't matter. The time had come to weigh the value of life over liberty. Sinch was a patriot. He bled baseball and apple pie. Death did not scare him. Confinement was his only foe. Twenty seven years old, he served under Captain Ridley for the last two, gaining the trust of the younger and older soldiers in the process. There was no task he wouldn't accept and no duty was considered unimportant. If Sinch had to die today to change this, that's damn well what he came to do.

"Aguero, Pilson, bring up the rear." Sinch gathered his men into a huddle. "Once we are inside, that's it. There is no backing out. Now you all know this is a fucking suicide mission. I will say it one last time, and that's it. If you desire to leave now, no one will think less of you. It is your life. This squad is composed of our desire to change this shit hole we live in. Just because you don't die with us today doesn't mean you won't be a part of this. Last chance, Fancy."

Faces blinked adamantly back beneath rag-tag helmets and shoulders squared off under patchwork uniforms. No soul turned to leave. Their minds were made up. This was the revolution. Courage would save them, not fear. Loyalty bound them, not hate. Every man for his country and every breath for his people. Sinch grinned his tell tale, lopsided grin. His comrades mirrored his smile. Heavy hearts that knew their fate rose at the chance to design it in the image of righteous glory. If death is inevitable, why not make it count?

"Ready?" Sinch closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

"Ready." The reply echoed four times, each soldier signing the dotted line.

The door to the basement swung open with a kick. Sinch led the way, five unarmed men at the center of enemy territory. They weren't greeted with raining shells or semi-automatic blasts. The place was empty, except for the squad. For all of their wondering, they could never have envisioned what they would be walking into. Floor to ceiling, shelves and racks, lined and overflowing with handguns, rifles, assault weapons, scopes, bullets, grenades; every instrument of mortal death lay out before them, filed away for safe keeping. There had been debate as to what they should do. The final decision was made gravely. The only way to open the eyes of so many would be to play host to tragedy. Martyrs brought a population to their feet. Self-less acts of individuals drew nations together. Sinch knew Ridley was right. They had to wake up the hibernating minds of the masses, and they'd finally found a way to do it without weapons. The irony could not be missed.

Standing in the middle of war's playthings, Sinch checked his watch. Right on time, for the last time it would matter. "Well, gentleman. Not to sound cliché, but it truly has been a pleasure knowing you all. That's all I really have to say. It's a damn shame we won't get to see the look on General Styph's fat ugly mug."

The team snickered. The hands on five watches struck their starting point. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.

The world exploded.

### ***

"All three?"

"Yes, Captain. Scout reports came back. All three are demolished."

"That's good news, Biggs. Keep us posted." Ridley let off the radio. He turned to his communications team, somberly repeating the news. "All three storage facilities have been successfully eradicated. All three teams completed their missions. We've made the first strike."

Hats were lifted from heads, placed against hearts. Misty eyes wandered the windows, soldiers sifting thoughts of lost comrades through hope for a new tomorrow. Captain Ridley hit the intercom button, clearing his raspy throat to speak to the camp.

"Today was the first day of the future. We have successfully taken the facilities in Chicago, Los Angeles, and Atlanta. All government supplies were incinerated." Ridley paused, again swallowing his sorrow. "Please, take a moment to thank and pray for the men and women who gave their lives to make a difference. Sunrise Team: Angela Cooke, Blair Williamson, Gene Cummings, Ryder Brighton, Lindsay Rogers. Sunset Team: Jimmy Paul, Steven Johnson, Sandra Tuttle, Richie Pike, Dennis Siegfried. Moonlight Team: Charley Sinch, Ryan Aguero, Donald Pilson, Michael Buchanan, James DiMico. While I regretfully do not know the names of all the brave souls from the three other teams who ran our outside ground control, they are just as dear to us as our own. I pray comfort finds the hearts of our fellow rebel camps, and I thank them for their sacrifice. They were fathers, mothers, daughters, sons, sisters and brothers. We will not forget them, and this is only the beginning. I expect everyone to take today and honor those we've lost. Tomorrow morning we will meet in the cafeteria to discuss our next goal."

Weeping could be heard from the hallways as Ridley made his way down from the control room. He tried to block it out. In his mind, it was the only way. That didn't make it any easier to think about. He'd sent those men and women to their deaths. They knew from the start what their mission entailed, and they chose to continue. It was done, over with. There was no going back, only forward now. They would have to move fast. There was no more hiding in secret, planning, training and biding their time. They drew first blood, and there would be retaliation. As soon as the military knew who was responsible, they would strike. They would torch every rebel camp and kill every soul residing there. Before the month ended, Ridley would clear the camp out. They'd been holed up there for over a year, rebuilding the run down wood mill to house families and volunteers. Their numbers grew dramatically. So many people were fed up, done with losing one constitutional right after another. They were hungry. There were no jobs. They had children and their homes were being taken away for taxes. They didn't need to recruit. The desperate would hear of a place that took them in, only asking for honest labor in exchange. Incentive was survival, and survival had to soon mean change.

Sera would be ten in September. Debbie cleared the plates from the table, wiping at the tears that wouldn't leave her eyes alone. All those kids. She shook her head. Although she understood why it had to be done, she couldn't help but take to heart all the empty place settings at dinner tonight. Sinch had been a favorite of hers. Having never finished high school and without a father figure, he'd taken to Ridley instantly. Everyone adored Ridley. He started this all, and he was as close to a leader as the place needed. Charley Sinch had been undeniably clever and good with people; a perfect candidate for a team leader. Ridley took him under his wing and taught him everything he knew. Sinch was a surprise, able to pick up the talent when he hadn't had an inkling before. Ridley's protégés were all naturals; at least that's what he called a person who had the gift without being shown. He searched them out. More often than not, they were at least a decade older than Sera. She remained the youngest member in camp to possess the skill. Sinch was the only one Ridley had ever seen who learned strictly from being shown. He asked. He devoted the time, and it worked. Secretly, Ridley thought he must have had the raw ability. He just never knew before.

Debbie let the water run into the giant pot, filling it and moving it to the stove to heat for dishes. There was little sense in wasting the hot water in the tank. She was in no hurry tonight. The whole camp felt eerie, quiet and dark. Most people were inside with their families. Several men started a fire in the back, passing a bottle of whiskey around and sharing stories about the fallen. Everyone grieved in their own way. Debbie hadn't seen Alison since before dinner. The two women shared their tiny space with Ridley and Sera; an old staff house they'd walled an extra room into and installed plumbing for a kitchen and tiny bath. They'd long since given the main part of the mill up, moving out to allow for a community house in the largest of buildings. Sera and Debbie shared their room with Alison, against Ridley's arguments. He was more than willing to sleep in the living area, a six foot by four foot square space with a couch occupying the brunt of it. Alison wouldn't have it. He'd brought them here. It was his camp; his revolution. She would be damned if such a man was sleeping on the sofa.

Over two years had passed since that day in Dr. Ridley's office when Debbie realized just how special her daughter was. Sera held the key to a power no one ever thought they could use. It had been just in time, too. Within months of their meeting, the United States Government fully redirected their course of action. Suddenly things began to come clear. They'd taken the guns. Now they would take the rest. Civil freedoms were revoked. Voting was obsolete. School systems were reconstructed. Soldiers would come right from the classrooms. With every branch of the US military now domestic, neighborhoods were policed. Jobs were deconstructed from the top down. All major corporations unwilling to conform to the new government profit regulations were shut down gradually, taxed until they couldn't keep their lights on. If they could, the authorities would shut them off anyway. Power and water companies now answered to federal mandate. These things were not rights any longer. They were privileges. By the end of the second year, the country was unrecognizable. Military police stood on street corners with automatic weapons while children begged for food at their feet. Health care was unreachable. You couldn't see a doctor unless you had the money. Underground practices were built and abolished inside of the same week. As soon as someone talked about it, they shut it down. Random home inspections were the norm. At any moment, soldiers could kick in your door and search your property for weapons or contraband. Alcohol was made illegal for the second time in the country's history, along with all prescription medication and vaccinations. The new theory was simple. Only the strong survived. The weak would die off, taking the burden of their care with them. In the first six months, the death rate sky rocketed. Senior citizens dependent on medicine or care had neither. Social security was gone. Medicaid was no more. The numbers of the starving and homeless grew exponentially, dropping only as it grew cold and so many perished without food or shelter.

Rebel groups popped up constantly, robbing food and supplies from government holdings or employee homes to give back to the people. Miniature farms operated in concealment where the soil allowed crops to grow. This only lasted until they were discovered. Snitches filled the streets like the rats they were, trading information or names for bread and water. All the fury and drive in a human heart is still no match for a bullet to the same organ. Captured rebel leaders were chained and displayed in city parks, firing squads making a bright red exhibition out of them for all to see and remember. Freedom is a hard thing to forget. Try as they did, they couldn't break them all. They grew wiser, keeping their names and faces a mystery, moving their camps deeper into the forests and wilderness. Rather than deplete morale, the public demonstrations of the government's violence instigated an explosion in rebel numbers. With nowhere to go, Ridley's camp became sanctuary and his name became synonymous with free thinking. The first training sessions began, and recruiting was nationwide. In secret, groups would gather and speak of this new uprising. They'd heard of a man who could manipulate things with his mind, and he was teaching others to do the same.

Before this came to light, when Ridley asked Debbie to move her daughter to an abandoned mill in the forest, the obvious answer was her first. Even with Sera's unique abilities, what good did it do to relocate her to the middle of nowhere and hide away? Ridley told Debbie to think about it, to talk to her daughter and make her decision when she was ready. Alison felt the same way Debbie did; it seemed odd and a bit eccentric, even a little creepy. Alison asked Debbie if she thought it would help Sera. When Debbie didn't know how to answer her, she decided to ask. She sat Sera down that afternoon, ignoring the fact that the girl was only a child and couldn't possibly know what was best for her, and asked her how she felt about it. The next day they were sorting through winter clothes and digging boxes out from the garage. Alison asked Debbie what it was that changed her mind.

"Mom, the world is about to change. Please let me help." Those had been little Sera's words, echoed in her mother's choked voice.

"What was I supposed to say to that?" Debbie's question was meant as an opening. She needed Alison to reassure her that it was the right decision.

Alison wasn't sure if she could offer that yet. A month ago she would have laughed if you told her someone could slam a door with a simple thought. Yet this wasn't impossible. It wasn't ludicrous. It was fact. She'd seen it with her own eyes. Maybe a month from now she would meet a leprechaun. Who's to say? What did she have against it? Well there was the argument of school. Alison insisted that Sera needed to stay on track with her schooling, no matter how strange this all was. That backfired immediately. Debbie offered her two years salary to come with them.

"Let me think about it."

A month later they were in Debbie's brand new SUV hauling loads of lumber and building materials into the middle of nowhere, miles up the coastline. The forest was thick in the mountains, ancient trees with trunks like Greek pillars offering cover and safety. The mill hadn't been used in over fifty years. The nearby towns packed up long ago and moved on, leaving only their ghosts and crumbled wooden shanties. For the first time in a while, Debbie had something worth spending her trust fund on. She gladly purchased a giant diesel generator and a battery bank. Ridley helped pick out the proper inverter and solar system. The goal was to be self-sufficient, since the mill had no power other than the river and no heat other than the woodstove. Alison asked Ridley how he'd come across the place. Apparently it was his great-great grandfather's until it shut down. After that, the government confiscated the property for taxes. No one ever paid them. No one ever came back. Ridley only learned of it from an old photo he'd found in his father's album. He looked it up and made a special journey from the city one day to find it. After hours, he finally came across the run down wooden building and old machinery. He fell in love instantly. The mountains were crisp and clean, untainted by human pollutants and toxic industry. The river flowed hearty and full to the north, providing all the fresh water they would ever need. The winters would be cold, but there was wood. No one would bother them here.

"If at any point you are uncomfortable," Ridley told Debbie, "you are not a prisoner. You are a guest. You may do what you please."

So she did. No sooner did Ridley have the cabinets built in the kitchen than Debbie had them filled with canned goods, dry foods, noodles and spices. The walls were rebuilt and she brought paintings from her home to hang. The floors were finished, instantly covered in rugs and tables. Every step he made, she was right behind him making it a home. Alison helped where she could, mostly tending to Sera and cleaning up after projects. Counter tops, bedroom doors and bathroom sinks went in. It didn't take long for the place to look like a real home. The unspoiled supply of funds aided greatly in the matter, but the trade skill was all Ridley. He'd worked with his father, a building contractor, for the first five years out of high school. While he only did it to pay for his college tuition, it was a worthwhile proficiency to possess now. With a little help from Sera and Ridley's special talents, new support beams were raised for the ceiling and the loft. Sera enjoyed it. She didn't have to hide her oddity here. She could help. She could use it without feeling scared.

They started to work on control. Ridley needed the guidance as much as Sera desired the freedom to openly be herself. It took little time for him to master it on command. It was as simple as Sera said. Sixteen seconds of consistent, specific thought directed at one goal; one accomplishment. It took the mind of a child to simplify the process, to break it down to counting. There were many studies on the power of thought and the duration of focus. Ridley read them all. Since the first spoon lifted from the table and flew across the room when he was ten, he'd read everything he could find on the matter. For every theory, he was left with more questions. No one had any solid answers, only speculations as to the how and why. Ridley gave up eventually, going about the rest of his life as if he knew no different; getting a degree in children's psychology and devoting his time to finding someone else like him, an ultimate understanding. Ten years later, here they sat, cross legged on a brand new shag rug in the center of a rundown mill.

Still, an exponential difference separated Ridley and Sera, try as he might to broach it. Sera was ten times his superior with manipulation. Where Ridley could slide the couch across the room or loosen the bolts in a car engine, Sera could levitate all the furniture simultaneously and operate the car without touching it. It was incredible to watch. Ridley's talents seemed to be limited to inanimate objects. He could not find a focus on natural energy, while Sera had no trouble with it. His ability restricted him, size and distance huge factors. All three adults witnessed Sera topple a dying pine tree at least sixty feet in height, and gracefully drape it across the river like a bridge. After that, Debbie opted to let them have their privacy, staying out of their sessions. Alison couldn't look away. Ridley would provide Sera with a task. She would nod her head and smile. From the little girl in the bathroom crying over bullies on the playground to this force of willed energy lifting boulders and bending steel beams, nothing of the scared child remained. Alison blissfully watched Sera gain confidence and poise, growing into happiness with every free breath she took. Ridley lived in awe of her, constantly praising her and offering positive encouragement. He would come home with stacks of books and she would devour them in days. He would bring more advanced reading every time and she would tear through it just the same. Her enthusiasm for learning pleased Alison to no end and they would discuss the books with intense satisfaction.

Debbie never voiced her fears, even after society began to crumble, even after the lost came pouring in their doors seeking shelter and compassion. She didn't tell Alison how she could not sleep at night, plagued by dreams of fire and explosions. She woke in tears so often, watching the world burn in her sleep. Part of her knew how important Sera was in all of it. The other part trembled at the thought of what was to come. She loved her daughter, and her job was to protect her. Debbie often wondered if Sera really needed shelter at all; if she even needed her anymore. She'd seen things that made her think otherwise. There was something in Sera, something fierce and solitaire that drove her. Behind her young eyes, Debbie saw an intelligence she couldn't comprehend. It was almost as if she knew the future and was resigned to it, as awful as it might come to be. Of course, she could ask her daughter, but she wouldn't. What if she told her? What if she refused? Either way, Debbie Rais would never speak of her uneasiness, no matter how often she questioned her place.
Chapter 11

Roland didn't even notice the dog licking his hand, rubbing her head under it for affection. His attention remained on C. "I'm not sure how to answer that."

"Lyrique." C snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor. With a huff, the dog laid down at her feet. "I don't mean to sound rude, Roland, but it is a simple question. Is it worth the risk of your life? Are you willing to make that gamble?"

Now he could respond. Roland remembered how gambling worked. "What are the odds?"

C snickered, letting her guard back down a notch. "Honestly, it's about fifty fifty. I wish I could give you better, but from my experience, that's the outcome. You could talk to Doc. She can tell you if you're more or less likely depending on your health and age. I don't know Roland. I can't tell you it isn't risky. I can't rightly even tell you to think it over. That's the shitty part of all of this."

"Shitty part?" Roland rallied his crutches and stood up, trying to retain as much dignity as he could. "Do you know what I see when I look around here?" He pushed his time limit.

"What's that?" Her tone grew defensive, responding to his change of demeanor by rising from her chair. Lyrique mirrored her movements, a sentinel at her side.

"I see hope. Don't you see that?" Roland felt heat in the corners of his eyes, surprised by it. "I see freedom. Do you know how long...?" He stopped, changing direction; skipping to a new thought. "Is it worth my life? C, this is no way to live." He looked down at the hole in the toe of his exposed sock. "I've just never had the courage to, well, you know. End it."

This mysterious girl who'd taken him into her home, who'd saved him from being nothing more than food, stood silently staring at him with huge watery eyes. He'd struck a chord with her somewhere. They faced each other in the kitchen, voices outside the windows laughing as they passed; a chainsaw snorting to life in the distance. The sun lit up her hair through the open curtain, spotlighting red highlights amongst the braids and dreadlocks. He hadn't noticed that before.

"If you're sure about this, I'll take you to see Doc."

"I can't remember the last time I was so sure about anything." Six seconds. His resolution would remain. Soon it wouldn't matter, either way. He would be free, or he would be dead. The lack of another option was oddly comforting.

"Let's go then." Lyrique took the lead, knowing C's path before she told her. Sometimes she thought the dog understood English. Other times she swore she could read her mind.

Roland limped along, trying to keep pace but grateful C walked slowly. His ankle hurt worse today, the swelling at its peak. "How many people live here?" He tried small talk as a distraction from the ache.

C shrugged, thin shoulders drowning in her oversized button up shirt. "I think we're up to twenty three, which includes Lyrique and you, for the moment."

"And they are all..." He found a word that would suffice. "Free?"

"Yes. All by choice, and not all that chose are still with us."

They grew silent again, scuffing the dusty ground the rest of the way to where C assumed Doc would be. The door was open to the side of the garage, letting in the fresh air and letting out the sound of an acoustic guitar. Roland felt a little like the dog beside him, whose ears perked up at the tone of tuned strings. C shut the door behind them, finding mostly darkness in the barn, pierced here and there with sunlit laser beams fired through holes in the roof. They followed the music, interrupting Penny who quickly set the guitar down next to the old milk crate she'd made into a chair. Otherwise, the shop was empty.

"Hey, Doc. How are you?" C smiled at the woman. She loved listening to Penny play, but it was so difficult to get her to do it around people. She was shy. C thought her voice was beautiful and loved the old Beatles songs she'd catch her singing from time to time.

The doctor came to live with the group almost two years ago; a mutual blessing if ever there were one. Chassis found her rummaging through the shards of a grocery store, digging cans from under the rubble. She'd been alone for longer than she remembered. It took C just as long to learn what happened to her, that she'd lost her husband and daughter. A camp raid sanctioned by a certain general brought armed soldiers in the night, dragging them from their shelter and into the forest, slicing her husband's throat in front of her and carrying her daughter away. The last piece of her heart died with the screams of her baby girl. She hadn't meant to escape. She hadn't cared to. They'd forgotten about her, huddled on the ground in the dark, curled up in the wet earth and weeds. They walked away, distracted by some yell or outcry in the distance, leaving her alone; alive only in the sense that her breath still entered and exited her lungs. If her heart beat on, the part of her that felt it was dead. Years passed away, and for some reason she didn't. When Chassis found Penny that day she barely even spoke out of fear his kindness was a trick. C refused to think of what might have been had he not brought her back. People like Penny were few and far between when the population flourished. Sorrow can create or destroy you. In Doctor Penelope Spencer's case, it was part of life. She'd accepted that early in her medical career, and embraced it later when everything she loved was stolen away. You move on. You grow. You do what you can to help where you're needed. You survive, or you fall. The group gave her a reason to live, and she gave them strength and care. To C, Penny would always be a hero. She possessed a courage C only pretended to.

Penny stood up, brushing the rear of her jeans off. Dried straw fell to the ground. "I'm well. I expected I would be your next stop. It's been a while since we've had a newcomer."

Roland's stomach sat uneasy with his lack of breakfast, unable to digest the turn of events since yesterday. His mind tore at the far corners he pushed thoughts into, scratching to dig them back up, to jolt him into oblivion when he couldn't turn them off. No. He went to baseball statistics. In 1961 Mantle hit fifty four home runs with the Yankees; then back to his sock with the hole. This was overwhelming, and he couldn't take it anymore.

"What do I have to do to make this go away?"

Penny turned to C, scratching Lyrique's ear as she spoke. "Did you explain it to him?"

C brushed a strand of wild hair behind her ear. "I told him the risk. I wanted you to tell him the rest."

Penny nodded, diverting back to Roland. "You are all right with what is at stake?"

"Yes. I am positive." Nodding seemed such an inadequate gesture. "I don't care what I have to do. I'll do anything."

The lines around the doctor's worried eyes creased, a brief glance into the weight of her heart; the weight of the question she posed. "Do you know how the NID works, Roland?"

He offered another affirmative movement of his head, and a readjustment of his crutch brought him closer to his full height. "I do."

"Then you understand what it runs off of, yes?" Her earnest expression begged honesty.

"Yes."

"Then you already know how to shut it off."
Chapter 12

"They're coming up the road Ridley." The radio crackled, Peterson's voice cutting out.

"Peterson, get out of there. Don't bother coming back to camp. Just go." Ridley tucked the device back into his jacket and hit the intercom button. They might hear it, but he had to make sure everyone knew.

"Everyone, listen. They've found us. Get out. Run. Now." He kept it short. They knew it was coming. They'd been preparing to leave. It took longer to get everyone out than they'd counted on. It was always too soon. It was always too fast. Ridley nearly tripped over an abandoned shoe as he ran down the stairs.

Bodies darted out of buildings and towards the tree line. The spotlight on the helicopter lit up the runners, showers of machine gun rounds dropping them to the ground. Ridley grimaced, turning away and racing along the outside of the mill. His boots sunk in the snow and mud, slowing him down. His eyes darted to the road beyond the bend of the river, fixating on the advancing brigade of military SUVs. The road limited them to single file. Good. Feeling the heat rise in the back of his head, Ridley focused all of his energy on the lead vehicle's front right tire. Reaching out with his mind, he wrapped iron fingers around the first lug nut on the wheel and began to count. _Sixteen._ The bolt turned, just a nudge. They were still too far away. He couldn't do it. He had to find Sera. She could stop them. She could save them. They were the last camp out of their entire organized chain of rebel forces. The others were burned out, massacred, obliterated; all within the last week. Everyone knew there was a snitch. It didn't matter now. It was too late, and vengeance wouldn't bring back the dead.

After the attacks on the supply houses, the country's leaders were quick in collecting anyone with information regarding the parties responsible. For every brave soul dying for a cause, there are three willing to roll over and give up. They would find what they wanted: What was this weapon these rebels used to cause such destruction? At first they refused to believe it, demanding demonstration before acceptance. Anyone could be detained at any time, and they were. Proof came one day in the form of a girl they arrested for collecting old nails from a demolished house. For days bleeding into a week they tortured her, mentally, physically; in ways only a man can hurt a woman. Eventually she snapped. On the verge of death and insanity, starved and beaten, she told them what she could do. When they didn't believe her, she showed them, inadvertently signing the death warrant for free thought.

A month later they had the first model of the NID: The Neurological Impulse Device. The technology was already there, they merely adapted it. The primary devices were immediately tested on humans, many ending in fatalities during the initial surgery. It took more than a few deaths to master exactly where it needed to be, exactly how it needed to be designed, and most importantly, that it needed unlimited power and must be accurate in functionality. No more than eight seconds would be allowed, ever again, without government intervention. Their scientists mastered them. Their factories mass produced them while hospitals were converted nationwide to "Implant Facilities". No one knew what was happening until it was too late, until there were armed men at every door one morning, demanding a full count of household members including names and ages.

The lists were compiled, organized by last name. While it was no cost to you for the new implant, their propaganda declared, it was mandatory. Anyone who did not show up for their scheduled procedure would be considered an enemy of the state and punished for treason. Cities erupted into chaos. Never once, even when they took the guns away all those years ago, had the citizens of the US risen in such a fury. The weight became too heavy and the thinnest of threads society now hung on finally snapped. Gunfire was commonplace and laughter obsolete. Many chose to follow orders, dragging along in dispirited lines to guarded hospital doors, having no idea how they would be when they walked back out. Parents guided screaming children through glass entryways down white hallways and into nothingness. Public outcry meant nothing. No one was coming to save the world, and soon no one could even consider it.

A grenade went off behind Ridley, taking a wall out of the mill. He dropped to the ground instinctively, covering his face and sinking into the snow. Voices yelled through the smoke, commands to check the rest of the building; orders to go inspect the rear. Ridley scanned the area around him, staying low in the smoke coverage and sprinting for the hills. He reached the wood shed at the tree line, stopping to look behind him and wishing he hadn't. Black tendrils rose from the flames into the swirling blades of the helicopter, dancing like rakish demons over a fresh kill. The snow across the property wept crimson trails. Ridley's stomach wrenched, forcing out what his eyes could not un-see.

"Ridley." A whisper from the trees.

He knew that soft voice, so old for her youth. "Sera?"

"Hurry, Ridley. Get out of the open."

Checking the location of the chopper and finding it momentarily faced the opposite direction, he ran the last expanse of the gap from the shed to where that tiny whisper originated. Another explosion lit up the horizon over the mill. This time they'd knocked the main support down. The ceiling joined the floor, finding fire to be a common enemy. Ridley forced his eyelids to close, pulling against the magnetic sorrow that drew his stare. He needed to make sure Sera was all right. He could do nothing for the others that did not get out in time.

Thin, cold fingers entwined with his calloused hand. "Ridley, do you want me to stop the helicopter?" She stood beside him in the failing light, shadows from the fire reflected on her pale skin like ancient scars.

"Where is your mom, Sera? Where is Alison?"

Sera merely shook her head, turning to face him. "I don't know. We got split up. I just remember you saying to run to the trees. I thought they would be here."

Kenneth Ridley looked down into glass pools, forgetting that the present may be short lived for just a moment, wondering if this child would ever know safety or peace; if she would get the chance to grow up. How could so much hate exist in the same world as so much love; the power to cure in the same hands as the power to kill? Sera's eyes calmed his pounding heart and he wondered if she'd actually slowed the beating herself. He glanced again at the helicopter, making perimeter rounds now, checking the forest where the trees weren't too thick to shine a light though, infrared condemning the rest. Another round of machine gun fire rattled the sky. A scream echoed drastically against the silence that always follows artillery.

Ridley turned to Sera. "If I help you, then neither of us made the decision alone." He smiled at the tiny girl, finding not even a hint of remorse or fear on her face.

Tightening her grip on his hand, Sera smiled up at Ridley, snowflakes clinging to her blonde lashes. "Just count in your head, Ridley. I can hear you."

In the hue of dusk above a burning field of crimson and white, the circling mechanical bird ignited like the head of a comet hitting the atmosphere, and then it was silent in the toppled world of an apocalyptic snow globe shaken by the hands of a violent seizure.
Chapter 13

It wasn't courage. C put that thought to bed before it could injure her. It was a stupid thought. It could never be considered a gallant act. It was selfish, plain and simple. She knew that when she searched out a place. It didn't need to be clean. She was aware of it when she locked the door and the deadbolt in the hotel room. Could something really be selfish if you had no one left? Too long. She pushed her allotment. Is it wrong if nothing is right? She'd given up the debate. She'd turned the tub spout, wondering if the water would come on. Stand alone systems would occasionally surprise, giving up the last store of a decrepit water heater. The old tank creaked and groaned, spurting rust colored filth from the faucet. She didn't flinch. She didn't question why it mattered where. Some lingering inkling for attention bent her decisions beyond her conscious grasp. Tearing the pocket off her worn sweatshirt, she stuffed it in the drain of the tub. The liquid gathered in the bottom, slowly filling to rise up the sides. C stared into the water, waiting for an urge to stop; wishing something would change her mind. That's what hurt the worst. There wasn't a single goddamned reason not to.

Her knife was sharp, but she wanted to be sure. Pulling a disposable razor from her dark green canvas bag, she tossed it to the tile floor and smashed it with a boot heel, the pink plastic cracking and setting free her prize. The blade glinted in the sunlight creeping through the tiny rectangular window above her. It would be sharp enough. C slipped her boots off, almost wondering too long on why it even mattered, or what possessed her to do it. She stopped herself, right around seven seconds. Maybe that's what she should do: Zap herself while she was at it. Then it would be certain; a devastating triangle to assure fate of her conclusion. The water was warm and slimy, endeavoring to tug her socks low on her ankles as she swung her feet into the bath; begging to drag her down into the reddish sludge.

She held the blade against her pale skin below the cuff of her weary leather jacket. She imagined her blood recoiling, drawing back from the vein the razor threatened. If this was it, where was the flash of life she was supposed to see? Where were all those faces and people and places and time? Tears burned behind closed lids, seeping through lashes and down her cheeks. That was enough. That was everything. She'd been robbed of even the last moment of memories. They weren't allowed anymore. There was no white light. There would be no open arms. There was absolutely nothing left. The sharpened metal blade drew a thin red line from left to right over a shaking wrist, and then from right to left across the other before falling from her hand and disappearing into the discolored liquid below. She leaned back, never opening her eyes. The sunlight felt warm and yielding on her eyelids. Trees danced outside the window, their shadows playing over her face, concerned onlookers too distant from the situation to intervene. Even with her last breath, C wished her mind would change, that it even could.

### ***

Something hot and wet pressed against her hand. C looked down. Lyrique stared up at her, crooked head and deep brown eyes inquisitive as always. C came to the conclusion long ago that even though the dog looked as if she were asking what was wrong, she knew the answer long before you did; maybe she'd always known. She ran her fingers along Lyrique's velvet nose. Roland sat on the makeshift hospital bed with Penny at his side. Over an hour passed, tests she wanted to do and questions she had to ask. C wasn't fond of witnessing the "procedure". It dragged old memories out of locked boxes and rubbed them in her face. So much time had passed since then, and it simply didn't matter. She couldn't let that go. She'd disappointed herself and still refused to accept her own apologies. She'd spend as much time making up for it as she could, but she would never step into Doc's shoes again.

"Hey Doc, I'm taking Lyrique out for a while. You guys all right?"

"C, you know you don't have to be here." Penny smiled sincerely.

C shrugged, trying not to let her nerves get the best of her. "I'll be back in a bit." She couldn't bring herself to look at Roland, to say any sort of farewell. It was too final. She didn't want to think about it.

It had been ten years since the first strike was made against the government of what was once the United States. A decade rotted in the ditch between what was and what is, fouling up the air of memory. Sometimes C would sit and think, a privilege she would never take for granted again. Her mother and father ghosted childhood recollections, their faces blurred like old photos, their voices faint like whispered secrets not meant for her ears. She tried to summon up every detail she could about how things were before. It wasn't just that she wanted to remember, but that she had to. If it slipped away, if she forgot where she came from she was accepting that it could never be good again. In her mind, the future depended on the past. There had to be an answer. There had to be a way to fix this. The numbers of those who could think without restraint were growing, but it wasn't enough. The only solution was too risky, and it didn't matter anyway. A population that can't reproduce is doomed to extinction. They existed as long as the last survivor. After that, the human species would be bone in layers of rock; the new dinosaurs.

When the government took complete control, C was one of the few still working. Her father was a politician and they were some of the lucky ones at first. She worked for him doing secretarial and clerical duties. Her mother maintained the house and pretended nothing was wrong, depleting a healthy stash of Valium regularly. One day the general decided they didn't need politicians any longer. It wasn't necessary to convince the public of anything. They would be told, and they would obey or rebel. C's position became an innocent bystander, one of the many jobs eradicated in the crossfire. Of course, her father could not afford his home and the ridiculous new tax on all privately owned properties without a job, and that was it. They were on the street. C was naïve, nineteen and sheltered, never expecting in her life to be digging through wealthy people's trash cans in hopes there was something to eat. She'd never imagined just how cold a winter night could be, huddled in a concrete corner with her family rattling against her and the wind raking bitter icy nails over every bit of exposed skin. Her father died two weeks later, arms frigidly wrapped around them when they woke in the morning, eyes frozen shut in permanent sleep.

Casey Wright lost both parents that day. Her father went with the unrelenting night and her mother left her mind with the rose on his shallow grave. The only thing worse than being alone is being alone in the company of another. C would be the first to tell you that her mother never was "all there". She'd always swayed towards prescription pills, alcohol a fall back when she couldn't readily find the other. Most of C's childhood, her mother was asleep on the couch and her father was at work. They fought, all the time. Her father was a good man, a devout Catholic to his regrettable fate, and wouldn't end the marriage. These were things that used to matter. Now none of it did, except the fact that her mother had given up while her father spent his last energy trying to keep them warm. Despite her growing resentment towards this woman who brought her to life, yet would not assist in maintaining it, C fought to find them food and struggled to keep them in shelter. Minutes slinked by like guilty cats, stealing scraps from the table of time. There were things she would never discuss, the dignity she'd sacrificed for food or water; the only thing she had left to trade.

One morning, she woke up alone. They'd been hiding in an old elementary school library, burning books and tables to stay warm. C opened tired eyes to find the room empty, except for her and the stack of literature she couldn't bring herself to utilize in the fire. Her mother was gone. C searched the streets for her, checking all the usual spots they'd scavenge food, even going back to the house she'd grown up in. There was no trace of occupancy. Someone broke all the photos on the walls and threw them into a pile in the middle of the living room. C stared down at smiling faces behind splintered glass. It was really over, and she was truly alone. She hit the floor, her body shaking with sobs until there were no tears left; until the sound of soldiers could be heard outside. C quickly snatched up a photo of her parents and herself from the shards of broken civility and snuck out the back door. She had no destination now, no purpose. She wandered, and that was all.

Six months passed, akin to the slow drip of an IV burning through her veins like saline. She'd join others here and there, working odd jobs at refugee camps for food. Her clothes no longer fit her, fifteen pounds slipping away from her already thin frame. In the unfortunate event that she passed a reflective surface, the gaunt face of a pale skeleton stared back at her. The image gave her the chills so she stopped looking. She let herself fall to the desolation that beckoned, hair matting into dreadlocks and fingernails caked with dirt. There was no such thing as the future any longer in her mind. She would wander until her time came and then she would be free. That would be too much to ask, as she would soon find out.

General Styph came into unrestricted power during the upheaval. It was simple. A man without a conscience had no boundaries. He took what he wanted and anyone begging to differ was executed. After the rebel strike against the supply houses publicly humiliated his command, after his search for any person carrying information about the perpetrators, came his brilliant new plot. The NIDs were developed and implemented. C would hear talk in the camps of this new device that could control your mind. People were terrified. They'd lost everything already. Now they would take their thoughts? Camps emptied, scores of broken citizens fled to the forests hoping to avoid capture. The general offered everyone a choice: Commit willingly or be executed. C didn't understand. Why were they doing this? What had the rebels done that frightened a man of such stature? It became a goal to find out; something to occupy the passing time other than grief.

The task of rounding up entire city populations wasn't easy, but with the sheer volume of military personnel, they made fast work of it. Door to door, they dragged people from their homes. Those who fought back or resisted were shot on site in front of their kin. Their heads down and their heels dragging the street, body after body filed into vans and busses heading to the hospital. C hid, watching the process, praying someone would stop this. No one came to the rescue. Superheroes weren't real. The broken will of a population had no power against the tyranny of a corrupt government. The busses and vans returned, dumping off the hordes of "corrected citizens", as they called them. Husbands held their wives close and mothers tried to pacify screaming children as they made their way home to the only semblance of security that remained. C decided it was time to go. It didn't matter why this was happening. She didn't want it to happen to her. Taking what miniscule food she'd stored and her old down comforter rolled and tied to a backpack, she set out in the middle of the night towards the rumors of the rebel camp, praying she'd make it out before they found her; somehow knowing she'd waited too long.
Chapter 14

Ridley rubbed his hands together over the weak flames of the fire. As much as he'd like to build a roaring inferno, the fire stayed small. They were hunted now, outlaws, dead without a question asked. If they were found, it would all be over. A handful of frigid mornings had passed since the mill was raided. Taking shelter in an old van they'd run across in the forest, Ridley did his best to keep up his spirits. They'd gone back to the mill the day after the attack to look for other survivors. While they found no one alive, Debbie and Alison weren't among the dead either. Ridley's heart broke with every face he connected to an identity as he brushed snow from still forms, tears freezing when they hit the blanketed ground. He and Sera sanctioned a mass grave, laying the bodies to rest with limited time, less than the respect they deserved and none of the right words to speak. Never once did he see Sera waiver. Never once did she cry. They gathered what they could for supplies and left the mill for good.

Ridley needed to find a radio. His mind stayed consumed with the hope that somewhere, someone was still in operation. While he did not voice the dismal nature of the situation they were now in, he knew Sera was aware. They couldn't stay here long. They weren't far enough away to even consider it safe. He needed a vehicle. They'd made short work of the mill, blowing every functional automobile into useless smoldering metal frames. They were more than thirty miles from the nearest town, and who was to say it would still be there? In what might have been a week, Ridley lost complete touch with the rest of the world. He had no idea what was happening beyond this van and the only way to find out was to walk right into it blindly.

The snow stopped falling the day before and the sun showed its beaming countenance over the trees, turning earth to mush. The only choice they had was to hike out, find a vehicle, and reestablish a base. Ridley worried about little Sera making the journey. They would have to camp overnight. They would never make it in one day. They could potentially freeze to death before morning broke. They could be discovered here by a roaming helicopter at any minute. Either way it was a risk he did not want to take. Above all else, something in him knew he must keep Sera alive and safe. He had a compass and knew which direction to travel. That was better than nothing. If the weather stayed decent, they didn't risk being trapped in a storm unprotected. They had enough food to last three more days if they rationed it. Even if they stayed and waited, they would starve. For all his skills with construction, Ridley had no idea how to hunt and kill an animal, let alone skin it and prepare the meat. No one was coming to save them. It was up to them to get out, to finish what they'd started.

"Sera, we have to leave here." Ridley crouched down, bringing himself face to face with her where she sat in the van near the open rear door, wrapped in blankets. "If we stay, they'll find us."

She nodded. "I know."

"It's a long walk back to town. We'll need to find a car. If we leave now, we can get a good start on things. We won't make it by dark Sera. It will be cold tonight."

Wiping at her nose, she untangled the blankets. "It's already cold. It doesn't matter."

Ridley started rolling up the covers to take with them. They would need every comfort they could get. Sera gathered the scattered items around her, tucking canned soup, jerky and a mixed nut container into the backpack. They silently compartmentalized, checking thoroughly for anything left behind. When they were sure they'd left no trace of their stay, Ridley put his hand on Sera's shoulder and they turned south. With the world so quiet in early morning, the song of every bird echoed under a pine needle canopy and the crunch of boots in the snow became the rhythm beneath their melody. The occasional rain of powder cascaded from branches above them, giant trees shaking off the snowfall they'd collected as they stretched their waking boughs. Sunlight sparkled through the falling mist, illuminating tiny facets of liquid diamonds in midair. Sera ran through the snow, playing with the limbs above her, bending them enough to create her own snow shower. Her laughter tinkled like tiny bells, reminding Ridley of Christmas. A heavy sadness tugged at his arm sleeve. He jerked away from it. It did no good to lament. This little girl needed him now. He could grieve when he walked into the arms of the reaper who would only laugh and snatch the tears from his face with a forked tongue. Until then, he would be here. He had to see this through.

Night came with a vengeance, wind tearing at the tent and dousing the fire in wet snow. Ridley held Sera, wrapped in her sleeping bag shivering, a comforter around them both and a tarp over that. It hardly mattered. The air struck at them between the metal clasps of every zipper and through every stitch of the varied fabrics they used as protection. Ridley thought about Debbie, knowing that if she was still alive, she was out of her mind with worry. He'd promised her at the beginning that he would do everything he could to keep Sera safe. He prayed she remembered that now, wherever she was. The tent rattled and flapped against the gusting wind. Somewhere in the distance a wolf serenaded the stars, raising the hairs on Ridley's arms and neck. He worried without the fire lit. Fire kept the animals away. Without it, they would walk right into a camp looking for food. He'd tied the backpack to a high tree branch before they'd gone in, hoping to keep the scavengers away from them if they slept. Another howl recapped his worry, much louder and closer than the first. Sera was either sleeping and didn't hear them, or far braver than he was. The hint of a smile found his generous face. He was sure it was the latter.

The first light of morning discovered them alive, chilled to the center of every bone. Ridley started the fire back up, arguing with wet wood over its ability to ignite. He eventually persuaded the smoking bundle to catch with the paper label from a soup can. This was Sera's idea, unable to venture into a movie theater without a guardian yet, but far more clever than he was now at almost forty. He had to laugh at himself. All his determination to keep her safe and here she was, saving his frozen ass. They heated a breakfast of canned pasta over glowing coals while they packed up the tent. Dousing the campfire and burying it in pine needles and snow, they headed out. Ridley tried to keep their spirits up with games, playing I Spy with the different trees and finding Sera knew all the names of the diverse foliage they passed. The game dwindled, their choices limited. Sera started another, launching gusts of powdery snow across her path like rice at a wedding. She giggled and spattered Ridley in sparkling droplets from the hill they walked past. Brushing off his coat, he ran ahead of her and spun around.

"That's not fair. I can't do that." He quickly grabbed a handful of snow and packed it into a circle, lobbing it at her playfully. "But I can do that."

Sera's laughter made him smile. "Of course you can do it Ridley. You just have to try harder. If you think you can't, you won't."

Ridley's ability remained limited to solid objects. He could not manipulate water like Sera could, raising fountains from the river. Ice would not break at his will, nor would snow gather in flurries by his design. Try as he did, it was beyond his mental grip. He'd given it every inch of his focus, leaving him with migraines and no success. Sera's reach constantly blew him away. While he needed to be close, she did not. Where he struggled to find purchase, she knew every hold. Yet she had this faith in him, this unlimited and unyielding belief that he could be just as strong as she was. Often, Kenneth Ridley found himself questioning what Sera knew that she didn't say; even querying where she really came from.

Just before dusk, the pointed roof of the town church peeked above the dropping tree line. Ridley let out a breath of relief. He wasn't sure they'd make it another night between the single digit temperatures and the negative wind chill. More steps than he cared to count through the brittle frozen surface of the snow, they broached the edge of town in fallen darkness. Dim lights showed the shape of windows in scattered houses. People lived here still. Ridley wasn't sure if that was good or bad. They stayed away from the streets, finding it difficult to keep out of sight in the tiny settlement. There were no streetlights left on and every business was boarded up. This was no longer a place people lived. Ridley was wrong. This was another ghost town now. Some of the specters just weren't dead yet.

Ridley kept a hold of Sera's hand, deciding to take a chance and knock on a door. Odds were the residents cared as much for the current government as he did. He might find a hand up from a like minded citizen, or the barrel of a gun. The house behind what used to be a mini-mart looked promising, lights casting faint orange through curtained windows. His eyes darted from the street to the buildings along the other side. Several old trucks sat behind the burned out mechanic shop. He doubted they ran given their appearance, but it might be worth a shot.

"Sera, can you start any of those trucks?"

Sharp eyes locked on the rusty old Dodge first. He waited.

"No." She shook her head. "Two of them don't have engines and the third is stuck or something. It won't work."

Ridley disguised his disappointment. "The engine is probably seized. Don't worry."

"I'm not worried." Stepping out of his reach, she walked towards the house.

"Sera." He pushed her name through closed teeth in whispered alarm.

She ignored him, already to the door and rapping gently. He hurried to catch up with her, terrified of who might open it and what could happen if she were standing there alone. He sided up just as the door creaked open half an inch, still secured with a chain latch. His heart stopped in his chest, pulling Sera behind him, her thin frame completely invisible beyond his.

"Ridley?" A familiar voice dropped the needle back on his heart.

"Debbie?"

The door slammed shut only to reopen without the hindrance of the chain. "Dear God, Ridley." Her arms were around his neck and sobs shook her. Something sparked back to life inside of her. Tender fingers touched her cheek beneath closed eyes. "Sera." The name came out a prayer, Debbie falling to her knees and wrapping her daughter in her arms, rocking back and forth.

"I knew you were still alive." Debbie muttered softly into Sera's hair. "I knew you would find me. I knew you were still alive." The words became a mantra, repeated until she was positive this was real. A thousand pounds of strife lifted from her, a boulder removed from her shoulders. She gathered herself, not letting go of Sera.

"Let's go inside." Ridley offered a hand with the door, following behind them into the only lit room.

Candles rested atop old plates on the floor of the living room, the melted wax disguising the floral pattern on the china. A small flame flickered in the fireplace, broken pieces of a kitchen table laying in wait for their turn to join the pyre. A clutter of old pillows and couch cushions occupied the corner nearest the fire, blankets strewn around the room. Unlabeled cans piled up on the floor near the bed, some unopened and some empty, indiscriminately mixed together. Ridley stood close to the fire, feeling his toes respond to a heat they hadn't known in days with shooting pains. He didn't mind. That meant they weren't lost, frostbitten and dead inside his boots. Debbie still sat with her arm around Sera, in front of the fireplace now, reveling in the moment she worried would never come. Ridley undid his backpack and slid it to the floor before sitting down beside them.

"Debbie, how long have you been here?"

She turned glossy wet eyes to him. They were so similar to Sera's, except for the ever present fear she could never hide well. "A few days I think. There were more of us at first, before we got here. We got separated in the forest. They found us the second night. I, I lost Alison. I don't know what happened. Suddenly there were lights and shouting everywhere. People were running. It was like the mill. They just kept firing in the dark. I didn't know where to go. I just ran. I ran all night. I ended up here. I waited. No one else showed up. I've been lighting candles in the other houses every night, hoping someone would see it. I thought that maybe, if the wrong people saw it, it might give me a chance to get away while they searched the wrong place. I didn't know what to do Ridley. I just kept praying Sera was safe, that she was with you and that you would find me." She paused to wipe her eyes before her tears fell onto Sera. "Thank you Ridley. You don't know what you've given me back. I... Thank you. For everything you've done."

Ridley smiled. If he did nothing else right, at least there was this moment. "Why did you stay here though? You knew it wasn't safe."

Debbie shook her head adamantly. "I wasn't leaving. I knew you were coming. I'd close my eyes and see the forest, like I was walking through it. I knew Sera would find me. If I left, I'd give up the only chance I had. I couldn't go, don't you understand? I knew. She told me." Debbie's fingers played softly with Sera's blonde locks.

Ridley didn't question her further. He didn't need to be convinced. If she said Sera told her, he had absolutely no doubt in his mind that she had; that she was capable of sending her mother those thoughts. There would never be anything too amazing to attribute to this girl.

"What are we going to do Ridley?" Debbie was calm now. As long as Sera remained safe, nothing else mattered and she would fight on.

"Have you heard anything since the attack?"

Debbie dropped her head in the negative. "I don't think many survived. They weren't taking prisoners."

"Well then that is what we have to do next." Ridley sighed. "We need to find out what is going on."
Chapter 15

"I heard they're cutting half the brain out."

"Well I heard it's a device that they use to control us, like robots. We're going to be an army of robots with remote controls. Walk button. Talk button. Shoot button. Die button. I shit you not."

"Who did you hear that from? You guys don't know what you're talking about. It's a tracking device. That's what it is. I'm sure of it."

Three men bantered around the dwindling fire. C rolled over in her sleeping bag and tried to block them out. The alleyway clamored with intoxicated conspiracy rants, fires burning in metal cans casting shadows on the dirty faces of the small group. Someone had scored some moonshine, passing a large glass mason jar around the glow, lending liquid courage to their chatter.

"We ought to show 'em what this country was founded on. We should march right up to his door and break it down."

"Yeah. First our guns, then our jobs, now our minds? They want to control us. We have to stand up for ourselves. My grandfather didn't fight in two wars for this shit."

Murmurs stirred their numbers, less than ten, more than five, but hard to tell in the miniscule light. C stumbled upon the camp shortly after her decision to leave the city two days prior, joining numbers for safety. She'd tried to talk them into leaving with her, but they were without hope of surviving beyond the pavement. Blank eyes stared back at her suggestion. Mouths formed words of protest, declaring there would be no food and they would die. Despite her arguments to the contrary, that they could survive, that it would be safer, the group did not budge. C gave up, curiosity binding her within earshot of their collective government contentions. Still, she heard nothing substantial. As steadfastly as they discussed the injustice, it did not frighten them enough to leave. Rumors crawled the streets, as deadly as plagued rats. Troops combed abandoned buildings in search of miscreants unwilling to turn themselves over for reprogramming. This of course was not what they called it, only a street name for something no one understood.

"We need to talk to somebody that was in there." The first logical statement from the drunks by the fire perked her ears.

"Pshh." A scruffily bearded man waved his hand in dismissal. "They ain't gonna tell you nothin. They work for the govs now. Zombies, pretty much. That's how they want it. I mean, you see any of these folks when they get back off the busses? They ain't folks anymore. They ain't nothin anymore. They sure as shit ain't gonna help us."

"You don't know shit old man."

"Oh, don't I?" Using an old two by four from the wood pile as a cane, he wobbled to his feet, inching his face closer to the other man's. "You wanna go talk to them? Why don't ya? Why don't you march right up there and ask them what the hell is going on? I'm sure you'd get your answer. Damn fool. We're all going to end up that way." He snatched the jar of moonshine from the other man to his left and took a hefty glug. "It's the end. The reckoning, and I reckon I'm going to enjoy the time I got left. Damn fools." He muttered again before sitting down with the alcohol clutched between leathery hands.

The younger men quickly lost their bravado, no amount of liquor capable of returning it. It didn't matter if the old man was right or wrong. Either way, they were on a checked clock. It was only a matter of time before someone found them. C decided she would leave first thing in the morning, get out of the city before the soldiers reached the area. If no one would come with her, she would go without them. It was probably wiser to be alone. It attracted less attention. Food would last longer. It would be easier to hide. As she lay on the hard ground outside the gates of sleep, C came to the devastating conclusion that she would die on her own. She knew nothing of hunting, had only been fishing once, and considered herself lucky she even knew how to start a fire. To walk off into solidarity meant certain death. To stay here meant something worse.

The crash of metal against pavement echoed down the alley, rousing C from her dismal thoughts. Someone knocked the fire can over. She sat up, letting the sleeping bag slide down from her shoulders. In the faint light from the spilled embers, she could make out silhouettes scurrying from blankets and into their shoes. The throaty rumble of advancing engines drowned out the safety of the darkness. She was up, rolling her bag into the elastic straps and tugging her backpack on her shoulders. She'd taken to sleeping in her shoes months ago and was now grateful for the extra time it allowed her. Headlights punched holes in the night, spotlighting alleyways as the convoy rounded the corner onto the street.

"They're coming. Run. Go." Shouts bounced off brick walls, the camp scattering every direction.

She ran. There was no moon, the sky a broad winged black bird above her. Her boots found every uneven crack, tripping her and sending her to the ground more than once. She climbed back up and kept running, no specific direction, just away from the lights. Gun shots reminded her of what she'd left behind, screams ringing in her ears. She turned another street corner, one solitary solar powered light blinked on the side of the old utilities building, and the train tracks were barely visible beyond the illuminated edge. On the other side of the tracks sat open land leading up to the forest. As a child, she'd played in the field, remembering how thick the trees were that haunted the border. They would dare one another to go into the woods at night. No one ever did. A decade older with nothing left to lose, she still felt wary about those towering pine trees and the absolute dark they harbored. The dark she needed now. The fear would have to wait.

The chain link fence that surrounded the rail yard still stood, slightly over six feet high and topped with razor wire loops. Her fingers curled around frozen metal links, slipping free before she could get off the ground. She tried again, jumping this time to reach a higher link. Lights shattered her thought process. From both directions, military vehicles sped towards the rail yard. C struggled frantically to get a grip, to lift the weight of her body up. Again she fell back down, this time with a gash across her palm. Headlights fixed on her now, barreling in her direction. She stopped. It was over. Wiping one hot frustrated tear from her eye, she turned to face them and put her hands up, standing in front of the fence. They would likely shoot her anyway, since she did try to escape. It didn't matter now. It was over.

"Don't move." A voice bellowed through a bullhorn. "We will shoot you."

C remained rigid, watching the men in uniforms step out of the SUV's. Four soldiers approached her position, hesitant and seemingly frightened. Her eyebrows furrowed. What could they possibly fear from one unarmed girl? Curiosity reminded her that if nothing else, this was an opportunity to discover what was really going on. She did not move, waiting patiently for the men to reach her. They moved to her sides, two and two, almost an arm's length away now. C kept her hands up, finding her shoulders tired and heavy with the pack she carried.

"Put your arms behind your back." The command came from the shorter of the pair on her right.

She doubted these men were of any real authority, minions at the beck and call of the general. "I'm willing to fully cooperate." She offered, lowering her hands and placing them behind her.

The men moved closer. "Turn and face the fence."

She did. Her backpack was jerked roughly from her shoulders and tossed to the ground. The cuffs were cold against her skin, the metal biting into the bones of her wrists. "I didn't mean to run." She did her best to sound innocent and sincere. "I was just scared."

"Just don't give us any trouble." They led her back to the vehicles.

The heat from the vent hit C's numb cheeks, begging pins and needles to the surface. She'd been cold for months. Other than the fires they huddled around through the night, C hadn't known real warmth. Her toes writhed in agony as the heat reminded them they could move. Her fingers ached as they unthawed, cramping and tingling with new found blood flow. Now she could probably climb the fence; a little too late. She leaned back in the seat resolved, shifting her arms to keep the cuffs from digging into her back. The two soldiers sat silently in the front as the city passed around them. She'd been so close. She should have left when she first thought of it. Fear of death kept her here, and now she would learn from her mistake.

"Can I ask you guys a question?" She watched the expressions on their faces in the mirror.

"No. Be quiet back there." The passenger snapped.

Silence returned for over two minutes. "What's the big deal Henry?" The driver sounded much younger than she'd expected; a few years older than her at the most. "It's just a question."

Henry scowled at his partner. "I don't give a shit. She's not supposed to even be alive. We should have shot her on sight for running."

The younger shook his head. "If we kill everyone, then we're out of a job man." They shared a laugh, raising the taste of disgust in C's throat.

"Fine." Henry pulled a cigarette from his jacket pocket, lighting it before rolling down the window. "Ask away, doll."

Her nerves faltered for a moment before she gathered her words. "I was just wondering what this is all about. Everyone in the city, you know? We're all running, and we don't know what we're running from."

The men exchanged glances, silently weighing the validity of her inquiry. Finally, the younger man spoke. "See man, I told you no one knew what was going on. The general is nuts. He's wasting all this time when it isn't even true."

"Shut up John. It is true. I saw it happen. He knows what he's doing. Even if it isn't everyone, it's still a threat to us. If we don't know who, or where, then it's everyone, everywhere. We can't allow them the opportunity to strike again." Henry's loyalty seeped from his pores, as noxious as the cigarette smoke he exhaled. The general was a god to him now, and that's how it would stay.

"C'mon Henry, you don't think it's a little far-fetched? I mean, people moving shit with their minds? Blowing up entire buildings with thought? That's nuts man. You can't possibly believe it."

Henry glowered at his comrade, taking his anger out on his cigarette. "If the general wants it done, we do it. You don't get paid to ask questions, kid. You get paid to shut up and do your damn job."

"Fine, I'll drop it. I still think it's stupid. They don't even have weapons to fight back. We already have all the guns." John's stubborn youth couldn't let it go.

"Damn idiot. They don't need guns. That's the whole point of this. They had nothing when they took out the warehouse. They don't need the damn guns. That's why we're doing this. Every civilian is to be tagged with the NID, regardless of whether or not they are a suspect. The general wants assurance that there will not be a repeat incident. I refuse to talk about this any further and if you continue to disregard the integrity of your orders I will inform the general and you can join the population in the hospital tomorrow morning."

John fell silent. Whatever awaited her was enough of a threat to end this soldier's debate. Her tears warmed her eyes, clearing the gritty feel of dust as they reached her cheeks. She ducked her head, staying out of the rearview mirror. They were not going to see her cry. Silently, her emotion spilled down her sweatshirt until there was no more. Her mind cleared. Whatever this NID was, however the soldiers feared it, they still seemed unsure about its purpose. What happened at those warehouses? What had the rebels done to inspire the general to implement such massive control? People moving things with their minds, he'd said. They don't know who is responsible, he said. Blowing up the building with their thoughts, he said. The pieces that were offered to her weren't enough to make a whole; only theory. The rebels had some new weapon, something beyond the creation of metal and gunpowder. This weapon wasn't tangible; it couldn't be taken away. C found her face locked in a tight frown. It was impossible. People couldn't alter reality with thought. She would have to agree with John. Any sane person would. So what would convince a man like General Styph to believe in such lunacy? C concluded that he must have seen it with his own eyes. There's no other way he would go to such trouble as this, gathering every citizen to implant brain control devices like some super villain in a comic book. He believed it enough to be afraid, and he was scared enough to take no chances. A twinge of acceptance sided up to the theory. Whether or not it was true didn't matter. In the general's mind it was real enough, and she wouldn't have to think about any of it much longer.
Chapter 16

The final sin severed all ties to the country previous referred to as united. Humanity was gone. Civilization collapsed. All out chaos ensued. For three years it boiled beneath the surface. For thirty six months they continued to hunt and capture anyone without an implant. For three years they slaughtered every rebel they could find, bombing their camps and families. There were no longer classes of living. You were either extremely rich, safe in the keeping of the government, or you were poor, a peon, working factory jobs to keep the higher ups in leather shoes and your family in bread and water. Either way, you were required to have the NID. At first the general kept his soldiers clear of it, using them to the end of their purpose and then implementing the device into his troops towards the close of the second year. Now the rebels were beaten to the point of extinction and posed no threat. He would not leave a window open for an internal enemy. Loyalty could not be absolute if free thinking was allowed. The borders were shut down, patrolled heavily. No one entered. No one left. The rest of the world would no longer acknowledge the former United States, even going so far as to restrict satellite and communication use, and of course air space. At one point there was talk of invasion from England. That was quickly squashed by the country's leaders. The US created its own hell. It would be left alone to burn.

Civilians trudged on through routines of normalcy, doing only what they must to live, unable to think about what they might do to change it. Eight seconds was not enough time to design a solution. It wasn't enough time to write a haiku. Music became a burden. While there could never be anything new, even the old was growing obsolete. Lyrics made you think. Thinking brought pain in the form of an electrical jolt and intolerable frequencies sounding inside one's skull. It was the same with art, with writing. All of the beautiful things mankind created died with the first shovel of dirt thrown in the face of thought. The days were empty, the nights devoid of comfort or peace. There would be no more bedtime stories or lullabies. Books were used as kindling for authentic fires now, no longer fuel for the soul. There could be no soul in such conditions. The controlled numbness of stupor grew like deadly mold until it overwhelmed, slowly taking life with every breath. It was only a matter of time before new life would be tainted too.

### ***

The goal had been Canada, but they never made it. Soldiers ran convoys back and forth, overlapping until it was impossible to find a way across. Helicopters patrolled the areas men couldn't, equally as effective and intimidating with high powered weapons able to pick off a runner from the air and infrared technology that made them all-seeing. They'd turned around, fleeing back into the forest where there were no roads. A grueling season passed, a tiny hunting cabin in the bend of a deep gorge providing adequate shelter through the winter, gratefully stocked with minimal dried goods; discovered abandoned by its original owners just when Debbie was convinced she couldn't take another step. Ridley taught himself to hunt, barely learning fast enough. They were thin, weak, starving to death on broth and noodles when he brought home that first deer. Nothing ever tasted so good in his life. Debbie's face shone with gratitude as Sera devoured her plate of venison. Ridley felt a pride he'd never known, the confidence of a man taking the life of an animal to preserve his own; as nature intended. He began to develop his new skill, using his mental reach to his benefit. Sera would help, toppling granite rock piles to scare half an elk herd in the direction of their traps. Her gift for manipulating the snow was a blessing, saving them from the infrared view of the overhead scouting many times simply by creating a full blanket above them, thick enough to counter balance their heat and leave the chopper blind. They hiked to the river and spent entire days fishing, dragging home their loot and burying it in the snow to keep it cold. The constant struggle for dry wood became less of a task once Sera realized she could split trees, right up the center like a mill saw. Ridley watched, astounded as the thirty foot pine slowly lifted from the forest floor, shook loose a heaping of snow and separated in the center; a seam no one could see but Sera, leaving the insides of the downed tree exposed. It was magnificent to watch, although Debbie still refused.

Summer brought with it new challenges, an almost complete depletion of supplies, and the ever present question. What were they doing? Was this how they would live out the rest of their lives, however long that might be? Ridley insisted it was better to live this way than to die the other. While he never told Debbie what to do, she knew he was right. If they got their hands on Sera, if they knew what she was capable of. Debbie hated to think of it. So they hid like wanted criminals, segregated from a world they used to know that would see them killed if they returned. They waited for the day the metal bird circled and they ran out of luck, unwilling yet to revisit what remained.

It hadn't gone well the last time. After they'd found Debbie over a year ago, they made an attempt to get through the city, to contact the outlying rebels, even to garner a speck of what was happening. They'd made it as far as the suburbs. Hummers and government SUVs patrolled constantly, leaving no window to sneak in. At night, spotlights rigged on the corners of buildings rotated in circles around the blocks, unmasking every dark corner. They opted not to bridge the concrete gap and instead searched for any civilians who might have information for them. They stumbled across a group of bums burning trash for heat and eating dry noodles they'd found in the back pantry of an old restaurant. The men made no sense, talking in short riddles about the device, about the mind control.

"Can't think no more." One man told Ridley. "They put somethin in my brain."

"Hurts inside my head if I think too long." The lament of another.

"They got everyone goin in man."

"Just the beginning."

"They'll get to everybody, you watch."

"Yeah, we was just easy." The man chuckled.

Ridley found himself with more questions than before, leaving the dim witted prattle behind them, unsure of what to make from the men. They may have been drunks. They may have been crazy. If they were telling the truth... Ridley's heart sank into his stomach. The demolition of the storage warehouses had been meant to incite the population, to weaken the government. Instead, he'd given the general a reason to declare war on the innocent population. His actions sparked this, whatever it was. His desire for freedom stole away what was left of it, rendering an entire nation at the mercy of a tyrant. What had he done?

They left the city, charting a course up towards Canada through the wilderness. In Ridley's mind, they would find a safe place to hide out until this died down. Maybe Debbie and Sera could start fresh without their past haunting them. Debbie could get a job. Sera could go back to school and have real friends and a life. As wonderful as it sounded, it was a delusion and he knew it. The likelihood of them making it such a distance without capture or raining bullets was slim to none. His other hope remained; they would come across a comrade, a rebel survivor from their camp or another. This person would have the answers he sought. They would discuss strategy and rebuild their numbers. They would return and take down those in power who abused it. The fantasy kept him going while the reality crouched in the dirty corners of his mind with every deer he gutted and every hide made into a new blanket for the winter. All things come with time, they say.

### ***

"Debbie, open the door."

She peeked out of the kitchen window. The plates clattered, falling from her hands into the sink. She rushed to unlock the front door, swinging it open just as Ridley barreled inside, the weight of his burden sagging his walk. Debbie shut the door behind him, following him to the living room floor where he laid the body of a man. Sera stood, watchful from the kitchen. Debbie's hand covered her mouth as she stepped closer. The man was alive, the rise and fall of his chest barely visible beneath his jacket. A trickle of blood escaped the corner of his mouth and a black eye decorated his face in purple and red. His right eye remained unharmed but did not open when Ridley slid his head onto a couch pillow. The fire crackled in the old woodstove they used for cooking, the only sound in an anxious room.

Ridley rose to his feet, brushing his hands off on his jeans. "I found him in the forest. He's unconscious but he's alive."

Debbie eyed his clothes, stopping at his feet. "Those aren't soldier's boots. He's a civilian."

"Is he injured?" Ridley hadn't noticed Sera walk up behind him. She crouched down beside the man.

Ridley nodded. "I think he's been beaten. I didn't check thoroughly. I just wanted to get him back here. Debbie, will you heat some water please?"

"Of course." She tore her stare from the prone figure and went to fill an old coffee can.

Hours passed in anticipation. It'd been a while since they'd known contact with the outside world. The man slept, mumbling incoherently from time to time. Ridley worried he had a concussion, having discovered a massive welt on the back of his head. There was nothing they could do. He would wake up or he wouldn't. With the man's face cleaned up, Debbie could make a guess about his age. She figured him to be about her generation, maybe a few years older. His body spanned the length of the three person couch, broad shoulders and the thick back of a man who worked a hard life making him nearly as wide. His dark beard was speckled with gray and his face bore the lines of worry, wrinkles between his dark eyebrows speaking volumes. Debbie cleaned his hands, gently washing dried blood from busted knuckles. At least he got a few hits in before whoever it was knocked him out. She wondered why they hadn't killed him.

"He's awake." Sera sat cross legged on the floor near their mysterious newcomer, ever the curious sentinel.

Ridley smiled, hoping not to alarm the man when he awoke. "Sera, maybe you should step back."

She ignored him, never looking away from their guest. "You don't need to worry."

Ridley wondered if she were speaking to him or the man on the floor. As usual, she was correct. The man calmly propped himself into a sitting position, slowly taking in the room. His eyes reached Sera's, lingering there a moment before turning to Ridley. His hand explored the injury on his head, seemingly satisfied in what he found. He let out a long breath, now inspecting his hands and again looking at Ridley.

"Thank you." The linger of a Boston accent padded his low voice. He gradually found his footing, standing and offering a hand.

Ridley accepted. "Ridley. This is Sera, and Debbie."

"Sera, Debbie." He acknowledged each with a nod. "Call me Jones."

"Jones." Ridley gestured to the table. "I'm sure you're hungry. Sit down."

Debbie hovered near the sink, eyes flitting from the window to Jones. Her guard was up. Sera followed the men to the table, veering around to stand near her mother. Debbie relaxed, finding comfort in her daughter's proximity. There was nothing this man could do with Sera's attentive stare on him. Debbie arranged the hodgepodge of dishes on the tiny round wooden table. One bowl, one plate, two coffee mugs and several forks completed the set. They had one large pot, almost always containing stew. Using one of the coffee cups, she ladled broth and meat into a bowl before sliding it to their guest. No one else ate, waiting in that uncomfortable manner, the way one tries not to stare at someone eating when they aren't.

Slurping the last drops of broth from his dish, Jones replaced the bowl and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I haven't had a warm meal in so long. You don't know how much I needed that. Thank you Debbie." His dark eyes reflected genuine gratitude and Debbie unruffled a little more.

"You're welcome. We don't get too many visitors these days." A smile broke the tension and the room laughed, an all too uncommon sound these days.

"I would imagine not." He pulled a pouch of tobacco and a paper leaf from his pocket.

"If you wouldn't mind, can you smoke near the door?" Debbie politely gestured to Sera. "She's still a kid."

"Absolutely." Jones finished twisting the paper and moved his chair to the entryway, propping open the cabin's warped door. In a five hundred square foot building, he didn't think the distance of four feet was much, unsure why she hadn't asked him to step outside. He abided by her request out of respect none the less.

Ridley watched the smoke drift to the ceiling, finding an exit and swirling out with the breeze. "So, the obvious elephant in the room. What were you doing in the middle of the forest, half beat to death? If you don't mind me asking of course."

Jones expelled another smoke cloud, enjoying the delicious after meal flavor of the tobacco. "Well." He drew the word out, taking another drag. "My comrades and I, well, let's just say we came to a difference of opinion. You know what's going on out there don't you? Shit hit the proverbial fan. That Governor is a lunatic. These NIDs." He shook his head. "The whole world's brainless."

Ridley instantly remembered the bums in the city the last night they were there. "We've been out here for longer than the newspaper subscription lasted. Honestly, we have little to no idea what is going on."

"You're shitting me." Jones slapped his knee. "Wow. Yeah. It's all gone to hell. There isn't a paper anymore, or news broadcasts, or any of that. After those warehouses blew. Wait, you heard about that right?"

Ridley hid a grimace. "Yeah. I heard about that."

"All right then. So, yeah, after those crazy rebels blew them all to bits, General Styph went nuts. He started taking prisoners, torturing people for information. I don't know what the big deal was. We all figured they just used homemade bombs, you know? The general didn't buy that. I guess he found some young chick who told him all about the rebel camps and how they were training people to use their thoughts to, you know, mess shit up. I guess she was one of the ones that could do it. Supposedly they kept her there until the general saw it with his own eyes, until they broke her, you know. That's when the bastard came up with his brilliant idea. They said it took sixteen seconds, this thought weapon shit, so he decided not to let anyone have that much time. He spent all his time and all of the country's money on this device, the NID. They started taking people like the Nazis did, rounding everyone up and putting them in these hospitals. They cut open your brain man. They put that shit right in there, and then bam. It's all over. You can only get to eight seconds before this shit goes off. It's rigged right into the nervous system. The FDA would have had a hay day with this back when they gave a fuck, but now it's all dandy. Just shove this little module into everyone's heads and then they can't think. If they try, they get shocked and some internal pulsing beeping noise goes off. That's what I've heard. I've seen some shit man. I've seen people try and cut them out. It doesn't go well, if you know what I mean."

Ridley raised an eyebrow, looking at Sera. "I know what you mean."

Jones got the hint, nodding and continuing, still not completely appropriate. "Anyways, yeah. You can't get it out. It kills you to try. The thing doesn't run off batteries. It's not connected to some system you can shut down. The shit runs off of you, your energy. Carbon energy or something like that. Some pocket protector stooge tried explaining it to me once. He isn't around anymore. He talked a lot. General Styph doesn't like talkers. So that's it. The whole country man, wasted. It's like everyone is on some bad acid trip, mumbling and blundering through the day. People still go to work. They still have families and shit. It's just not right. It's like one of those video games where all the people are being controlled by someone else. I can't remember what they're called. Simulated some shit something. It doesn't matter. No one does anything but what they're supposed to." His cigarette expired and he tossed it onto the welcome mat sized concrete slab that rose up to the doorway.

"How did you get out?" Debbie found herself caught up in his story. He spoke with a commanding presence, his accent a pleasant diversity on this side of the country.

"There were five of us. We took what we could carry and we split. We were all laboring at the plant on the outskirts, you know, the one past the old veterans memorial? When we heard about the busses coming the next day, we tore the hell out of there. A lot of us did. My group made it. We weren't the majority. They must have expected it. They had guards posted on street corners. We knew they would. We took the old tunnels under the plant to the sewers and all the way out to the river. It was a hell of disgusting trip but we made it when so many didn't. So we just kept wandering, collecting whatever information or supplies we could get and trying to stay alive. See, they mark you when they put in the NID." He slid his sleeve up his arm, showing the green S tattooed on his wrist.

"Wait." Debbie blinked at the man. "If you have one, how are you...?"

His laughter interrupted her inquiry. "That's the kicker. I don't. One of our guys, well he was a tattoo artist before all this shit. He made a little gun, old CD player motor and some crazy shit. Did us all up. It helps if you're in the cities. They don't give a damn about you if you're marked. You're not a threat any longer. Unfortunately, he died two months ago. They caught him giving these two little kids tats so they wouldn't be taken in for the implant. It's so much worse on the kids. They can't begin to control their thoughts enough to stop it from going off. I would venture to say they probably get toasted more than anyone else. These kids, their mother begged him to help her. He was always a sucker for the chicks. Oh well. So that brings you about current on our modern society, I'd say."

"You're saying that everyone who didn't get out ended up like this? Like some kind of ridiculous science fiction?" Debbie's mind raced at the thought that it couldn't.

"Yep. Zombies. Might as well be. There's your real horror story. Just regular people, tore down to mindless walking corpses. Scary shit." Jones began his task of rolling another smoke. "Honestly, I don't believe in any of it. I think this General Styph is a power hungry douche bag nut case. There's no such thing as telekinesis. I think the whole deal was a ploy so he could make everyone docile and harmless. It's really sick, if you think about it. A grown ass man afraid of people's thoughts."

Ridley was aware of the grin inching up Sera's cheek. He felt the urge to laugh himself. "So how did you end up here?" He changed the subject, gathering enough from Jones's story to feel responsible for the entire mess and guilty as a stanch Catholic.

Jones cleared his throat, a gravely smoker's rumble proceeding his words. "We came up here to get away after they whacked Barnes for that tattoo shit. We figured they'd catch on to us after that. One of the guys who came with us was sort of an outsider. We weren't all chummy at work like the other guys were. He was big and he grew up in Alaska. We thought it would be wise to have someone who could hunt, or fish, or at least point us in the right direction. We were starving. There's no food to be had these days if you can't steal it. We had nothing left for supplies. I sort of figured we'd all get eaten by bears or something. That would have been better. The guys just started losing it. Food was a battle and there were four of us. There was never enough. Small arguments turned into fist fights. We decided to split up, hoping it would be easier to feed just one person and less conspicuous if anyone went back to town. Well, this other guy, the Alaskan guy, had other ideas. That night when we made our last camp together, he split with all of our supplies. Well, we thought it would be a brilliant idea to go find him and waste the energy we couldn't replace. We found him all right. Worst idea ever. I told you he was a big guy right? That's putting it lightly. He was waiting for us. For the girl's sake, I'll just say he beat the hell out of our skinny starving asses and left. Well go figure, as I'm laying there bleeding out of my ears, who comes along but government peons in a big ass Hummer. I barely got away, and only by luck. I thought I'd be clever and roll my debilitated ass behind a boulder. Well, the boulder was the top of a ravine, and off I went. I must have rolled twenty times over before I hit my head on something and blacked out. As stupid as it was, it kept me alive. I don't know what happened to the others. I assume they were taken or left for dead. They didn't pursue me. They must have thought I bit it falling down that cliff. Then you found me, and now we're here." The color had finally returned to his face, warmth lighting his cheeks with roses. He stubbed his smoke out on the concrete again. "So what about you? I'm sure this isn't the vacation cabin you chose for summer break."

Ridley chuckled, shaking his head. "No, it certainly isn't."

"Didn't figure." Jones grinned, showing the stains of his habit on his teeth. "I showed you mine. Your turn."

"Jones, you wouldn't believe me if I told you." Ridley sighed, finding it ironic that the man already knew most of his story without having a face or a name, and thought it ludicrous.

"I don't know man. I've seen a lot of shit I never thought I would."

"Here." Sera was suddenly at his side. "Then I will show you something else."
Chapter 17

Metal hooks sang like wind chimes as Penny slid the curtains back. Roland expected to find any number of horrific devices hiding in the rear of the small home clinic, but not an old bathtub. Bronze claw feet molded like bird talons held the white ceramic tub off the floor. It stood empty, clean except for the permanent ring where the water line sat once for far too long. Beside the bath was another cot, this one an actual paramedic unit with legs and wheels. Penny found an old ambulance at the end of the last summer, winding up with quite a few things she desperately needed. A hose ran under the tub, one end sitting in the vacant bath. The other end Penny attached to the Laundromat size wash sink and turned on the water that ran down from a small catch tank on the roof. The tub filled slowly. Roland watched with anxious eyes as Penny produced a black bag with a handle from behind the desk. Voices approached the door, the two men Roland recognized from his first meeting with the doctor entered, quickly quieting their chatter.

"Right on time." Penny greeted her friends. "Thank you for helping us with this."

Chassis clapped his bear paw of a hand on Roland's shoulder. "No prob Doc. Least we can do for all you do around here."

"You keep the cars going. I'll take care of the people." They laughed a comfortable laugh, the sound of old friends who truly appreciated one another.

"How bout you?" The mechanic released his hold on Roland. "You ready to do this?"

Roland swallowed a bout of anxiety. "Absolutely."

"So the Doc clued you in?"

Roland nodded. "For the most part."

"Just don't think about it." Chassis couldn't reel it back in, immediately recognizing the foolishness of his advice and nervously running his catcher's mitt of a hand through thinning red hair.

"I think I can handle that." Roland smiled, growing more at ease with the bear of a man. His intentions were sound and he came across as an authentic, compassionate person. Roland was surprised he could still distinguish what that meant.

The tub was full. Penny turned the faucet off. Humor fled the room, leaving an opening for the grave silence that fell. Eric said nothing, taking his place at the head of the bath. Roland stripped down to his jeans, carefully folding up his shirt and setting it on his boot. The ritualistic act kept up the notion that he'd be putting it back on. The warm air on his back was a double edged reminder. He was alive and determined to stay that way through this. He took a deep breath, fighting a thousand thoughts that nipped at his ankles as he ran from them. They wouldn't ensnare him now. This was a practiced policy. He'd conditioned himself to control it, and he would remain in command. He walked the ten steps to the curtained partition of the room with lead for legs, leaning the crutch against the cot.

Penny's soft smile surrounded him as she offered comfort. "Try not to struggle. Don't fight it. Everything will be all right Roland. I will do all that is in my power to bring you through this. Don't focus on any one thing but don't let go of yourself. Stay here. Stay with us. I will bring you back. Remember, try not to swallow the water. Your body will fight whether you want to or not. The longer the blood is deprived of oxygen, the more powerful the desire to breath will become. Do your best Roland. That is all you can do. It only has to be enough time for your heart to stop. Above all else, do not think about it. Do not set off the device while you are under. The results are catastrophic."

The sound of the door spun all four heads around.

"Hey. Do you have a second?" C closed the door on Lyrique, earning a whine from the hallway.

"Sweetie, I told you it would be all right if you didn't want to be here." Penny gently reiterated her offer.

C shrugged. "I brought him here. I feel like I should hang." She carried an old army medic bag at her side. Setting it on the bed next to Roland, she removed a notebook and a pen. "If you want, you can use it."

Roland appeared confused. "Use it? For what?" It hit him hard. "Oh."

"Yeah. I just figured. I don't know. Sometimes people want to leave a letter or something. In case there is something they didn't get to say, or someone they were looking for and didn't find." Her hand brushed over a bundle of lined and plain paper stashed in the front pouch of the bag, words overrunning tattered pages.

He opted not to ask about it, not wanting to hear that they were all letters. There weren't that many people in the camp total. "I'm all right. I've got nothing left to say."

She accepted his response, hiding the quick pang of dejection his words incited, and tucking the notebook away. "Fair enough. I'm sorry if I upset you. It's just one of those things. If I don't ask, I don't know."

"No harm." His hand brushed hers accidentally as he ran his fingers over the faded wording on her bag.

She didn't pull away; rather she lifted his hand and held it between hers. "If you want me to stay, I will." The threat of tears singed the corner of her eyes.

"If it hurts you, I don't want you here." He surprised himself with his insight, wondering how the words formed without him thinking about it.

Another shrug, this one weak, tried to hold up her façade. "It scares me."

"Me too." His words hit home.

Her grip on his hand tightened. "I'll stay."

"Thank you." He regretfully freed his hand and stepped into the tub without looking at her again.

"We're ready when you are Roland." Penny managed to keep her countenance clean of doubt, showing only confidence and concern.

He lay back into the cool water, letting the liquid engulf him and watching the dirt float to the surface from his pants. He leaned back against the slant of the tub until his head connected with the solid ceramic. Chassis stood halfway between his head and his feet, sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Eric, still without a word, waited on Penny's right for her command, a baseball cap turned backwards over his barren head. Penny stood above Roland, her black bag at the ready beside her. C stayed at the foot of the tub, shushing Lyrique as she scratched to get in from the hall. Roland focused on his breathing, letting go of the tension that curled his shoulders and closing his eyes.

"I'm ready."

"All right Roland, just relax. Let yourself slip under the water. Accept it. Know we are right here, no matter how far away you may feel. Just stay with us." Penny continued cooing and soothing, but it was lost.

Roland sunk beneath the surface, keeping the air in his lungs until he could no longer stand it and the burning was too intense. All that wonderfully peaceful talk about relaxing and letting it happen was so far away it might as well have been childhood cartoons for the distant happiness it could bring him. His brain screamed at him. _Breath. What are you doing? Get up. Breath_. His lungs erupted in fire, the claws of a thousand tiny rodents tearing into the lining. His body thrashed in the water but steel arms held him down. He struggled against them, kicking and flailing at the oppression. Chassis didn't budge, firmly holding Roland at the bottom of the bath. Eric prevented his arms from getting a hold of the sides of the tub and Penny monitored it all; the breathing, the strength of the fight still in him. Her position held the most responsibility. It was her call when it had been long enough. She'd made mistakes before in both directions. Some resulted in a do over and others in death. If the timing wasn't perfect, the brain would die without oxygen or even worse, survive with severe damage. If she let him go too long, there would be no coming back. Suddenly the thrashing stopped. Roland's body went shock still, resting below the surface under Chassis's hands. C remained several feet away, wringing her hands like a child waiting on an angry parent's reply. Penny counted in her head, trying to stop her hands from shaking.

"Okay now. Pull him out now."

Chassis scooped a giant arm beneath Roland's waist, bringing him to the surface and lifting him out of the tub to the stretcher beside it. Penny was already there, hand held respirator at the ready. She tilted his head back and put her head against his chest. No heart beat below the surface. She had only moments. Placing her palm over his heart, Penny began to manually simulate the organ's responsibilities, attempting to wake it up. Pump the heart, work the respirator. His lungs filled and she gently pushed again, his chest falling back without response. Again she worked the heart and again the air. Still he lay on the stretcher, skin pale and blue, wet hair matted over his forehead. Penny's hands trembled beyond her control. It had been too long. Another effort, she pushed harder this time, squeezing the oxygen into his lungs. Chassis stood behind her, his worry palpable. C closed her eyes, feeling the tears coming on. Penny worked harder, frantically debating with death over the condition of this body, losing point after point.

"Goddammit." Her fists came down on Roland's chest with a wet slap. "I told you to stay here. Roland, I know you can hear me. Stay with us." She was openly crying now, hot saline dropping onto the body below her. "Dammit." She spun away, knocking her bag to the floor in desperation.

"Penny, you..."

"Wait!" C interrupted Eric, hastening to Roland's side.

The tiniest of gasps escaped his throat. Penny snapped out of her despair and tried once again to force his heart to beat. Blue lips parted, water rushing from between them. Penny tipped his head, rolling him on his side. His shoulders rattled and shook with a fit, a rush of fluid exiting his lungs onto the sheet. With that breath, the doctor in Penny was alive again. She clapped him hard on the back, forcing the rest of the water free and sitting him up to be sure. She pushed the wet hair out of his eyes, finding radiant green orbs that looked on her like the face of salvation. Roland was alive, and she would sleep tonight with only the ghosts she already knew. Her bed wasn't big enough for another.
Chapter 18

It was Sera who made the decision to return.

"What is the point of anything we've done if we just sit here now and wait for them to eventually find us?" Debbie paced the tiny cabin, occasionally stirring the stew that cooked on the stove.

"I know what you mean, but what are we supposed to do? Stride right into the city and demand to speak to the general? Tell them who we are and what we've done? Debbie, they'll shoot us on sight."

"So it's better to rot here? It's better to spend every day waiting, worrying that today will be it? That today they'll finally find us? Is that what it comes down to?" Her voice waivered, on the breaking point.

"Debbie I just, I..." Ridley dropped his head into his hands, rubbing viciously at his temples as if the solution could be forced out of his brain. "I don't know what to do. We've been here so long, I know it feels like desolation. I only wanted to keep you, to keep Sera, safe. Maybe that wasn't the right idea. Maybe I've been wrong all along."

Long thin fingers stretched over his shoulder, gently bending into a comforting grasp and squeezing. "Ridley, this is not your fault. You've kept us out of danger. You've given me the time I needed. Now it's time to go." Sera pulled her hand back, tucking it into the pocket of her jeans. Still a child in the eyes of society, her limbs were gangly and disproportioned in the fashion that would raise a question of her true age, as would the manner she delivered her words; with poise most adults never mastered.

Ridley looked up into her wide cerulean eyes, seeing a serenity he would never know. If Sera wished to lead, he would follow. He would gladly relinquish control to someone else at this point. If he hadn't been in charge, none of this would have happened. He tortured himself over it, day and night. Even his dreams attacked him with the burning faces of those he'd sent to their death. The warehouses, those soldiers; Charley Sinch. He did all of this. He didn't deserve to lead. He would make no more decisions unless he had no other choice.

"If you're sure that is what you want, we can go back."

Sera sighed, another adult habit she'd picked up. "Ridley, you're no good to anyone if you destroy yourself."

Debbie stared at her daughter, surrounded in every direction by the end of the world yet not afraid in the slightest. She'd like to think it came from her somehow, the strength. It didn't though, and she knew it. It was Sera's alone. She'd brought this grace with her into the world. She'd maneuvered through absolute insanity with more wits about her than a collective of intellectuals on a good day. Now she stood here in a cabin in the middle of the forest surrounded by a country full of zombies, telling this man what needed to be done; teaching others how to live. Awe and trepidation tangoed in Debbie's brain. While it was her flesh and blood standing there, Sera was unforgettably her own in a way her mother didn't understand. By the design of human nature, we fear what we do not comprehend. In this light, Sera was absolutely terrifying, but Debbie loved her more than life.

Ridley stood, mussing up the girl's hair and grinning because he knew she detested it. "How'd you get to be so smart?"

Sera smiled graciously. "I had great teachers." They never spoke of Alison, accepting the loss with a hushed sadness.

"Jones has been gone a while." Debbie changed the subject and swallowed the lump in her throat. She'd loved Alison; maybe like a sister, maybe more than that. She'd never know now what might have become, only that she missed her.

"He went fishing. He likes it. I hate it. I'll let him have it." Ridley felt his sour mood fading to the background, attributing it to Sera's keen nature. "I don't know if he will come with us, especially now that we scared the hell out of him. At least he knows it's true. If he wants to stay, that is his decision."

Debbie agreed. "He's a good guy. I'm sure there are a few things he's lost in all of this that might be worth fighting for. We can give him the option." She thought of the ring she'd noticed on Jones's finger and wondered about the woman who shared its mate; so much sorrow in so many forms. If she gave it room, it would fill her heart to the point of bursting. She swallowed the ache, letting it ferment into the strength she needed to be brave.

"So do you just plan on hiking out of here, Sera dear?" Ridley joked with the girl.

She looked up from the patch she sewed onto her pants. "No silly. We're going to hitchhike."

Ridley chuckled nervously. While he should think she was only joking, something in her eyes told him she wasn't. "Well, let's pack up tonight and leave first thing in the morning. I want a full day to start with, just to be safe. Just in case no one picks us up."

Sera raised an eyebrow. "Trust me. They will."

### ***

The last time they'd trekked these woods the ground was white and saturated. Now the earth was brown with rich tones of fertile black that fed towering trees and an undergrowth of rampant foliage. Spiders constructed diamond shaped high rises from one branch to the next, tiny filaments of web glinting in the sunlight that penetrated the canopy. Jones eagerly jumped on the idea. He was simple. If there was a point to it, it was worth it. If someone helped you, you returned the favor. He had nothing, just as they did. Besides, he'd said, they needed some muscle. Sera's reply was in the form of a dirty look and he retracted his statement, replacing it with something about how great his jokes were. They'd take it, jokes or muscle. Four was better than three. Thankfully they had little Sera Rais.

The convoy crested the hill, coming down the dirt road fast and right towards them. Ridley counted three engines, waiting for a straggler. There were only three. That was good. They crouched behind the blackberry bushes that lined the ditch, waiting. Sera had made Ridley promise he wouldn't try to stop her and that he wouldn't ask what she meant by that. Against his better judgment, he agreed. The trucks bridged the gap, close enough to make out their insignia now. Sera pointed at Ridley and then put her hand up flat with her palm towards him.

"Stay here until they're all out."

Her words raised the hair on his neck. Debbie caught his eye and shook her head, keeping her gaze down. He admired her faith in her daughter. Scared as she was, she fully trusted that Sera knew what she was doing. Jones found it all too amusing. He considered Sera a superhero or maybe one of those mutants they made all those movies about; he couldn't remember what they'd called them. Either way, he'd seen her chuck a boulder from the top of a hill across the river. There was no need in his mind to worry about a girl like that; didn't matter how young she was.

Sera stepped out from behind the bushes, purposeful strides taking her to the center of the road where she stopped and stood, facing the advancing procession. Ridley imagined the look on the men's faces, this skinny lanky blonde girl in torn denims and an old high school baseball jacket facing down three full size military Hummers. Those expressions of amusement and disbelief would soon be different masks entirely. Sera let the tentacles of her mind reach out, wrapping around the front axle of the first vehicle. She began counting, timing it with the distance between them. Sixteen. The front end of the Hummer jolted off the ground, the imaginary hand of a giant lifting hood over rear, flipping the machine like a child's toy in a hundred and eighty degree turn before dropping it on the roof. A cloud of dust rose from the impact, showering Sera with dirt and pebbles. She calmly brushed her eyes clear. The second vehicle had no time to stop and plowed into the wreckage. Metal cried out in agony. Glass shattered with a deafening crash. The impact sparked the gas that now leaked from the crushed tank. Ignoring the injured men spilling from the windows of the upside down truck, Sera was already on the third. The weight of her mind pressed the brake pedal to the floor and simultaneously yanked the emergency lever straight up. The tires slid in the soft dirt, propelling the driver into the ditch. Fire engulfed the first Hummer now, men running and screaming from the crumpled tangled wreck. All four doors flew open on the third vessel of the convoy, Sera now focused on the only vehicle intact. The men inside sat petrified, either unable or uncaring to remember their weapons.

"Get out."

Never in history have three grown men moved so quickly at the demand of a preteen girl. They clumsily unbuckled, toppling into the bushes from their open doors and climbing to their feet. They ran like the devil rode a winged army of gnashing demons at their backs, disappearing into the forest. The twisted remnants of the two Hummers both burned now, smoke signaling high into the air. They had to move fast before it attracted company.

"Now. Let's go." Sera called to her comrades.

Ridley took Debbie's hand and helped her up through the brambles. Jones met them at the Hummer, jumping in the back seat with a whooping war cry. Ridley let Debbie take the seat behind the passenger, behind Sera. Ridley slammed his door, looking over his shoulder to make sure everyone was situated before grinding the shifter into reverse and gunning the engine. The vehicle climbed out of the ditch, righting itself and finding grip on the dirt road once again. Ridley stomped the gas, speeding them away from the scene. They flew over another hill so fast the tires left the earth briefly, the wreckage no longer visible until an explosion shook the forest. Ridley glanced in the rearview to see a mushroom cloud of black smoke rising behind them. If Sera wanted attention, she would have it now.

"So, where are we going?" Jones leaned his bearded face between the front seats.

"I don't know." Ridley glanced at Sera. "Where are we going?"

Sera played with their curiosity, drawing out her answer. "Well, there is one man who is responsible for this right?"

Jones grinned. "Yeah. That bastard General Styph." His enthusiasm grew.

"So, if we can get to him, then the rest of it will fall, correct?" Sera directed her query to Ridley this time.

Ridley hesitated, afraid to lend another hand to the demise of a friend. She was right though, and he couldn't argue it. "I believe that is correct."

"So, let's find him."

"Sera they won't just let us walk up to the building and ring the bell. They're not going to let us anywhere near him." Ridley worried over what she would suggest next.

She seemed to think about it for a minute, eyes fixed on the front windshield, squinting against the morning sun. "What if I have something he might want?"

Debbie closed her eyes, slouching lower into the seat. She couldn't stand the thought of Sera even approaching such a man. She was her baby girl, no matter how many Hummers she destroyed or men she sent screaming into the arms of their mothers. As strong as her urge to deny Sera this request, her heart knew it was what had to be done. She would give her life for Sera's, but she refused to let Sera relinquish her own; greater good or not. Without her, Debbie had no purpose. Without her, there was no reason to fight.

As if she could hear her thoughts, Sera turned in her seat to face the back. "Mom, please don't worry about me. I know what has to be done, and I've known for a long time. I'm the only one who can stop this. I have to help. This is why I'm here."

Chills ran up Debbie's arms and across her neck. Could she read her mind too? It wouldn't be much of a surprise. "I love you, Sera Lynn. I'm right here with you until it's over." She was proud of herself. The words came out stronger than she felt.

The rest of the drive was silent. The interstate leading into the city was all but empty. No one could afford to drive anymore, not with gas rates over twenty dollars per gallon. The general reopened all the oil fields in Alaska, nature preserves be damned. They were no longer able to get oil from other countries. They refused to do any trade with the former US, terrified it would be a trap. Eventually Canada denied access across the country, destroying the pipe line from Alaska as fast as they rebuilt it. Rumors flew over continents about the NIDs. Some thought they would soon move to take over the surrounding countries, inciting Canada and Mexico to man their borders. Resources would no longer come from an outside source. Crops dried up. Farms were taken by the government and run only to feed the soldiers and staff. Supermarkets were the equivalent of Neiman Marcus. You didn't step foot inside without a massive bank account or a pocket lined with hundred dollar bills. A loaf of bread skyrocketed to over ten dollars. Milk was a luxury. Most households ran off of dried goods, rice, noodles, and unprocessed grains. Without the ability to maintain continued thought, hunting was out of the question. Men tried, ending up with nothing more than a raging migraine and an empty stomach.

The peaks of high rise buildings came into view beyond the river. They were less than a gallon of gas from the city. All off and on ramps were patrolled, guards stationed at every entrance and exit. Clouds of noxious smoke billowed up from the power plant adjacent to the river. The general paid no concern to pollution. There were no agencies left that could stop him. Without power, his hospitals couldn't function and his military bases were susceptible to attack. His own home, his fortress constructed in the old city hall, sat smack in the center of downtown. There was no way to approach it without being seen. Pulling up at the front steps in a stolen government vehicle would assure their certain death.

Ridley lightened his foot on the gas pedal letting the vehicle slow down, biding his time. "How do you propose we do this Sera?" His hands sweated on the steering wheel.

Sera shrugged, an all too normal gesture for the situation they were in. "They will stop us at the off ramp. When they do, let me talk to them. Please, just trust me."

Ridley nodded, making eye contact in the rear view mirror with Jones, who simply nodded back, a wild grin nestled comfortably in the reddish mess of his facial hair. Debbie was pale, staring out her window at the passing river. Her concern played with the lines around her eyes and the corners of her mouth, setting them in firm concentration. She would not let her mind run away with her. She would be coherent and see this through. A bullet riddled sign informed them that the exit would be coming up quickly. The sweat leaked full force from Ridley's palms now, forcing him to wipe his hands on his pants to maintain a hold of the wheel. The road bent with the path of the water it paralleled, guiding them to the right. They could see the off ramp now. Two more Hummers sat on either side, one facing the city and the other pointed in the opposite direction. Four men milled about, smoking cigarettes and bullshitting, shoving one another around as if they were out front of their favorite pub. When they noticed the oncoming vehicle, postures straightened and soldiers manned their positions, leaving the antics of little boys for unsupervised time.

Ridley slowed to forty five, veering onto the ramp that would lead them into enemy territory. "All right Sera. It's your game now." Taking a deep breath, he accepted the absolute possibility that he may be dead before midday.

They sided up to the first Hummer, watching the men's faces go from recognition of their fellow comrades to confusion. These were not soldiers in the vehicle. In fact, the passenger looked like a teenage girl. Uncertainty bounced through the men, bringing their weapons to their shoulders. The man at the lead put his hand up for them to stop, apparently uncaring that they already were. The men circled the vehicle, posting up at the front and rear, guns trained on the occupants.

"Keep your hands where I can see them." He barked the order at Ridley, pointing the barrel of his rifle at the driver's head and staying several paces from the door.

Debbie and Jones raised their hands, holding them above their shoulders. Ridley kept his above the wheel and Sera placed hers on the dash. The other soldiers closed the distance on the back doors, standing with guns aimed at the windows now. The man at Ridley's door appeared to be in charge, using hand gestures to tighten his crew's circle around the Hummer. One man pulled out a radio and began to report to base. With a sharp crackle of static, the unit went dead. The man looked puzzled, clicking the button repeatedly in hopes it connected.

Sera smiled slowly, catching the leader's eye. The man shook noticeably when her watery blue stare locked on him. "I would like you to take us to the general. I have something important to show him." Ice cold words did not match the cherub face.

The man hesitated. "Our orders are to bring in any civilians found entering the city, unless they're hostile. Then we were told to shoot on sight." He paused, trying to ascertain whether or not the mere possession of the government vehicle would be considered hostile. They had no weapons. They couldn't have possible commandeered this rig from armed men.

Sera waited for him to process his discovery before pushing him farther. "If you don't take us right now, your comrade to my right is going to shoot you in the leg."

The man scoffed. "Is that right?" He wrinkled his nose, nodding his head at Ridley. "You always let little girls speak for you?"

Ridley couldn't stop the grin. "I trust her judgment. I suggest you do the same."

"Is that a threat?" He applied pressure to the trigger to demonstrate his authority.

"No. It's the truth." Sera now looked away, eyes fixed on the soldier beside her window, his gun rising above the hood and redirecting its line of sight.

"What the hell." The other soldier's face flushed with panic. "Man I can't stop it." His arms began to shake as he struggled to reposition the weapon.

"Stop fucking around. Get that gun off of me before I take your head off."

"I can't. I can't move it." Out of frustration, he let go.

The gun did not fall, hovering in the air still fixed on the leader. Fingers gripped triggers like a life vest in a flood. They did not understand. They'd never seen anything like this before. Men stepped back, warily watching Sera now as the gun floated freely.

"Once again, I am going to ask you to take us to the general or I will shoot you where you stand."

His gun was no longer aimed at Ridley, but shakily directed at Sera. "What the hell is going on? Do you think I won't kill you because you're a child?"

Sera's eye brows lowered, half a smirk on the corner of her mouth. "You're not going to do anything other than what you're told." The groan of bending metal scared the gun right from his hands. As it hit the ground, the men watched the barrel bend, forcing the end of the firearm into a U shape. One by one, the other weapons followed suit, curling back to point at their owners, falling from petrified hands onto the road.

Jones let out a torrent of laughter as the men dropped their guns and backtracked to their vehicles. "Not so tough now huh?"

Ridley watched Sera, amazed by her calm. The once brave leader of the team stood with his tail between his legs, broken, awaiting orders now. His companions inched closer to their exit points, trying to reach the Hummers as inconspicuously as possible. The first man reached the driver's side door just in time for the two front wheels to fall off, dropping the vehicle to the pavement, no longer operable. Lug nuts clattered across the ground as they rolled away. With one route of escape left, two of the men took off running towards the river. Suddenly, the leader stood outnumbered, defenseless against a power he didn't understand. The general had been right all along. All this talk of what sounded like magic and hoopla to him had all been true.

"Whatever you want. Just don't kill me." His arms went up, mimicking the gesture he'd demanded of them.

"Good. Now both of you, take off your clothes."

Ridley's mouth fell slack, suddenly realizing her plan. He popped open the door and stepped out, waving a hand for Jones to do the same. The soldiers stripped, uniforms and boots set beside them as they stood in boxer shorts in the middle of the off ramp. Luckily there was no other traffic to witness Ridley and Jones don the military ensemble. Jones was a bit larger than the biggest man, finding the sleeves to be short on him and the pants to hang just above his boots. He rolled up the cuffs of the button up. There was nothing he could do about the pants. Debbie watched, keeping her eyes on the road behind them as well. Sera traded her position as passenger for a place in the back beside her mom, leaving the front seats for their new captors.

"What do we do about the other trucks? We can't just leave them here." Debbie scanned the underpass again, still finding no one.

"Dump em in the river." Jones laughed. "Why the hell not?"

With Ridley's help, Sera sent the Hummers to their underwater parking garage, one at a time. Massive bubbles glugged to the surface as the roof sunk out of view on the second truck. The remaining soldiers waited, frozen with awe, wondering if they would survive this. The eight miles remaining between the off ramp and downtown would allow them adequate distance to lose the men. They would never make it in time to warn the general, unless another convoy happened to pick them up in the next twenty minutes. Ridley doubted it. The roads were so quiet; they wouldn't waste the extra patrol on an area they already thought to be covered. Without their radios, communication was lapse. At that moment, Ridley knew it would be their only chance. With zip ties loosely fastened around their wrists, Sera and Debbie played the role of prisoners. In their new uniforms, Ridley and Jones were the heroes who would bring these rebels to face justice.

A sheep in wolf's clothing, their Hummer blended into the traffic as they neared the city center. A check point sat between them and the general's base, armed men chatting up the returning drivers and waving them through. Ridley regulated his breathing, keeping his heart rate steady and his face a blank canvas. If they didn't pass through the checkpoint, they'd never get close enough again. While he'd taken some acting classes in college to earn elective credits, Ridley did not consider himself much of a performer. For a first audition, this was a lot of pressure.

They were the next vehicle through the line. The guard motioned for Ridley to roll the window down. "How's it going?"

He was an older man, mid fifties with silver hair and steel blue eyes. Ridley prayed this would work. "Goin all right. I think we may have found something worth the good General's attention." He thumbed towards the backseat. "Found them by the river trying to sneak into the city."

"Is that right?" The officer leaned closer, peering into the back seat. "Ladies." He tipped an imaginary hat. "And what makes them so interesting?"

This would be the determining factor. Ridley readied himself to deliver the line. "You ain't gonna believe me man. This girl is one of those, whatever the general is calling them. One of those freaks that can move shit. They're not tagged. He might want to see this for himself." Sweat teased his forehead beneath the cap. He waited for the man's reply; the difference between life and death.

The soldier stepped back two feet, nervous now. "Hang on one second boys." He radioed out, his words unintelligible from Ridley's distance. A few seconds later, he was walking back up to the car. "General Styph will see them. Good job men." A pseudo salute signaled them through the gates.

"Holy shit they bought it." Jones couldn't hide his excitement.

Sera leaned against her mother in the back seat, the picture of a scared young girl. "Of course they did. It's true."

Despite the certain doom ahead of them, they laughed, even Debbie. Guards surrounded the entrance of the building, armed and vigilant. They didn't need to hide anymore. The easiest lie ever told is a truth no one believes. News traveled from the gate to the guards at the front before they could. The men waved them into a space near the fountain, stepping back as they opened their doors. Ridley did his best to appear wary of Sera, guiding her from the truck with the pistol he'd found under the seat. Jones took the rifle that hung in the rear, following Debbie up the stairs and occasionally prodding her in the back for good measure.

A man met them at the door. "The general wants you to meet him in the library."

Ridley nodded, hoping not to blow his cover simply by getting lost. Thankfully, another officer led them in the right direction. Four men escorted them into the room, shutting the door and remaining inside. They feared Sera. It was flagrant. Fingers waivered near triggers and hands sat poised to radio backup if the need arose. They deposited their prisoners at a long wooden table, standing behind them like the sentries they pretended to be. No one moved. No one spoke. Only the buzzing of lazy flies broke the silence as they pinged off the high windows. Sunlight spilled down around them in square panels from above. The room smelled of musty paper and old printer ink, a faint tinge of sweat and smoke in the air.

Seconds turned to minutes, minutes into molasses. They waited, each bound up by their own thoughts, wondering, worrying, even praying to a god that long since abandoned them in disgust. The sound of boot heels neared the door, at least five men in the group. Ridley watched Sera compose herself, sitting up fully in the wooden chair and relaxing her hands behind her back. She exuded absolute calm.

Thick double doors swung open, the entryway a flare of uniforms and automatic weapons. Two men stood at either side of the man in front. His stance and demeanor gave him away. This was the man who single handedly ended civilization, still swatting flies away from his haggard face. Jones' fingers curled into his palms, his hands becoming fists that desired justice. He forced himself to relax. They'd come too far for him to go and blow it now.

The soldiers in the room saluted, standing at attention. The general's eyes moved from face to face, coming to rest on Sera. "So young to be the cause of so much trouble." He spoke to her now like she was a toddler, or a new puppy. "Do you know what you've done, child? This whole mess is your fault. You and the other freaks like you. Do you see what you've forced me to do?" He taunted her, trying to get a rise, thriving on the fear he instilled in others.

Sera would be his greatest disappointment. "No, I don't. I see what you did out of fear, but that is not by my hand. That is yours and yours alone to take to your grave."

His hand came down in a fist, slamming against the table. "See, this is what I mean." He preached to his men. "Unwilling to take responsibility for the mess they create. This is why they must be controlled. This power they wield makes them believe they do not need authority. We cannot have a country united with these rebels."

Sera waited for him to finish, a smile dancing on her lips. "You are a coward and that is all. The only way for a coward to become a leader is by taking the power away from everyone else. These men do not work for you. They are your slaves. This city does not respect you. They abide in fear, and that is all. You are no great man. You are just an overgrown child who doesn't know how to play with others."

The general's face was a mask of fury. Already an ugly man, the whites of his eyes yellowed with the early signs of liver failure from alcohol, this expression made him look every inch of the monster he was. His hand drew back, striking Sera across her cheek. While she did not budge, Ridley raged inside with the effort required not to jump the man right here and now; to pummel his face to mush and break his fingers so they would never hurt another. Jones bit almost clear through his thick bottom lip, reassuring himself that if Sera wanted the man hurt, he would undoubtedly feel her will.

"Such a mouth on such a young woman. We'll see how much you talk back once you've been through the hospital. A prime candidate for the NID. Hell, you could be the poster child." His men laughed, a conditioned response to their commander since the unit had already fallen victim to the devices themselves.

Sera rose to her feet, ushering the nose of every weapon to sniff her way. "General, there will be no more work in your facilities. As of today, there will be no more production of this evil device you so desperately need. As a matter of fact, there will be no more of this, at all. You are going to step down and release your hold on this city, or you will die."

Another swing, this time his hand missing her face as she drew back with the speed of a striking snake. Ridley knew that look. Slowly, soldiers turned towards one another, guns acting of their own accord. One man grabbed his head, hitting the ground with audible pain. He'd forgotten just long enough to stop thinking, earning a sharp discharge from the NID and rattling his brain. The other soldiers gazed on him, unsure whether or not Sera was responsible for his pain. The entire room stilled, an artist's mural, a depiction of when history changed course painted in gray and blue. Men struggled to regain control of their firearms, many incapable of thinking it through and fleeing the room instead. The table in front of Sera began to rise off the floor. The general's eyes were black orbs, unable to process what he was seeing. The one before, the girl he'd so easily broken, had no such strength in her abilities. This girl was not like the others. She was the incarnate of his dread and the epitome of what he sought to control. As his men's conviction waivered around him, his own security began to fade to black. His fortress and all of his men were not enough to stop her. The realization overwhelmed him. A dark wet blemish began to spread down the inside leg of his trousers.

"That's what I mean." Sera nodded to his now obvious fear, on display in the form of a piss stain. "You are just a coward. Nothing more."

Trying to recover his dignity, which would take more than a gun now, he shouted to the other men. "Radio for back up. I want every man here who isn't on patrol."

While Sera could have easily destroyed his radio, she let him have his false sense of security. The man would not walk out of this room alive, and she intended to make him gruelingly aware of this. "Call them. The more witnesses the better. You've taken away their minds, General. How do you expect them to help you now? Why would they? You've never done anything but abuse them. I'd venture to say they aren't too keen on keeping you alive."

Her words struck a nerve, playing on his need for domination. Eyes bouncing from Debbie to Sera and back again, he was cornered. Even if the doors burst open right now and bullets tore this room to shreds, he doubted it would stop Sera. He was positive she would kill him either way. He had no choice, out played and out of tricks.

"What do you want from me?"

Sera shrugged, her go to gesture these days. "I already told you. Step down. Leave the city. That isn't negotiable. That is your only option." She let the table crash to the floor, legs splintering off as it belly flopped into pieces.

The doors swung open, men pouring into the room. Ten, twenty, thirty men, one after another piled through the entrance surrounding Sera and the general. At least thirty sights fixed on the mother and daughter, Debbie still sitting, unable to move. Sera knew what could happen if she made a mistake here. There was no way she could stop all these men before one bullet reached them. She had no concern for herself, but they would not hurt her mother. That was not in the plan. This was her fight. The casualty, if any, would be hers. Making a fast decision, Sera changed the aim of the men's guns, as many as she could safely hold, directing them at the general's back.

She sat back down. "While I am certain one of these bullets will hit you, General, before the others obliterate me, I am not willing to endanger this woman beside me. She has nothing to do with this. She's only a traveler who happened to accompany the wrong person today. I have a solution which might benefit us all."

The general was listening, a fool's grin on his leathery face. In his mind, he'd still won. Standing in his urine saturated pants in front of a room full of his soldiers, he still believed in his power. "You're in no real position to bargain. You die, either way."

"Yes, but if you don't play by my rules, you die too."

She watched him register his predicament, taking in the fifteen high powered weapons she faced his way. He stared hard for a moment at Debbie, then at the two men who brought the women in. He seemed satisfied with his findings, looking back to Sera.

"What is it you want?"

"Simple. You ask your men to take her back to where they found us. Once they are gone, I will give these men back their guns. Then you and I can work out our differences."

Debbie fought back a wave of nausea. This wasn't happening. They were not about to leave Sera here with this monster. Shaking fingers gripped the sleeve of Sera's jacket, stinging salt in her eyes. "No." Her voice cracked.

Behind her, Jones gripped his rifle, waiting for the outcome. Ridley rioted inside. She'd known this would be the way all along. She'd put them here, knowing they couldn't say a word without endangering their lives. They were disguised as soldiers. They could not defend her without blowing their cover, and then they would all die. While every fiber of Ridley's being screamed at him to make a move, forget the façade, and take this man down even if it meant their lives, he could not. He promised not to interfere with her plan. He'd done his share of damage in this battle. If Sera wanted them to take Debbie and go, then he would do as she requested. Something in the back of Ridley's mind knew Sera never intended on walking out that door.

"Do we have a deal?" The faceted clarity in Sera's marble eyes held General Styph spellbound for a moment.

Debbie interrupted. "I can't let you do this. I don't care. I am not leaving you here."

" _Go with my love, mom. Your work isn't done yet."_ The words were not spoken aloud. Debbie's heart broke. There, inside her head, was her daughter's goodbye.

Debbie wasn't alone in her grief. Ridley heard her too, soft and soothing in his mind. Her words to him were different. _"Take care of my mother, Doctor Ridley. Don't let her forget how much I love her. Don't worry about me. This is the way it has to be."_

Before the general could react to Debbie's emotion, Sera took control. "I'll leave it up to your men if you cannot make a decision." She rose to her feet again, sending a wave of nervous back-stepping through the troops. "If you would like me to pull the triggers on your weapons now, you can hash out later who will actually be blamed and held responsible when your great leader falls at your hands. Or, you can escort these two men with this woman from the room and back to their vehicle. Once they are gone, I don't care what you do. You have my word that if you let them leave, I will let you live."

Even without the ability to think it through, the men didn't need to be told twice. Under the astounded eye of their General who found himself at a loss of command, the men began ushering Ridley, Jones, and Debbie to the door. Debbie sobbed, no longer composed, no longer caring. It took the force of both men to move her, her eyes on the face of her daughter. Sera did not cry. She did not waiver. Rather, she smiled with a light in her eyes that could only come from her heart. Jones glanced one last time at this young girl, a tip of his cap the only thing he could offer her on the way out. Ridley held Debbie's arm, another arm around her waist, and looked back at Sera. She still smiled, and something in him calmed. She was accepting of this. He had to be also. His throat tightened, a stinging reached the back of his nose and his jaw tensed. He would not cry. Not here anyway. His task now was to get Debbie away from this. That was the least he could do for this little girl, braver than any warrior, who'd taught him what true human spirit should be. The doors banged shut behind them, Debbie thrashing to turn around and go back, fighting and punching against Ridley in the hallway, striking out at Jones down the staircase, finally collapsing into a ball in the back seat of the Hummer and succumbing to wailing sobs. The sound was pure pain, complete and utter devastation of a heart.

He turned the engine over and started forward, clearing the first gate and accelerating. Inside his head again was her voice. _"Don't give up. Love is more powerful than death. It is the only way."_

The truck suddenly rattled, struck with the impact of a blast from behind them. Ridley swerved, almost running off the road. Regaining control, he spun his head to look behind him. Orange flames climbed towards the sky, wicked tongues rising to lick the heavens. A second explosion rocked them again, smaller but still deafening. Ridley focused numbly on the road ahead of him, his entire body cold. Debbie began to scream, over and over, calling Sera's name and cursing the god she'd long since given up on. Plumes of thick dark smoke spiraled into the air. Government vehicles flew past them at high speeds, heading the direction they'd come from. A hole opened up that day, a gaping, aching, tender cavity inside the heart that can never be healed. As they began their solemn journey out of the city, the loss of an irreplaceable love heavy on their minds, the first breath of the new end was born without a sound into the hands of a thoughtless nation.
PART TWO

### ***

Chapter 19

"I can't do this anymore."

"Babe, please, don't give up." Roland clutched at the edges of her fading image, the wisps of fog that encompassed her pulling her back into non existence.

His fingers reached for her, falling through the dissolving figure, coming back with only air.

"Please. I can't do this without you."

She was gone and he stood alone in the dream, knowing it wasn't real; knowing all he had to do was wake up. Roland's head rolled to face the ceiling, his pillow soaked from sweat and the water in his hair. A creeping brown stain dotted the far corner of the room. He stared at it, wondering if it were old or new; whether it was something they knew about. He pulled his thoughts back automatically, changing his focus to the window. Sunlight inched past the curtains, forming a square outline on the wooden floor. Her eyes burned through his mind, begging for the attention he'd been unable to give for so long. Like Catholic school girls, his thoughts had no intention of moderation now that they'd been set free. He closed his eyes, finding her still standing there, permanently affixed on the inside of his lids.

Unraveling himself from the sheets, Roland dropped his legs over the side of the mattress, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. His ankle argued with the sudden rush of blood, throbbing against it. He'd forgotten about the injury in light of other recent events. The sun slinked in retreat over the barn roof, heading towards the horizon as the afternoon cooled. He'd been asleep a few hours. His lungs still ached from the deprivation of air and the muscles in his neck refused to ease up, tensed and cramping. A threatening growl from his stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten since yesterday. Dry pants lay folded on the dresser. Freeing his belt from the balled up wet pile by the bedside, he dressed himself, cursing only twice as his ankle screamed consistently. Snatching the crutches from the floor, he righted himself and hobbled to the window to slide back the curtains.

When was the last time the world looked so beautiful? He didn't want to answer that. Pain hid within the splendor of that memory; not the jolting, electrical current that accompanied the NID either. This was his alone, buried in the outline her smile left on his heart. He felt his hands clench in anticipation and his muscles go rigid, awaiting the onslaught. It never came. It was gone, really and truly gone. Roland found the bed beneath him and sat back down, suddenly overwhelmed. The crutches fell loudly beside him. Seven years was a long time, long enough to forget what freedom felt like. His mind was his own once again. Nothing was going to cut in and end his memory. There was no pain waiting at the conclusion of a long thought. Happiness washed over him with the power of grief, lighting up the saline in his eyes and contracting his throat. He'd heard people speak of being so happy they could cry. Until this moment, he'd never quite understood it. Now, sitting in the afternoon sun that bounced across wooden roofing planks with the glow of amber, he knew absolute joy and unconditional misery. A million denied specimens of compulsory images rallied for the foreground in his mind. He held his head in his hands and let them come, let them do their dance and tip their hats before passing off the stage to the next contestant. So many faces flooded back, hurt, dying. Empty eyes and children's fingers reached for him, hungry, alone; inhuman, in the guise of innocent bodies with cannibal minds. Roland forced his eyes open, shaking his head until the show screeched to a halt. The realization hit him. He would still have to remain in control until he'd had time to properly sort out what he'd been stowing away. It would be nothing like before, but if he didn't keep a grip on things it could still hurt.

The sickly sweet smell of cigarette smoke floated through his open window. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a cigarette. Some things still light a fire under you. Some addictions never die. Drowning in the oversized plaid button up shirt left for him with the pants, he tied up his boot, scooped up the crutches and started for the door. He nearly collided with C as she rounded the corner from the stair case. For the first time, he saw her without fear of paying too much attention. Still unsure about her age, he would venture around thirty, but would never say it aloud in case he was wrong. She had one of those faces, her big round eyes childlike in nature, but the astute concentration of her focus nothing less than a grown woman. Her lips never spent much time together, usually parted in a smile that flashed straight white teeth. Her skin owned the color of summer, almost a golden brown covering her face and arms, the dark honey of her eyes flashing bright against tan cheeks. Her hair amused him, all twists and turns and beads and braids, auburn and brown with sun streaked highlights. Her nose was almost too small for her face, causing her to look far more delicate than he imagined she actually was. While her frame was slight, feminine in ways men forgot these days, her legs boasted a kick that might crush your windpipe for looking.

"Roland, you're awake." Her smile broadened. "I was just coming to check on you. Steph and Penny made dinner. I'm sure you're starving. Are you feeling all right?"

He nodded, grateful for the unfailing presence of food. "I feel better than I have in years, C. I don't even know how to explain it to you. I'm sure I don't have to. I'm sure you know, but none the less. It's so much. It's like getting your life back when you've been in prison for a decade. I owe you guys. Whatever you need, name it."

C laughed, dismissing his adulation with a wave. Her cloth bracelets fluttered in the displaced air as they bobbed down the staircase. "What can I say? We do what we can. Now come on. Let's go get some food before Chassis eats it all."

"It's not me you need to worry about." Chassis boomed in from the kitchen.

C rushed down the remainder of the flight. Limping as fast as he could without risking a new injury, Roland followed behind her, unsure about the urgency until he saw the table.

"Lyrique get down." C snapped her fingers and pointed at the Rottweiler standing on her back legs, her front paws firmly affixed on either side of a serving dish on the table. Lyrique raised her head from the bowl. Mashed potatoes slid off her nose and to the floor with an audible splat. She lowered her head and guiltily walked up to her owner. The room erupted in laughter.

"No. Bad girl." C shook her finger at the dog. Lyrique sat and raised a paw. "No. We are not shaking right now. You are bad. Go lay down." The stare-down ended with Lyrique huffing off to the corner of the room. C turned to glare at Chassis, satisfied with her previous victory.

"Hey, ain't my dog. I can't tell her what to do." He grinned.

"She shouldn't be allowed on the table. I don't care if it's the apocalypse or Sunday dinner. She knows better." Lyrique crossed one paw over the other and laid her head on top of them, staring at C with her expression of absolute innocence.

"But look at that face." Chassis pouted at Lyrique, earning a snort from the dog in appreciation.

"You're all on her side. Penny?" C turned to the doctor.

Penny shrugged. "She's part of the family." She tossed the bone from the scrap plate across the room. Lyrique gratefully snatched it up and returned to her watchful position, guarding her bone.

"Why do you give her those? She just buries them in the garage." Chassis chuckled. "I find them all over."

"Maybe she thinks you're hungry." Stephanie joined the conversation from her seat at the table, her short black hair pulled back under an old fisherman's hat.

Chassis snickered. "Now why would she think that? She's got eyes, doesn't she?" He gestured to his paunch, rubbing his stomach and laughing.

The banter continued as Penny set the table, several other members of the group arriving that Roland hadn't met yet. An older man and woman, seemingly together by their demeanor, followed by four other men joined the party. Penny sent Stephanie looking for more chairs and asked Chassis to go get Eric and some more plates. She'd invited the entire camp in hopes of making Roland feel welcome and comfortable. They were, for the most part, a tight group. They all had their individual roles and skills to contribute. They kept from butting heads by keeping busy. If an important decision needed to be made, the group would organize and vote on it. It was customary for the majority to be in agreement before a new member would be allowed to stay. While Penny didn't voice this, she doubted Roland would have a problem with the others.

Introductions went round, Penny playing the ever patient host. Roland immediately liked Mark and Nick, reserving his opinion about the other two until he met them sober. They were a rowdy bunch, ex-military mutineers who opted out of the service when General Styph implemented the usage of NIDs on his own troops. They'd joined the camp as a group a few years back, tired of running and fighting, ecstatic for a chance to be free of their implants and burdens. They worked hard, tending the crops and livestock, building fences and renovating the rundown buildings, making moonshine and depleting their own stock before it ever amassed to much. Penny was grateful to have them. It had been their training and skills on more than one occasion that stopped marauding gangs from taking the camp. The doctor didn't want to think about what might have happened had they not been around. Chassis was a big guy, but more a teddy bear than a grizzly any day. These men, Bill and Giles, Nick and Mark, were warriors; muscles and tattoos, drive and authority. Penny often found Giles' eyes on her. It never went past that. They both flushed and pretended not to notice; her ignoring that he was looking and him pretending he hadn't been caught in the act.

The couple however, Frank and Sue, appeared nervous and remained quiet throughout the chatter. Roland couldn't be positive but he thought they stared a bit too hard his way, talking amongst themselves when other conversations grew loud enough to drown theirs out. Once or twice he'd thought Sue to be on the verge of tears. He decided to ask C about them later and pay attention to the rest of the party.

Dorothy wasn't going to make it. Eric arrived with the plates and her regards. She wasn't feeling well and apologized for missing dinner. Penny assured Eric she would take a plate to her later. Out of the corner of his eye, Roland saw another man enter and stand in the corner. He seemed to be waiting to be sure there were enough chairs. Although he smiled when someone made eye contact, Roland watched his face. He'd seen that look before. Devastation painted red lines across both scleras, pupils dancing nervously as if one movement on his part would obliterate the room.

Roland blinked, breathing out his mounting anxiety. He'd abandoned the hope long ago that one day he'd be normal again and here he was, his first day back, already casting judgment on people he'd never met. He shook his head, suddenly conscious of the mess his hair currently boasted. He laughed out loud at himself, no one noticing over the rest of the noise at the table. Unable to complete a thought for seven years and his re-entry into society would be vanity and ubiquitous estimation of others. _Bravo_. He chastised himself. This would be a long road to self rediscovery and now was not the time to open up the question of who he'd been before; whether or not he was ever a good man.

The tinkle of metal on glass weaved through the clamor, silencing the room. Like a game of musical chairs, those standing took the closest seat. Bill and Giles hovered by the doorway, always on guard. Penny stood at the head of the long wooden dining table, glass in one hand, spoon in the other. Heads shifted to face her and smiles found their like from guest to host. The doctor placed the spoon back in its setting and cleared her throat.

"Thank you everyone for coming tonight. I know you had better places to be." The acoustics in the room warmed the sound of laughter, sending it back from walls and ceiling to ring through the house.

Penny waited, a closed grin playing over tight lips she bit out of habit. "Seriously, though. I do appreciate you being here. This afternoon we're celebrating a visitor, since we all know we don't get many. I just want everyone to get to know each other. Roland, honey, stand up."

He reached for his crutch.

"Oh dear I'm sorry, don't stand up. Sit down. I forgot." Pokes about who the doctor was could be heard around the room. Stephanie giggled, a little louder than she intended and clapped her hand over her mouth.

"It's all right." Roland slid his chair back and stood, trying not to lean on the crutch or think too hard on how much this felt like the old AA meetings he used to take his brother to. "I don't mind standing up to thank you, Doc. You saved my life, in more ways than just keeping me from winding up dead. It's a pleasure to meet you all and I'm grateful to be here. Thank you for having me."

The whoops and howls came from Mark and Nick. The others clapped or murmured a welcome. Penny pulled lids from cooking pans and set them in the center of the table. Steam rose from what Roland could only imagine to be meat and vegetables. At this point, if a boiled shoe could smell that way, he could eat it. C helped Penny spread the dishes from end to end, setting out spoons and butter for the bread someone baked earlier that day. For all the joking and banter earlier, the room focused solely on the meal before them. Everyone loved Penny's cooking, even the other women in camp who cooked. Penny denied it being anything special, saying she only did what her mother taught her to do, and that her mother was never a good cook. People would laugh and ask her when she was doing another dinner. If nothing else, she felt a profound enjoyment when everyone came together and remembered the simple things.

One thing Penny did not like was the idea of anyone left out. The world was far too large and empty these days. "Ridley, get over here and sit down."

The man leaning against the far wall still had no plate. "I didn't want to take the last seat."

Penny waived her hand, swatting his hesitation away. "Please, sit down. Where is Debbie? I figured she would want to be here."

Ridley obliged, taking the seat to the left of Penny's. "She was in the middle of a novel when I last saw her earlier." He lowered his voice for Penny's ears only. "She's not really up to it right now. It comes and goes. She's in a spell."

"Do you want me to go check on her?"

"I'll let you know after dinner how she'd doing. It's marked on her calendar. Today is the anniversary, if you will. Somehow I don't think that is the proper word for it. I was hesitant to come out, just out of respect. She wouldn't want us not living our lives. So, here I am and let's talk about good things tonight." Ridley offered a sad smile and Penny rubbed his shoulder, condolences written across her brow.

"Roland, this is Ridley." Penny quickly changed the subject. "C found him in the city with an injured ankle. Today is his first day back among the living, so to say."

Ridley turned his laser eyes to Roland, gray winter fog swimming through dark oceans behind scratched lenses. "Welcome back. I bet you're a whirlwind of headache right now. I remember how I felt. It was a complete overflow. I think I slept for two days."

Roland nodded. "It's a lot at once. I'm so exhausted and ecstatic at the same time. I might be in shock. Either way, it's worth it. This is the first good day I've had in years."

Ridley raised his water glass. "Here's to many more to come."

"Cheers." The men clinked their tumblers together, Roland adding Ridley to his list of people he definitely liked. The man had an honest air about him, a vulnerable strength forged from times harder than stone.

"So who's sticking around after dinner for IdomissIdontmiss?" Chassis piled another scoop of potatoes onto his plate.

Roland caught C's eye across the table. She shook her head quickly, a gesture meant for only him to see. He raised an eyebrow. Her reply came with another head shake and then a nod to the door. He mimicked her glance at the exit and raised his brow again. Something rammed his leg beneath the table. Immediately looking to C, he shook his head and nodded towards the table. This time, she mocked his response and lifted an eyebrow. He pointed at the table sternly. Another knock against his knee jolted him in the chair. C appeared completely lost. Roland, trying his best to look nonchalant, leaned back and peered under the table. Two huge brown eyes and a pink tongue met with his curiosity. The weight of a solid head plopped onto his thigh, accompanied by a hot smattering of drool. Lyrique stared at him and beamed her sloppy grin. Roland made a quick assessment, deciding now was the time to make friends. He slipped a piece of meat from his plate and down beside his thigh. It was gone in a flash of teeth and tongue. Lyrique licked his hand and moved on to the next sucker.

"I saw that." Penny winked at Roland. "Don't worry. I won't tell C."

"I can hear you guys. Is she under the table again?" C slid her chair back and ducked under the spread. It was too late. Lyrique was back in her place, lying in the corner. "I don't know how the hell she does that. How can a hundred and forty pound dog be sneaky?"

"I taught her everything she knows. Hell, you never see me coming." Chassis ended his boast with a burp. Even Sue and Frank laughed this time.
Chapter 20

Dinner was over. Dishes were cleared. Stephanie helped C wash and dry, constantly scolding Penny for trying to assist them. Much to Roland's absolute delight, Chassis invited him to have a smoke outside. They found common ground discussing the old Mustang in the shop that Chassis couldn't decide whether or not to fix. It was an eighties model but the motor was fast. Roland told him about one of his previous jobs, working as a mechanic for a private Mercedes dealership and how the owner lost his title racing an eighties Mustang. Chassis said he'd reconsider and Roland offered to help him fix it up. The goal was to establish a better fleet of electric vehicles to combat the fuel issues they had, but the temptation of a throaty V8 engine was too much to ignore. Chassis joked about running it on moonshine if he had to. They finished smoking and rejoined those who remained at the table inside. Frank and Sue slipped out right after dinner. Giles had gone off to "walk the dog", whatever that meant since Lyrique was still lying by her bone.

Deliberately eying C before he spoke, Roland leaned his crutches against the chair and sat back down. "So what's this 'doomis' thing Chassis?"

Chassis beamed, an excited child getting to tell a great tale he'd made up. "It's something we started doing just to make the shitty parts seem, well, not so shitty. It's IdomissIdontmiss. We flip a coin or draw straws to see who starts it off. The first person has to say something, just one thing, like "hot swimming pools", and the others have to decide whether or not they do or don't miss it. If you pick the right one and side with the person who made the statement, that person gets a point. For every person that feels the same way as them they get a point. The person with the most points after everyone lays out their statement wins. Does that make sense?"

Roland waited, hoping someone else needed him to clarify. When all time brought was silence and lingering eyes, he gave up the hope. "Let's just go, and I'll figure it out. That's usually how I learn to play most things anyway."

"All right." Chassis hit the table with a closed fist, scaring the cup next to him into the air. "Who wants to play? We can play for manure duty tonight. Winner gets one week shit free."

Stephanie's hand shot up. "I'm in. I am so in."

A general murmur of acceptance skidded around the edges of the crowd. C glared at Roland. Chassis dug through his pockets for a coin. Lyrique sighed, apparently as tired of the game as everyone else except Chassis. A coin appeared. Tales, heads, tales, heads. Penny was up first. She grumbled unintelligible protests, but played the role of a good sport.

"The smell of WD-40."

Roland watched the reactions of the others, most sitting silently trying to keep their expressions blank. He could do that. He'd played poker fairly well. So this meant he had to decide whether he did or didn't miss the smell of WD-40? He thought about it, letting his bashful memory go back to the day things like that were readily available, back to the shop and the garage and the parts store. He folded his palms on the table and went uniform, waiting for further instruction in this new game.

"Everyone made up their minds?" Penny kept a stern face, trying not to give herself away.

A collection of affirmative murmurs granted her permission to proceed. "All right then. Everyone who said I don't miss...Please raise your hands."

Stephanie, Eric, and Mark all raised arms to the sky. Penny scoffed, playfully feigning villainous laughter. "Ha ha. That makes you all wrong. Hands down. Now, who said I do miss?"

Ridley, Chassis, Eric, Roland, C, and the remainder of the room lifted their hands. Penny marked down her points. Ridley was up next.

"Talk Radio."

That vote was all but unanimous, the only exception being Nick, who hated all things to have ever been broadcasted. Ridley took the high score from Penny. The game went on to Roland. He took his time thinking it over, a recent new glory.

"Drinking fountains."

The room split fairly evenly on that one. Some motives fixed on the supply of fresh water no longer available. The naysayers were those not a fan of the germs associated with everyone's mouth on the same spigot. Roland closed the case with his I don't miss, gathering about half the votes. Chassis eagerly awaited his turn.

"The occasional glimpse I'd catch of my neighbor's tits as she closed her curtains every night."

Always one to pull the sex card, Chassis knew he had the men on his side. Since women were drastically outnumbered, he usually won the game.

"That's too specific." Penny argued his statement.

"I don't know that it is." Chassis smirked at Mark, who flashed him the thumbs up.

"Oh sheesh." Penny digressed, her vote obviously not in Chassis's favor. Surprisingly, he claimed only the points for Mark, Nick, and Bill. The others shook their heads and chuckled. Stephanie was up.

"Gummy Bears."

C smiled. She knew this was a trick. Stephanie hated gummy candy, always preaching about how much healthier we were now without all that garbage. She explained to C one day how they made gelatin. C almost barfed recalling all the junk she used to eat as a kid. Stephanie barely hit three points, Penny seemingly torn between knowing Steph hated them and actually missing them herself, medical school be damned. She went with honesty and the game carried on. Eric took his turn with his customary lack of enthusiasm.

"The New York Times crossword puzzle."

A groan resonated through the room. He was drastically outnumbered on that one. Everyone knew his only passion left in life was crossword puzzles. Sometimes Penny would help him. More often than not, he got about half way through before giving up and setting it in the pile of other unsolved mysteries in Chassis's garage. They moved on to Mark.

"Baseball stadiums packed with people for a rival game."

He worded it so to lead them on. Mark hated baseball. He always had. Confident no one knew that, he played more for the social experiment. The points meant nothing to him as he learned only Eric felt the same way he did. The others enthusiastically agreed they missed the noise of the crowd and the smell of hot dogs. C shuffled through her ideas, Mark having stolen her statement without knowing it. She would have cleaned up on that one. She loved baseball.

"Bowling."

The game continued on for another half hour and the sun plopped its round bottom on the lap of the night. Evening shadows grew over the house and Penny lit several lanterns. While they maintained a consistent supply of electricity through the solar panels and wind generators, the doctor liked the ambiance thrown off the old glass lamps. The kerosene seemed to stay potent for an eternity. Nick, Mark and Bill headed off to feed the livestock and hit up the moonshine. Eric and Chassis were involved in some debate over the likelihood of serious monsoon storms this year. Penny wiped the table and the counters while C and Stephanie put away the leftover food. Lyrique stood at attention, her last chance to score some scraps quickly slipping away. Penny suggested that C take Roland around the camp and quickly retracted the statement, recalling his injury.

"It feels a lot better. I can actually put some weight on it today. I'd like to go, if C doesn't mind me slowing her down."

C smiled, scratching Lyrique behind her floppy ear. "I'm in no hurry these days."

"Well go on then. It'll be dark in half an hour." Penny shoed them towards the door.

The stairs from the porch proved the most difficult. Roland found he could move a little easier, using his foot here and there to test it. C kept a slow pace, asking Lyrique to be careful and not run into her injured friend. They laughed and joked about just using her as a horse until she took offense and trotted ahead of them, scaring the chickens back into their coop.

"So what's the deal with Sue and Frank?" Roland remembered to ask her as they neared the pasture.

A dapple gray horse stood near the fence watching them and eyeing Lyrique with a certain distain. "Oh, I figured you'd ask that. It's sort of complicated."

"How so?"

"Well, they have a son."

Roland reached the fence, propping a crutch against it, freeing a hand to rub the horse's nose. He noted how similar it felt to Lyrique's. "I don't see how that's complicated any more than anyone else."

"Yeah, it's a little different. He's only seven."

Chills ran up Roland's spine. "Then that means he's..."

C nodded. "Yeah. When we found them last summer they were hiding out in a mini-storage unit. We went there thinking it might be a good place for supplies. It was, but that's beside the point. They were terrified of being found because of Chris, their son. Apparently most people these days don't really have a fondness for children. Sue was convinced we would kill them all, Chris for being what he is and them for protecting him. It's not our place to make that call. You know how it all went down. We try to keep an open mind here. It's necessary for survival. No matter what, he's their son and a living person. They just get nervous when new faces pop up. They worry someone might try to hurt him out of fear. To them, you're a threat until they know you."

Roland felt the distinct creep of disgust in his throat, knowing if he voiced his true opinion he would not find support here. "So why didn't they bring him to dinner? Is he, you know, civilized or is he like the other ones?"

C laughed, a nervous undertone to her timbre. "He's not wild. He's just, well, quiet. You know they can't speak. They usually just let him stay in their cabin. He is jittery around the rest of us and usually hides from anyone except his parents. Even that is debatable. They keep him fed and safe. We seldom see them as a whole. There are a few people here that are creeped out by it. They just keep it to themselves and go about their lives. Who are we to judge the decisions of another?"

A dark curiosity desired to meet the boy, even though Roland did not. "Well I'm not going to lie then. I've spent the last few years avoiding them and almost ended up dinner the other day. I'm not a huge supporter, but I won't say anything to them. I respect their choice to hang on."

C turned inquisitive eyes to Roland. "They're not monsters you know. They're people. Maybe not just like us, but they can't control that. All the packs in the cities, that's just because other people were too afraid to try. They abandoned them, Roland. They left them to fend on their own and try to survive. Doesn't that make us more monstrous than they could ever be? We're all animals when it comes down to it. Just because they do what they have to doesn't make them evil. The only true evil is in the hearts of the men who consciously choose to destroy others. Penny calls them Ferals. She says they're just wild animals, just like the dogs that no one wants anymore."

Roland thought about it for a moment, something he'd been unable to do before. He remembered watching them, recalled vividly what they'd done to one another trying to get at the water in the city. They were wild animals all right, wild enough to kill and eat each other in order to continue an existence with no purpose. An unbridled sorrow rode the same train as compassion. He could not accept one without the other. He wasn't ready to acknowledge either. The horse seemed to sense his unrest and wandered off to the water barrels.

He decided to change the subject. "Can I ask you another question?"

"Shoot."

"Why C? What does it stand for?"

The flash of pain across her face suggested he'd chosen the wrong direction. "It's Casey. There used to be two of us with the same name. They called me C so no one would get mixed up on the radios and such. It stuck, even after he was gone."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Roland stared off at the pink and orange ribbons of the sunset. "We've all lost a lot, I suppose."

"Isn't that the truth. Well, if all we have is now, at least..."

A deep rumbling growl rose from Lyrique's throat, interrupting C mid sentence. The dog's eyes fixed on the distant dirt road and her ears perked, listening to something her companions could not hear. A thick bark burst from the dog, scaring the horses to the far end of the pasture. Lyrique waited, frozen like a gargoyle meant to keep away danger. A wiggle started in her stub of a tail, back and forth until it became the frenzy C was accustomed to. The entire dog waggled with the force of her tail and she nudged C's hand.

"Are they coming back?" C knew this behavior well. Lyrique bounced on her front paws, trying to persuade them to follow her.

Headlights obliterated the darkness, taking the turn and heading towards the camp. From their position, open fields ran parallel to the woods; pasture lands against a forest backdrop. Part of the reason they'd chosen this location was the view. They could see for miles in every direction. If there was an attack, they would know with adequate time to prepare. Although the looters were fewer and farther between, they still existed; roving gangs of lawless men who survived on the flesh of others when they couldn't find food elsewhere. C knew how violent and dangerous these marauders could be. She'd seen it before, and so had Roland.

"Are you expecting company?" Roland noted she hadn't appeared concerned.

"Yeah. We take turns making supply runs. It's about time they got back. I was starting to worry a bit."

The headlights grew brighter the closer they got, arching around the barn and parking in front of the garage. Something was wrong. The hustle and commotion around the vehicle wasn't normal. C quickened her pace, glancing back at Roland who nodded the okay to leave him behind. She broke into a run, Lyrique by her side with a long loping gate. Roland watched as two figures popped the hatch on the Subaru and lifted a prone form from the rear, rushing towards Penny's clinic. C reached them just as Penny swung the door wide open. Roland was closing the remaining distance. Shouts and profanity echoed off the barn, bringing everyone out who hadn't yet noticed the furor.

"Dani what happened? What's wrong?" Ridley grabbed the sleeve of the young woman running towards the house.

She stopped and whirled around. "We were attacked. They killed Kevin. There were too many of them Ridley. We barely got April out. She's bleeding really badly."

Ridley took in the dark stains on Dani's yellow t-shirt, turning the front a burnt orange. "Is anyone else hurt?"

She shook her head. "No. Sam was on watch and I was carrying a load to the car. They caught April and Kevin at the other car. Ridley there were at least twelve of them."

"Catch, get in here." A young man, the male mirror image of the girl Ridley spoke to, called to Dani from the house.

Ridley let her go; Giles and Nick taking guard points at either end of the small dirt street that ran through their little town. Mark and Bill were on perimeter check, circling out opposite ways from the center of the camp. Everyone that wasn't inside gathered at a loss around the porch, unsure of what was happening or what they should do. Roland stood back listening, staying out of the way. From inside the house, someone began to cry.
Chapter 21

Scrubbing did no good, no matter how hot the water was. Dark residue stubbornly stayed around her finger nails as Penny sunk her hands into the water again, fiercely rubbing them together like it might take away the memory with the blood. There was nothing she could do. By the time she reached her table, she'd lost too much blood. The girl barely lasted the ride back to camp. Penny let a tear fall. No one was watching now. Twenty years old, ten of those spent living while the world was ending. It wasn't fair. Jane and Will, the other members of the team, already took shovel to earth just beyond the pasture. The darkness was irrelevant in light of their loss. Dani and her twin brother Sam were with Ridley, no doubt discussing the events that led to this. Drying her hands and her eyes, Penny took slow steps rejoining the others in the kitchen.

"How do you know they won't follow you back here?" Frank was noticeably shaken, his finger pointed at Sam.

Sam jumped to his feet. "Because they didn't fucking see which way we went, Frank. Don't start with me right now." For a man of only moderate height, Sam could be intimidating when he chose. Both he and his sister wore their black hair short, their skin the color of desert clay. With broad square shoulders and a sharp jaw that only highlighted small, close set dark eyes, Sam could be hard to read. When he chose to stare a man down, he usually made him squirm.

"Hey, Frank, give him a break. I don't see you out there risking anything. You certainly sit here and consume though, don't you? You and your family." Dani snapped to her brother's defense.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? If you have something to say then say it." Frank's round face went red all the way to his receding hair line. He adjusted his worn polo shirt and puffed up.

"That is absolutely enough." Penny slammed a closed palm down on the table, pulling her hand back and leaving a silver bracelet in its place. "We just lost two people who we all cared for. I can't believe you have the nerve to go at each other right now."

Silence, heavy with shame, took the place of argument. Eyes fixed on April's name etched into the soft metal band, and then to the floor. Apologies settled disheartened comrades back into their chairs. Frank shook Sam's hand and asked forgiveness. Sam granted it, returning his own apologies along with his sister's. The tension eased, the grief suffocating it slowly.

"Thank you." Penny ran a hand over her long braid, realigning it down her back. "Let's not forget we need each other. We'll have a small service in the morning at sunrise to honor them properly."

"I'm so sorry Penny." Dani removed her cap and set it over her knee. "We did everything we could to get them out of there. It was too late. They took Kevin. Sons of bitches. They were going to take all of us and..."

Ridley cut her off. "Hey, Catch, let's take this conversation out back. They've started a fire. I don't know about everyone else but I could use a drink."

C couldn't help but think the fire was a little too large. It might not be the right time to draw attention to their location. Not wanting to start another argument, she kept quiet and offered Roland the metal folding chair, standing beside him facing the road. Giles and Bill passed a mason jar of moonshine between them. The men had been switching shifts. Mark and Nick did perimeter checks while Giles and Bill drank. When Mark and Nick returned, they would drink while Giles and Bill did perimeter checks. Admittedly this was not a fool proof system, but they didn't care. In the darkness they would see anyone approaching with plenty of time to sober up. Chassis lugged over un-split boles of firewood to serve as makeshift seats. Sam snagged another jar of the harsh alcohol from the barn, passing it around the fire. Conversation came slowly, pried out by the burn of the fermented liquid. Someone threw another log on the four foot high pyramid of fire and the shadows became ballerinas bending with the breeze.

Roland nudged C, who'd been silent since the others returned. "They were cannibals weren't they? The gang that attacked them, I mean."

C nodded, a look of disgust clouding her normally alluring face. "Yeah. That's why they took him." A shudder ran through her despite the heat from the flames. "I can't imagine what someone is thinking to, to go there, I guess. We've all been hungry. How are we any different from the Ferals at that point?"

Roland remembered the 'salesmen' that popped up everywhere at first, peddling their 'fresh meat'. People pretended not to know, or maybe they really just didn't risk thinking about it. When a thought can get you fried and you're already starving, what does it matter? He liked to think he was stronger than most of the other survivors. No matter what, he would never go there and he'd managed to exist without breaking his own rules for the better part of a decade. That left little excuse for the behavior he'd experienced. Even with his NID, he knew enough to know better. It corrupted the brain somehow, eating your own kind. It was a moral borderland there was no returning from, where staying alive is more important than being human.

"At that point, we're not." Roland agreed.

Chassis's booming laughter distracted them. He sat between Stephanie and Penny, to whom Lyrique was devoting every effort to cheer up. The dog sat beside the women, alternately licking their hands and slobbering their pant legs. Penny mindlessly stroked her head and paid no notice to the antics. Stephanie smiled, a distant look on her face, and sipped the jar when it went by. Penny passed every time, leading Chassis to tease her when someone procured a joint.

"Well then smoke this. It will help you calm down."

Penny chuckled. "I'll pass on that one for sure."

"Come on. Peer pressure here." Chassis waived the smoke in her direction.

"Well in that case." Penny took it, tossing it into the fire. "I'm too damn old for peer pressure Chassis."

"Shit. Where will we ever get another one?" As he spoke, the mechanic crumbled a hefty green bud in his giant hand. "Who has the leaves?"

Roland declined the moonshine, passing it off to C who also abstained. "So you guys grow pot?" He chuckled when her face flushed.

"Of course we do." Chassis intervened. "Dorothy has that glaucoma and all."

Penny scoffed. "As your doctor I can tell you it has nothing to do with glaucoma."

"Oh Penny." Chassis gave her a playful shove. "You don't wanna drink. You don't wanna smoke. I've got a can of WD stashed away. If you really want, I can go get it if you fancy a sniff."

Penny swatted him in the chest, the group alternating laughter and encouragement, with shouts of "kick his ass" coming from the other men. The night diminished, several folks heading to their beds, while the liquor kept the rest loud and social. The perimeter sweeps stopped, the men now gathered and boasting about the old days, swapping war stories they already knew. You get a man drunk and he'll tell you everything you never wanted to know, twice. Roland noticed Ridley speaking quietly with Sam and Dani, discussing the incident.

"No, they had a girl with them." Dani argued with her brother. "I saw her. She was younger than me. They had her in the truck."

"Are you sure?" Ridley clenched his fists, feeling his stomach knot.

"I'm sure. I don't care if no one else saw her. I did."

"I believe you Catch." Ridley used the nick name she'd obtained by literally snatching a flying arrow out of the air. "If they're out scavenging, they must have a base."

Sam's dark eyebrows furrowed in disgust. "Yeah. A nice safe place to fucking eat people."

"You don't intend on going out and looking for them do you?" Nick stopped pretending he wasn't listening, watching Ridley's face in the dim light.

"I don't know. I don't see much of a point in it." Sam shrugged coldly. "Anyone they picked up is already dead."

"We don't know that Sam." Dani scolded him.

"Yes we do. You know it damn well. Kevin's brains were splattered all over the street. Don't be naïve."

Ridley put a hand up, trying to dissuade the argument from escalating. "As terrible as it is to say, Sam has a point. We can't risk our lives knowing it's futile."

"You're not listening to me." Dani pleaded. "They had someone else with them. Maybe they are keeping them somewhere, like cattle. Isn't anyone here tempted to see? What if there are still people alive and we don't do anything? Isn't that our fault then if they die?"

Ridley sighed. While her heart was always in the right place, he wouldn't risk losing her over it. "Dani, I understand what you're saying." He paused, not wanting to dismiss her compassion. "Tell you what. Let's sleep on it and put it to a vote in the morning once everyone has had due time to process."

She nodded, accepting of the compromise. "Thanks Ridley." She stood up and brushed her pants off. "I'm going to bed. I'll be up early."

Ridley smiled weakly. "We all will."

Sam left with her, mumbled conversation between the siblings fading into the distance. Discussions dwindled with the fire light. No one stoked the smoldering embers. C watched the smoke spill into the dark sky, disappearing into the open air. Penny and Stephanie left next, abandoning Lyrique with only Chassis to pester. The dog trotted to the other side of the fire and nudged her owner's leg. C absentmindedly rubbed her nose. As much as it hurt losing a comrade, she worried that it bothered her less every time. The more death you see, the more pain you endure, the easier it becomes to shut it off. She wondered if some day the tears would all be gone. Maybe emotion was limited. Perhaps there was a governor on the human heart that would only allow so much, like a seasoned boxer who no longer felt the blows his opponents delivered. That thought scared her more than death. If it were true, then she would have to believe mankind was actually an endangered species. If compassion makes us human, sets us apart from other species, then the demise of it would mean the same for the future.
Chapter 22

The sun broke through wispy morning clouds with a vengeance, finding quiet sorrow cared nothing for its light. A swarm of dark clothing and wildflower bouquets surrounded the freshly filled grave. Words were spoken through tight throats and goodbyes were laid to rest with larkspur and morning glories atop the mound. Respects were paid, mourners heading back to their homes to spend the day in lament. The camp was eerily still and silent, hours dragging by with a ball and chain. Food was prepared and abandoned, empty hearts overriding empty stomachs. Half the camp chose to keep busy, going about daily chores in hopes of distraction in the form of mindless work. Roland found himself alone in his room, lying on his back in bed trying not to fall asleep. The hot sun beckoned lids to close and he fought against the pull. So much had happened in the last few days. He took the time to try and process it now.

Several things were bothering him. One of them was C, no matter how he tried to ignore it. Why had she been out alone in the city? She told him herself that they went in groups for supplies, taking turns. She'd been alone, and obviously others were out at the time. This disqualified her mission's aim being for supplies. While she owed him no honesty, she didn't strike him as a liar. He was a new face and understood trust came in time. Maybe that was all. She'd omitted a detail out of unfamiliarity. Then there was Ridley. For all his calm and understanding, there was something about the man that bothered Roland. He felt that when he looked at him, it was in a fun house mirror. The image he saw was a distorted version, a lesser guise the man hid behind. Roland couldn't explain why he felt that way, nor did he distrust the man. He simply wondered what he was keeping secret.

Frank and Sue were another story altogether. He didn't understand why they'd kept it; the child. That alone was unheard of. Those who didn't have the guts to end them still lacked the desire to keep them around. Roland witnessed the reaction of the masses when it came to a head. The general consensus was fear. Parents dropped them off in parks like unwanted cats, running the opposite way and not looking back. Extremists made it their life's mission to "end their suffering", drowning or stabbing an eager alternative to allowing them the existence they'd been given. With every thought he'd blocked with all his will, there was one he did not want back. Ignoring that one memory alone had been worth the torture of the NID. Now it haunted him, and the presence of the child was a constant searing reminder. She wouldn't do it, she said. It wasn't right. He'd begged her to wait. He loved her more than anything, he promised. She didn't have to do this, he'd told her. At war within his own mind to find a way of expressing how badly he needed her, his thoughts would not allow a victory. She would not change her mind. When she jumped, his last hope fell with her, shattering to pieces on the sidewalk. So many years ago and still he remembered the last time he saw her face, the look of anguish and guilt; the devastation of the scene below when he reached the ledge too late. She would assure the blame was hers and never his. She'd undertaken the consequences alone, not giving him the chance to stop her. His fault rested in his indecision, forever left to wonder what he would have done had she not taken her own life, and their unborn child's.

Roland leaned over the edge of the bed and threw up on the pants still lying on the floor. When nothing else would come, his shoulders wretched in dry heaves that subsided to sobs. He'd cried before, but not like this. This time no electric shock or deafening sound would stop him. He was at the mercy of his guilt; in a moment realizing the only way through was straight. He would never know. He'd fooled himself into believing there was an answer, convincing himself that if he could just think, he'd know what he would have done. The reality of it was the opposite. The more he thought about it, the less he knew. He should have stopped her. He never expected she would leave him; that anyone could love him enough to spare him from making that ruling. His salvation came from the sentient knowledge that if he had nothing else in what remained of the world, he'd once achieved true love.

Right on cue, there was a knock on the door. "It's open." He kicked the pants under the bed and looked over his shoulder.

C stood in the doorway with a glass of water. In her typical manner, Lyrique invited herself in. "I wanted to check on you." Her eyes couldn't help but wander up the muscles of his exposed back. She blushed, looking down at the water glass.

Roland pretended not to notice and tried not to smile. "I'm all right. How are you?"

She still hovered in the doorway. "I'm all right I guess. It's really quiet around here today."

"I noticed. You can come in you know." Lyrique nosed the edge of the blankets that touched the floor, sticking her head underneath the bed. "Pssst." He pushed her shoulder, directing her away from the jeans he'd decimated.

"Lyrique, no." C snapped her fingers twice. The dog stopped her investigation and returned to her owner. C sat in the wooden chair across from the bed.

Roland grabbed his shirt from the nightstand, grateful not to be wearing someone else's clothes. It even smelled clean. C laughed as he took a deep breath with his nose buried in the fabric. He didn't care. He couldn't recall the last time the shirt saw a wash. He pulled the cotton T over his head, this time not observing C's sly glance at his midsection before he covered it up. While she felt a little like a voyeur, it wasn't as if her intentions went further than a peek. Roland was pleasant to look at, with his scruffy brown hair and flashing green eyes that bordered on gray sometimes, but nothing more. These days, people avoided romance like the bubonic plague, with good reason. The results of unchecked emotion were disastrous.

Roland cautiously put weight on his ankle. "It feels so much better today. I don't think I need the crutches." He tested it out, walking to the window and back across the four foot space.

"That's great. I'm glad it's healing. I actually came up to see if you were interested in helping out with the Mustang. Chassis mentioned you'd talked about it last night and asked me to see what you were doing."

Roland sat on the edge of the mattress and eased on his boot. "I'd love to. It would be nice to help out, after everything you've all done for me." His words sounded cliché but that didn't lessen the truth. He needed to be busy for a while. He could rest once his mind balanced out.

"He'll be happy to hear that. You know where the garage is." With a smile, she ushered her dog towards the door.

"C?" Roland stopped her. "Can I ask you another question? You don't have to answer it if you don't want to."

She hesitated. "Why not?" Her hand rested on the doorknob.

"Why were you in the city alone? You said the camp takes turns going out for supplies, in groups. You were alone, and the others were obviously out scouting. What were you doing when you found me?"

"I was looking for someone. It's a long story." The knob squeaked as she eased it to the right.

"Who were you looking for?" He couldn't help but push.

She sighed. "A ghost. I was looking for a ghost. I told you, it's a long story. But I found you, so it wasn't all for nothing. It's not my story to tell, Roland. Everyone here has lost someone. Some of us just can't let it go, and some of us can't help but believe they might be right to keep searching. Even if no one else does."

"I don't understand."

"I know. Maybe you will one of these days. Either way, someone was keeping an eye on you that day. You're supposed to be here. I'd be grateful for that. Most people don't get a second chance." The door shut behind her, a finality in the sound of the latch catching that Roland couldn't miss.

The remaining crew from the previous evening adopted the task of cleaning out the car they'd brought April back in. Old towels were used to wipe at mulish blood stains across the back seat. The supplies they'd managed to escape with sat in a pile beside the vehicle, canned unknowns and powdered food products forgotten and not worth the trade they'd made for them. C offered to help and was assigned the duties of medical inventory. They would have to make another run, especially now that they'd depleted so many of Penny's supplies. In the time the camp had been there, they'd raided about half of the city and the surrounding suburbs. Maps covered walls in Chassis's shop dotted in Ys and Ns for adequate or poor places to search. When the majority of the city fled, the most obvious of areas were raided. Everyone had been in such a hurry to get out that few spent the time combing through abandoned residences and just hit the supermarkets. There was plenty to be found outside the popular places. The problem with that was the risk of running into other scavengers as the group had the day before. The utter lack of ammunition was a blessing and a curse. The good part was that you were less likely to get shot. The bad part was that you couldn't shoot anyone if you needed to. Most of the weapons the camp carried had little to nothing for rounds. You didn't fire a shot unless it was a matter of life and death. Occasionally you would luck out, like Roland had, and find someone's shelter. Maybe there would be food and even bullets. Then again, maybe a gang of flesh eating thieves would just steal it all after they killed you in your sleep. 
Chapter 23

"I saw lights. There were two lights, headlights, and then they went out." Jane repeated herself to Ridley, her volume bringing others outside.

Ridley placed a hand on either of the girl's shoulders. "How far away Jane?"

"Maybe two miles. Not far Ridley. I only saw one set of lights but that doesn't mean anything. I wouldn't have seen them at all had I not been taking a piss behind the tack shed." Jane was ex-air force, a pilot before they pulled all the troops back. After that she was assigned guard duty and then fired once the NIDs were implemented to the masses. Jane remained bitter, to say the least.

"Get everyone ready, just in case. I don't want to assume it's trouble but we'd be fools to think it isn't." As much as he tried to escape it, Ridley still found himself in command every time a threat emerged, whether he wanted to be or not

Jane spun around, almost bouncing off Chassis who stood behind her, taking off running, calling out to Giles and Nick. "We've got visitors. Get the guys."

"What's going on?" Roland grabbed C's shoulder. She stared into the distance, slowly turning to answer him.

"Someone's coming. Jane saw lights and then they shut off. They wouldn't have shut them off if they wanted us to know they were there. I knew the fire was too big last night. Someone saw it. Or they followed them yesterday."

Roland's eyes darted to the direction she'd been scouring. "It's so damn dark. I don't see anything. C, there's something I thought about earlier that you guys should probably know. The group I was with before I went back into the city, we were attacked."

"Roland, it happens all the time. I..."

"No listen. Before they found us, we'd come across a mini storm shelter and in there were several cases of ammo. We took it, even though we had no guns. The family I was with figured we could use it as barter the way they had in Los Angeles before they left. That part really doesn't matter. But they took it, the guys that raided us. I know this happens all the time but if it's the same guys, they have bullets. If they have the right guns, they are well supplied now."

C weighed the new information before she grabbed Roland's hand and led him straight to where Ridley stood at the foot of the steps, hands waving as he spoke rapidly to Penny.

"Roland, tell him what you just told me."

Ridley stopped midsentence, turning to face them. "What's going on?"

Roland repeated his story, Ridley's eyes widening. "I thought you might want to know that."

"I appreciate it." Ridley clapped him on the back. "We need to get those that can't fight somewhere safe."

"I'm on it." C thought of Dorothy first, knowing the woman suffered painful arthritis that sometimes crippled her movements. "Chassis I'm taking them to the shop."

The mechanic nodded, red hair disheveled and slicked to his rumpled forehead with sweat, holding a wooden ball bat in one hand. "Take them all the way to the back. Put the panels up."

C thanked him and dashed towards the tiny house Dorothy shared with Stephanie. Lyrique stayed at her heels. Not bothering to knock, she opened the door and called out to Dorothy who was still asleep in her bed. Gently assuring her that everything was all right, C located her sweater and shoes, escorting her from the residence. Stephanie was already with Penny and the others. She found Frank outside, jogging up to her from his minute dormitory at the rear of the camp.

"What's going on?"

"We're not sure yet. Jane saw headlights. Get Sue and Chris. Go to the shop. I'll meet you there." C felt Dorothy's hand squeezing hers.

"Don't worry dear." The tiny woman had a firm grip, something she wouldn't let the arthritis take away no matter how long she had to battle it. "Nothing is going to happen to us."

C wished she shared Dorothy's optimism. She knew better. The looming sense of danger grew stronger every second. Lyrique bustled her way through the barn door, pushing it ajar with her wide shoulders. C escorted Dorothy to the back, through the entry of the shop. A few months prior, Chassis thought it would be wise to build a sort of bunker, a partitioned off corner of the garage that blended with the already existing walls. The top level housed parts and other valuables. Underneath, however, was a shelter capable of containing a half dozen people comfortably; a full dozen if they crammed elbows into ribs. With the help of Giles, Nick and anyone else willing to lend their backbone to a shovel, they dug the ground out and reinforced the walls of the chamber with large wooden beams. When it was completed, Chassis could barely restrain his satisfaction enough to remember to pray they never needed it. Before tonight, they hadn't. C helped Dorothy down the steps, handing her a blanket off the shelf to sit on. Behind her, through the wooden barn slats, a raised voice distracted C from Dorothy's comfort.

"You've seen her. I know you have." A woman's voice, pitched with frantic pleading.

"I'm sorry ma'am. I don't know what you mean." Roland stared back into the arctic blue eyes of the woman before him, her waste length ash streaked hair fluttering around her in the breeze, giving off the impression she was larger than her emaciated frame.

C reached the exit in time, hoping to catch the response that never came. Frank appeared with his family in tow, involuntarily interrupting. C could feel a hush fall over the group; the sound of air being taken in and not released. It was less than seldom anyone saw Chris, the enigma. He stood stone still by his mother now, thin frame draped with an old batman t-shirt and a ball cap on his head. No expression touched his face. None ever had. Sue broke down once and told C how much she tried, how much time she devoted; just to try to make him smile when he was a baby. Even without avail, the woman never gave up. As far as C knew, she might be the only one who hadn't. The others let them pass, ignoring the crawling of their skin. C jogged up to Roland's side.

"Debbie, now is not a good time." Ridley spoke softly, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Come to the shelter with me. I need to know you'll be safe."

She didn't budge, hunting for something in Roland's eyes. Without looking away from him, she reached out and put her palm against C's cheek. "Thank you, dear."

C covered the woman's hand with her own, her fondness for Debbie no secret. "For what Debbie? I didn't find what you wanted me to."

The corners of Debbie's mouth twitched, the closest she'd been to a smile in what felt like eternity. "You found him. He's seen her, Casey. He's seen her through those eyes."

Roland inched back, the palms of his hands sweating, wondering who this woman was and what she meant. "I'm sorry. I don't know who you're talking about."

Ridley gave him the catcher's signal to stay on base, gesturing from behind Debbie where she could not see his movements. "Later. Right now we have other things to worry about. Come on Debbie." He escorted her towards the barn.

"Things are gonna get brighter..." The words she sung as they shifted away, so soft Roland almost didn't hear them. The echo repeated in his memory, realization flushing his skin.

"I did see her." He rushed to catch up with Debbie, ignoring his ankle's resentment. "That song, I know someone else who sang just that part, over and over."

Debbie's smile broke over her face like the first trickle of water finding its way across barren desert, a victory against the context of rationality. "I used to sing it to her when she was a baby."

A single growl rumbled from Lyrique, a warning C knew well enough to ruin the moment. They were out of time. "Go, now."

Ridley rushed Debbie to the shelter, catching Frank at the entrance telling his wife to keep quiet in the hide out. "Everyone is in. Put the panels back up. Kill all the lights."

The two men reattached the wooden boards in front of the store room and doused the lanterns before sprinting from the barn. All over camp, lights were extinguished. They rehearsed attacks once a month to assure everyone knew where they needed to be. Bill and Nick took opposing positions at the front of the camp, one on either side of the small street tucked against the buildings. Mark and Giles duplicated their pose on the other end of the camp. Frank and Chassis were in charge of the barn, protecting those inside the shelter, while Sam and Catch staked out either side of the main house; Penny's clinic. Stephanie couldn't be talked into hiding. She insisted she should be allowed to fight. She was assigned to lookout duty with Eric. They each carried a storm whistle they were to sound if they saw anything. Jane and Will haunted the in-betweens, patrolling the perimeter and the pastures in case anyone tried to sneak in on foot. Telling C and Roland to stay with Penny, Ridley sprinted towards the field. Lyrique appeared torn, wanting to go with him to protect him but knowing her loyalty was to C. She stayed, following them up the steps and inside.

Penny slid the curtain open enough to fit the propped barrel of her shot gun on the window sill. The only light in the clinic danced with the breeze, the tiny flame of a white candle burning in the hallway. Penny shook her head in irritation. "I only have four shells left."

C checked the gun on her belt. "I've got five." She fingered her machete. The blade bit sharply into her pinky. The tiny cut was a reassurance. She hadn't used it in a while.

Roland hovered near the other window, scanning the street. He never claimed to be much of a fighter and now he wished he was. A bag of several golf clubs rested against the closet door. He assumed someone pulled them out for a reason and took up the heaviest driver he could find. At least he'd have some form of a weapon. Whether or not he could offer any real help was still to be determined. His hope clung to the knowledge that whoever orchestrated the assault was at a disadvantage. He and the others could think clearly and their adversary could not.

The hair bristled on Lyrique's neck, a ridge of fur rising down her back. She let another low growl escape. C patted her head, trying to calm her and keep her quiet. The sound of tires on dirt signaled the arrival of their unknown visitor. Boots thudded to the ground. Metal hinges squeaked open. C counted at least two motors and five doors. They may still have the advantage in numbers. From her stooped position below the window, she rocked to one knee and peered through the crack beneath the curtain. They'd parked in the middle of the street, the first vehicle an old Jeep and the second one a beat up Dodge truck. Her heart hit the back of her throat. Her count was off. At least ten men congregated around the front of the truck. She assumed there were more, at least two lookouts hiding in the dark.

"Five minutes. Check the buildings."

C couldn't pinpoint who gave the command in the poor lighting. She readied herself, nodding to Penny, who nodded to Roland, who took up sentry beside the front door, hands fixed on the club, ready to swing. The group outside diverted, two men heading one way, three another; two staying with the vehicles.

"They're hiding. Find them." The leader's voice scratched like a man who'd chain smoked non-filtered cigarettes for half a century while gargling broken glass. Gravel shifted in his throat as he barked orders.

The doorknob shook. Through the window Penny could see two men standing on the porch. The first man found the lock in place. This wasn't much for dissuasion. He leaned back and planted a hard kick on the door. The frame splintered. The door was solid and stubborn, not giving in easily. Backing up, the man tried again. This time the wood snapped and the man almost tumbled into the house. Instinct could be congratulated for much of the human species' success. Roland swung the club, every muscle in his back and shoulders coiling tight before releasing the blow. The head of the driver caught the first man below the eye, the sound of metal on bone cracking loudly in the darkness. The man fell to his knees and Roland hit him again, this time in the back of the head. He found the floor with his face, just as a gunshot went off from outside. The bullet tore through the living room wall behind Penny and the barrel of a rifle eased through the entrance. Penny hit the ground, thankful it was dark and the shot missed. The first man lay in the doorway now, blocking his comrade's advancement. Dual blasts rang out, two more bullets finding nothing but plaster. Roland brought the golf club up, catching the underside of the rifle and sending another shot wild. The man shoved past the body, blind in the darkness. Roland ignored the reverberation of metal on metal that begged to hinder his grip and swung again, missing this time and giving away his location. The barrel trained on him. A burst of heat, muscle and fur flew past Roland, ramming into the chest of the assailant with the force of a small car. Roland heard the gun hit the wooden floor. Curses and strangled cries echoed from the dark pile next to him. He couldn't make out the details, but Lyrique seemed to have it under control. A hand touched his arm and he jumped.

The spark of a lighter temporarily illuminated the room, just long enough for C to know where Lyrique was before bringing the butt of her gun down on the man's face. He stopped struggling, going limp beneath the Rottweiler. C felt a tongue on her hand and the warmth of the dog beside her.

"Good girl." She whispered. "Roland, grab his arm." They pulled the man out of the doorway and slid him up against the wall, repeating their actions with the second. C collected the guns from the men, handing one to Roland as footsteps climbed the porch stairs. Reaching Penny in the dim, C guided them towards the rear of the house.

They were better organized than he'd expected. Ridley stalked the edges of the camp, watching the men spread out and surround the buildings. He'd counted at least twelve. He carried no gun, leaving the limited supply to the others. Planting his steps carefully, moving around the sticks and grass that would give him away, Ridley closed the gap between his location and the two men nearest to the tack house. The sound of gunfire registered, drawing his interest towards Penny's clinic. He had to trust that they were all right without him. He couldn't be in two places at one time. Stretching out the fingers of his thoughts, Ridley chastised himself for being out of practice. No one knew about his abilities except Debbie, and she was too far gone for anyone to believe her even if she did squeal. He fumbled with his hold, clearing his mind of distraction and recomposing, feeling the power wrap around the latch on the shed. He began to count, slowly breathing with each second. The latch fell open and the door swung outward, sending the aggressors into defense mode. They readied their guns and squared off to face the tack house. Five seconds passed. No one emerged. Ridley knew it was empty except for a few saddles and horse leads. Cautiously, the men broached the threshold into the darkness the stars didn't reach.

"Ain't no one in here."

The second man agreed. "Musta been the wind."

Before they could reemerge, Ridley slammed the door shut with a shove of his will. Shouts bounced around, the confused men off guard and shaken just enough to make a mistake. The splitting maul rested heavy in Ridley's hands as he waited. The noise brought backup, two other men jogging their way. They weren't alone. Sam and Catch moved like shadows along the wall of the cabin beside the shed, slinking into flanking position. Ridley patiently held his ground to the side of the outbuilding, safely out of sight. The door swung back open, the first man angrily storming from inside. He didn't notice the flat end of the axe until it was against his ribs, Ridley misjudging the height of his swing and nailing the man in the midsection. The effects were sufficient. He dropped to the ground doubled over, just as a hurricane of gunfire engulfed the wooden structure. Ridley threw himself behind the log pile, landing on his stomach as bullets whizzed overhead, tearing the tack house to pieces; unknowing or uncaring that the man standing was their own. The night was Ridley's ally. He remained hidden, letting the uninvited parties realize their mistake.

"Oops." The men laughed, moving in to wrangle the guns from their fallen cohorts.

That was all they needed. Speaking in the silent bond of siblings, Catch and Sam launched their assault. The whistle of broken air made Ridley smile, knowing what awaited the intruders. The arrow found its mark, dead center in the closer man's chest. His eyes registered nothing but shock, staring at the arrow in disbelief. Another snap of a bowstring; another well directed shot sending the other man to the dirt. Ridley wondered how she could see them so acutely without light. All the time she spent practicing was well worth the effort now. The twins hustled around the wood stack, ducking down beside Ridley.

"Nice shooting, Catch." He genuinely meant it.

"My pleasure." She pulled another arrow from the quiver. "It's a good thing they're noisy cuz I can't see shit out here."

Several more gunshots blasted from the camp. Without a sound, the three abandoned their cover and bolted towards the uproar. The glow of orange pumped Ridley's legs faster. Fire crept up the sides of the barn. Darting around the clinic, Ridley signaled for Sam to secure the other side. Catch maintained point, bow in hand. The fire lit up the night, stealing the only cover they had left. From his spot, Ridley could see the door was open to the barn. Chassis and Frank were nowhere to be found. He heard the screams before the shots coming from inside the clinic. His heart tore in half. If the others were still in the shelter, they would burn to death. If he went to save them, he might lose Penny and C.

"Sam, Catch, Chassis, Nick." Ridley didn't care who heard him yell, shouting as loud as his voice permitted. "Someone get them out of the shelter." He didn't wait for a reply, heading for the back door of the clinic.

A bullet shattered the window he'd barely made it past, urging him to hurry. He threw the back door open before he reached it, a fresh spattering of shots aimed at the distraction from inside. The smell of kerosene engulfed him with the darkness of the house. Pieces of a broken lamp clattered when his foot found them, giving away his location. He ducked instinctively, the retort of the weapon assuring him he'd made the right decision. The spark of muzzle flash pinpointed the perpetrator. His mind lashed out, jerking the weapon from the man's hands, leaving him standing in temporary shock. A sudden blinding light burst through the windows and a motor revved. Through the smoke in the room, he could make out two other men near the front door, one holding Penny around the throat with a bent arm and the other aiming his weapon at the far corner of the living room. Ridley was unable to see what he targeted.

"You move, we kill her." The gruff voice from earlier spat his commands. "Take her to the truck." Against her thrashing and kicking, the men backed out of the doorway.

It would be now or never. Ridley rushed the unarmed man, taking advantage of his stupor, tackling him to the ground and straddling him. Fists found skin and bone, striking against the man's face. Almost forty pounds larger, the man flipped Ridley onto his back and laid a heavy set of knuckles to his cheek. Another punch found his ribs and stole his air away. The wall above them burst with the impact of a bullet fired from the doorway, stealing his opponent's attention momentarily, giving Ridley the chance to kick his leg out, to send the shelf tumbling over and the candle rolling from its holder. The wax match hit the floor beside Ridley. Blue flames raced up his opponent's jacket, following the trail of accelerant. Ridley quickly realized he was surrounded, the edges of his pants catching fire. Taking advantage of the distraction, as his opponent swatted the growing flames consuming his clothes, Ridley brought his elbow up and drove it into the man's stomach. The weight lessened enough on his thighs to slide from under the man and jerk backwards out of the pool of kerosene. He tore his over-shirt off and smothered the blaze on his pants. The other man, defeated and saturated in combustible liquid, ran out the rear door bellowing his pain as the fire chased him. The sound of an empty clip hitting the floor inspired Ridley to find safety. He jumped to his feet and threw his back flat against the hallway wall just as the corner of the trim exploded with another bullet right beside his head.

"Come out or I'll shoot them," the raspy voice shouted.

"All right. I'm unarmed." Ridley took a deep breath, gathering his will, and stepped into the living room.

With the lights of the pickup blaring through the shattered windows, Ridley could see Roland and C standing against the far wall, both of Roland's hands in the air, and one of C's. The other held the bandana around Lyrique's neck, keeping the dog beside her. Several of the invading men lay across the floor. Two others could be seen through the front door, lifting Penny into the rear of the pickup truck and fastening her arms and legs with rope. Only one man still threatened the room. Ridley wondered why he hadn't called for help yet.

"You come dead or livin. Either way, you're comin."

Ridley inched closer, slowly raising his arms in a show of complacency. "You're the one with the gun."

"Good boy." Six feet of filth and rotten hygiene blocked their exit to the front and a small inferno prevented access to the rear. He turned to yell at his men outside. "Get in here."

Confident they'd secured Penny, the men trotted back to their leader. "Dale?"

"Load them up." He waived his gun at his captors. "We're done." He stomped off down the stairs.

The younger of the two pointed his weapon at Ridley, eyeing Lyrique nervously. "Man shoot the damn dog."

His partner pointed the muzzle at Lyrique. Her ears flattened, a thunder building in her throat. The hammer cocked back. Ridley began to count, praying he could do this when it mattered; wishing Sera were here. She could stop this all.

"NO!" C's throat choked her protest, the fear constricting her reaction.

Lyrique would have no more, tearing out of C's grip and hurtling towards the man.

Sixteen.

Ridley's fingertips felt like they'd been dipped in the fire around him, his veins sending pulsing heat through his brain. He felt his mental hands grasp the weapon. The gun swung wide, spinning the man with it. The bullet fired, finding a brand new mark. Lyrique collided with the shooter as his partner met the earth. He'd actually done it. Blood flushed Ridley's cheeks and his head felt light. Before the fallen man could gather himself and reconfigure his aim, C was there. Her boot found his hand outstretched, knocking the pistol away from his reach. The second kick met with his face, and the third, and the fourth. By the time Roland reached her from the end of the room, the man was unrecognizable. Roland's arms closed around her shoulders and he dragged her back, eyes still fixed on Ridley in incredulity. C dropped to her knees, pulling Lyrique close to her and cooing.

"You're okay. You're okay."

The comfort was short lived. The Jeep was running now, black exhaust joining the plumes of the fire. The massive beams holding the roof atop the structure collapsed, one by one falling into the bonfire that had once been a barn. The remaining men were fleeing to the vehicles, several limping; one nursing the arrow protruding from his side. Ridley ran to the doorway only to withdraw at the first retort of a gun. Penny wasn't alone in the rear of the pickup, though he couldn't make out whether friend or foe accompanied her. Doors slammed, tires threw dirt storms into the air. Tail lights and cover fire followed the men as they sped away. Ridley reached out, trying to find something to hold, some way to stop them. His mind's palms turned up empty. Slowly the rest of the group gathered around him and he retracted his focus to a head count.

"They took Sue, Chris, Dorothy, Debbie. All of them. I don't know what happened to Frank. I lost him when the shooting started." Chassis made no effort to hide his guilt. "I couldn't stop them all." Blood trickled down his torn Hawaiian shirt.

"It's not your fault." Ridley quickly reassured him and inspected his wound. He was lucky. The shot went clean through the fat of his massive arm. "Clean that up. You should be fine. Who else is missing? Who's hurt?"

Over Chassis's shoulder, C spotted Nick. A body hung over his shoulder. He moved fast despite the weight. Ridley turned just as Nick joined them. He slowly lowered the man he carried to the ground. Will's face was smeared with dirt. Nick closed his eyes. The wound in his chest was too much to look at.

"They took Jane." Nick solemnly lowered his head. "He was trying to stop them."

"Where's Bill, and Mark?" Giles thought they were with Nick.

Nick shook his head. "I don't know."

C took inventory of the group. Stephanie and Eric, Chassis, Roland, and Nick. Giles, Ridley. "Where are Dani and Sam?"

No one had an answer. The fires raged on without attention. There was nothing they could do to stop them. They were too far gone. The hope would be that it didn't spread to any other structures. The rain catch tank on the clinic had fallen as the boards beneath it gave, pouring the contents into the porch and dousing what flames played there. The rest of the home wasn't so blessed. There would be little or nothing to salvage and all the medical supplies had been inside. The tools they'd spent years collecting might still function if they dug them from the barn ashes in a few days. The cars were another story. They were down to the one vehicle now, and the horses, as long as they hadn't taken those.

"Who's that?" Stephanie pointed towards the road.

Two figures ran swiftly towards them. C readied her pistol and watched Lyrique. She did not appear concerned. C relaxed as the light caught familiar faces. Dani and Sam broke their strides and stopped, short of breath and coated in dust. A long gash ran across Sam's dark skin, starting at his eyebrow and ending below his chin. Dani showed no visible signs of injury, her bow still firmly in her hand.

"We tried to follow them, to at least see which way they went and maybe get our people back. We couldn't. They were too fast." Dani took labored breaths as she tried to explain, completely winded from the run.

"We need to follow them." Sam spoke directly to Ridley now. "We need to get in the car and follow them right now or we'll lose them."

Sam was known around camp for his rash decisions, but this time Ridley knew he was right. If they waited, they could lose the trail. They didn't have a choice. He quickly sized up those physically capable and healthy. While Chassis's injury was slight, he was needed here, as were the two able bodied men, Giles and Nick. Someone had to protect the camp. Eric was older and suffered back problems. Stephanie had no training of any sort, combat or otherwise. He would take Sam and Catch definitely. He'd need Catch and her arrows. Sam wouldn't let her go without him, and the man wasn't by any means useless. The Stella would seat five, and he would prefer to bring more, making C a priority. Lyrique counted as an asset and could ride in the hatch back. That left one position open.

"Roland, how's your ankle?"

"I'll go."

Ridley wasn't sure why, but Debbie saw something in this young man. He had a feeling he would need him.
Chapter 24

When the United States fell to pieces, the rest of the world opted to stay out of it. When they repealed the second amendment and the majority of the constitution, world leaders laughed at the mess they created. It was an open door; corruption overruling loyalty amongst power hungry dictators and stripping dignity from titles. The citizens became definitive poverty, slaves beyond that. As history dictates, when people are oppressed and abused by their officials, they dissimilate from standard conduct and rise to combat it, or face oblivion. There were strikes nationwide against the government, rebel cells lashing out at their weapon and ammunition supplies. One act of valor and bravery tends to domino amid like minded citizens. Those capable and willing struck back, making every effort to prove that the people would not go without a fight. When the new order implemented the NIDs, Canada and Mexico closed their borders and Cuba found itself on the opposite end of illegal immigration. When war began and blood spilled into the streets, they ignored it. This was still not the world's problem. No one cared to stop it, not until it took their children.

Disease breeds legions in the proper conditions. No healthcare along with poverty stricken cities and towns across the country, saddled up to the lack of food and loss of free thinking, created the perfect habitat. Malaria, tuberculosis, even cholera began to creep over the populous in devastating numbers. Pneumonia and bronchitis easily turned fatal without treatment. Poor sanitation and rodents were no assistance in controlling the spread. It quickly rose to an unmanageable level. Soldiers were assigned the duties of collecting the dead and burning the bodies. Cities mourned beneath ashen skies as funeral pyres raged. These illnesses ravaged communities, leading citizens to stay away from others and avoid contact with the outside. Antibiotics were only available if you had the funds to procure them. Ruin moved across the states with the force of a tidal wave, blindly claiming whatever may lie in its path. As the tumult settled and the sicknesses ran their course, most hoped they'd seen the worst of it. Some illnesses, however, aren't treatable even with the best medicine in the world.

It's unclear who really took first notice; who actually realized there was a problem. Ultimately, it didn't matter. It didn't make any sense. There was something wrong. Most new parents know little of what to expect when bringing home a newborn child. This may explain why it took so long for the masses to notice; why almost three years passed before the meltdown. There are certain things you know, regardless of experience. Children laugh, they cry, they smile, and they develop into human beings. As they grow they learn to speak, to sing, to dance, and to play. These are the normal advancements of any individual during childhood. Suddenly, these truths were no longer sound.

While the US had remained alone in her struggle for years, the rest of the world now began turning their attention towards the fallen country. They had to be at fault for this unsettling new discovery. It was not merely one or two children urging the inquisition, but an entire generation now. While it was difficult to pinpoint the exact time it began, it was impossible to find one baby, one child under three years of age, which did not fit the current mold. These new additions to the human race, every infant entering the world, empty vessels with blank stares. These children did not move a muscle in their faces in the form of expression. They did not coo or cry, or even laugh; mute and lethargic. They ate, slept, and existed. This was all, and this terrified even those who would not admit it. Scientists and doctors ran test after test, coming back with no physical anomalies and no signs of any mental disturbance. There was simply nothing wrong with the children. There was no explanation for the lack of emotion or communication. The medical community was dumbfounded.

Blame will always take the foreground when all other solutions have failed. Someone must be at fault. Someone must be held responsible. Russia made the first strike in an alliance with Canada, offering them protection for their borders if they provided the airspace. Corresponding governments met, easily coming to an agreement. Canada remained fearful the US harbored resentment for the destruction of the oil pipeline. Russia feared this was a new military weapon the US infected their children with. The solution was destruction, sending planes, dropping bombs, lashing out at an invisible enemy. Air raids targeted the defense buildings, the government facilities, and the hospitals that must have created this disease alongside their mind control. There was no communication, no warning; simply fire and death falling from the sky. When the smoke dissipated, nothing remained of the new order. Nothing lingered of the former glory so many power hungry leaders clung to. The soldiers left alive would not personify loyalty. There was no longer anyone giving orders. No one had anything left to say. This game they'd played, this monopoly of fear and control, backed them into a corner money could not buy a way out of. Even the mighty fall victim to their own greed eventually, when there is nothing left to take.

### ***

"At least they only got one tire." Sam stepped aside, letting Ridley tighten the lug nuts.

Ridley agreed, finishing the last turn and tossing the wrench into the rear hatch. "I'm surprised they didn't just set the thing on fire, like everything else."

"So are we ready then?" Catch waited by the door, unconsciously stroking Lyrique's warm nose.

"Let's go. We're going to lose them if we don't hurry up." Ridley tossed Sam the keys. "You drive." He took the passenger seat in the box shaped hatchback.

Lyrique hopped easily into the rear of the car, her undaunted canine mentality excited to take a drive regardless of circumstances. C opted for the middle, leaving Catch access to a window. Roland took the other side, sandwiching C in the small back seat. Lyrique's tongue found the side of her face, the shocks in the car responding to the animated wagging of the big dog's body. C pushed her head back and chuckled. It was going to be a cramped ride, and that was the least of her worries. They had no idea what they were heading into. C batted at the furious butterflies crashing around in her rib cage, trying to calm their belligerent circles of worry. The engine broke the silence, all five passengers wrapped up in thoughts they'd rather not discuss.

Only one road led from the camp towards the city, winding through abandoned farm lands and rolling bumps of hills before breaking through to the highway. They failed to catch even a glimpse of a taillight as the Stella careened around the corners. Sam pounded the gas pedal, trying to gain back the time they'd lost changing the tire. The darkness swallowed the dust as it spewed from the rear wheels. Ridley stared defiantly through tinted glass night, searching for a sign of the fleeing vehicles. His heart sank lower with every mile behind them. If they didn't catch them, this could be fruitless. Abandoned or not, it was still a big city to rummage through, especially without an inkling of where to even begin. The dim glow of the moon offered little more aid than a nightlight at the bottom of the ocean. Another turn led to another straight away that stretched out before the main road, every bump heightening the anxiety inside the car, bringing them closer together in worry and proximity. Finally, pavement reflected their headlights and Sam cut a hard right onto the highway.

"I don't see anything." Sam gunned it, pushing the RPMs into the red.

"We're assuming they went towards the city and not into the country." Catch piped in from the back. "What if they went the other way?"

"I've seen them in the city before." Roland kept his eyes fixed on the windshield over Sam's left shoulder, his reflection in the window a backwards mimic. "I don't know if that's where they live, or if they were passing through. It may have even been a different group, but I doubt it."

"Well I'm hoping we can catch up with them on the straight away before the river. It's our best chance of at least seeing them." Ridley checked the rounds for the rifle leaning against his knee. A palm full was better than none.

The Stella dropped over the lip of the hill, bringing an outstretch of highway into clear view before them. Off the shoulder of the road at the foot of the incline, another fire raged. Sam floored it, again coercing the electric motor to its limits. The car rattled with the strain, reminded him it was hardly built for the weight it carried now. As they neared the inferno, the outline of the Jeep became visible through the flames, road kill belly side up in the ditch. Sam stomped the brake, sliding the Stella to a halt thirty feet from the pyre. Ridley's door was open before the vehicle was in park. His boots slapped the street, echoing through the night. Sam and Catch were right behind him, still too late. The roof was flattened, crumpled like an old pop can in a crusher, the headliner now firmly pressed to the tops of the door frames.

"Hello." Catch yelled towards the wreckage, knowing it held no merit. "Anyone here?"

The only response was the crackling of the brush beneath catching and igniting. If anyone remained inside the Jeep, there was nothing they could do. Sam ran a perimeter check, looking for a sign someone may have escaped prior to the blaze, or even during. He turned up nothing, not even a footprint leading away.

"What the hell happened?" C stayed near the door of the Stella with one foot propped up on the frame, concerned Lyrique might jump out.

"I don't know." Ridley gave the only answer he had. "Maybe they tried to take control of the vehicle. Maybe they just crashed." His mind stuck on the image of Penny in the rear of the truck, morbidly wondering who'd been in the Jeep.

"Let's go." Sam impatiently strode back to the car. "At least we know we're going the right way."

The city's ribcage jutted into the night sky, mangled and broken buildings protruding from the chest of a rotting civilization. In the distance, just beyond the first security station long since abandoned on the road, two tiny red dots beckoned. Ridley said nothing, watching Sam correct his course to follow them. The twin beacons vanished around a turn, urging a faster pursuit.

"They will see us long before we reach them." Ridley checked the signs as they passed, remembering street names he used to know. "We have to kill the headlights."

Sam burned a quizzical glance at Ridley. "I'm sure that would be a good idea, man, but how the hell will I see?"

"I know. Not yet. When we are close enough. Hopefully not too close." Ridley scanned the ominous streets. "Left, they went left up there."

They were heading downtown towards the old stadium. Roland knew this area. He'd avoided it since the bombs. The majority of the structures were a bird's breath from toppling over and the drones plagued the alleys. When Russia began lighting up the night with cluster bombs, the more populated areas were their target. Even after the fires and evacuations, Roland deemed the area unsafe. He'd heard stories of men and vehicles discovering undetonated pieces of the old bombs the hard way, long after the strikes ended, and being blown to bits without even suspecting there was danger. Sam killed the lights, slowing the car to a creep. They had an unobstructed view now, watching the truck slink into a loading bay at the rear of the stadium. The lights vanished.

"Now what?" C's fingertips ran up and down the blade of her machete.

Roland continually checked the street on either side of the car. Something wasn't right. "Where are they all?"

C watched his eyes raid the darkness. "Who?" A shiver ran down her neck. She knew the answer before he supplied it.

He met her concerned gaze. "The drones. This place is always crawling with them. At least it was the last time I was here, and the time before that. I don't see any, not even the dead ones that are usually all over the street."

"Maybe they've moved to another place looking for food." Now C watched the shadows cautiously. He was right. There wasn't a single sign of movement in the night.

Sam threw his door open, stuffing the keys into the pocket of his ripped jeans. "Come on. Let's go."

"We're just going to stroll right in there?" Catch rushed to join her brother. "Sam, wait."

Roland popped his door. "I guess we're going."

C followed his lead, inviting Lyrique to exit the vehicle. "Stay close, girl."

The stars were new to this sky. No longer inhibited by the blinding lights of society, they opened twinkling eyes and watched the still world below. Rubber soles voiced their nagging reminder to stay quiet. Keeping to the shadows of the skeletal buildings, they moved closer to the looming stadium. Roland found himself watching Ridley. While he still wasn't sure whether or not C witnessed what he had back at the camp, he knew what he saw. Ridley moved that gun away from Lyrique. It wasn't an accident. He'd watched the weapon turn almost completely around with a force that jolted its handler and fire at a completely different target. He'd observed Ridley's hands directing the aim and the trigger. Roland wondered if C already knew about this. It alarmed and intrigued him, yet he couldn't fathom a way to query it further. He'd heard about certain people, before the NIDs, prior to the bombing, who could manipulate the world with their thoughts. Like so many others, he'd thought it ridiculous, wondering at the sanity of leaders who believed in such supernatural garbage. There was proof, they would say. They could use this to their advantage, it was believed. A good friend of Roland's mentioned once that the army was rumored to have actually implemented a psychic training program in the nineteen seventies. According to him, this wasn't the first time they'd 'gone loony'. This time they were taking rather than teaching. It seemed no one was convinced of this except those in power, which in the long run, didn't matter. Like so many others, Roland suffered at the hands of the government as they escorted him and his wife to the hospital that day like the rest of the cattle; arranged and numbered as they cut into the base of their brains and inserted the apocalypse.

They neared the edge of their cover. A blackened upheaval of lumber and concrete sprawled between the walls of the office suite and the rear of the stadium, reflecting the scarce light off jagged metal and broken glass. It looked as if dozens of bulldozers took turns vomiting the desolation of the surrounding structures into this once vacant dirt field. The only way around led to the front entrance of the arena, an uncovered death trap. They must have pulled the truck down the access road from there. It was impossible to maneuver a tire through this graveyard of pointed obstacles. Ridley would have to remember that when they attempted to escape after they rescued the others. They wouldn't be able to fit them all in the Stella. They would have to take the truck and plow right out the front. That was, of course, if they made it that far.

"This looks incredibly dangerous." C inadvertently glanced at Roland's ankle. "Are you going to do all right with the terrain?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Yeah. It feels fine. Besides, they have our doctor. Once we get her back she can fix it again later." Sensing C's apprehension, he put on a smile.

Ridley nodded his approval. "Absolutely. Sam, Catch, what do you propose?" Although they were young, the twins spent the majority of their lives fending for themselves and surviving on their wits. He'd amassed an altitude of trust and respect for the brother and sister he'd seldom felt for seasoned soldiers. Not only were they fast, intelligent, and resourceful, but they shared a level of compassion necessary to lead others.

"As obnoxious as this shit is," Catch tilted her head towards the rubble, "it makes for good cover if we use it right. It's a dark night. They'll never see us if we keep our heads down. That way we don't get shot before we even get to the place."

C tightened the strap holding her weapon at her hip and tied her wild mess of hair back with a leather cord. "Should we spread out?"

Sam nodded, finishing his sister's plan. "Yeah. If we spread out, Catch and I can take the sides and jump the wall. We need to scout it. We can't go in there blind and outnumbered. We'll get an idea of what we're dealing with and meet you back on the ground."

Ridley hesitated, hating to split up the limited numbers they had. "As long as you don't try anything without the rest of us, agreed?"

"Got it." Sam patted his sister on the shoulder. "Be careful, Dani."

She playfully knocked his hand away. "You too."

They disappeared amongst opposing piles of refuse, silently weaving into the thick of it.

"All right. I'll take the middle. Spread apart on either side. When we reach the edge, keep a look out for Sam and Catch." Ridley affixed his eyes to the ground, carefully guiding his steps as he eased forward.

Lyrique stood quite a bit taller than other dogs her breed, making the bandana around her neck the perfect hold for balance as C tripped through the debris. Lyrique moved with the grace of instinct, and C let her lead. The toe of her worn boot made contact with a solid concrete chunk, sending a surge of pain up through her foot. Lyrique let a soft whine out. C rubbed her head, assuring her she was fine. Lyrique voiced the sound again, stopping and nudging at her owner's hand.

"Shhh. It's okay. Let's go." C took another step forward, feeling something slide beneath her foot and catching her balance before she lost her stance. Again, the dog whined, lowering her nose to sniff C's boot.

"Come on." She urged her forward. Lyrique didn't budge, standing firm in her refusal.

Something snapped under C's weight as she repositioned her foot; something hard and thin. Fumbling through her pockets for the old metal lighter, she closed shaky fingers around the cold rectangular shape. The smell of fluid and smoke accompanied the flicker of her tiny fire as she lowered it to the ground. The forceful intake of her breath jolted the lighter from her hand. The flame died as it hit the ground. Now her hand trembled faster as the image burned in her head through the darkness; hair, bloody and clumped, lying beside her boots, beside the piles of bones. Gingerly combing the surface of the wet earth, C picked the lighter from the ground. The metal met her hands with a new coating, something sticky and moist. Closing her eyes, she ignited the mini torch. Slowly, she let nervous lids rise. She stood in the center of a butcher's shop. Sun bleached, broken and scattered across the garbage, were human bones; legs, arms, rib cages, spinal cords, even the jaw bone and teeth of a small head extended from the dirt. Her stomach knotted, spin cycle kicking on. Lyrique growled, low and quiet. C capped the lighter, quashing the flame at the dog's warning. She smeared her hand down her pant leg, wiping the thick red pulp from her fingers and her lighter. Willing herself not to think about it, she crouched low beside Lyrique, feeling again what she refused to picture squish beneath her boots.

Flashlight beams pierced the darkness alongside voices, the rear door of the delivery bay swinging wide. Orange bulbs sent a wash of luminosity from inside. Two men appeared in the doorway, each pushing a wheel barrow. The second man secured the door behind him before rejoining his comrade. Muttering inaudible complaints to one another, the men pushed their way to the opposite side of the scrap pile. C watched the dance of the flashlights as they bobbed nearer, keeping her hand on Lyrique's neck. The men parked their carts, removing the tarps from them. C swallowed her gasp as the first man lifted what must have once been a person from the wheel barrow. Hardly anything remained now, except for bone and hair. Together, the men took opposing ends of the corpse and began swinging it until they had the momentum needed. When they let go, the body flew, landing the length of a parking space away from C's ducked vantage point. They repeated this until the barrows were empty, mindlessly brushing off their hands and rolling back up to the door. C pushed away the dry heave her stomach so desired. She was standing in the middle of their fetid discard pile. Gathering what remained of her composure, she opted to veer left before proceeding through what now lay ahead. This time, Lyrique followed.

Ridley pretended not to see the bones. He trudged through them like they were driftwood, watching the men exit the building, deposit their errands, and return. He wondered briefly how C was holding up; if she was wading through the same horror. His attention returned to the men, waiting for them to reach the structure. He watched the last man in turn to close the door. He reached out, letting everything else in his mind slip away, finding the cold feel of the deadbolt in hot mental fingers. He waited, counting, letting the man slide the lock in place; allowing him time to walk away. He pulled, drawing the lock back, holding it in his thoughts until he felt it click open. Ridley let go, a short sigh escaping his lips. Patiently, he listened for their return. Minutes passed with nothing. Maybe that was all for the night.

Roland observed the side wall intently, waiting for Catch to return. He'd watched her scale the concrete like a cat, impressed by the strength the small girl possessed. He doubted the others could see much more than he could. Sam was at the far end, closer to Ridley. Roland waited, minutes feeling like days as he found himself worrying about this person he hardly knew. She was just a young girl, and these men inside were far from little boys. A large part of him was grateful C hadn't gone in, though he wasn't sure why. He felt protective towards her, probably because she'd saved his life. Having seen the flashlights come and go, watching them dump the dead like expired restaurant product, Roland silently urged the others to hurry. If you were to judge what was happening inside by how they decorated outside, you might reach the conclusion Roland had. This was a meat plant.
Chapter 25

"No, I told you, we didn't see them." The impatience of youth resounded in Sam's argument. "They're in there. I know it."

"But how many men were there?" Ridley reminded him of his own observation. "You say at least twenty? And they are armed? Sam, we can't just run in there and hope they don't see us. We may have an advantage in that we can think, and they can't. That's our only advantage. Let's not abandon it by joining them on their level and acting like fools."

Dani couldn't recall ever hearing Ridley raise his voice before. "Sam, he's right." She attempted to soothe her brother's temper. "We can't get them out if we're dead. Like Ridley said, let's think about this because we can."

Sam deflated. "I'm sorry. I feel like we're running out of time. I don't know why."

"I understand." Ridley reassured him. "We are. You're right. But we can get inside now without causing a scene. I watched them when they came out. They didn't lock the rear door." He pointed from their crouched position at the edge of the rubble where they'd joined back together.

"You know they didn't lock it?" Roland let his gut speak before his brain could check it, regretting how combative it sounded.

Ridley met his eyes, holding them a moment, searching for something. "I don't think they locked it. I can rephrase that. Either way, it's wiser than attempting to go over the walls or through the front."

"Both are guarded." Sam butted in, noticing the odd shift in tension. "Even if the rear door is, we won't be opening ourselves up for a firing squad like the walls. There are men all over the grounds inside. We drop down there, we all get blown to hell."

The scouting journey had proven exponentially more important than Sam expected, having never been inside the stadium when it was a functioning facility. The front of the arena was a large gate, two panels that swung inwardly to allow the public onto the grounds. Attached to this gate, encompassing the courtyard and concessions, was a thirty foot wall running around the circumference of the stadium. This wall, designed to create an air of supremacy in the world of sports long ago, now acted as a fortress from the front. Once Sam reached a perch at the top of the rear wall, he realized that would not be an option. Although his position was easier to acquire, it still allowed no entry. The rear wall harbored the personnel entry which led to the lower belly of the arena where the supplies were loaded in. Even from atop the wall, you could only see the upper grounds. That's where the men were patrolling. Sam kept his head down and watched them, counting. Most were guards instructed to patrol specific areas. Others he'd watched come and go from the stadium proper to the inside amenities court, busy doing something he could not see. He could hear it though, faint screams from somewhere close.

"Trust me, from what I saw, this is likely the best way. I could hear people, screaming or something. It was faint, but it was there. Maybe they're down there." Sam repeated Ridley's earlier gesture towards the rear door.

The group passed a silent vote, no one opposing the plan. "I'll go first. I want Dani and C behind me. Roland, Sam, you bring up the rear. C, she isn't going to bark is she?" Ridley petted Lyrique, watching her owner's expression.

"Not unless it's important. If she does, consider it a warning." She rested her fingers on the handle of her machete.

"That's fair. Everyone ready?" Ridley scanned the closest rooftops for shadows or silhouettes, pleased to see nothing.

Fifteen feet stretched between their cover and the door. That was more than enough space to get shot. Keeping as quiet as possible, they bolted for the entryway, moving in organized patterns; soldiers trained by the impulse to survive. Ridley reached the handle, the others behind him tucking against the wall. The knob turned, the deadbolt still comfortably in retreat. A flutter of relief plucked his nerves. The light from earlier was gone. Only a dim illumination produced the walls and angles of a hallway much resembling a tunnel, from somewhere at the other end. A putrid odor washed the air, almost masking the damp stink of the moist underground. Following Ridley's lead, they pressed to the sides, listening and moving slowly towards the light. A lantern sat on an old fold up table where the hallway dead ended, running into another that branched off left and right. Both directions offered another faint flicker at the end. Every scuff of a boot heel echoed in the empty expanse. Ridley motioned for everyone to be still, silencing his breath and letting his ears become the dominant sense.

To the left, he could hear men speaking past thick walls, yelling and laughing beyond that. To the right, his breath caught involuntarily. There was the muffled pitch of a woman crying, and it was gone. He waited, listening for it again. The sound didn't repeat. Something else rewarded his patience, turning hot blood to cold syrup. The piercing reverberation of a scream pounded the walls and ceiling around them, running its course down the wing. C felt Lyrique shake under her hand, leaning against her leg as she sat still. She couldn't blame her. The hair on her neck might never lie down again. That sound was sure to bring someone down here, unless it was normal. The washer cycle started over in her stomach.

"Maybe we should go back." C whispered to Ridley. "What if they're coming down here?"

"Wait." He held his hand up. "We wait."

Minutes itched by. No one blocked the light from either end of the tunnel. Ridley waved his hand, urging the others to follow him forward, taking the branch on the right. C took a deep breath, soundlessly praying she wouldn't hear that scream again. They reached the end, another lantern on a table and another decision. They gathered against the wall opposite the lantern, invisible to anyone entering the previous tunnel. Once fabric stopped rustling and boots hushed noisy soles, C thought she could hear crying. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sound. It was ricocheting from one end of the hall to the other. It might have been right beside her for all the good it did trying to trace it down.

"Did you hear that?" Dani's voice was soft enough speaking. Her whisper was almost silent.

"I did." C turned to the side, still hoping for a clue.

This was the final intersection; no lights welcomed the end of these tunnels. There was no way to tell how far they went, or which one might lead them to what they came for. If they took the wrong one, they might not get another chance.

"I can't tell where the sound is coming from." Ridley admitted the defeat that led to a decision he hated. "We have to split up."

"Ridley, if we get them out, what are we supposed to do after that?" Dani peeked around the corner, satisfied to find the area still clear.

"We meet out back where they pulled the truck in. We'll need it to get everyone out of here." His sharp eyes moved from face to face. "Catch, Sam, are you all right on your own again?"

The twins nodded in unison. In another place, he may have laughed. "Good. C, Roland, you're with me. We split up, find the others, and haul ass back out of here, everyone got it? If we run into trouble, we will do the best we can. If you don't find anything, get back outside and stay hidden until we regroup. If anything happens, get to the car and get back to camp."

No one said goodbye. If it was the only form of manners remaining, it was potent. After losing so many, you stop uttering such a useless word. It has no value. The group split. Catch took to one side of the wall and Sam to the other, moving like they shared a brain instead of a womb. C glanced over her shoulder and they were gone into the darkness. She steadied her heart. They would be fine. They were better off than most and they had each other. Her hands felt their way down the tunnel along the wall, using Lyrique again as a guide. Occasionally her concern forced her to turn around and confront the invisible monster looming over her back, continuously discovering it to only be her imagination. They were alone in the empty wing and the tunnel went on forever. She couldn't be sure, but it felt as if they'd rounded a bend and were heading deeper underground. The air grew colder and the smell of wet soil crept into her nostrils, leading her to wonder if she'd grown used to the other stench.

"Where are we?" She wasn't sure if Ridley or Roland walked in front of her.

"I think it's some sort of shelter. The government likely built it during the uprising. They used quite a few buildings and made safe havens for the higher ups. I assume that's what this is. I doubt they needed this for baseball games." Ridley replied from her left, making Roland the figure in front.

"The stink is getting worse." Roland felt his nose twinge as the pungent odor of decaying meat burned into his nostrils. He pulled the collar of his shirt over the lower half of his face. "If that's what I think it is, we're going the right way."

Lyrique tugged, jerking C to a stop and letting go a short growl. "Shh. Let's go." She stroked her hand down the dog's back, her fingers brushing over the ridge of fur standing on end. C knew her dog well enough. "Guys, something's wrong."

They halted. Roland was growing to trust the animal more every day. Now, she was the canary in the coal mine. "What's going on?"

"I don't know." C removed the lighter from her pocket again, spinning the wheel against the flint.

The sallow glow fluctuated, currents of air assaulting the tiny flame. Several feet ahead of them stood an iron security door, floor to ceiling, bars and chains. Past that was only more darkness. Scuffling sounds suggested the presence of something larger than any rodent moving beyond the bars. They stood in the shallow light, craning ears and eyes in fruitless efforts to divulge further details. C let her hand slip from Lyrique's neck and timidly approached the gate. The glow extended beyond the opening now, casting soft borders around the metal confines. C could make out nothing other than the floor on the inside of the door. The room beyond that opened up into a vast cave, intimidating the tiny torch. She gently guided her hand over the chain, finding a lock holding the links together around the gate. Her companions joined her, inspecting the impediment as she had.

"How do we get in?" C felt Lyrique bump her leg. As stubborn as she was, the dog would not let her owner venture on alone.

Ridley hesitated. "I'm sure someone has the key, though the likelihood of us acquiring it is slim. I didn't even think to bring bolt cutters."

Roland shook his head, almost laughing. "Come on, Ridley."

Ridley raised an eyebrow, wondering where this was going. "What do you mean, Roland?"

He snorted. "Just do it. I know you can. I saw what you did back at the camp site. That was a gun. This is just a lock. Let's not waste time pretending you don't know what I'm talking about."

C eyed Roland suspiciously through the ballet of shadows pirouetting across his face. "What are you talking about?"

"Really? You don't know?" Roland appeared amused.

Ridley sighed. _What did it matter now?_ "I'm sorry Casey. I wasn't keeping it from you. I, well, let's discuss this later." He closed his eyes, pulling in a full breath and feeling it expand his lungs. As he exhaled, he pushed all the clutter away with the used air; every thought must be still except the one he needed. He began to count silently, his energy entering through the key hole on the lock, wrapping around the tiny splines. His will made contact, adjusting the pins. A muffled click sang from inside the lock. Reaching out, he pulled the open latch off the chain and handed it to Roland.

"Let's go."

Fighting off the desire to bombard him with questions, C swallowed her astonishment and followed Ridley into the chamber. The odor worsened with every step, thickly potent, the way sugar turns to glue, like sun decayed fruit. She gripped the lighter tightly, moving slowly. Black puddles speckled the ground, visible only when they fell inside the small circle of luminosity. A scampering sound, bare feet on concrete, whizzed past behind them. C spun to aim the fire in the direction of the sound, finding nothing. The noise repeated itself to their left, and then to their right, always outside of the light. C held tightly to Lyrique, feeling the rumble in her throat through the bandana. The vibration grew, becoming a low ominous tone now audible from the dog. Distracted and attempting to hush her, C barely kept her footing as something slammed into her from behind, the sharp jab of a bony extremity ambushing her kidney. The lighter flew from her hand, pinging across the hard floor. The darkness overtook them, eyes desperately trying to adjust to absolute black with no luck.

"C, you all right?" Ridley felt something thin and rigid sweep against his leg, finding only a brush of cold skin at his fingertips when he reached out to grab it.

"Yeah. Something ran into me." She followed the sound of his voice and moved closer, bumping into Roland in the process. Lyrique continued to accentuate her discomfort, snarling at the threat they could not see.

"We need light." Roland stooped, fishing over the cold ground for the Zippo C dropped. His hands smeared through some wet substance. He ignored it, reaching further. "Got it."

The reassuring sound of the flint grinding brought light back.

"Oh fuck." Roland raised his arm high, dragging nightmares into conscious reality.

They were surrounded. There must have been thirty or forty of them, half naked, dragging shreds of old clothes like burial sheets. Every face the light met reflected nothing but blank hunger. Mouths hung slack, tongues moving over teeth and gums. Eyes shone black, pupils swollen in the dim to the size of pennies. C freed the machete at her belt, firmly gripping the leather wrapped handle and pointing the blade towards the closest attacker. Ridley angled his back to hers, Roland mimicking the strategy, forming a triangle facing outward. The mere paucity of sight heightened the situation. As far as they could see, they were engulfed in a mob of Ferals. The three nearest to C darted from the throng simultaneously, going for her legs. Lyrique lurched forward, tugging free. Her jaws found the extremity before the fingers reached her owner, clamping down on paper thin skin and snapping. The arm drew back as another took its place, receiving the same treatment from Lyrique. This time she shook, massive teeth locked in place. She reared back and tossed the struggling form to the ground, eagerly snapping at another. C swung the machete down hard, blade facing inward, knocking the small body from the dog's back.

"Lyrique, get over here." Her words roared through closed teeth, the intensity convincing the dog to retreat. C found hold of the bandana again, swinging at the Feral that clung to Lyrique's neck. The dull end met skull with a sickening crack.

Somewhere from the distant blackness came a familiar voice. "Casey?"

"Penny." C yelled back, kicking at the clawing hands that swiped at her legs. The distance grew between the three, each struggling to fend off the hordes of starving limbs that flailed to bring them down.

Ridley opted to use the barrel of the rifle as a bat, swatting at them when they were close enough, keeping them off of Roland too as he held the lighter above his head. "C, we've got to get to them and get out of here. We can't fight them all."

"No shit." Roland swung his boot up, heaving another off his leg and back into the bevy.

"Penny, where are you?" C endeavored to pinpoint the direction of her voice over the racket.

"Casey, run. Get out of here." Penny pleaded, still lost somewhere in the dark.

"Penny we're coming to get you." Ridley took a step towards the sound. "Keep talking."

Moving slowly, keeping formation with their backs guarded, Roland held the flame up. Every foot they gained was taken by pushing back the mob, driving them deeper into the middle of the unknown numbers. Each step was with force, kicking at those brave enough to lash out and shaking off the ones that managed to latch on. Lyrique maintained the perimeter, alongside C's blade. Outstretched fingers found teeth like granite waiting to snap if they dared let limbs wander too far into the blackness. They tested the dog, two rushing forward at a time, finding her still too fast to bring down. At one hundred and forty some pounds, Lyrique was more than double their average weight. They were paper dolls to her, and she reminded them with precision.

"Ridley, there are too many of them. Please, go. Get out of here." Penny, closer this time, defeated and frightened yet still concerned about everyone except herself. New voices chimed in, maybe two others, murmuring pleas and alarms.

"Not a chance, Doc." Roland spoke up, hoping she might have more faith knowing their numbers weren't only two. "I'm not getting bit and scratched to hell for nothing."

"Stubborn asses." A glimmer of her usual optimism returned. "Then hurry up."

The corner of the room finally crept into the light. A holding cell, something resembling a Wild West drunk tank, occupied the end wall. Not more than twenty square feet existed inside the bars, fastened every six inches in a grid of metal. The poles ran into a three foot cement retaining wall that bordered the bottom all the way around. One barred door faced the front. Stained blankets lay in piles against the wall. Penny stood beside the entrance, hands wrapped around the bars, dirt smudged and white knuckled.

"We've got to get you out of there." Ridley reached the cell, backing up to it and swinging at the advancing crowd. The rifle connected, knocking the two closest down. The others backed away, regrouping.

"It isn't locked. We thought it would be safer in here than out there." Penny swung the gate wide, allowing the light to strike the forms on the floor.

"Debbie, Sue, Chris." C choked. "Where's Dorothy? Jane? The others?"

Penny shook her head slowly. "I never saw Bill or Mark after they took us, or Dorothy. Jane tried to fight them when we got here. They, well, she's gone."

A tear burned down C's cheek, followed by the heat of rage. Dorothy was an old woman; someone's grandmother once. She had little time to grieve, swinging the machete again to back them off. "Let's go. Now."

Ridley nodded. "Debbie, Sue, hurry up. Stay inside the circle, between Roland, Casey, and I. Roland, give Penny the lighter."

He slowly passed the flame to the doctor. "You got it?"

Penny lifted the Zippo. "How many are there?"

"Too many." Roland distractedly answered her, reaching down to pull a splintered rake handle from the ground. He lifted it into the light, pleased with the find.

"Debbie." Ridley leaned over where she sat. "Debbie we have to go. We have to get out of here." He gently took her by the shoulders and guided her up.

Debbie's eyes flashed brighter than the fire of the solitary lighter. "She's here, Ridley. They have my Sera."
Chapter 26

"Debbie, Sera is dead. You and I both saw that building explode. No one could have survived that. Not even Sera. You have to get up, Debbie. Come on." Ridley urged her softly, battling his patience.

"Ridley, I know you think I'm crazy. God knows I've given you enough reason over the years. I'm not." Debbie took hold of his hands with a strength her frail form did not convey, curling frozen fingers around his. "She is here. I heard the men talking about her. Please, believe me. I can't leave without her."

Ridley reined his urgency, taking a moment to consider it. Roland and C held the front of the cell clear. "Penny, are there other prisoners here?"

"I don't know. The men were saying some strange things about a girl. They are afraid of her." Penny's eyes darted over the faces of the multitude surrounding the cell.

"I hate to cut this short, but we need to get the hell out of here." Roland extended his arms, swinging the stick and clearing the space around him yet again. His shoulders burned from the exertion and he was tired of the debate. "Also, Debbie is right about that girl being alive. I've seen her."

Ridley's heart beat quickened. "You're sure, Roland?"

"Yep. Whether or not she's here, I couldn't tell you. If Debbie says she is, I'd believe her." He thought about the song. He'd assumed the girl to be the daughter of the other travelers fleeing California. He'd never asked. Thoughts were precious at that time and not to be wasted on the well being of others. Right now, he just wanted out of this tomb.

The crackle of electricity and a buzzing undertone of current signaled the overhead bulbs. Two bays of floodlights ignited on either end of the huge room, making their surroundings clear for the first time. A metal catwalk ran from an overhead door across the length of the far wall, some twenty feet off the ground. Otherwise, there was only one entrance; one exit. The door they'd come through was the only accessible outlet. Nothing connected the catwalk to the floor. Its intentions were deliberate. It was meant for separation and observation only. The hinge of the upper door proposed they were no longer surprise visitors, swinging wide with the sound of voices approaching. All eyes shot to the entrance, everyone fully aware there was no place to hide.

"Go, now." Ridley shoved Sue forward as she clutched the hand of her disaffected son. He wrapped an arm around Debbie's waist and made for the rest of the group.

With the new advantage of sight came the disadvantage of being seen. The first man stepped onto the footbridge, the commotion red flagging his attention. "What the hell?"

"Run."

C didn't need Ridley to urge her on. The first shot sunk deep into the wall behind her. She dropped her head down and broke into a sprint, legs pumping slower than she beseeched. The echo of the fired round cleared the Ferals back, sending them retreating against the far side of the chamber. Without the hindrance of the biting, clawing group as a whole, they plowed through the stragglers. Several bullets pelted against the floor. The exit grew closer, the shots increasing in frequency. C thought she heard Ridley yell something to Penny. Breaking stride to look behind her, she saw him bend down and scoop up the doctor. A dark stain already began to spread on the thigh of her jeans. Throwing her arm around his neck like a sash, Ridley began to run again. Lyrique reached the door first, panting and anxiously pacing. C almost toppled into her, catching her toe on the lip of the single step up. Roland's hands were there, steadying her. They edged around the corner, back into the dim of the tunnel. One after another, the others piled in, Ridley bringing up the rear with Penny.

"Now where do we go?" Roland scoured the shadows. The clamor of the gun fire would draw others quickly.

"Back down the tunnel to the junction." Ridley's breath came hard. "We have to find Dani and Sam."

Penny winced, keeping her right leg off the ground. "I can't run, Ridley."

Ridley brushed aside the suggestion. "I'll carry you. Let's go. Now."

Slapping boots rang out down the adjacent tunnel, heading their way. C followed her instincts and pressed against the wall, holding firmly to Lyrique. Flashlight beams bounced in circles, growing brighter as they neared. Voices shouted, their words garbled by the reverberation. A sharp white ray turned the corner, shining directly on them.

"Hey we got people in here." The first man turned to inform someone behind him.

The hiss of a slender bolt leaving the string wasn't enough of a warning. The man dropped to his knees, fingers grasping at the arrow protruding from his neck. Before the second flashlight could sanction their location, the next arrow found a clean mark. The bulb shattered across the ground as the man's hand flew to his leg. He tumbled sideways, landing in a heap next to his comrade. This time the shots came before the light, demolishing the walls around the T-junction where the tunnels met. The jostle of metal against its like and the slide of empty ammo clips signaled their proximity. Ridley assumed the men stood just before the opening. They could not see them from there, but the only way out was blocked. A thick film of burnt powder permeated the already limited light. On the other side of the T, a small flame ignited once and was doused. C smiled. That was Dani, clever as always.

Roland leaned close to Ridley, keeping his tone quiet. "We're pinned down here."

"I know." Ridley ransacked his options, coming up with only wild half schemes.

In the glow from the lantern posted at the junction, a dark form darted across the opening, dodging the fallen men. The bullets pounded the wall just as the figure crossed to safety, now running towards them. Lyrique wagged her stub of a tail. C let out a breath of relief. Sam reached their position. The top portion of a rifle crept around the wall, followed by a man's arms bending to angle the weapon, and then a sliver of his face and eye. The bite of the first arrow struck into the soft flesh above his elbow in the rear of his arm. The second drove deep below his shoulder blade, piercing a lung and sending him to the floor.

Sam shook his head, watching the body slump over. "She's good."

"Sam. Not now. What did you find?" Ridley encouraged the young man to keep his focus.

"We have to go the other way, straight across. The tunnel Dani and I took goes to the loading bays, to the trucks. We scoped it out, hoping you guys found the others. When we heard the shots, we came back. If we can get past this, we can get out."

"Good." Ridley directed his attention to Roland. "I need you to carry Penny. I can promise you that I will keep you both safe, but I have to concentrate. I can't do that and carry her."

Roland knew what he meant. He knew Ridley was counting on his discretion. "Of course."

"Sam, help Sue and Chris first. We will go in groups, two or three at a time. Once you are across, Sam, wait sixty seconds and flash the lighter. I will send the next group. Then thirty seconds, and the last group follows. Does that make sense?" Ridley swallowed the stale taste of worry in his throat.

The others acknowledged, less than enthusiastic. Sam took the front, hesitantly holding Chris by the arm; hoping Sue didn't notice him shudder at just the touch. Ridley inched along the wall a pace behind him, taking position where the tunnel stopped at the T. Cautiously, slowly, he peered around the corner. Making a mental snapshot, he ducked his head back just as the rifle's retort sounded. The bullet grazed the wall where his face had been, taking a concrete chunk with it. That was all the time he needed, if it would work at all. He couldn't affect something he couldn't see, and this would be the first time he'd attempted it strictly from memory. Four men stood guard in the hall, all armed and itchy fingered, waiting for an excuse to blow holes in whatever moved. Their formation suggested former military, or at least some training. All four wore their hair long and dirty, matted ponytails and tangled curls brushing stained shirt collars as filthy necks craned to see their target.

"There will be reinforcements soon." Sam bent dark eyebrows over sniper eyes, speaking at a nearly negative decibel.

Ridley patted his shoulder twice in affirmation. "Go, now."

Sam turned to Sue, one hand aside her cheek, and smiled. "Trust me."

The gash across his face stole away his boyish charm, framing his words with raw ardor. Sue dipped her head in agreement. Stuffing down his personal bias, Sam hefted Chris up on his back, wrapping the boy's legs around his waist and holding both the child's arms with one hand in front of his chest. It was only a ten foot dash. He'd rather bear the burden of the child's weight than that of his languid pace. Sam knew he would still run faster than anyone else, even carrying the kid. Something twisted in the back of his head made notion he was covering his own back, literally. Guilt ascended with self loathing instantly, and he slammed the door on that tiny voice. He couldn't help it if part of him detested the Ferals; these drone bodies of what some people call children. He'd been raised to believe human beings possessed souls. These things lacked the necessary spiritual makeup and track record to convince Sam that they were anything other than parasites. They were not human beings. He shifted the position of the silent weight on his back and focused. Sam's eyes met Sue's again and he nodded.

They left the cover of the wall side by side, but Sam was right. Sue quickly fell behind him. He could almost feel her panic when the rounds began to shake the tunnel. Concrete exploded around his feet in tiny blasts, pieces skipping across the ground behind him. He crossed the threshold; the line of shadow signifying where the wall began offering protection again. Sam whipped around, his eyes falling to the floor a few feet away. Sue had panicked. She'd lost her composure, and in the process, her escape. Dani grabbed her brother's sleeve, pulling him further into the tunnel.

"Sam, Sam, you're okay. Sam?" She absentmindedly lowered the child from his back to the floor. Chris did not turn his head to see his mother where she fell. Tears found no purchase, dry eyes still gazing off at some distant world no one else saw.

Sam shuddered, brushing his shoulders off. "What the hell happened?"

"She just stopped, Sam." Dani kicked the ground. "I don't know. I think she wanted to make sure you, well, Chris, got through. She just stopped and stood there and let them shoot her."

Sam felt an old anger rise up the back of his head. "That's stupid. That is just stupid. She would have made it. They were shooting at the damn ground. I don't understand." He wanted to sock the kid, as wrong as it was, and he didn't know why. It wouldn't help. It wasn't his fault. It was done.

Sam cracked his knuckles instead. "Flash the lighter. Count to sixty. Ridley said he'll send the next group. Catch, isn't this making it easier for them to pick us off one at a time?"

She sighed. "I honestly don't know Sam." She pulled out her lighter and slipped it into her brother's hand.

Ridley waited, sweat gathering on his forehead in the deepening wrinkles that only worsened daily. He'd tried, with everything he could, to reach all four men; to find all four weapons. He'd missed one. He'd managed to send so many bullets into the ground, but couldn't reach just one gun. He had to make a choice. It always came down to that, and another piece of Kenneth Ridley would die. He couldn't hold them all, and in his mind a thought slipped amongst the affect. He'd wanted more for Sam to make it than Sue, and he'd thought it. Then she stopped running and stood there; then it was over. _Had he done that? Could he?_ He wiped at his damp face with the back of his hand. He needed to center himself now. He had to try harder. He was at his wits end with losing those supposedly in his care.

"Ridley." C's hushed voice waivered, eyes affixed on Sue's crimson speckled face where she now rested, opened stare and blank expression forever skyward. Concern prompted Casey to sound selfish while she only prayed aloud for the universe to hear and understand.

"If they hurt my dog, I'll die. She's all I have."

"I know, Casey. I'll do everything I can."

Debbie blended into the shadows, silent since she'd made her plea. C hoped she did not fight her now, offering her hand. Debbie took it, hard fingers like stone against hands half her age. The sprout of fire sparked from the lighter in the distance. Ridley began to count, tapping in time on C's arm. She followed along, growing more tense the nearer the numbers got to sixty. At forty five she felt a squeeze from Debbie. At fifty, C rubbed Lyrique and whispered affections into her ear, still holding the bandana. Ridley began his second count on the forty four mark, regulating his breathing and thinking only of the scene he pictured inside closed lids. Fifty nine. Sixty. C burst forward, Debbie keeping right in time, to her surprise. Lyrique surged ahead, clearing twice the distance they had. She'd make it well before they would. Not a second in and the gunfire started, pounding like jackhammers into her eardrums. C dug her fingernails hard into her palms, ignoring the sound and moving as fast as she could. When her feet sank into the darkness of the tunnel, she almost collapsed in relief. Debbie did, falling to her knees.

Ridley sighed heavily and readied himself, helping Penny stand. "I think Sam had the right idea."

Roland turned his back to Penny. "Piggy back it is."

"No." The doctor argued. "Don't risk this for me." The blood overtook the lower half of her pants, now a widespread stain seeming to deplete the rest of her body's needs. Her face was a winter moon.

"What do you even weigh? Ninety pounds?" Roland worried she was going to bleed to death. If she passed out, she may be the only one who knew how to sew the wound up. He didn't wait for an answer, ducking down and carefully lifting her. "Just hold on as tight as you can."

Somewhere out of their line of sight a heavy door closed, echoes of boots running following the slam. Ridley had lost his advantage. He no longer knew what he faced around the corner. He questioned whether or not he could run and maintain the concentration to hold off the aim of the firing squad. He'd tried it before, moving and attempting to move objects along with him. Sometimes he was successful, other times not so much. This would be the biggest gamble he'd ever laid on his skills; his own life.

"Roland, if I stop, keep going. Get Penny to the other side."

"Ridley, what are you talking about?" Penny's voice was fainter now, fading in and out.

"Don't worry Penny. Everything will be fine." He trained his eyes on Roland. "Don't worry about me."

Roland nodded. "I've got her. You can do this."

As if they could hear him, the lighter flashed from across the way. Thirty seconds wasn't much time when it might be the last time you had. Ridley began his second count at fourteen, focusing strictly on the one man he knew stood closest. If he couldn't reach them all, he'd have to stop them another way. Twenty nine. Thirty. _Fifteen. Sixteen_. Ridley cleared the start first, cocking his head sideways and pushing his will against the sweating palms of the nearest man, taking control of the weapon. The second wave of the thought hit the trigger as the force spun the confused man around. Less than three seconds had elapsed. The spray left the barrel, hurtling into the bodies of his surrounding comrades. Now Ridley saw the other three men that joined the group, standing farther back down the adjoining tunnel. They hit the floor for cover just as Ridley reached the far side. Roland was there, Penny almost unconscious and sliding from his shoulders as he tried to readjust his hold on her arms.

"Keep going. Run. They don't know how many more of us there are. It buys us a minute." No one had witnessed Ridley's possession of the man's gun other than Roland. He didn't tell the others before. It wasn't likely now.

Following Sam as Catch took up spotter to his left, the others hustled through the darkness of the tunnel. Lyrique darted ahead, toenails clacking over the hard floor. Ridley stayed beside Roland and Penny, there to assist if the need arose. Sam made it to the end first, ramming the metal bar that kept the door closed. A burst of bright light shot through the opening. C was the last to reach the exit, spinning around and slamming the door behind her. She flipped the deadbolt, hoping it might earn them a little more time. Her eyes struggled to adjust, letting in the sudden illumination of her surroundings. They stood on the large ramp leading up from the docking bay. Below the incline sat a row of hodgepodge vehicles, miscellaneous trucks and SUVs, most gutted with open hoods. The utter lack of gasoline made most automobiles useless. Even if they'd been parked with a full tank, it was long since scavenged and used, or expired beyond functionality. C recognized the truck they'd driven into her camp, making note that it was at least operational.

Sam wasted no time debating, rushing his sister and Chris towards the vehicles. "Get in the truck. Dani, put the kid in the front."

She countered, veering off as Sam moved towards the bay door. "I'll ride in the back with him. Penny needs to be up front and someone needs to hold on to her."

C dropped the tailgate, pounding the metal twice with her palm. "Load up, girl."

Lyrique happily leapt into the truck bed. Dani boosted Chris in, telling him to lay down flat and hold on. She pulled her bow free and posted on the edge of the bed, securing one foot against the base of the roll bar and bracing her back against the exterior of the cab's rear. Ridley held the passenger door for Roland, helping him ease the doctor onto the seat.

"Do you want to ride with her?" Roland offered. "I mean, whatever you think is best. You might be more helpful to us in the back."

Ridley contemplated the circumstances quickly, glancing at the ignition. The keys were absent. "Casey, you're driving."

She hurried to the driver's side, climbing into the cab. "There are no keys, Ridley."

"Don't worry about that. Roland, hold on to Penny." Ridley swung the door shut, running to the other side of the truck, to Casey's window. "Just work this time." He closed his eyes, picturing the wires running from the ignition, picturing the spark they needed to send life down the line to the motor. He felt his mind wrap around them and began to count. Sixteen. The motor skipped, almost turning over. Shaking off his frustration and the mounting headache, he started again. This time the beast residing in the old V8 engine growled, rumbling to life.

Casey stared at Ridley, eye's scanning his face as he concentrated. When the motor cranked over, she almost choked. "Ridley, what the..."

"Shh. Later." He patted her door. "Just get us the hell out of here."

The raucous bombardment of bullets into metal shattered their momentary safety. The men were at the door and would be through it any second. Debbie stood behind the truck, her face a mask of worry and loss. Ridley threw an arm around her waist and rushed towards the pickup. To his surprise, she pulled from his grasp.

"I'm not leaving her again Ridley. Not again."

"Debbie, if she is here, we will get her back. Right now we need to get Penny and the rest of them out of here or we will all die and there will be no one to help her. Do you understand this?" Ridley stared hard into the arctic frost of her weary eyes.

She did not budge. "No. You can go. I'm not leaving her. I already died once, the last time we drove away. I'd rather take a bullet to the head than live knowing I left her again."

"I'm sorry Debbie." Ridley truly was. "I promise I'll make this right." He wrapped his arm around her again, this time with more force, lifting her from her feet.

She immediately began thrashing and kicking. "Ridley, put me down." Her fists pounded against his sides and ribs. "Put me down."

He ignored it, let her scratch and punch him, carrying her the rest of the way to the truck. Sam met him at the edge of the bed, taking Debbie from him as she yelled and lashed out with pointed kicks that landed stinging across Sam's shins. Ridley quickly took her back, catching another swing to the face. This one hit his nose, blood trickling from his nostril.

"Debbie, stop." He pinned her arms to her sides again, easily overpowering her small frame and sitting her down gently.

"Ridley let me go." She hissed the demand through clenched teeth.

"I can't do that."

He barely had the words out when the door crashed in to the docking bay. Men piled onto the ramp, spotting their charge and taking aim. Debbie took the moment of distraction for her advantage, jerking an arm free and shoving Ridley off balance as C threw the truck in reverse towards the bay door. Bullets hammered the ground behind them. The tires chirped, jolting them out of the building and into the night. Debbie took hold of the roll bar, stepping onto the lump designed to house the rear wheel.

"That's enough." Catch launched a small solid fist right into Debbie's face, knocking her back before she could jump from the truck.

Ridley caught her as she tumbled down. "Catch? What the hell was that?"

The girl smiled, shrugging. "She was going to jump. She wasn't going to calm down Ridley. It kept you from having to do it."

He let it drop. She was right. The truck bounced viciously over the terrain. C followed the tracks around the side, gunning it as she saw the front of the stadium loom into view. They were almost to the street. Sam motioned for everyone to get down. There were likely still men on the roof. No sense in giving them an easy target. Dani fished an arrow from the quiver on her back, notching it and waiting. C sped up as the landscape allowed, churning tires on the street as she cut left. Ridley held Debbie, either unconscious or simply passive now, and scanned the rooftop as they passed. All the men must be inside. They took another turn, a little too fast for the old beater, the rear end hopping and tossing them around. Sam eyed the child, huddled in a ball against the side. He still wore the expression of a coma patient. None of this bothered him. Sam felt his nostrils flare, an inadvertent reaction he hoped no one ever noticed. Lyrique bumped his fingers with her wet nose. He chuckled. It wasn't as if she would tell anyone.

The Stella sat where they'd left it, gleaming in the headlights. C pulled beside it, slamming the shifter into neutral and leaving the motor running. While she had no doubt Ridley could start it again, it wasn't worth the risk. They split up, Ridley taking Chris and Debbie to the backseat of the car. Dani offered to stay in the truck but Sam suggested otherwise. It was safer in the car. She conceded, taking the passenger seat as he claimed driver. Lyrique was left with the truck bed, pacing the perimeter that now belonged to her alone, puffing her chest and sniffing the wind current for a sign of their enemy. Sam motioned for C to lead, waving his hand out the window. She dug the clutch to the floor, finding first gear a tedious fit for the worn shifter and skipping to second. With a lurch, the truck rocked forward. Sam kept a tight follow, rushing her down the empty streets towards the highway. C found her eyes drawn to the rearview mirror, constantly expecting lights to creep into view. The only break in the darkness was theirs as they sped out of the city.
Chapter 27

Penny was definitely unconscious. Her head lolled against the bench seat. Roland tucked his arm behind her neck, trying to keep her comfortable. His shirt was stained and damp between his back and the seat. Her leg still bled. He reached down and pulled his t-shirt up over his head, holding firmly and ripping the bottom strip off. He knew little about medical procedures, but it made sense to tie up the wound. He wrapped the thin cotton around her thigh, pulling it tight enough to dissuade the blood flow and tying it off. C glanced at him, then at Penny's face. She looked peaceful. She could be sleeping, other than the complete lack of color.

"Do you think she's going to be all right?" Roland kept his eyes forward, not wanting to show his apprehension. He'd grown to really admire this woman and what she managed to still represent.

"I don't know Roland." C's voice cracked. "I don't know how to help her. We have no supplies left at the camp. I don't know what to do."

Roland thought for a second before voicing his wonder. "Do you think Ridley can help her?"

C tightened her grip on the wheel. "I don't know. Until now, I didn't know he could do, well, any of that. He's been here for two years. I've never seen anything like that. Maybe he can." She questioned to what extent the man could manipulate things and why he'd never felt the need to share it with anyone.

"So you didn't know?"

She shook her head. "No. I had no idea. It doesn't surprise me. I've seen too much happen that no one believed ever could. It's impossible to doubt the existence of anything anymore." Her eyes lingered on the bracelets tied around her wrists. "Anything is possible."

Roland prided himself on his observation skills before the NID. He was grateful they'd survived the hiatus, although intermittent headaches accompanied the thoughts. "What's with the bracelets, C? Do you really think people are going to judge you on something like that anymore?"

His perception surprised her. "No. I just don't like being reminded of how weak I was once. It isn't for anyone except me."

"How long ago was it?" He meant to push until she cut him off.

She thought about it. "I guess about three years. Why?"

He shrugged. "I wasn't sure if it was before or after the NIDs. A lot of people took that route. There is no shame in it. Can I ask what specifically made you do it?"

"I was completely alone. I couldn't think of one reason not to, and that was really what drove me to it. If there isn't one reason to stay, why not go? But then someone saved me. Someone actually still cared about a perfect stranger enough to save my life. I asked for a reason to fight, and I got an answer. We can't quit if there is still love. If compassion still exists, there will always be a chance." The liquid product of her sincerity welled up, slipping down her cheek. She wiped it away.

Roland found himself struck with the wisdom in her simple statement. "Who saved you? How did it happen? I mean, if I'm not being to forward, I'd genuinely like to know."

Something in her let go for a minute, relinquished the hold she forced to keep her distance. She felt no need to hide her pain from Roland. Something told her he harbored a far deeper hurt than she would ever know. Perhaps sharing hers might help him process his own. She'd had years to cope with rediscovered thought. He was only a few days in, no doubt under the weight of a thousand ignored memories. She began with her family, how they'd been all right in the beginning; how quickly it changed and how terrible it became. She told him how she'd survived alone, leaving some of the details out. They weren't necessary. Any intelligent man could fill in the blanks. She told him about the hotel, the bathtub, the razor. She stopped, checking the rearview. The silhouette of Lyrique's giant head bobbed back and forth.

Roland waited patiently, wondering if she would continue. "She likes riding in the truck huh?" He thumbed towards the truck bed, to the dog.

"Yes she does." C chuckled, exiting the highway and pulling onto the dirt road that led back to the camp. "That dog is always happy. If I'd had her before, who knows? Either way, if it hadn't been for Paige, I'd have died in that bathroom. None of these people would have their freedom."

"What do you mean?" Roland sensed her hesitation. This wasn't an easy story for her to share.

"You know how those NIDs work. There is no way to stop them. They're attached to our own nervous system. They run off of our energy. I've heard of people trying to cut them out, bleeding to death, electrocuting themselves. It's horrible. There wasn't a way to stop it. It was an accident, and Mark Twain was right. The mother of all invention..."

"I woke up lying on the tile beside the tub. Someone had bandaged my wrists and put dry clothes on me. It took me a moment to clear my eyes and head. When I did, a rush of questions came over me. Out of instinct, I tried to stop them. I couldn't. It was too much. I'd taken my life. I had to be in hell. This was what I deserved, thrown right back into the filthy place I'd ended it. When I couldn't stop them, I put my hands to my temples, just waiting, knowing that familiar shock was coming. It didn't. Instead, I heard a voice ask me if I was all right. I just remember crying and this girl, this pixie of a thing who couldn't have been twenty years old, dropping to the floor and holding me, rocking me and telling me it was all okay."

"She just let me cry, didn't ask any questions, waited until I stopped. I composed myself, thanking her again and again. Asking her what she'd done to stop that thing in my head, bombarding her with questions. It took me quite a while to realize she couldn't process all of it. She wasn't free, like I was. She kept telling me she didn't do anything. Just CPR and bandages, she swore. She said she'd found me in the tub, that she'd watched me come in here and just wanted to talk. She pulled me out and gave me mouth to mouth. The water must have slowed the blood flow. I don't know, honestly, why I didn't die. She saved my life, and somehow it stopped the NID. As I told her this, I could see it wash over her, this look of hope. The same look you gave me. She told me in bits and pieces who she was, where she was from. Paige Barker, born in Southern California, lost her family when Los Angeles fell and made her way up the coast alone."

"She'd spent some time training with the residual army as a field medic at sixteen. She called herself 'The Letter Girl'. She'd been the one fallen soldiers gave their folded goodbyes to, correspondences they died hoping might find their loved ones and bring them some peace. She'd kept them, collected them over time, and now she wandered looking for the ones they might belong to. I asked her why. She asked me what else there was to do. She'd spent the last year just drifting, looking for survivors, scavenging for food. We stayed at that hotel for a week, making runs into the ruins for food and water, sharing stories, as well as she could without the freedom I now possessed. She liked to let me talk, just listening and monitoring her thoughts. It gave us both a sense of peace neither had felt in a while. We laughed and drank old whiskey we'd dug from a burned out liquor store. It must have been rotten, and we didn't care. For a minute, we pretended we were just runaways hiding from the world. Eventually, the subject came up."

"If we could stop the NID in my head, why couldn't we do it for others? She believed it was because I literally died, that my heart stopped. She insisted that was how you shut it off. She wanted it, the freedom, so badly. I fought her on it. What if that wasn't the reason at all? What else could it be, she would argue. She was adamant that we at least try. It was worth the risk to her. I argued, I cried, I begged. I didn't want to lose her, and I didn't believe for a minute it would work. I couldn't be responsible for the death of this girl who'd saved my life. Another week passed, every day another debate over it. She broke me down, reassuring me it would be fine. She wouldn't have to cut her wrists, she said. If we could stop her breathing, just like I had, in the tub, it would work. She was sure of it. All I had to do was bring her back. I finally stopped fighting. What right did I have to take away this chance from her? I bit back my doubt, focusing my energy on the positive, telling myself she would be fine and she was right. This was the cure, and we could save the world."

"I'm still surprised no one heard me screaming, Roland. I held her down in that tub until she stopped moving. She tore my arms up with her fingernails and I waited until she didn't fight anymore, just like she told me to. I pulled her out. She was so heavy, soaked in that rusty water. I tilted her head back like she'd instructed, pushing on her lungs and blowing air back into her mouth. Nothing happened. I did it again, and again, and again, until I was dizzy and blind with my tears. I lifted her and shook her. I screamed and yelled. Her eyes never opened again. When I finally left the bathroom, I found her backpack sitting on the wooden night stand with a folded letter on the top of it. It was addressed to her sister Eleanor, signed Paige Barker. I killed the girl who saved my life. Now I carry her bag of letters with me, adding to it as time passes, hoping maybe one day I can at least hand her sister that note, and my apologies."

Roland stewed in the thick silence, deciding she was finished when she said no more. "Casey. I'm so sorry."

"It's all right. I've learned to live with it. We all have things we can't change in the past." She was convincing, the waiver gone from her voice now.

"She didn't die just for you, Casey. Don't carry that burden. I owe her my life, as does every other member of this group who can think freely. She's a hero. Sorry, a heroine. Thank you for telling me about her. She's not gone if she's in our thoughts. You know that don't you?" Roland closed his eyes, picturing the beautiful face he'd spent every morning waking up to that he would never know again. "Just don't forget her. I know I won't."

"Thank you." C peeked over at Penny again. She was still out. "Penny is the one who convinced me we should try again. I told her what happened, after we met. She was a doctor. She knew things about how long a brain can live without oxygen, about how to save a human life. She persuaded me to let a volunteer try, under her supervision. She promised me I would not have to watch or help. I argued pointlessly. She's stubborn when she's right. It worked, Roland. She did it. For every success, there were two or three failures, and there was nothing we could do to change that. Debbie was one of these failures, unable to control her thoughts during the session. She almost killed everyone, setting off the NID in the bathtub and electrocuting herself to the point of minor brain damage. She lived, but, well, you've seen her now. Debbie was an intelligent, collected individual before the accident. Ridley says she's not all there anymore. It was always left up to the individual whether or not they truly wanted to go through with it, knowing the danger. Despite all the risks, there wasn't a soul who didn't step in line for their turn. Penny waited until I was out one day to do it for herself, with the help of Chassis and a few others. She knew I wouldn't handle it well. She survived though, and she's the reason all these others are free. Whatever we have to do to help her, we will. She'd do it for any of us."

Roland fully agreed, watching C's protective concern approvingly. There was a fire in this girl that burned for others; a true heart that cared nothing for its own beat, fueled by the rhythm of those around it. "Anything I can do, I'm here."

Sam whipped up beside them as the dirt road broadened into the driveway of the camp. The fires smoldered now, red glowing coals laid out in a carpet across the ruins of the barn. Only the stairs remained of the clinic, leading up to nothing but ashes and broken glass now. Chassis gathered with Frank and Eric as the vehicles pulled in. Frank eagerly eyed the truck, moving to the car. His heart sunk as he approached Ridley, who lifted Chris from the back seat. Frank took the boy, his expression pleading with Ridley, who shook his head slowly.

"I'm sorry Frank."

The man buried his face in his son's dark hair, sobs wracking his shoulders in silent seizures. He turned and headed away, his loss heavy on Ridley's heart. Part of him felt responsible for Sue's death and he would never know for sure if he was.

Roland eased Penny from the cab, one arm beneath her back and the other cradling her behind the knees like a groom would carry his new bride across the threshold. "Where am I taking her?"

Chassis was there, his huge hand on Penny's cheek and his eyes alive with worry. "We've made up extra beds in Stephanie's cabin. Where is Dot?"

C put a hand on his broad arm. "She didn't make it Chassis."

The man appeared to shrink before her eyes, a grizzly to a child's teddy bear. "We've lost so many people."

C felt the burning return to her eyes, blinking it away. "Let's help those we can right now. We can mourn later. Help us get her somewhere comfortable." Lyrique hopped from the truck bed, trotting along behind them.

Ridley watched them go; knowing he had to speak to Debbie, not knowing what he could say to make it right. He caught her eye as she sat in the rear of the car, receiving a searing look of betrayal. He'd realized on the ride back she was not unconscious. Dani hadn't hit her that hard, just a bruised cheek creeping towards the lower part of her eye. It didn't matter. If Sera really was there, Ridley had betrayed her. He'd left her daughter, again, and he would make it right. He opened the door, crouching down to look her in the eye.

"I'm sorry Debbie. I know you don't think much of me right now."

She snorted. "You think I'm insane. What's the difference what I think?"

"Debbie, I swear to you we will go back for her. There was nothing we could do with everyone there. We had to get them out, don't you understand?"

"Of course I understand. Just because you think I've lost it doesn't mean I really have. How am I supposed to feel Ridley? Did you see what is going on in there? They are keeping people like livestock. They've taken all those children and locked them in there. What do you think they're eating, Kenneth Ridley? I can't close my eyes tonight thinking about that. She's alive, and it's been six years. Doesn't that mean anything to you?" Debbie was shaking now, her hands burying curled fingers into the depths of her palms, nails biting the skin.

Ridley felt his stomach reel, remembering the bone yard. He took Debbie's hands, letting her fight at first, letting her give in. He soothingly led her from the back seat of the car, standing up with her. "Let me help Penny before she bleeds out. I promise we will go back there, as soon as I'm done. We will go get her Debbie. If she's there, I'm not going to leave without her. Please believe me and let me do just this one thing first. Please."

Debbie squeezed his hands. "Go help her."

"Thank you Debbie."

She smiled, the expression odd without joy behind it. "Hurry."

"I will."

Ridley had little medical training, mostly what he learned by watching. He wasn't entirely sure he knew how to proceed. The wound in Penny's leg was deep, the bullet buried in the thick tissue of her outer thigh. C removed her jeans, cutting the side so as not to jar her. She washed the blood off her skin, grimacing at the size of the entry hole. Stephanie found a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Chassis had hemostats in the first aid kit in the Stella and the supplies to stitch up the horses in the tack shed. It would have to work. They didn't have a choice. Stephanie found an oversized shirt in her things, giving it to Roland. His was now old scrap on the floor, but it seemed to have stopped the bleeding. Ridley slowly poured the alcohol over the wound, the pain waking Penny up violently. She jerked her leg, sitting up quickly and looking around.

"It's all right Penny." Chassis sat on his heels beside the head of the bed. "You're all right Doc."

"My leg, let me see it." She leaned over, twisting her shoulders sideways to clearly view the wound. "The bullet is still in there. It has to come out." She gently prodded at the injury, causing it to bleed again. "I don't think it hit anything major. I'd have bled out by now." To her own shock, she laughed. "Good thing I've got these big thighs."

Chassis rumbled his hearty amusement. "I've always thought the same thing."

"I'm glad you're awake Penny." Ridley scooted closer to her leg. "Now walk me through getting this thing out and stitching you up."

He listened fastidiously, following her instructions as C clued the others in on what had happened in the city; who they'd lost and who they'd saved. She could only offer lose theories on the Jeep, and why it had crashed. Giles, who had joined them shortly after Ridley began Penny's surgery, agreed with the notion that they'd tried to take the vehicle, and it simply rolled. He would have done the same, he said. It was a better way to go than other options they may have faced. Chassis gave them the lowdown on what they'd lost of the camp and what they'd salvaged. The fields were fine, the crops unharmed. The animals were still in their pens and the horses all survived the attack. They either hadn't seen them or hadn't the time to mess with it. Their fuel supply was fine, far enough away in the old tank that the fire hadn't found it. Water was still ample, the well untouched. The biggest loss was the clinic. There was canned food stored in the kitchen that took years to gather. Worse still, all of the medical supplies were gone. These were the most difficult to replace because they could not generate them on their own. Most other things they'd found a way to make sustainable. They grew food, raised livestock, used well water and solar power, but you can't grow antibiotics from seed or raise gauze in a pen. It would take time to rebuild the stores, if it were even possible. The cities were almost picked clean.

Ridley knotted the thread, cutting the needle free. The remnants of the bullet sat on the sheet beside him. Sweat dotted his brow, despite the chill of the early morning hour. He'd done it, and Penny was alive. He asked her to get some rest, leaving Stephanie and Chassis to attend to her if she needed help. Roland had gone with C to check on Frank, not that there was much they could do. Wisps of stubborn lingering smoke swept down the road like dust devils, wafting off the smoldering bed of coals. Lights illuminated windows around him, those who'd survived the day safe for now behind panes of glass. He headed away from the cabin, hoping he'd find Debbie back at their shared nook of the ruined camp. The windows were dark. He called for her as he opened the door, receiving no reply. He went to her room. Maybe she was already asleep. It wasn't likely. He'd made her a promise. She wasn't going to forget it. Her bed was empty, sheets made up and lanterns cold. He hurried back through the tiny room and out the door. Maybe she was with Roland and Casey.

"Ridley." His name came across the breeze from the dark, two figures jogging towards him, too similar in movements not to be the twins.

"Sam, what's going on? I can't find Debbie." Ridley noticed Dani's guilty expression.

"I swear I didn't do anything this time Ridley." Dani held her hands up, palms forward. "I didn't even see her."

"What do you mean?" Ridley's anxiety surged.

"She took the car. It's gone. I was going to follow her but there are no keys in the truck." Sam sounded apologetic as if he were personally responsible. "I don't know how long she's been gone."

"Shit." Ridley's hand grappled in frustration at his hair, turning around and cursing again. "Well, I suppose I have a promise to keep."
Chapter 28

"I'm sorry. I'm not going back there and neither is my sister. Debbie made her choice. She's lost it, Ridley. You know that shit wrecked her brain. We should be focusing on what we've lost here, not her stupid decision to chase a phantom." Sam paced the cabin floor, the early sun heating the old wooden planks his boots echoed across.

"I respect your opinion, Sam. I always have. I will never ask anybody to do more than they are comfortable with. You are needed here, you and your sister. I am not asking anyone to go back there. I have to, Sam. I swore to Debbie that I would help her."

"Can you help her Ridley? Are you going because you think it will make a difference or because you feel guilty about her daughter? I don't know the whole story, and I'm not asking for it now. I am asking you to look at this without being so close to it. Think about it." Sam's temper upped the volume of his usually soft voice.

"I've thought about it. If you knew it all Sam, if you knew the whole story, you'd know it's my fault she's even here without her. I took that little girl away from her mother, whether directly or not. I have the chance to possibly redeem one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made. How can I sit here and say no, Sam?" Ridley's age dwelled in the shadows between the lines that crossed his face.

With the sun on his skin, Kenneth Ridley adopted decades he hadn't appropriately lived yet. Sam could see the earnest need to right a grave wrong, heavy on the man's soul, burning through his vibrant eyes. Sam truly hoped he would find this girl, and despairingly felt he wouldn't; that he would not come back at all. Sam looked up to Ridley, trusting his judgment and his kind nature, expecting him to make the right decisions any time they came up. This was personal, and Sam worried it was all in vain.

"You can't. If you feel you have to do it, go. You're the one who has to live with yourself." Sam stopped pacing at the door, turning to look at Ridley before he left. "Be safe. Come back to us here with clean hands to rebuild." He was gone.

Most of the camp still slept, the morning barely reaching past the mountains, not yet waking the song birds. Ridley gathered the few rounds he had for the rifle, eyes blurry and dry with two hours of sleep threatening their usefulness. He filled a jug with water, setting it on the ratty tan fabric of the bench seat in the truck. He'd told Sam he was leaving. Dani knew as well. They would let the others know after breakfast, and by then Ridley would be well on his way.

One loud, deliberate bark sounded from the front of the truck. Ridley leaned out the door, craning his neck to see around the fender.

"Lyrique. No."

She stood in front of the vehicle, paws spread wide, stance suggesting she intended to wrangle the truck if it dared move. She barked again.

"Lyrique, be quiet." He thumped the truck door for added emphasis.

She disregarded his command, loping on long legs to the rear, jumping into the bed and walking to his side. Her massive head appeared, tongue rolled out to the right, panting.

"Lyrique, get down." He climbed out of the cab. "Get out." He tried shoving her towards the tailgate. She didn't move, licking him in the face.

"Lyrique dammit get out of the truck." He grabbed the thick scruff of hair and the extra skin on the back of her neck, attempting to lead her. She shook her neck, whipping his arms with her long ears and splattering him in drool.

"That's enough. Get down now." He tried a firm tone, pointing at the ground.

She barked again, one loud bellow of refusal.

"So, where are you going?"

Ridley spun around guiltily, a child caught digging through unwrapped Christmas presents in his parent's closet, to find C standing behind him. He hadn't heard her walk up in his frustration with the dog. "Nice spy you have here."

"Isn't she?" C leaned against the front fender, glaring at him from under her unruly calico hair. "So where are you going? Where is the Stella?"

Ridley sighed, giving Lyrique a gentle shove. She leaned right back. "Debbie took it last night. She went back for her daughter. She's convinced she is there. I was going to take her. I told her, but she must not have believed me. She left while I was helping Penny. I have to go after her, Casey."

"All right. Let me grab a couple of things." Before he could argue with her, she was already half way back to the Stephanie's cabin. She returned a minute later with a canteen, her machete, and Roland.

"Did you think you were going alone?" Sleep still lifted from his half open eyes, but he smiled.

"Thank you, Roland. C you didn't have to ask him."

"I didn't. He asked what I was doing. I told him. He's coming. That's it." She grabbed the door frame and swung herself into the cab. "Let's go."

Ridley shut the tailgate before getting behind the wheel. "I guess we're taking the dog."

C laughed. "Ridley, I'm always taking the dog. She doesn't run out of bullets."

Roland reached behind C's head and slid the rear cab window open. "Come here, Lyrique."

Ridley pulled out, testing Lyrique's sea legs as they turned around. She managed to get her head to the window and her tongue on the back of C's neck.

"No." C slid the window closed half way. Lyrique burrowed her nose into the gap and slid it back open, this time shoving her entire head inside the truck.

"No." C repeated herself, turning and shoving the dog back as she slid the window shut. "This is why we can't have nice things. Don't let her in here again. She'll keep climbing and get stuck or something. She'll kill us all in a wreck."

Roland laughed and shook his head. "How did you end up with a dog? That didn't seem to be something people hung on to when everything fell apart." He watched the smile spread across C's face.

"I found her. After that happened with Paige, I left the city and started going through the suburbs and crashing at houses that were empty, raiding their cabinets you know. I found enough to get by and I figured I'd head towards the river and out of town. I'd heard there were some camps, refugees, rebels, whatever you want to call them. I thought I might find other people. I could think now. I could help other people if I found them. If I had the courage I mean. So anyway, I was breaking the back door down of this two story house and I heard something coming from the shed. It sounded like a dog whining so I got close to the shed and looked in through the hole in the bottom of the door. There was a puppy, a dirty little skinny hungry puppy poking her head from an old cardboard box. I managed to get the door open all the way to get at the pup. When I tried to pull her out, she growled at me. I figured she was wild and I stood up to leave. When I turned around, she was out. She'd toppled the box on its side and spilled out hundreds of sheets of music. She made this pathetic cooing noise and just looked at me. I snapped my fingers. Her ears perked. I named her right then and there, according to the box she'd come from. She was Lyrique, and now she was following me as I left the shed. I ignored her, went into the house, left the door open. She came inside. She followed me to the kitchen, making that same noise again. I ate. I threw food on the floor. She ate. I went to the couch to sleep and she curled up beside me on the floor and passed out. She started following me that day and never stopped. I can't even count how many times she's saved my life."

"So did you train her to attack the drones like that?" Roland remembered his first meeting with the dog, how she'd barreled through them and rescued him.

Casey sharply shook her head no. "I've never taught her to attack anything. She only does it if she's threatened, or if I am. Don't get me wrong, if I tell her to attack, she will listen, but I never taught her how to do that. It's her instinct. The same desire for survival drives you and I. She's not a vicious dog. She's actually a big sweetie."

Roland smiled, absently scratching his head above his ear. He'd hardly noticed how long and shaggy his hair was getting again. That was what happened when you used Swiss Army knife scissors. "I'm not saying you have a mean dog. I actually think she's quiet loveable and affectionate."

"Unless you try to hurt Casey." Ridley glanced in the rearview mirror at Lyrique, the wind blowing her lips up to reveal shining rows of inescapable teeth. "At that point, she'll eat your face."

Their laughter faded to silence, only the wind whistling through the open windows and the tires on the dirt spoke of the morning. The sun overtook the sky, burning bright in her summer glory. C could already feel the heat creeping in for the day. She readjusted her sunglasses, wiping at the dust streaks over the lenses. The truck was drafty, holes in the worn floorboards filling the cab with dirt from the road. The trees seemed to bend, leaning towards their roots in search of water. If the rain storms didn't hit soon, C worried the crops might parch and die. They watered daily, but the earth took so much of the moisture that the vegetables fought for every drop. She'd noticed the leaves were browning at the edges. They depended on that last harvest to get through winter. Without it, they had nothing, especially now.

"So Ridley, you know I have to ask." Roland leaned against his door frame, one arm propped up on the window ledge, the breeze tossing his sun mottled brown hair across his forehead.

Ridley sighed. "You might be disappointed in the answer."

"Any answer is food for curiosity, and that's all this is." Roland smiled, looking to C for back up.

"I'm not going to lie. I'm curious too, but I've learned a few things about curiosity. That whole proverb about the cat isn't completely off base." C shook her head. "Sometimes you only think you want to know."

Ridley let the half grin slip under the side of his lips. She never failed to surprise him with her honestly. "This is true, unfortunately. I can tell you what I know, which is far less than you probably expect."

Ridley quickly regaled them the cliff notes of his journey; where he began, how he met Debbie and her daughter. He found himself as a loss for words when he tried to explain Sera to his companions. His own personal awe for her made the description weak, not even close to justice. He struggled, stumbling over his memories, to sort what was important and what was fancy. They reached the highway by the time he got to the part about the general. He still spoke through the catch in his voice when he shared the tragic ending; when he confessed that they left her there alone. C knew only bits and pieces of what happened to Debbie's young daughter. Now she understood the woman's pain, her guilt, her need to correct such a vital wrong. If this girl Sera was as powerful as Ridley said she was, it was entirely possible she would have survived the explosion. All those journeys into the city searching for what she thought was a ghost, killing time and pacifying Debbie when she would wake screaming from those dreams, C never expected the girl still lived.

"Ridley, do you think Sera is really there with them?" C valued his insight, watching his face in case his words were not the same as his thoughts.

"Casey, I would love for that to be true."

"But you don't think it is?" She badgered him.

"I don't know. I have to at least find out. I don't know what Debbie was thinking going back there alone. I hate to even think about how it could have gone." Ridley wiped his sweaty palms on the legs of his jeans and returned them to the steering wheel. The old rubber was sun rotted and crumbling, flakes sticking to the moisture his hands insisted on producing.

"What are we going to do when we get there?" Roland wondered if Ridley had something in mind or if they were just winging it.

"I've been thinking about that. I don't suppose they'll be expecting us to return. We have no cover this time and we are likely still outnumbered. I was hoping to create some sort of distraction out front, at least to see how many men respond, to see what we're up against. They're not going to just let us walk in and take them. They may just shoot us and leave it at that. I was going alone because I don't know what I'm going to do and I didn't feel right dragging anyone else into this mess." Ridley set his fierce eyes against the melted brown of C's. "You don't have to do this. Either of you."

"Yes, we do." C argued, adopting a steel tone. "Do you know how many times you've helped this camp, the others, me? Ridley you give every piece of yourself in the concern for everyone else. The least we can do is stand beside you."

Ridley nodded slowly, letting her words sink in. "Thank you, Casey." He patted her knee. "And Roland, what is your last name? I feel I should know the name of a man willing to go into battle with me."

"Roland Mason. I had a middle name once. Never liked it much."

"Kenneth James Ridley. James was my father's name. Pleasure to share your company, Roland."

"Likewise."

The air thickened with the rising sun, humidity growing heavy despite the early hour. Clouds softened the horizon, hanging patiently, their supple white shoulders leading to broad gray bodies below. C could remember a time when the weather had been somewhat predictable, seasonal patterns that typically held steady. The debate over mankind's influence on the forces of nature resolved. There was no more arguing. After the factories shut down, after the fall of the major cities seeped across the country with their fleeing populous, after the skies quieted and the streets emptied, nature took back her abused lands. Rivers flooded with the first big storm, rising over their banks and taking with them whatever stood too close. Bridges were washed out. Roads were permanently under water in the low lying areas. All the barriers put in place by man were stripped, gleefully tossed aside like the speck of dust in time they truly were. Unbridled, nature corrected the obscenities left by man.

Their conversation waned, each rightfully wondering how they would fare as they entered the city. A herd of deer scampered from the highway as the truck rattled towards them, turning their heads to watch the vehicle pass. Ridley's finger itched, the rifle beside him against the door. They didn't have the time right now. He would have to remember to send Sam and Dani this way if the herd was in the area. Ridley took an alternate route this time, weaving through the abandoned cars that dotted the streets. Without the advantage of darkness, it did him no good to sneak around the rear again. They would see them and shoot them before he could attempt to pacify the situation. The slivers of his plan pricked at his brain, stabbing deep and reminding him they were only dangerous pieces. He'd originally intended to walk up, unarmed, and try to reason with whoever led this group of thieves. He'd also plotted on being alone. Now any mistake he made affected more than just his outcome. Killing the motor, he let the truck roll to a stop between two buildings, coming to rest alongside the old fast food window of a long deserted burger joint.

"Ridley if you walk up there, they'll shoot you." C nervously scanned the parking lot leading up to the gates of the stadium. Nothing moved except the scraps of paper the wind played with.

"Maybe, maybe not." Ridley popped his door latch, lifting the rifle over his lap and handing it to Roland. "Our only chance is to convince them we have something worth bartering with."

He quickly laid out the rest of his plan, C shaking her head the entire time. "You want me to just wait here and do nothing?"

"Casey, the most they can do is kill us. You stand to fair far worse if we're taken prisoner. You're not going back in there. Stay with Lyrique. If we don't come back, get out of here." Ridley's words were hard; his expression convincing her it would do no good to argue. She nodded, resigned.

Roland let his eyes wander over her face, watching her struggle with the role she'd been given. "Don't worry. We'll be fine. I've got superman here. Nothing bad is going to happen, C."

"Be careful, you two." She refused to watch them walk away, instead opening the sliding window of the cab to pet her dog.

Before they rounded the corner that would put them in range of the arena roof, Ridley stopped. "This has to be convincing. Roland, I need you to hit me. Don't worry. Just do it. Make it look good."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. You want them to believe you are serious. Do it."

Roland smiled nervously. "You got it." The butt of the rifle seemed too fierce. Roland set the weapon down and stepped closer to Ridley. "Ready?"

Ridley nodded, questioning his tactics but prepared. "Yes."

"Sorry man." Knuckles clenched under stretched tight skin, Roland landed a solid blow against Ridley's face, to the side of his left eye, immediately drawing his hand back in shame. A sliver of blood appeared where the skin had split and began spilling down Ridley's cheek as he stumbled backwards.

Ridley smiled weakly, collecting himself. "Nice jab. Remind me not to get into a real fight with you."

"Now that I feel like complete shit, let's get this over with." Roland slung an arm around Ridley's neck, the men close enough in height that neither staggered. He rested the rifle barrel under Ridley's chin, stepping out from the cover of the wall.

"Here goes nothing." He murmured only to himself, closing his eyes and praying the first shot didn't find his face.

"Don't shoot!" Roland called. "Don't shoot."

Two men were positioned at the front, one on each side of the gate. Another man stood atop the roof, all weapons now trained on the approaching intruders. To Roland's shock, they didn't fire.

Ridley feigned a limp, keeping his head to the side, neck loose and steps ragged. Roland watched the men look to one another, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn't going to give them a chance to change their minds and shoot.

"Who's in charge here?" Roland yelled across the empty lot.

The men on the ground bantered, their words unintelligible from his distance. Finally, one called back to him. "What do you want?"

Their curiosity stayed their trigger fingers. "I want to talk to whoever is in charge here. I have a proposition I need to discuss."

"You got Ernie?" The man on the right with the large stomach bellowed at Roland, the hint of a Texas twang in his voice.

Roland didn't hesitate, taking whatever upper hand he could fake. "I might."

"Where's he?" The man stepped forward, squinting his eyes to make out Ridley's face. "That ain't him."

"I know." Roland hoped the man would give away more before he had to.

"So where's he? You said you has 'em."

"He's around."

"So who's 'at?"

"This is the man that shot up your friends last night and stole your truck." Roland let his intuition lead, praying he didn't blow it. "He's the one that you want to talk to about Ernie."

"And who the fuck are you?"

Roland shook Ridley, jabbing at him with the rifle barrel for emphasis. "I told you, I'm the man with a proposition. Are you in charge Yosemite Sam?"

The fat man wore a mask of confusion. "My name ain't Sam." He nudged his comrade. "Go get Dale, now."

The other man argued. "He said don't bother him."

"I don't care, Ray, go." The fat man pointed his angry finger to the door. "Tell him it's 'bout Ernie."

Roland waited, expecting at any minute to feel the stinging tear of a hot bullet. The man on the roof paced, eyes moving from Ridley and Roland to the parking lot, weapon readied. Roland hadn't forgotten how difficult it was to balance one's thoughts with the NID. He imagined the man's concentration was interrupted constantly. Acting as the sentinel meant paying attention, which remained limited still to no more than eight seconds. This was the only advantage they might have left, besides the foolish mouth that allowed them an in.

"Dale'll be the one you wanna talk to." Yosemite barked at Roland. "Then again, he might just blow yer head off."

Roland shrugged, keeping his cool. "That would be a waste of perfectly good ammunition."

The weighty door swung open, the other man returning with two new faces. Ridley recognized one from the previous night; a member of the group who'd avoided his barrage of firepower in the tunnels. He wondered if the man had seen his face, or knew what he'd done. The other newcomer stood several inches over six feet tall, skinny and shaped like a vulture with his long neck jutting bent and awkward from his slouched shoulders. A filthy ball cap hid his thinning tendrils of ash blonde hair, several strands protruding from beneath the brim and hanging over his scarred forehead. Two white trails ran from the edge of the hat down over his right eye, one marring the eyelid itself, causing his every blink to stick only on that side. Roland couldn't be sure from his distance, but the scars seemed to continue down his neck into the collar of his shirt; a stained brown button up worn open over a sweat-yellowed tank top. The man's nose sat crooked on his pocked face, broken far too many times to ever look right again. It wasn't until he moved to speak that Roland realized his jaw hung askew, his mouth misshapen by the damaged hinge.

The man's words were slow with the syllables he forced his tongue to maneuver. "Where's my cousin?"

"Where do you think he is?" Roland figured he'd either glean a little more information, or get shot in the head. The odds were about the same.

"Now Dale, he said he had 'im." The fat man groveled, obviously wary of his leader's temper.

"I didn't say that. You did." Roland interrupted. "I said I wanted to talk to the man in charge. Is that you?"

Dale sneered, the expression bending his scars. He scratched his bristly scruff of a beard. "That would be me."

"Good. I have an offer, more like a deal for you." Roland stepped closer, jerking Ridley along with him.

"What can you possibly offer me, kid, if you don't have my cousin?" Dale's hand crept closer to the holstered pistol at his side.

"Maybe I know where he is, or maybe he died last night. I really don't think it matters to you which one is the truth."

Dale fingered the butt of the gun. "Maybe it doesn't."

Roland watched the man's eyes, listening to his words and noticing the equanimity in comparison to his comrades. He made an educated guess. "How'd you get rid of it?"

"Get rid of what?" Dale drawled slowly, the look of amusement a drastic contrast to his disfigured face.

"The NID. How'd you get rid of it?" Roland repeated himself deliberately.

"Aren't you a sharp little shit?" Dale chuckled. "If I cared what your answer was, I'd ask you the same. Seeing as I don't give a shit, I won't. Again, what the hell do you want?"

Roland took a chance. "I want to make a trade."

Dale snorted, rolling his head back with entertainment. "A trade for what?"

"The woman who came here last night." Roland pressed. "Is she still alive?"

"The one who came looking for her daughter?" Dale's men kept their weapons high, glancing at their leader as he bantered, visibly anxious at the mention of the girl. "Maybe. Why?"

"Let her go, and I'll give you him." He shook Ridley, roughly this time, stepping closer. "Even trade."

"Why would I do that? She came here on her own. She doesn't want to leave." Dale's laughter scraped from his throat.

Roland stalled, shifting the gun in his hand and his grasp on Ridley, searching his brain for a plausible answer. He'd spent so long blocking thoughts that quick thinking was a lost art. What sort of an answer kept him alive a little longer? He couldn't be sure of anything Debbie might have said to them. Had she told them about the camp, about the others? Roland doubted it. If he made this personal, it could be used against him. If you want to convince a criminal to see things your way, start by seeing things theirs.

"Here's my full proposition for you, Dale. I need her back. That part is simple. She's property of mine that I've already sold. I'm moving a group out in a few days and she's accounted for. Except she escaped, obviously, to come here and chase down her kid, and this is a problem for me now. I'd take him instead, but my colleagues up north only want women, if you know what I mean." Roland glanced disapprovingly at Ridley. "Since I am in the business of survival and gains, I wouldn't want to cheat you. I'm prepared to offer a trade. Let me have the woman back. I'll leave this man as collateral and leave you directions. Once I have the woman back and I am in the clear with my traders, you can follow the route they use to move them up north. You can take the whole damn caravan. They'll have ammo, girls, food, the works man. I only care about keeping my head on my shoulders until they're gone. If I don't bring this woman back, they'll kill me. If you let me take her, you'll get her back later and I'll be long gone. That way, we both win." Roland couldn't remember ever feeling so proud and disgusted with himself in the same moment before. Whether or not it would work was still in the air.

Dale ran his fingers up the scar and under his ball cap, brushing greasy hair back from his face, intently listening. "Tell you what, why don't you come inside and we can talk to her about it."

"Why don't we just do it right here? I mean, there is only one of me, and at least four of you. I'd feel more secure if you just bring her out here." Roland wanted desperately to ask Ridley what to do now, but the men already approached on both sides.

"Nah, let's go on inside." Dale turned his back, moving towards the door. "Leave your weapon, or there's no deal."

"You heard him." The fat man shoved Roland forward and he let his grip on Ridley slip.

"Fine, then you watch him." Roland tossed his gun skittering across the concrete sidewalk and shoved Ridley forward.

"Walk, buddy." The second man jabbed at Ridley, who took slow steps forward.

The guards followed close behind their intruders, letting Dale lead the way through the colossal doors before sealing them shut. Ridley glanced around the vast emptiness of the stadium. It was a good place to build a fortress. That was all he would give them credit for. Otherwise the place reeked of filth and death, flies buzzing everywhere he turned. Piles of garbage, empty cans and broken bottles, plastic jugs, random paper litter sat in rows along the base of the walls, waiting for some trash pickup that would never arrive. Where the sunlight warmed the front courtyard, the smell of human urine radiated from the pores of the stone. Empty bullet shells glinted gold and silver, morbid stars strewn across the blood soaked bricks of a battlefield. They tinkled like tiny bells when a boot came in contact as it passed, scattering and rolling to a halt somewhere new.

Roland stopped several feet from the old entrance to the ticket sales. "This is far enough. I'm inside, you're inside. Where is she?"

"You'll see her soon enough." Dale slipped the rifle strap from his shoulder, taking the weapon in two hands and turning to face his visitors. "First, answer a question for me. Do you think I'm stupid?" The barrel aimed at Roland.

"Whoa, wait a second. What the hell is going on?" Roland felt the sharp bite of another gun in his spine.

"Do you think I'm a stupid man?" Dale's voice rose, the gravely tar of it doing nothing to hinder his volume. "Do you think a stupid man could organize such an efficient set up? I have food. I have water. I have security. I have guns. I built this complex. I run this city now. Pretending for a second that I believed your ridiculous story, why would I even trade you anything at all when I can just kill you both now? Better yet, torture you until you tell me all about this convoy and then take it regardless. You're a terrible liar, and a couple of fools." He waved his weapon at the stairs. "Men, take them up to the roof. I want to show them something."

"Well, I tried." Roland sarcastically placated himself. "I never was much good at being a hero."

Ridley smiled softly, breaking his silence. "You did well."

"Shut up," their guards chastised. "Hands up. Move."

At their fingertips, thunderheads rolled in, blotting the sky in dark gray baubles. They were ushered forward, prodded and pushed through the entryway and into the stadium proper. They were escorted up the stairwell, Dale gathering his shooter from the roof and branching off towards the facility board rooms. The fat man and his nervous comrade guided their captives to the top level, the stairway opening up to the crown of the arena. They stopped in the center overlooking the field. The fat man ordered them to their knees, kicking at the back of Roland's legs before he gave him the chance to comply. Ridley kept his fingers interlocked behind his head, feeling bits of loose rock dig into his kneecaps as he put his weight on them. While he'd never expected the plan to work fully, he hadn't anticipated an opponent that could reason. He'd underestimated his enemy. The only solace left was that Casey hadn't come with them. She could escape. He closed his eyes and cursed, comfort torn away by the image of the empty ignition in the truck, and the two faces Dale now walked towards him.

"Sera."

Ridley's heart stopped, stunned and shocked, before realizing it must return to beating. She was truly alive, and time had taken her childhood. No longer was he looking into the keen eyes of a little girl, skinny and innocent. A young woman stared back, not at him, but into him. He could feel her eyes like cerulean water, as if something physically poured from them and into his, washing through his mind and body; becoming him. In a second, he was sure she knew everything he ever did, ever had done, and ever would do. When the sensation stopped, he could hear her voice.

" _Ridley, it's been a long time."_

A thin smile spread over his face and he answered aloud, earning sideways looks from his captors. "Too long Sera. I'm so sorry."

" _Don't be sorry. Now is when it matters anyway. You're finally strong enough, Ridley. It's time to help them."_

Sera stood stone still, not a movement of her lips or a blink of her eyes giving away her focus. She'd grown taller than her mother, standing four inches above Debbie, who kept her head low and her eyes away from Ridley's. A dark bruise marred Debbie's left eye and cheek, much worse than the blow Dani had landed. Only one man struck her upon her arrival at the complex, and only once before Sera was aware of it. The second time his hand lifted in anger, he'd heard the voice of the grim reaper inside his head, telling him his every sin and the various ways he would suffer for them all in hell. After that, no one hurt her, just as no one hurt Sera. They stayed away from her as much as possible. Right now, being in such close proximity was making all three men, other than Dale, noticeably uncomfortable.

"Hold her." Dale motioned for his comrade to secure Sera. The man hesitated, looking at his feet. "What is your problem? Do it already. She ain't gonna do nothing. I'll blow her mother's friggin head off. What's the matter? Are you too scared, Larry?"

"No. I just don't..." Larry shook his head. "I don't like this." He reluctantly took her arms, already bound behind her back, and trained his rifle on her head.

"I didn't ask you if you liked it." Dale grabbed Debbie's shoulder, forcing her down to her knees. "Don't move bitch or we'll kill your daughter. I want you to watch this. We're going to make an example out of your friend here."

Now Debbie looked at Ridley, red rims and purple tone around her eyes depicting her lack of sleep. "I'm sorry Kenneth. You shouldn't have come for me."

Dale shook her by the shirt sleeve. "You're right about that."

"I didn't come for you, Debbie." Ridley ignored the scarred man's searing glare. "I came because I made a promise to you."

The first patters of rain dotted Roland's shirt. Despite the likelihood he was about to be executed, he grinned. The girl was still alive, and it was Debbie's daughter. Some things worked out in a way you'd never guess. Unfortunately, the ironic bliss would be short lived. He tipped his head to the sky, broad clouds building around the sun, engulfing it with melancholy. The drops made larger patterns now, pelting off the rooftop around him. Ridley seemed to be engaged in some private debate with the girl. Roland could only hope it was going to help them. He wondered if she was still capable of the things Ridley claimed she could do before. It wasn't likely if they'd stuck her with the NID. The way Ridley had explained it all, she wouldn't be able to keep the thought long enough. She wouldn't be here if she could. Yet the men seemed leery of her, to the point of fear. There had to be a reason.

"Hey Yosemite." Roland whispered, getting the fat guard's attention. "What's up with the girl?"

"Shut up." The man grunted.

"Seriously, why are you all afraid of her? What's she, like seventeen? You're grown men." He forced on.

The fat man hesitated, trying to think about an answer without thinking about an answer. "She can do shit." He paused, making sure Dale wasn't paying attention to his unnecessary conversation. "She gets in your head. She don't talk out loud." He spoke so quietly, as if she were listening too. "Fucking creepy's what it is."

"Sounds absurd to me." Roland snickered, pleased to hear they at least had one thing going for them. "Why don't you just leave then, if you're so scared?"

He shook his head, dirty bull dog cheeks taught with anxiety. "Dale says he can have her kill us."

Roland watched him struggle to produce the explanation. "I think he's lying to you so you stay with him. It sounds like a load of shit to me. But then again, what do I know?"
Chapter 29

The first slap of thunder rippled the face of the sky, sending a cascade of tears down to earth. Casey jumped in the seat, smashing her knee on the steering wheel. Lyrique began to whine, soft whimpers turning to anxious pleas. She hated thunderstorms. In the time she'd known the dog, C had yet to come across one thing that frightened her, other than thunderstorms. The crack and the rumble sent the dog running for cover, digging at the floor and crying like a puppy. C swung her door open and ran to the rear of the truck, lowering the tailgate. The drops grew fatter, quickly soaking through her clothes. Lyrique hopped down, running in front of C to jump into the cab. C followed her, hair dripping down her back onto the seat. A distinct wiggle started at the base of Lyrique's stubby tail, rapidly transforming into an all over shake. Before she could yell for her to stop, the dog showered the interior of the truck.

"You suck." C wiped the splattered, dog scented drops from her face and cranked up the windows.

They'd been gone too long. She'd listened for gunshots, hearing nothing but an occasional yell that could have been anyone with the echo. The truck was far enough away she couldn't see without getting out and walking down around the corner. It wasn't as if that would do any good. She had no idea what was going on and her stomach growled with frustration and hunger. Convincing Lyrique to sit down, she reached past the wet dog and opened the glove box, rooting through the meaningless old paperwork. At the bottom she found a few peanuts, old, still in their shells, and likely placed there by a rodent at some point. C wasn't picky, cracking the casing open and examining the contents. It looked all right. She tossed it into her mouth, crunching the already dry nut to dust and giving Lyrique the shells, which the dog gratefully inhaled from her palm in one breath. Another crack of bright blue light stitched the darkening sky, the shattering retort of thunder right behind it. Lyrique wedged her big body between the bench seat and the dash, curling onto the floorboards. Casey might have laughed under other circumstances, had something in her stomach not felt so suddenly ill over the whereabouts of her friends.

Time was agonizing, the humidity in the cab stifling and the windows floodgates she couldn't open. C watched the water pool over sidewalks and run across the road. She drew cartoon cats on the fogged up windows and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Something caught her eye; the shiny metal ignition gleaming at her, empty. She scouted around the seat and floor, finding nothing. _There are no keys._ It wasn't like him to leave another stranded. It must have slipped his mind in the stress that she wouldn't be able to start the vehicle regardless. Thunder shook the truck and Lyrique let out a pitiful whine. C consoled her, wishing she could curl up on the floor and everything would be all right. At some point, she had to make a decision. It had been long enough. There was no easy way to leave, which made the ruling easy. Her next dilemma was more difficult. As much as she wanted to bring Lyrique, to have the dog there as back up and support, she knew there was no controlling her during a storm. She would not listen, would not follow, and would only look for the closest place to hide. This would make C's journey more difficult. Bravery was a far fiercer beast to tame alone.

"Be good, baby." C scratched the big dog's wet ears, running her fingertips down the soft fur of her nose. "I'll be back. I promise."

Lyrique batted her black lined eyelids, rising quickly to her feet. C watched the dog's struggle; she wanted to go, to be with her owner, but every part of her was too terrified to leave her safe spot in the truck. She rested her face on the seat, apologies pouring from silent almond eyes.

"It's okay girl. I understand. Stay."

Despite her command, Casey left the door ajar; enough for Lyrique to push it open and get out if C didn't come back. As much as she hated to think about that, it was cruel to leave the dog trapped, just in case. The rain made short work of her shirt, soaking the fabric to her skin the moment she was exposed. Her boots splashed through the running water flowing down the street. She kept close to the building, pushing heavy wet hair from her forehead to keep her eyes clear. Walking sideways, back to the cover of the wall, C crossed the distance quickly, reaching the corner she'd watched her comrades disappear past. She dropped down, crouching low and slowly peering around the turn, exposing the minimum of her face. There was nothing to see. Other than the rain, the parking lot and grounds sat vacant. They'd made it inside. C wasn't sure if she felt better or worse about that. Now if she wanted to know, if she needed to help, she'd have to go inside.

There had to be another way past the wall, besides the main gate at the front. There was no way she was going to walk through those doors. From her distance across the parking lot, the roof appeared clear, at least in the front where the lookout should be. This was a good or bad sign; she'd yet to confirm either. The dense fabric of her pants sagged under the added weight of the water. She ran, a straight shot across the open and to the side of the stadium face, coming to a stop against the wall on the left of the doors. No gunfire echoed. No voices rang out. No one had seen her. Confidence building now that she'd cleared the open target zone, C searched down the exterior of the building. As she suspected, an emergency exit door abutted the corner where the wall angled out to curve around the back of the massive arena. The sidewalk stopped in front of the door next to a water fountain that barely poked its metal face from between the overgrown leaves of the brush around it.

The door was designed to be pushed open from the inside, not opened from the exterior. There was no handle and no visible hinge. A lock sat where the knob would be. C freed her machete, wedging the blade in the slit between the frame and the door. She slid the thin edge down until she felt it stop, catching on the latch. Angling the blade, she gently tried to slip it between the latch and the brace. There was no space to use. The catch faced the other way, preventing her method of entry. She tried again, several more unsuccessful attempts leading her to swear and drop the machete. She calmed her breathing, reassuring herself it was a small setback and trying to think clearly without frustration clouding what might turn into a good idea.

When the breathing exercises didn't work fast enough, she kicked the door.

"Just open, please."

Her toe throbbing, she stepped back to pick up the blade. Against everything explainable and even that which wasn't, the door eased open several inches and stopped. C looked over her shoulder, expecting someone there; waiting for the door to continue, to fly open and men to come rushing out. There was no one behind her, and no ambush from within. Curling fingers around the frame, C yanked the stuck door far enough open to squeeze her way through.

The sports ground seemed much larger empty, as it sat now. C listened, staying still so as not to disturb the broken bottles at her feet. Voices bounced indistinctly from walls above her, their origination almost impossible to determine with the echo. She brushed off the creeping doubt that nagged her, determined to convince her she was making a mistake; she should have gone back to the camp for reinforcements. They should never have come back here in the first place. Fear has a way of stripping your compassion, weighing out the odds and beguiling you into self preservation above all else.

Casey kept the machete free, in hand and ready. The miniscule amount of ammunition in her pistol offered little comfort. These men had automatic weapons and long range rifles. She was undoubtedly outnumbered, and still had no idea what she planned on doing from this point on. Another trickle of conversation found her ears, this time Roland's voice distinct amongst the fray. They must be on the roof. There was no way she would be able to hear them inside those thick walls. At least she wasn't going to have to waste time blindly searching the massive stadium. For all she knew the place was crawling with Ferals and armed men. Checking the span between her location and the stairway, noting that it appeared clear, C fought the weight of her soaking wet clothes and bolted across the grounds. Concrete walls shielded the steps on either side, winding up to the second floor landing, and then to the roof. Staying at a low crouch, C took each step with her head below the barrier. While the position kept her without a line of sight, it also maintained her cover. The roof access sign slowed her pace, taking the last few stairs at a crawl until she could see the top; the expanse of the crown stretching out towards the actual field. Words became clear, although she couldn't see their perpetrators past the curve of the wall. If she went any further, it would be without shelter. If she stopped now, it would all be pointless.

" _Turn around."_

C froze, the tiny follicles on her neck standing her hair on end. The voice hadn't come from a tangible source. While she could make out the words clearly, they hadn't been ingested through her ears. The statement came from inside her head. She pressed her back hard to the wall, her heart palpitating like the thunder above.

" _Don't be afraid. Please, turn around. You cannot help this way."_

In the nature of human communication, the brain knows only to speak words. C's voice was a fraction of a whisper. "I don't understand. Who are you? How are you doing this?"

" _It doesn't matter right now. I am going to help you. Please just listen to what I ask."_

" _Sera?"_ The question rang out in C's head, her lips never parting.

" _Yes. I'm grateful Ridley's spoken of me. We have no time now. Go back down the stairs."_

Silently, C agreed to follow, bounding down the stairs two at a time and wondering when things went so crazy that listening to a voice in your head was a logical solution. She wondered if Sera could hear the thought, or any of them at all if they weren't directed at her. C took the lack of an answer for a negative, although it may have been simply respect. Even if she could, she might have the good graces never to say so.

" _Go through the first door, and then go to the staircase past the bathrooms. The sign is marked fire exit."_

Casey jogged through the vacant lobby, the old carpet worn threadbare and dusty. Faint wisps of that pungent smell reminded C what they did here. She reached the door, pushing her hip into the metal release bar. The odor thickened immediately, triggering C's gag reflex. Breathing through her mouth, she fought her disgust and directed a question in her mind.

" _Where am I going?"_

The silence sent a sharp jolt of worry, the tips of her fingers feeling numb. She waited, pondering on her sanity as she stood on the precipice of a schizophrenic diagnosis. Water dripped in the distance, resounding up the empty stairwell she faced.

" _Take the stairs to the floor below, to the basement level."_ The answer finally came, the soft female voice between her ears.

This time C spoke aloud, unable to control it. "But the only thing down there is..."

" _I know."_

The interruption came like no verbal break C had ever known before. It was simply as if the words she wanted to speak faded away before they reached her lips. There was nothing she could tell Sera that wasn't already recognized.

Sera continued. _"Don't be afraid. I told you I would help you. I promise nothing will happen to you."_

Intuition told C to listen; to take the word of the guest in her mind. She nodded to no one and advanced down the metal steps, her boots ringing out with every fall. Another door, identical to the last, met her at the bottom. Beyond that was an all too familiar tunnel. Flies swarmed in buzzing throngs, heard but unseen. The light from the stairwell faded several feet into the passageway, darkness creeping up to make a border; a symbolic line Casey did not want to cross. She yanked the door, finding it locked. Before she could wonder, the sound of the bar and the click of the latch preceded the opening of the entrance. A flicker of a smile lit C's dry lips. Sera was with her from the beginning. As quickly as the humor appeared, it receded into the farthest depths of nausea and repulsion. Once, when C was a small child, a cat had fallen into the framing of the house being constructed next door to her. It was there for a week before Casey found it by accident, trying to fetch a ball she'd kicked too far. She remembered the smell of the rotting flesh in the summer sun when she'd lifted that board and exposed it; the way her stomach flipped and her nose burned. That was nothing in comparison to what greeted her now.

" _Ignore everything you see. It is too late to change the past. We can only worry about the future."_

The warning came from Sera before the next set of directions.

" _Go down the hallway to the far left door."_

C felt hot vomit sting the back of her tight throat. She tugged the bandana from her back pocket and quickly tied it around the lower half of her face. A faint lantern shone down the hall from its hook on the ceiling. The door loomed at the end, threatening Casey with her imagination as she approached. Her hand found the knob, cool and metal, slick with what she could only hope to be rain water.

" _Casey, before you open the door, I need you to listen carefully. Whatever you see, you cannot lose track of your wits. Death is not the end of us, but there are far worse things than simply dying. Do you understand?"_

C nodded, wondering if Sera knew she was lying. She had an idea of what to expect, but in no way was she prepared for it. The door grated against the floor, sliding ajar painfully. The flies poured out with the stench, a noxious cloud of moving black death washing past C into the hall behind her. This time there was no choking back. She dipped her body forward and tore off the bandana, leaning over and wrenching the depths of her guts for something to throw up. There was nothing there, not even the peanuts.

" _Casey, pull it together."_

C snapped up straight, wiping her mouth and replacing the bandana before crying out in frustration. "What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

She could have sworn Sera sighed, but that was ridiculous. _"You need bait. A way to lure them out."_

C suddenly realized what Sera's intentions were. "You're out of your mind. I can't do this."

" _Yes, you can. You have to, or we all die."_

Anger rose up, expanding C's courage and souring her tone. "Why can't you do something? If you can open these doors for me, if you're here in my head right now, why can't you just stop this?"

Again, silence was her response. Thirty seconds ticked by, painfully stagnant in the humid building. C worried she'd offended her guide, waiting on a tightrope for an inkling she was still there.

" _I can't. There isn't time for explanation. Just know that I would if I could. I am doing all I can right now. I must save my energy, the little I have left. You know what you have to do now."_

Nightmares never prepared her for what spread out beyond the door. Two metal tables lined the far wall, the once stainless steel ransacked with gore. An array of utensils splayed across the wooden bench beside the tables. Hack saws, butcher knives, and other assorted tools sat in neat rows, waiting for madmen to return. Hooks dotted the ceiling, most occupied by large slabs of what one could only refer to as meat by definition alone. Casey felt her hand rise involuntarily, covering her mouth over the bandana as a gasp escaped. The constant drone of buzzing insect wings made C feel as if her mind vibrated against the walls of her skull. She was supposed to do what? She shuddered, thinking of Ridley and Debbie; of Roland. How many poor souls met their end here? She wouldn't allow that to become the fate of her friends. Ignoring every human emotion that yanked at her arms and clothes, that tugged at her to back out of the room, C rose to the tips of her toes and grasped the closest hanging slab. The weight almost pulled the atrocity from her hands as she loosed it from the hook. Keeping her eyes up, she bolted from the butcher shop towards the tunnels she'd hoped to never see again.

" _Separate yourself from the situation, Casey. Breathe. I believe in you."_

With Sera's words as her focus and not the origin of the burden she carried now, C moved numbly through the dark tunnel, following her memory through the twists and turns, her unencumbered fingers trailing the walls to keep herself steady. A new lantern illuminated the final hall, carelessly set in the center of the walkway. C found herself staring at the locked gate Ridley had opened once already. The latch was again snuggly fit through the links of a thick chain. She jostled it with her free hand, hoping Sera was aware she'd made it, in whatever way Sera knew anything at all. A commotion was growing louder from behind the gate, from the depths of the darkness. Bodies rustled against their like, naked feet scuffing hard floors as they moved closer; gathering together in a pack.

" _Keep them with you."_

C jumped, startled by the return of Sera's voice.

" _Bring them to the roof."_

The lock made a metallic snap, signaling its release. Casey's hand shook as she tried to free the chain, stepping back suddenly as a small gaunt face shot towards the bars. Teeth gnashed, the figure withdrawing back into the indiscernible shadows. Just as soon as it was gone, another took its place, sneering and clamping its jaws. Filthy curled fingers armed with yellowed jagged nails grappled at the gate, shaking it; testing it. They tilted heads back, sniffing the air; tiny noses picking up the raw odor of fresh blood and meat. Try as she might to see them as the abandoned children of a diseased world, the light playing over their stained cheeks and sunken eyes certainly lent credence to fear them; to see them instead as monsters. Casey steeled herself, breaking the wings of the butterflies that refused to sit still inside her chest. The shackle echoed through the expanse, every link pinging against the bars as C slid it loose. For the first time since she'd left the truck, C was thankful she'd left Lyrique behind. By the time the solid metal of the chain connected with the floor, Casey Wright was running.
Chapter 30

"There something you'd like to share with the rest of us?" Dale lifted his chin, one nostril flaring wide.

The man Roland dubbed Yosemite shrank away from the question. "Nah. Nothing."

"Didn't sound like nothing. Sounded like you're afraid of this little girl, just like Larry." Dale shifted his attention to Roland. "What's he telling you anyways? About the girl?"

Something about Dale's scar made Roland think of tire tracks in the desert. "He's afraid of her. He said she gets in your head." Roland laughed, an over exaggerated measure of sarcasm. "Sounds like you've got a fruitcake working for you, Dale. Maybe that's what you want though. Maybe you want a moron who won't leave because you've got him convinced that a teenage girl is going to kill him with her mind if he does. That, to me, sounds really fucking stupid. Not only that, but you've found two other idiots just as willing to believe your shit? I know the world ended and opportunities are limited, but you have the worst employee retention plan I've ever heard of."

In accordance with the nod Dale tossed his way, the man closest to Roland took a hard swing with the butt of his rifle into the backside of his head. The blow rattled Roland forward, laying him out across the rough surface on his palms and stomach. He remained conscious, lifting himself gingerly onto his elbow. Blood trickled down behind his ear, running into his collar. The impact split the skin, not quite hard enough to render him incoherent. The fat man hovered above him, examining his work.

"Told you to shut up."

"Fuck you." Roland tilted his head to the side and spit, a stream of saliva and blood almost reaching the man's boot. He'd bit his tongue when he hit the ground.

"That's enough." Dale waved his pistol in a circle. "Tie his hands." He produced several black plastic zip ties from his pocket and tossed them at his comrade. "I have an experiment to finish." He raised his weapon to Debbie's temple. Her eyes squeezed shut and she pulled her face away.

"What are you doing?" Ridley kept his hands high, still cutting his knees against the abrasive face of the roof.

"I told you. I'm going to make an example out of you. We're going to settle this nonsense about the girl once and for all. It's kind of a two birds with a sledgehammer thing." The rain poured in constant trails from Dale's hat down in front of his face; a veil of water hiding his already hideous countenance.

"Killing me does nothing. Why are you doing this?" Ridley persisted. Thunder snapped the bones of the storm, booming down from the battle that raged in the sky.

"That's where you're wrong. I'm not going to kill you. She is. If she can do what she says she can, she'll do it now." Dale pointed a crooked finger at Sera, now directing his words only at her. "I've heard your voice in my head telling me what you could do. I know you're threatening my men. They fear you. I keep you around because of that. If you think for one minute I believe you could ever harm me, you're a fool. They fear you, and I need them. You mean nothing more than that. So here is your chance to save your mother and prove you're not just a lying little bitch. I want you to kill him, or I'm going to shoot your mother in the head and feed her to my cattle in the basement."

For the first time, Roland saw Sera's concern as her eyes widened and her jaw stood rigid. She began to shake her head, slowly at first, then faster until her lengthy hair fell over her shoulders. The man holding her abruptly let go, taking three steps back and pointing his gun at the girl.

"Get out of my head." He fired the words at her, fiercely, his hands trembling on the stock.

"Larry, I swear you're useless. Get his hands." Dale gestured to Ridley. "She isn't going anywhere. If she tries, I'll kill her mother anyway and Ray will shoot her in the back."

The man beside Dale nodded. "Sure will." The scope on his weapon didn't argue.

Tears openly joined the raindrops on Debbie's cheeks, alternating temperatures on her skin. Deep in her heart, she knew this was her fault. No one would be here had she just let it go. She couldn't. After all this time, Sera was alive. It didn't matter now what she did or didn't do right. She would trade every minute longer that she lived for the time she'd spent with her daughter again. This was over now, however. Things were no longer running a course that would lead them to a future. Whether her decisions were right or wrong, she was nearly out of time to remedy the strike she'd brought against her friends. The only thing Debbie had ever been positive of with absolute certainty was that, until her last breath, her job was to protect Sera.

"She can't do that." Ridley tried to talk Dale down from his scheme. "She was just trying to scare you. She can't hurt anyone."

"Are you willing to bet your life on it?" Dale slid rough fingers down Debbie's cheek. "If she can, she sure as shit isn't going to pick you over her mom. You're in a situation where you don't win, at all, either way. Now, I'm sick and tired of standing here arguing in the rain. Let's end this thing. You have one minute. Do whatever voodoo magic hoopla shit you do and lay this man at my feet, or I'll throw her off this building. Got it?"

Sera's eyes pierced Ridley's, flooding him again with her energy. _"I will not hurt you, Ridley. Even if I could."_

Ridley answered her silently, closing his eyes as if it were prayer. _"You can't let him kill you. You have to escape."_

" _There is nothing I can do alone. When the moment comes, and you will know it, I need you to help me."_

" _Help you do what Sera? You know I will, just tell me."_

" _Believe. Know you can do it. That is all that matters. There is a new energy present, and we need it more than ever before. Some things must be sacrificed so that futures may be allowed to grow into pasts."_

Ridley felt the frustration building, chasing her riddles around his head _. "I don't understand why you can't just tell me clearly."_

" _It doesn't work that way Ridley. You'll understand eventually. For now, just trust me."_

Roland's head throbbed, black and red waves of pain distorting his vision along with the downpour. The water washed the blood from his hair, diluting the color to a dull pink as it saturated his shirt. The man assigned to keep him quiet paid him little mind now, his full attention devoted to Sera, the anticipation akin to dread. Roland wasn't sure why, but something in him felt at ease. The reality of the scenario was that he was about to die, yet that didn't bother him. For the first time since he'd lost his wife, Roland felt a sense of purpose. Even if he didn't walk away today, he'd stood for something again. Maybe that was the desire of a man, to be needed; to be important to someone or some cause. He kept his mouth shut, not wanting to risk another crack to the skull. He'd been told his whole life he had a hard head. The meaningless phrase finally had value. A tingling sensation suddenly lit up the wound, itching and drawing his hand to feel the area. The feeling didn't stop there, encompassing his entire head like a winter hat, comforting and warm. He barely flinched when a voice permeated his thoughts.

" _Roland Mason. We've met before."_ Her tone rang like tiny bells, soft but definite.

Roland hesitated, wondering if he had to speak to answer her. He assumed not, having witnessed Ridley's silent discussion. _"We have. I'm sorry. I didn't know you. I didn't know them at the time. I couldn't help you."_

" _You weren't expected to. Our paths were meant to cross again, and this time you will help. It's time for you to learn what you are capable of, Roland. This world needs you."_

Roland felt his thick eyebrows furrow, confusion abetting his hesitation. _"What do you want me to do?"_

" _Let it happen. Let her go."_

With that, the sagacity of his mental company was gone. The awareness faded as fast as it began, leaving him with only the words that made no sense. Roland's eyes locked on Sera's, finding only sadness present. No clues to her inner mind registered on her pretty young face. Dale displayed clear signs of impatience, consistently wiping at the rain that assaulted his vision. Roland wondered if he were actually counting down, or just waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. The only breaks in the uncomfortable silence came from the mouth of the storm, an occasional grumble or clap from their intangible audience. In this moment, Ridley found himself completely lost. For all his courage and his desire to maintain some semblance of human compassion, he'd done nothing more than lead another soul to their death. In his mind he screamed for Sera to do it; do what she had to and save the others. She was gone. She didn't acknowledge and did not reply. She'd pulled her mental can on a string and would not listen to his pleas.

"All right, it's been long enough. See there boys, she can't do shit except spit lies into your brains. Nothing to be afraid of there. Nothing more than a ventriloquist." Dale gleefully shook Debbie again, looking now at Ridley. "Looks like I'll have to do it myself."

His arm came loose from Debbie, just long enough. Jerking away, long white hair twirling out behind her, Debbie bolted from Dale's grasp. At that moment, Roland's heart froze as three things happened simultaneously. The voice in his head was back, a solitary word standing his arm hairs on end despite the rain.

" _One_."

Debbie reached the precipice, five feet away. She turned back, blue eyes burning with the phosphorus of her soul as she took in every facet of her daughter's face. The round left the chamber, Dale's arm extended straight out, hitting her in the back just as her foot found the ledge. Debbie pushed off with all her strength. There was no time to feel the pain of the bullet. She was free falling, gone from the bondage of her body before it landed in the muddy earth so far below.

" _Two_."

The voice in his head offered no distraction now. Roland's ever so restrained memories attacked. The scene, the image of the woman and the rooftop, ripped from him the all consuming agony he'd ignored so long. It was his Chelsea all over again, the same look in her eyes that said so clearly how much she had loved; that it was enough to make the sacrifice. He was there again, hands reaching out for only the air she left behind, too late to stop her and too weak to understand; empty fingers returning to clutch at an aching chest, clawing and tearing, trying to dig out the broken heart that so badly threatened to destroy him from the inside out. Something within him awoke beneath the pain, reminded of its design by the volley of memories, taking the first breath of existence.

" _Three_."

Ridley choked on his scream, the lament sticking in his throat and threatening to suffocate him. He could do nothing. There was no time. She was gone in an instant. Sera hadn't moved, yet it was her counting in his head, several steps behind his own tally. He could hear it through the shrieking of his heart. Had she known this would happen? Why didn't she stop it? The men stood in awe, staring at the outcrop Debbie had leapt from. Dale still sneered, victory on his lips.

" _Four_."

"Why the hell'd she do that?" Larry kept his gun close to Sera's head.

Dale chuckled, phlegm gurgling in his throat. "She thought it'd take away the advantage. She must have figured if she wasn't collateral they'd make out better, now that she's got nothing left to lose."

" _Five_."

"So what are we doing now Dale?" Ray nodded at Ridley.

"Nothing's changed." Dale cocked his weapon.

"We keeping the meat?" Ray queried his boss.

"Might as well." Dale's stare didn't waver, his crooked grin and wrinkled brow angled at Ridley.

" _Six_."

Ridley hit sixteen, ten seconds ahead of Sera. He felt the energy leave his mind, reaching out for the easiest grab. The fat man behind Roland began to vacillate, his arms struggling to maintain control of their weapon. His efforts were in vain, the barrel turning from Roland to the man closest, Ray.

" _Seven_."

"What the hell are you doing?" Ray yelled at his comrade.

"It ain't me."

"Knock it off man." Ray stepped back, away from his position guarding Ridley.

" _Eight_."

"I'm tryin. I can't."

Dale's amusement was short lived, the smirk he wore changing quickly to one of confusion. From around the corner of the roof's crown came the sounds of massive commotion. Dale looked over his shoulder just in time to see the slab of raw meat land with a cherry splat on the rain soaked surface.

" _Nine_."

"What the fuck?" Dale ignored Ray's predicament, momentarily distracted by the unexpected disruption.

" _Ten._ "

Ridley held the gun, his focus wandering in lapsed concentration. The echo of numerous footfalls crossing the roof preceded the pack by a second, giving away their advance before the first dirty face came into view.

" _Eleven._ "

Casey hit the wall, her arm worn from carrying the bait. They'd almost swarmed her coming up the stairs, piling over one another, trying to be the first to sink yellow teeth into the hunk of meat she bribed them with. When she reached the top, she'd blindly whipped the chunk toward the sound of the voices and darted the other way, pressing herself against the abrasive partition jutting from the arena roof. They'd ignored her, following the smell, chasing down the bait she'd finally let go of. For a minute she tried to count them as they passed, rushing up the stairwell in blind hunger. She'd given up somewhere near twenty three, deciding there were better things to do with her time. She edged around the wall, trailing the herd, and poked her head past the end.

" _Twelve._ "

Roland couldn't believe what was happening. Seeing it was still not enough. Out of nowhere came the revolting chunk of flesh, falling from the sky and mortifying the concrete. If that wasn't enough, all the demons of hell were loosed behind it. The instinctive reaction of the men drew their weapons from their original targets, firing into the herd of Ferals. Roland found himself without a gun in his face. Even Dale had forgotten about his captors, eyes wide with astonishment as more joined the pack. He yelled at his men not to kill them all, words drowned out by the hail of gunfire and the bellowing of the storm.

" _Thirteen._ "

Ridley lost control, Sera's count luring his attention away from his own. She remained the only one guarded; Larry's left arm tightly wrapped around her neck now to free his other hand for shooting. Finding his weapon operated under his will again, the fat man opted to fire into the throng, turning his back.

" _Fourteen._ "

Dale spun around to confront Sera, grabbing a thick handful of damp blonde hair and yanking her close to his face. "You did this, didn't you? You stupid girl. Do you know how long it's taken me to gather them all up?"

" _Fifteen._ "

Sera smiled, a slow, painful forming of her lips that in no way resembled happiness. "Long enough to forget your humanity."

Her words seemed to come from all around her, pelting off of Dale like the water spit from the clouds above. For the first time, the man showed fear. He jabbed the pistol into Sera's temple, filthy fingers still wrapped in her hair. "You ready to visit your mother?"

Sera's words were cool, unshaken. "Not yet."

Something inside Roland began to quaver, an all over vibration that started within his mind and flooded his entire body, as if it were moving through his blood stream. The hammer drew back on Dale's gun, his finger pressing down on the trigger. Ridley jumped to his feet, pooling up every ounce of what he could control. A hair separated Sera's time from her end and Dale meant to finish it.

A deviant burst of wind tore abruptly from the earth below, swirling and rising until it commenced to top the roof. Above, the darkest of clouds began to rush together, siding up to one another like soldiers on the front line of battle. The light around them hemmed orange, crackling with energy, the fall of the rain becoming sheets of water. The men stopped firing, sensing a change around them. Casey took the opportunity to move from her shelter, crouched low against the wall and hardly able to make out what transcended beyond the swarm of bodies. She could detach the adult forms from those of the children, struggling to determine who stood in the center of the sudden wind gust. It looked like Ridley and Roland, several feet away from an unfamiliar face holding what looked to be a teenage girl.

" _Sera."_ C's mind reached out.

" _Sixteen._ "

Roland embraced it, a sudden understanding; a direction for the force that was building. Ridley's mind became clear, letting the energy flow through him like a vessel, feeling it fabricate around Sera's own power; a magnet enticing the universe to bend at her will. The response was not directed at Casey, but something in her knew what it meant. She threw her hands over her ears and ducked her face down. The sky split, tearing the seams of reality in half. From the midst, the realm where existence is merely a thought away, came a blinding flash of bright blue light, chased to earth by the gongs of thunder. The light forked, the tongue of a venomous snake moving to strike, landing the devastating blow at Sera's feet. All around him, Roland could hear voices, laughter, crying, singing. Caught amidst the beam of the electrical spotlight were thousands of glowing blue orbs, bobbing and darting at the border of the illumination, bouncing back to the center when they hit the boundary, unable to escape. The chatter of a million unheard stories and lives threatened to overwhelm Ridley's ears, every one attempting to break away from the confines of the strike and be known, seemingly looking for a host; aiming unsuccessful trajectories at the surrounding Ferals. Roland watched what he could only assume to be souls struggle fruitlessly to escape before vanishing into the radiance. The rooftop exploded, the lightning connecting with the force of a meteor and severing the surface into ragged sections. The platform they stood on trembled, the men losing their footing and tumbling over slanted ground. Dale dropped his pistol, shaken and falling to his knees. The cracks widened, the patchwork of the broken facade swallowing Ray, along with several of the now disheveled pack. His screams were drowned out by the laughter of the thunder above.

The building shook, the structure compromised and collapsing. Pieces continued to fall through the now widening mouth of the hole, careening down into the lobby on the floor below. Bodies unable to regain their footing plummeted through splits in the concrete, eerily silent all the way to their destination. Roland did his best to shake off the lag he was under, feeling as if all the energy had been drained from his body. He'd wound up on his rear end, knocked backwards by the burst of electric light, now struggling to stand up as he eyed the crumbling ground around him. A hand lit his vision, small and thin, offering him aid.

Sera stood above him, lips pursed in deliberation. "We must go now." Her voice aloud was so much smaller than the one in his head.

The chaos overtook their guards, the remaining men grappling at hand holds, fighting their way from the crater that quickly consumed the rooftop. The Ferals flitted about, intermingling with the men who'd disbanded from their shooting, uncaring of their perilous situation. Two of the larger drones battled over the remaining hunk of meat, oblivious to the cave in. Ridley watched them for a second, almost envious of their complete ignorance. The impact of the lightning strike stole his balance and toppled him into the debris. His right leg throbbed, a large laceration above his knee making standing difficult. He had to move. The surface beneath him shuddered and groaned, the support giving way slowly below. He dragged his injured leg, climbing over the broken bits of concrete and rock towards Sera and Roland.

"Where do you think you're going?" Dale's mangled jaw slurred the words, his attention to detail disrupted.

He'd recovered his footing and his pistol, aiming it now at Ridley's head from four feet away where he stood atop a sloped section of roof. Ridley winced, putting weight on his leg. "I'm leaving. We're leaving. This is over."

"I tell you when it's over." Dale scanned the decimated scene for his companions, seemingly disappointed at their plight.

Only he and Ridley stood in the war zone now, surrounded by cracks that greedily opened wider by the second, water spilling through the severed ceiling in rivulets. Dale lumbered over the broken pieces, keeping his gun on Ridley. He slowly meandered to the edge, finding footing that didn't send him askew. Ridley remained frozen in place, watching the man's every step.

"See, now you've made a mistake. Now I know what sort of weapon I have here." Dale jerked a boney finger towards Sera. "I think I'm going to keep her. Larry, get your ass up. Get over here."

For some reason, the man still obeyed his orders. Maybe he had all the more reason to, now that he'd witnessed what Sera was truly capable of. Larry made his way to Dale's side, relieving him of his hold on Ridley. Dale's attention was elsewhere, enamored with his newfound toy. Sera did not shy away from him. She didn't even blink, letting the man grab her arm and tug her in front of him like a shield. He seemed unconcerned about Roland, who had no idea what to do now except keep his hands up and his feet stable.

"Any more surprises for us today?" Dale held his face close to Sera's, rotten breath striking her with hot stench.

C watched, astounded, battling shock, and keeping her head from view. She wanted so badly just to shoot the man where he stood, but there were too many obstacles in the way and she worried he would kill Sera if she missed. There was no way to get closer without exposing herself, and now that the roof was split almost in half, there was no way down if she crossed the divide. The utter calm Sera asserted had a similar affect on Casey, driving her to believe there was still hope when all signs said no.

"I'm taking her. Shoot the other two." Dale backed away, dragging Sera with him and leaving his commands behind.

C's stomach knotted. The only way down was right past her. This would be her only chance. Wet fingers made difficult work of freeing her nine millimeter. She firmly encased the grip, the weight in her hand comforting. She had only a split second to make the shot, between the time he rounded the corner and the time he saw her. With Sera in front of him, it would be almost impossible. C knew full well that her first bullet would bring on a frenzy of others, so it had to count. She listened as Dale shoved his way through the disheartened crowd of Ferals, kicking them aside and cursing. He was almost there. She held her breath, keeping her hand steady on the trigger. There was no shot to make. Dale rounded the blind spot, Sera directly in front of him, exposing only his arms and the top of his capped head. C had no time to re-evaluate. He'd spotted her, and she had nothing to hide behind. She fired once, aiming high, afraid to hit Sera by mistake. The shot flew wild, but allowed her enough time to sprint, diving and rolling behind the base of an old air conditioning unit.

" _Casey, you can save them. You can bring them back."_ Sera's words begged inside C's head, flooding her with an overwhelming apologetic sincerity. _"I'm sorry. It wasn't supposed to happen this way."_

The voice was gone, leaving a void where Casey looked for answers and found only silence. She huddled half way from the wall to the stairwell, the rusted metal box the only thing between her and Dale's pistol, which he fired in her direction as he ran for the stairs, forcing Sera along in front. There was no sense in firing back. She'd simply waste the ammo. He was down the flight, long legs carrying him away from her range. Just as she'd predicted, the single shot was reiterated by every other weapon present. The men, left behind by their leader, fired in the general direction she hid. As long as bullets couldn't turn corners, she'd be all right.

The barrage stopped, shouts rising above the sound of the rain. Casey moved, a short burst of speed putting her back where she could see. Ridley enticed the men to focus on him, attempting again to clear the pile of rubble he stood in. They yelled for him not to move, waving guns and warnings. While their loyalty seemed without question, they hesitated to complete their task.

"Dale said to shoot them." The fat man bullied his comrade.

"I know what he said." Larry replied, clearly the more intelligent of the two. "Don't need you telling me too."

"All right then, just..." The words fell, stopped in their tracks by the nine millimeter round piercing the back of his skull. The fat man slumped forward to his knees, bowing to the ground dead.

Casey's hand trembled, the pistol hot with the aftermath of execution. "Shit."

The sentiment barely cleared her lips before the earth shifted. The ground she stood on buckled, a ripple affect churning the cracked surface and taking her feet from beneath her. She caught herself on her palms, wrists stinging from the impact. The remnants of the pack flocked towards the edge, uncaringly and unavoidably mingling with the last guard standing and his captors. The shift of the weight was too much to bear. The metal support groaned, the wail of fractured bones echoing from the structure. C barely had the time to call out, to yell for Ridley, before the roof disappeared from beneath her completely. She plunged through the opening, unable to get a hold of anything around her, falling with the dilapidated ceiling. Something solid and heavy hit the back of her head, a fragment of concrete toppling with her. Casey lost consciousness well before the building tumbled down around her.
Chapter 31

Roland couldn't find his legs. Between the Volkswagen size hole he'd landed in and the broken pieces of wood and concrete scattered across his lower half, this would be hell to get out of. He felt his toes respond to his urge to move, taking stock. Both legs lay pinned beneath the rubble. Luckily they didn't feel broken, though the previous injury in his ankle regaled its presence. Roland sat up tentatively, ignoring the argument from his shoulder. He began clearing away the pieces, one at a time, grateful the majority of the debris was small enough to lift. He found his right leg first, jeans torn and dirty, still soaked from the storm that finally decided to let off. Thin rays of sunlight pierced the overcast sky sending slender beams down to dot the wet earth. Roland flexed his knee and rolled his ankle. The leg was sore, but not badly damaged. He started freeing the second one, wincing as the movements carried the ache to his shoulder. He'd lost a boot somehow, the old white sock on his foot becoming visible as he tossed away a splintered two by four. It seemed a silly thing to dwell on, but it was the only pair he had.

"Ridley?" Favoring his bare foot, Roland stood shakily and scanned the wreckage. "Ridley?"

Bodies decorated the disaster, a mosaic of displaced gymnastics. The majority of the Feral pack must have been instantly obliterated along with the stadium, their diminutive size an adversary in the collapse. Roland turned his head from the open eyed incoherent mask that stared no different now than it had in life, neither journey worth an interest. Using his right arm and the uninjured shoulder, he scaled the remains, pulling himself from the gap until the entirety became clear. He spotted the figure of a man, lying on his side, half buried under a pile of broken stone. It wasn't Ridley. He could tell by the clothes. The man had his boots on still, and Roland wasn't opposed to protecting his feet. He'd long since lost his inhibitions regarding stealing from the dead. They didn't need it. He did. There was nothing else to debate. He made his way over, shaking the man first. There was no response, and no pulse to find. Roland didn't hesitate, untying the knot in the boot lace and yanking it free. It was a size bigger than he'd have liked, but better than strolling over nails and rebar barefoot.

"Roland." A weak cry came from beyond the pile he faced.

"Casey?" Roland clambered over the mound, sliding down a large slab that sat at an angle on the other side.

C crouched over Ridley, her back to Roland. Blood streaked her arm, a deep laceration running down the back above her elbow. She ignored it, her attention elsewhere. Roland stepped around her, immediately noticing the severity. While his face appeared unscathed, the rise and fall of his chest was labored, battling the density of wet flour in his lungs. Despite his injuries, Ridley smiled up at Roland, sunlight turning the water droplets in his blonde hair to crystals.

"You did it." Ridley coughed, the dark crimson warning trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"What?" Roland hated to push the man to speak again.

"The lightning." Ridley seemed to rattle with pain for a moment, eyes far away. "Did you see them?"

"I saw them Ridley. What were they?" Roland crouched beside the man.

"Angels." His eyes closed for a moment and reopened, looking clearer now.

"Ridley it's all right." C didn't understand what he was saying. "Stay still. We're going to get you out of here." Casey pushed back at her tears, struggling to keep her voice calm. "You're going to be okay."

Ridley shook his head, a butter glaze sliding back down over crystal blue eyes. "I spent so much time searching out others. Like me." He paused, seeming to lose the thought for a moment before remembering. "Like Sera. But no one is like Sera." He coughed, trying to raise an arm without success, the act sapping his strength. "All it did was spark the end of everything. It's my fault they did this. I did this. I..." Ridley faded in and out, speaking like a figment in a dream.

C couldn't tell if he knew what he said; if he was aware of his situation. "How can you say that? The world hasn't ended, Ridley. There are survivors. We are still standing."

"Casey, we're the end of it." The ever present hope that kept Ridley alive all these years visibly slipped away by the second, replaced with the fear that he'd failed and would never have the chance to make it right.

C ignored the vice grip tightening on her throat. She shook her head, rattling the glass beads in her braids. "I can't believe that. I won't accept it Ridley. We have to find a way to..." She would have a solution, something to give him, if she only had the end of that statement.

"A way to what, Casey? You have a beautiful heart." Every wave of pain left a little less of him behind when it passed. "Do you see them? The angels that are waiting to take us away?" Ridley's tired blue eyes begged her for hope, pleaded for the words that promised he was going somewhere better, that there was a chance of salvation for the ones he left behind.

Casey thought of Sam, of his declaration that the Ferals were not children, but empty vessels, devoid of souls. She remembered him saying they were not human beings. She clung to Sera's last message, imprinted on the walls of her mind in bold letters.

You can bring them back. You can save them.

Sera hadn't meant Ridley or Roland, or Debbie, Casey suddenly realized. She'd intended something greater, a task beyond any single person; the children, the future.

"There has to be a way to make them human again, normal, to save them from whatever this is." It sounded so simple, and yet so obscure. She almost regretted saying it.

"Casey, that's a magnificent thought, but..." Another cough shook him, his head tilting sideways, struggling for breath.

"Ridley, no. Stay with me. Please." Casey pressed her head against his chest, arms around him as best she could. She snapped her eyes tightly shut, tears stinging like gasoline as she listened to his breathing grow haggard.

"Casey, tell me I didn't do it all wrong. It can't all be for nothing. I'm so sorry." Ridley stared up, something behind the fabric of reality reeling him in, his voice hazy and far away. "I'm so sorry."

"No, Ridley." If there was nothing else to do, she would not let him leave this world with guilt, doubting his value and questioning his existence. "Don't be sorry. Ever. You're the only real superhero I've ever known. Thank you for everything you've taught me and everything you've given us." Her words came in a muffled rush, her cheek still lying atop his heart. There remained no value in saying goodbye, but gratitude should never stay unspoken. "Thank you for being human, Ridley, even when the world forgot about us."

The breathing stopped, and seconds later the heartbeat followed.

Roland's arm was suddenly around C's shoulders as she sat back on her heels, hands in folded prayer over her mouth and nose. Silent sobs rocked her, his comfort the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

Roland reached out, gently placing his fingers on Ridley's eyelids and sliding them shut. "You're an astonishing man, Kenneth Ridley. The world is going to miss you."

Casey collapsed into Roland. He let her, holding stable in the middle of the shattered arena, swaying back and forth with her as she cried against his shoulder. Eventually she grew still, her breath calming from sharp gasps to stuttered inhalations that only jolted her lungs and not her entire frame. She leaned back from Roland's embrace, staring into his eyes. The usual green now shone with a polish only loss can bring, deep gray circles setting off the fire inside of their borders. He brushed the wet curl of hair from her forehead, fingers lingering a moment on her face.

"I'm sorry Casey."

"So am I." Her pained eyes glanced at the body of the man she would never fully know now; his secrets forever silenced. "We can't leave him here."

"Or Debbie." Roland blocked out the replay his mind fought to show him. "Let's get them in the truck."

"Debbie is... No." She hadn't yet asked, unsure if she could handle the answer. "Roland?"

"I know Casey. I know." The hurt in his eyes went back years.

C collected herself, wiping at her tears again and finding she'd barely missed being impaled where she'd fallen. Several bars of jagged metal stuck straight up from the floor and she'd landed between two of them, managing to only scratch her arm in the process. She hadn't noticed it before, running immediately to Ridley when she woke up. Now she had a moment to wonder at the way things worked out. A large slab of the busted roof leaned against the bars, one end firmly implanted in the earth and the other balancing on the metal pole, right above where Casey's head had been. She not only missed the spikes when she fell, but they kept the massive chunk of concrete from smashing her where she landed. It hardly seemed fair and made little sense to her right now; who lived and who didn't.

"If we lift him up, we can get around the side and get out. Can you help me pick him up?" Roland softly coaxed C.

"Yeah, I think I can."

Slowly and solemnly they carried Ridley's prone form from the debris, every step a challenge over rocks and broken boards. When the parking lot came into view, Casey picked up the pace. They'd made it out of the wreckage, injured and broken hearted, but alive. Roland laid Ridley down, C following his lead and lowering his feet. She tried not to look at the body, reminding herself that what made him Ridley was gone and this was nothing more than biodegradable matter. He wouldn't want her to dwell on it. Still she felt her throat constrict.

"Let's go get the truck and pull over here. It's easier." Roland offered.

Casey nodded slowly, turning away from the body to see a dark, four legged blur coming at her. She dropped to her knees and opened her arms, letting the hot tongue hit her face and the pushy muscle of her dog knock her over. Lyrique licked her cheek, lifting a heavy paw and setting it on her thigh. The dog tilted her head to the side, acknowledging Roland before going back to her onslaught of affection.

"It's good to see you too girl." Casey perked up, the affect this goofy animal always had on her, from the time she'd found her in that box so many years ago. She'd like to think she saved her life, but it was always the other way around.

They walked silently together, Lyrique between the two and staying in stride, unlike her usual desire to run ahead and rush them. They reached the truck, the driver side door hanging wide open where the dog had vacated the cab once the storm passed. Casey thumped the tailgate and Lyrique hopped in, clearly excited to have company again. C popped the rusty latch on the passenger door, a sudden thought bringing her down.

"We don't have any keys. Do you know how to hotwire a truck?" She glanced at Roland.

He stood in the open doorway, not yet in the vehicle. "No. I can't say that I do."

"We have to find another way then." She recalled seeing several cars parked along the next street. Whether or not they had keys was almost as relevant as what they would use for fuel.

"Hang on." A crazy thought entered Roland's head and he took hold of it.

Ridley hadn't had keys to start the truck before. Why should he need them now? Sera's soft counting flooded back to him, intuition taking over. He hopped behind the wheel, earning a questioning stare from Casey. He started counting, silently, letting the humming vibration take over his body again; feeling it stem from the base of his skull above his spine and slowly thrum outward like sound waves rippling off his every cell. In his mind he could see a spark, a flash between two wires igniting. He held that picture, letting everything else around him go.

Sixteen.

The engine roared, Casey jumping in her seat almost to the ceiling. "Holy raining shit Roland."

He couldn't stop the grin that forcibly took over his face. The vibration ceased. This time he didn't feel exhausted or drained. He simply felt proud. "I couldn't have said it better." He let out a loud swoosh of air in exclamation.

Casey gaped at him, not even trying to conceal her bewilderment. "I can't believe you just did that."

"I can't either, trust me." He pressed the pedal, putting the truck in gear and starting forward.

"What are we going to do now, Roland? All that's happened and I don't know why. It has to be for a reason. What do we do?" Her hair hung over her eye again, the curls tightening as they dried.

"You didn't see them? In the lightning Casey?"

"See who?" Ridley had said the same thing. She still didn't understand. "What are you talking about?"

"The souls. You said it to Ridley. You told him what we have to do. I thought you saw them. I saw them, Casey. I don't know how or why, but they're trapped. They can't get out to get, well, here. To us. To be free. They're not gone, Casey. These kids aren't meant to be empty. We don't have to give up on them, on the future. They're all there. I saw them. I heard them. All these voices and lives waiting to be lived, if they could just get through. They exist. Sera knew what she was doing up there, trying to let them go, to set them free. It just didn't work."

"You saw them, Roland? You really think there is a way to fix all this?" C bit hard into her bottom lip, growing to accept that Ridley's death, while an accident, had to be for a reason. Sera would not let him die in vain.

Roland stared ahead, seeing the world in a way he'd never imagined for the first time; not dying, not dead, but in hibernation, in stasis, finally ready to wake up. Maybe it wasn't too late to change it. Maybe now he truly could.

"We're going after Sera. We're going to bring them back."

### An Epilogue To Humanity Novel, Volume One

### More From The Author

Indie Writing Runs On Your Love, Consider Leaving A Review

More Titles By Aubrea Summer and Updates on New Releases

Burn This Way

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## Burn This Way

## (Sample)

WHY BEGIN AT THE START WHEN YOU CAN START AT THE BEGINNING?

_What are you so worried about? You're already going to hell_. That always present, forever persuasive voice in my head would be the deciding factor before I pushed the warehouse door open. There wasn't much sense in arguing with it; arguing with myself. Thankfully there was no disapproving creak from the rusty old hinge to announce my entrance. I could smell damp wood and stale gasoline in the air, mixed with the distinct odor of blood. He was here, I knew it. Whether or not he was alone I was having difficulty determining. I paused, standing completely still. No human noise emanated from inside, other than the rasping of gathered breaths. The sound was labored; he was not going to last much longer in that state. I was having a hard time believing someone would just leave him like that. Usually they weren't so careless; the others. I can't fathom the offender not knowing he was still alive. Traditionally they didn't leave it to chance. It was too much of a risk to all of us. Yet I quickly determined there was no presence other than his. The building echoed with emptiness. Swinging the door all the way inside, I scanned the darkness around me. Shuffling under the boxes that lined the walls like bulging cardboard sentries, rats scuttled back and forth. Their toenails scratched across the concrete, inaudible to most. I walked swiftly through the clutter of dirty newspapers and empty bottles until I found him lying under the shattered window. The light from the city beamed down on him through the gaping hole in the ceiling illuminating his face. He was unconscious and pale, sprawled unnaturally across the floor in a puddle of blood and broken wood. His raven hair glittered with sprinkles of glass, and his clothes were soaked in dark red. A large gash ran across his forehead, and one along his neck that extended down the front of his shoulder in a jagged zigzag. The latter seemed to be bleeding more profusely, spreading the crimson stain almost to his waist. I shook my head. This poor kid had no idea what he was about to get into. I pulled my jacket off, wrapping it around his torso and shoulder the best I could. It didn't cover him all the way, but the majority of the gore was hidden. I lifted his body up as carefully as possible, positioning him over my shoulder and wrapping my right arm around the backs of his knees. There was no time to clean up the mess left behind on the concrete. Faint strips of parallel light signaled a doorway in the rear of the warehouse. I assumed that exit would put us just around the back of the building in the alley, which I preferred rather than the front door. Carrying a body down the street never goes over well. I could have us blocks away in less than a minute, which was good because there were sirens moving this way. Though not uncommon in this area, the wailing of police cars approached quickly and it wasn't worth the risk. I had to move fast. A familiar voice rang in the back of my head, asking me what the hell I was doing.
