

# WORLD DOWN

River's Rising

##

## by

## Dan McNeill and Kevin Morton

Blackburn International

CEO Letter to Shareholders

Fellow Shareholders,

Thanks to the on-going hostilities between revolutionaries in Europe and our brave Coalition forces, I am pleased to say that Blackburn International saw improvements across a number of key operating metrics this past fiscal year. On an annual basis, we expanded gross margins by 2.3 percentage points, increased operating income by $63 billion, grew products and services, and closed the year with an increase in cash flow from operations of $2.2 billion to total $10.3 billion. In addition, we bought back 951 million shares of our own stock for a total purchase price of $2.76 billion during the fiscal year.

Despite this progress, it was a challenging year for Blackburn. Due to continued media attacks from the secular left, we were not able to secure a contract for supplemental military services in the Japanese theater as we had planned. Although it is fair to say, that with the recent escalation of tensions in Asia, the U.S. government may revisit that decision. I have it on good authority that they will indeed.

There is no question that the liberal biases of bloggers and an over-zealous U.S. media have had a profound impact on our customers and impeded our ability to grow the top line, especially in the latter half of the fiscal year. Our concentration in some controversial industry segments, particularly biological warfare and battlefield neural-networks, exacerbated the challenges we faced. But remember, as our late President used to say, the only way to stop a bad guy with a gun is with a good guy with a gun.

With that second amendment truth as our mantra, Blackburn International's acquisition of Costello Pharmaceuticals, announced three days ago, will surely bring a more profitable year for our shareholders. While I am not yet at liberty to disclose our first planned venture with the fine folks at Costello, I can say this. What we plan to announce at our shareholders meeting in D.C. next month not only will ensure the continued profitability of Blackburn International – it will also change forever, Lord willing, the way we wage war.

God Bless,

John W. Blackburn

Archival Control Number: DIGI 01860561

– Transcript from video footage captured three days after first report of deaths from R17 virus (commonly referred to as the "Rapture" virus)

Ok. Here we go. 3...2...1...

Hello folks, as you can see, I am reporting live outside Times Square on this night of...silence. I am my own cameraman now. My assistant Kate, bless her sweet Kansas heart, fell victim to the Rapture early last night. The Rapture. That is what some have whispered. Before dear Kate turned to...dear God...[muffled sounds, perhaps crying or clearing of throat]...she begged me to continue. To spread the gospel as it were. With talent on loan from Grace, I shall honor her deathbed request.

Now let me show you...you...whoever you may be, what is left of Gotham. I just passed by Macy's a few blocks back. Empty. Windows shattered. White bone and rapidly decomposing corpses grasping Alfani dresses. Cold flesh to dust in days. Guess they won't be doing the Thanksgiving Day parade next week, will they?

Now...Broadway. Mighty Broadway. Empty. A chill wind blows Gotham's ashes into sewers that lead to the Hudson. Right here, across from the Marriot, more bodies of the Raptured litter the street as rats feast on their bags of junk food, grocery items and, occasionally, before I can shoo them away, remnants of their rapidly decaying flesh. Even in death, the cancer continues to do its work, turning its victims into lumps of dust swathed in designer blue jeans. Within a month, all that will be left of the human species I'm afraid is expensively garmented bones. One of the gifts of the Rapture I suppose. It buries it's own.

Continuing on...A yellow taxi here, an old lady's cashmere hat there, all serving as the final grave markers for the dead. It vexes me! Lying spread eagle next to an Indian man holding a camera lies a half-naked cowboy clutching his guitar on the corner of Broadway and 46th Street. I saw Meghan Galloway from Entertainment Gawkers News, dead. Her make-up assistant a barely recognizable heap of bone and cracked flesh. Rapture cremation. Ladies and gentlemen, it's all a testament to our morally irrelevant, electronic society that when pop culture dies, it dies nameless.

The asphalt cemetery repeats itself across Broadway, across 7th Avenue, across all avenues and the reason is simple. There are no people left to sweep them away. The authorities have abandoned us. The last person I spoke to, some three days ago, a frightened National Guardsman from Albany, himself infected, mentioned that the President, whoever was in line for it at this point anyway, Raptured from his supposedly bio-secured location outside of Omaha. Does anyone else know this? More importantly folks, does anyone care?

As I move up past the massive, now dimmed, electronic billboards, and theaters...and, ha, look at this...fool. Some shop owner, looks like he sold fake designer handbags...has the entrance to his shop draped in barbed wire. To protect it from looters. Looters! What I wouldn't give right now for an encounter with an angry mob of handbag-grabbing looters. It would prove that I wasn't the only one left alive.

As I make my way towards 43rd Street I see the remains of our mighty military. Dead. The tanks parked out by the Toys R Us are silent. I would like to take it upon myself, as the recently self-appointed Mayor of New York City, to declare martial law officially lifted. For, as you can see...there is no one left to enforce it. Until man can find a cure.

A cure. That's rich. [clears throat, spits] Come on folks! If I thought there were enough able-bodied citizens left to provide such a thing, maybe I'd be less cynical. But look around folks. Rotting flesh turned to ash cannot discover a cure for a virus intent on making us extinct. And make no mistake folks, the virus is still out there. If by chance you are able to view my broadcast here today, know that it will find you.

Oh, but wait. The EMP bursts, remember? The nukes they set off over Manhattan, over Chicago, over LA. Over everywhere to stop a death that seemed pre-ordained. Fried out most everything but my camera! Ha! Must have been divine intervention. The Authorities can't step on Butch Becker's 1st Amendment rights!

But it doesn't matter. None of it does. Alas, we're on our own now folks. And on our own without our precious electronics to keep us alive. But not on our own.

All I know ladies and gentlemen is what I'm seeing here. Dead. They're all dead. Men, women, young, old. Black, white, Muhammadans, Christians. No one has been spared. No, let me clarify. No one worth saving has been spared.

You know with whom I refer to. You've seen them. There's a plan folks! My God, we know there is! They kept them alive for a reason. Mark my words folks, whenever we put our trust in the corrupting lies of big government, THIS is the end result. Look around. Anyone? Is anyone even left to listen to my report? This final report?...hah...

No matter. For what it's worth folks, I want to be on record. I know why they spared them, and not us. It's easy. Even a simpleton with oatmeal for brains could figure it out! Hell, even that shopkeeper with the barbed wire, I bet even he could have figured it out if he'd set his money-grubbing mind to it. A population of smiling sheeple will be easier to control in the New World Order. Cattle, folks. That's what they want us to be. Well they got them. Mules. All that survive, will be mules.

So. What to do now? Well folks, we wait. Wait it out. We hope. Like all Americans, we pray. As I told you all from the start, I'm not exactly sure why the virus chose, so far at least, to spare my life. I call it a miracle. Call me vain, but maybe God spared me so that I could fulfill some greater destiny.

So folks, that's what I intend to do. Unravel what that destiny may yet prove to be. I shall head west. Into America's heartland. Into her core. And while I'm not quite sure what I will find there, I will continue to report it. This is Butch Becker, signing off fo- [video ends abruptly here]

Prologue

The Night. More than ever before, the night held terrors. The wind carried strange sounds that whipped through the trees like the wailing of the uncountable dead rising from the grave to devour the living. More immediate and ominous were the sounds closer to home, the scratching of the beasts of the forest on the deck outside the cottage, the occasional crash of glass breaking off in great shards due to the passage of some small bird or even the simple expansion and contraction on the window panes in the now untended homes. The nocturnal sounds of the world frightened Raymond Bean. It was odd, in a way; Raymond could count the number of times he had truly been afraid in his life on the fingers of his hands.

At least it was that way before the _Rapture_ virus. The Rap changed everything. No one who survived those dark times could ever truly know peace. But were there survivors? That question scared Raymond more than the darkness. The answer was one he tried to banish from his thoughts the same way his mother could banish his night terrors by a simple flip of a light switch and a gentle humming of a Beatles song.

These days, Raymond had neither of these comforts. There had been no electricity for close to three years now. Even before the failure of the power grids, the night sky was filled with the eerie afterglow of the bombs detonated in the skies to help stop the spread. As if frying the guts of cars and airplanes would halt a virus that needed neither.

And now. Now the night brought an inky blackness that even the full moon and the stars could not dispel. Each night brought the thoughts of a thousand dangers to Raymond's imagination. The beasts of the forests had reclaimed their homes after man's fall. They had grown wild and feral. Fires sprung up from unkempt fields and whole towns could be put to the torch from one lightning strike. Then there were the more subtle fears- would the stores of food that Raymond and Po had collected last through the harsh winters? What would happen to Po if Raymond hurt himself and couldn't take care of him? Would Abraham ever return?

More fears. They assaulted Raymond constantly. "If only Mom were here..." he thought as he caressed the barrel of his rifle. "But no, don't think of her. Not now, in the dark."

The muffled shuffling of a large creature passing on the porch brought a low growl from Rowdy's throat. "Thank God, for you," Raymond thought. "Without you boy, me and Po would never have made it." One small blessing was left to mankind- its loyal companion the dog had held firm in the bonds of friendship.

Raymond's Dad had said that Rowdy couldn't be trained- that he was too wild at heart. But he was wrong. Wrong about everything. The big, goofy Irish Setter pup had turned into a first rate guard and an excellent hunting dog. Rowdy had learned. They all had learned. It wasn't wise to make too much noise. There were worse things in the night than bears and coyotes. Worse things than even the ghosts and goblins that haunted Po's dreams. Wild animals still had survival instincts, even if they no longer feared men. A man with a rifle and a good dog by his side could scare them off. As for the ghosts and goblins...well in a way they were much more real and worthy of fear than Po imagined.

"Get to sleep, Raymond," he said to himself. Raymond closed his eyes and laid his rifle across his legs. Rowdy had things under control now. And Po will be up before sunrise. Get to sleep.

But sleep was a long time in coming.

Chapter 1

Everyone needed a Po. Raymond knew this to be true. Whether the two of them were fishing off the dam, burping the alphabet or playing battle chess with mall store mannequins, Po made the tedium of apocalypse brilliant.

Raymond let those thoughts drift away for the moment like the lure on his line, tugging on his pole while he rested his broad shoulders against the tall willow down the hill from their cottage. The mix of trees surrounding their cabin were a sunshine kaleidoscope of red and gold leaves. Before long those leaves would drift to the ground and he and Po would have something to do – namely that Po would jump in the piles while Raymond collected what was left for the compost pits. But Raymond didn't mind. Over these past three years, he'd learned something quite important. You had to mix survival with pleasure.

You also, of course, had to fish. A lot. Luckily, today appeared to be a good day for it. The early autumn sun was melting off the frost, producing a subtle fog that hung back around the edges of Lake Como like a quarterback from Ray's old football days angling for a receiver. Save for a scattering of geese, the lake was calm. Raymond liked calm. Calm meant Po might actually catch something.

Jiggling his pole, Raymond took in the silence. Raymond loved the silence. Most of all, Raymond liked being alone. At least he used to, before being alone was all that was left. The towering trees with their untended branches scratched the roofs of the empty cottages. Lake Como's cool waters remained starkly silent. Nothing at all like how it used to be when Raymond'd come out here with his friends in the summer, the water rippling with hot chicks from the University of Wisconsin and douche bags on jet skis from Illinois. The hot chicks had a way of finding themselves partying with the red headed jock from Lake Como. Partying with him of course.

The douche bags had a way of partying with Raymond too sometimes. But most of the times those kinds of parties weren't the ones the douche bags from Illinois found all that fun. Most of the time, the red headed jock won those parties. Most of the time.

But there were no more parties these days. No more hot chicks for the red headed jock to seduce. And no more douche bags for the red headed jock to get into scuffle parties with. All of them and everyone else they knew were torn to shit by the Rapture. Torn to shit in days. All of them. But not _them_.

Raymond let his red hair grow shoulder length these past three years. He presently brushed it aside to get a better view of the sky surrounding the lake this morning. The deep radiant hues of unreal blues. Raymond loved it. Hearing a low grumble, he glanced over at his older brother – who was not so great at fishing. It wasn't that he sucked at it exactly. More like his body was a great big obstacle.

Big being the operative word. In the years since the Rap, Po had changed. Before the virus, Po was an overweight teen with low muscle tone. Now...somehow, and Raymond couldn't even begin to explain why, the guy was built like an ox. It was disturbing. Freaky weird. The weight gain? The buffed up muscle tone? Growing up, Po was always the flabby kid on the "short bus". Nowadays, he was built like a defensive lineman on steroids. But Po was healthy and alive. And for that at least, Raymond was grateful.

Right now, Po's big head was partially covered up by the faded Kelly green White Sox baseball cap he wore to shield his pasty Irish skin from the sun. The hat was a souvenir from the Halfway to St. Paddy's Day White Sox game Grandpa Frank had taken him to the year before the Rap. Strands of Po's bushy brown hair snaked their way out of the corners of the hat.

With a sudden sweeping gesture, Po removed the hat from his head and whipped it to the ground. Growling, he started rocking from side to side. Raymond saw this before. Po was about to freak.

"Waymond!" Po shouted. "These stupid heads ain't biting! The sun's burning Po's sweet cheeks and Po don't wanna fish no more!" Growling louder, he tossed his fishing pole over his shoulder, nearly piercing their dog Rowdy in the rump. "It's clobbering time!" He clenched his fists, daring Raymond to talk him down.

"Settle down Thing," Raymond said. He put his pole down and tried to smile. "I bet your worm just got away again." Of course, that probably wasn't true. Unless the worm was terribly unlucky, it usually never found its way onto Po's hook in the first place. But Raymond didn't blame him. Po had big fingers and trying to hook bait wasn't one of his strengths. Though he had many others.

"Here you go," Raymond said. Fetching Po's pole, he put a sluggish nightcrawler onto the wormless hook. "I tried to pick a sleepy one for you. Just don't run him off with any more of your bad jokes! "

"Thanks Waymond!" Po patted Raymond on the back so hard he almost dropped his own fishing pole. "Hey, are Po's jokes really that bad?"

Raymond raised his eyebrows and smirked, nodding his head. Po let out a snort and they both sat back against the willow's wide trunk, Po's fishing malfunction momentarily fixed.

Po recast his line. Crossing his stumpy legs, he pulled his hat down a tad, nearly covering up his thin blue eyes. Tucking the grip of his pole underneath his armpit, he reached into the lining of his lime-green windbreaker to remove his golden tin whistle.

The six-holed golden whistle was a little scratched in spots but that didn't matter. It was a gift to Po from their Grandpa Frank on Po's twelfth birthday. Something Po never asked for but always wanted. In the ten years since he got the gift, Po only learned to play five songs. But that didn't matter. Whether he was playing _Happy Birthday_ or the theme from _Superman_ , the melodies yearned of something that Raymond never had.

Optimism. Optimism was something Po had loads of. Even back when he had to get up to take his special bus to his special classes, knowing full well he'd probably get a special wallop by the bullies at Glenside, Po still found a reason to greet the day with a smile. Finishing up what Raymond thought sounded like _Go Tell Aunt Rhodie_ , he put his tin whistle down to momentarily pretend to fish again.

Raymond was too tired to nag him today. Besides Po's tin whistle, the couple of hours of barren sleep Raymond got were one of his few escapes. No nightmares there. And no dreams either. Raymond hadn't dreamt since the Rap. Not real dreams, anyway. The place he went when danger came was not a place of dreams.

"Oh no Waymond!" Po shouted, tossing down his pole again.

"What, you big Wookie?"

"Po forgot his guys!"

Before Raymond could say a word, Po had jumped to his feet and was already barreling up the hill, back to their cottage. In the process of weaving around their fenced off vegetable garden, the big oaf nearly knocked over the jug of water Raymond had filled this morning from the pump at the Laughing Well.

A few minutes later, Raymond heard the back door slam as Po made his hasty return. Sprinting back to the fishing hole, Raymond knew there was a problem. Po didn't like being alone. When Po was alone, Po got scared. And when Po was scared, Po was a runner.

"Slow down!" Raymond yelled out. "You're coming in hot!"

But it was too late. The leaves on the sugar maple had already started to fall. Slick with moisture from the morning dew, Po took one step onto a golden patch and was sent flying out of control. It didn't help that his hands were full. Po hit the leaves and, for a moment, appeared to be skiing. He held his own past the vegetable garden but came crashing hard into the cedar picnic table. Miraculously, the four action figures he clutched in his ruddy hands were still there. But the jug of water Raymond had filled a few hours earlier wasn't as lucky.

"Sowwy Waymond," Po said. Wiping the wet leaves off his behind, he looked down at the now empty water jug and frowned.

Sorry Raymond. Raymond wondered how often during the course of a normal day Po uttered those words. Not that many days were really normal anymore. Nothing was normal since the Rap. The fact that he and Po were even still alive after three years on their own was a testament to Po's optimism and Raymond's resourcefulness. Resourcefulness that Raymond attributed solely on his mom. Of course Raymond's dad would have called their survival a miracle.

But not Raymond. Raymond was a born-again atheist. God, church, miracles. Raymond didn't believe in any of the things his father's faith swore would protect them. There was only one protector that Raymond put his faith into these days. Remmy. That was the name he gave to the Remington 750 semi-automatic rifle that found Raymond in the weeks after the Rapture. Raymond considered Remmy a silent brother.

Moseying down the hill while ignoring the wet leaves plastered on his behind, Po was in deep conversation with Superman, his favorite of the old Mego action figures he carried with him everywhere he went. The doll that their mom had bought Po at a Chicago ComicCon was presently being placed on the lookout tower of the Fortress of Solitude - an old Barbie penthouse play set Raymond found and spray painted silver.

"All right Waymond!" Po remarked, picking up his pole again as he sat down by the willow tree. "Po's weady to catch a wally!"

Raymond hadn't seen walleye in Lake Como for years. But it didn't matter. To Po, most all fish were walleye. Usually Po caught carp. "Sure, who knows?" Raymond said, brushing aside his hair again. "Maybe you'll be lucky enough to catch Mighty Musky."

Po let out a deep belly laugh. "That's wight Waymond! Po's gonna get him!" He smiled at his brother, giving him a hearty pat on the back. "Tonight, dinner's gonna be on Po!"

Raymond looked back at him with a grin, humorously shaking his head. "Well," he said, "You could have started with dinner by re-filling the jug of water you knocked over you big walking carpet!"

"Po was gonna do that Waymond," he squawked, his chubby cheeks turning a cherry red, "but then Superman told him about bad guys wunning around the place!" Po glared at Raymond for a moment, as if attempting to declare his innocence before kneeling down next to Rowdy to continue his conversation with Superman. With a hesitant cringe, he looked back at Raymond and frowned.

"Po knows Waymond," he said dejectedly. "Po needs to use his R's."

Raymond shook his head again. He had stopped trying to remind Po to use his "R's" a long time ago. That was something their asshole brother Abe always harped on - the one who ran away. Or their dad (who ran away too when everything went to shit). Raymond could care less. In the end, the only two people that judged Po the harshest were the ones that ran off while their family decomposed. Raymond often wondered how their God would judge that.

Clearing his throat, Raymond forced out a smile. "Don't worry about it Chewie. We'll go out together and fill it later."

Po beamed back a wide grin as Raymond slapped him on the back. Raymond knew to teach Po the truly important things. Things like picking berries that wouldn't make him sick, starting a fire, and fishing without giving up. Those were the things that would help Po survive - just in case Raymond had to go away for a while. Not that he ever intended to do so.

With his head looking down at his big feet, Po turned with a shy grin, resting his big head on Raymond's shoulder.

"Waymond?" he asked in a hesitant whisper.

"Yes Po?"

"Can you read Po _The Wizard of Oz_?"

Raymond cringed. Not that he didn't like reading to Po, because of course he did. He just really hated this book. This horrible book. The faded old picture book of _The Wonderful Wizard of Oz_.

It wasn't always that way. The book was a graphic novel version of the Wizard of Oz. A comic book. The old book was their mom's favorite and one she would take out from a laundry shoot back at their old house in Chicago before bedtime. Huddling close together while she hummed some Beatles tune, she'd assign them all parts to read.

Po was, by choice, the Scarecrow. Though Raymond never thought the part quite fit him. To Raymond, Po was always the lion. The cool cat that roamed around the house, acting out scenes from Raymond's favorite movies while stealing cookies when mom pretended not to look. Occasionally he'd hear mom or dad whisper the words "Down syndrome", though Raymond had no idea what that was or what that label would eventually grow to mean to Po.

Raymond was the Tin Man. All Raymond knew was that it wasn't Dorothy. That part went to mom. Raymond later learned that the reason mom gave him that part was because it required less reading.

The part of the Cowardly Lion went to Abe. That was a part that Raymond whole-heartedly agreed with. But, as it turned out, mom didn't give Abe the part of the Cowardly Lion because she thought Abe a coward.

Their mom had assigned Abe the part of the Cowardly Lion as an inspired lesson. A lesson to Abe that he could compete with Raymond in all ways that mattered. For while Raymond and Abe were twins, there wasn't much they had in common. Abe was as weak and sickly as Raymond was strong and agile. But during the readings, Mom was sure to point out to Abe that true bravery was more than brute strength and a loud growl.

For Raymond, it was the parts that Po read that inspired him the most. The true miracle of the reading was that Po couldn't read. In fact, he could barely talk at the time. But he had a helluva memory. And even though Po's recitations came off more sounding more like a series of grunts and giggles, Raymond understood everything he was trying to say and loved it. Eventually, Raymond would break into happy hysterics just from Po holding the book. Before long, the comic book was no longer just the _Wonderful Wizard of Oz_. It was the "Giggly Book".

"Of course buddy," Raymond finally answered. "Any reason?"

"No, no reason Waymond. Po just wanna hear it. Po wanna know the words." Po stared at him grinning, his face beaming like the sunrise.

"Fine Po," Raymond sighed. "But let's say we catch something first, ok?"

With an understanding nod, Po reached inside his partially zipped lime-green windbreaker and felt around. "Uh oh. Sowwy Waymond, Po musta forgot it."

"Of course you did," Raymond said with a grin soaked in fake annoyance. "Why don't you walk - not run- back up to the house and get it."

"Thanks Waymond!"

Po started to dash back up to the house. But before he got a few steps out, Raymond noticed the guard on the painted penthouse. "Hey, you forgot Supes!" he shouted.

Superman was Po's security blanket. Po never wanted to go too far without Raymond. If Raymond didn't want Po to have another spill on his way back down to the lake, bringing Superman with him was the next best thing (although, as was the case this morning, having a wandering imagination was what usually got Po into trouble in the first place).

Po turned around as Raymond tossed him his courage. The rising sun illuminated his older brother's round angelic face as he fumbled to catch it and failed.

"Dumb sun!" Po laughed. He picked up his doll, tucked him inside his lime-green windbreaker, and started off back towards the cottage.

Raymond watched Po as he flew Superman through the air, generally in the direction of the house. Superman was shouting motivational one-liners to Po like, "All clear Po!" or, "Don't be a cowardly lion Po-Po!" As he watched his older brother pass by the fire pit, he smiled thinking about what sort of curious story Po might tell on this night.

Rowdy, their lazy Irish setter, was tracking Po too. Seeing that Po had safely made it back inside, he got up, stretched and made an uncharacteristically quick dash up the hill past their cottage. With his snout to the ground, he sprinted around the tall grasses in search of a chipmunk, a rabbit, or if he got really lucky, Roxy.

Roxy was the name Po gave to the old cat who lived in the Castle. Somehow, the fat feline had managed to elude the grasp of Rowdy's lazy paw these past three years. As far as Raymond knew, Roxy was the sole occupant living in the eccentric brick lake home that resembled a medieval castle - complete with a black-shingled conical spire that rested atop a three-story tower (and the stone-enclosed hot tub that the neighbors used to call, the "Dungeon". Raymond never asked why). Raymond was quite sure that the chase between the two adversaries had become a game. If Rowdy ever did catch the cat, he'd probably just let him go.

Because the cat was not a threat. If it was, it would have been in Rowdy's belly years ago. Rowdy, more than Raymond or Remmy or anything else, was their true protector. He knew how to keep Po and Raymond alive. The dog was infinitely more devoted to them than their father ever was. Rowdy was always the first into the fray and the last to leave it. Whether it was sniffing out a bear or howling when wolves were nearby, without Rowdy, they would never have made it this long. Po liked to call Rowdy his third brother. But Raymond knew better. Abraham was no brother. And comparing him to Rowdy was an insult to a braver comrade.

Raymond could see Rowdy now scampering up by the edge of the trees next to their house, his snout still sniffing excitedly over the ground. The animals they chased away last night must have left quite a scent. Rowdy froze in his tracks, his ears perking up to the sounds of something Raymond couldn't catch. He shot up over the grassy hill by the eastern shore and was soon out of site.

Raymond craned his neck to see where the old dog had shot off to but couldn't spot him. A mild breeze blowing off the lake once again blew his hair over his eyes. With a huff, Raymond tugged on his line while Po made his way back down to the lake, Superman calmly leading the way.

Placing Supes back on lookout, Po sat down and recast his line. Po didn't even need Raymond's help these days. Other than getting distracted easily, Po had become quite the fisherman. Their dad would have been surprised at what Po could accomplish. Raymond wasn't.

Without warning, Raymond felt a tug at his line. Slowly, he began to reel it in. But the fish on the other end wasn't giving up easily.

Raymond stood up to get a better handle on it. The fish was about a yard away now, struggling so much that Raymond was afraid it might tear the line. Raymond gripped the pole tightly, stepping back onto the gravely shoreline to cement his feet into the sand for balance. The fish was huge - huge enough to fill them well tonight. It darted sharply from side to side, making it difficult to identify, but by the white spots dotting its body, Raymond thought it could be a Northern pike - a bony fish, but one that would taste delicious grilled over the flames.

Raymond had him now, reeling it the rest of the way in. He grabbed the line and brought the fish onto the shore. It had to be nearly two feet long, its pale olive scales glistening in the sun. Raymond held it down firmly to remove the hook. As he did, the sleek-nosed fish made one last incredible flip landing right besides Po.

But Po was taking an unexpected break. With his fishing pole lying beside him, he was busily conferring with his Aquaman doll on some secret mission while the fish frantically flipped itself over Po's lap. The last Raymond saw of their dinner was the gleam on its shiny white belly as the fish danced freely back into the placid Lake Como waters.

"Goddammit Po!" Raymond shouted. "Why didn't you grab it?"

Po shot a look back, his thin blue eyes crossed in a scowl. "Waymond!"

But Raymond was too pissed to worry about offending Po's law against cussing. Throwing down his pole, he punched the side of the willow tree. "That fish wasn't make-believe!"

"Sowwy Waymond," he said, looking bashfully down at his dolls. His face was glowing bright red.

Raymond cussed something more under his breath, picking up his pole from the swamp weeds before he'd say something else he'd regret. Or, wiping the blood from his fist, doing any more damage to his hands. Remmy might be their protector but it was Raymond's hands that made him work his miracles.

The next half an hour was icy silent. The fish that Po let get away must have warned his friends because nothing was biting. While Raymond stewed, the water remained still. Eventually Po broke the logjam of stubborn silence, once again removing two dolls from his lime green windbreaker.

"What's your problem Po?" the Hulk asked Po. "Why did you go and scare away all the fishies you big dummy? Don't you know the bad guys are coming? How's Aquaman gonna fight off Black Manta without help from the fishies?"

Raymond was still fuming, but knew that it didn't matter. What's done is done. Holding a grudge against the only person left in the world would be just plain ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as punching a tree. Raymond sighed out the anger, turning slowly towards his brother. "What are you doing?"

"Po sorry Po can't fish Waymond. Po's friends tell him the bad guys are gonna get us now. We're done for." Po continued to chat up Hulk and Superman. Raymond lost it.

"There are no bad guys Po!" Raymond barked. "And we're not done for! The only way we are gonna be done for is if we don't catch anything! We don't fish, we don't eat. We don't eat, we die! It's simple really, even for you!" Raymond winced at the last words, wishing immediately that he could take them back.

"No Waymond," Po replied. Lowering his head in a glum expression of guilt, Po stuffed all of his action figures back into the lining of his lime green windbreaker.

"No what?"

"We won't die Waymond. Everyone else dies Waymond. All of Po's friends die. Po's momma died. But Po don't die."

He was right of course. By some biological quirk, the virus spared them. Po liked to attribute it to faith and prayed his thanks to God every night (sometimes more than once). But the fact that any god would also have spared a prick like Abraham dismissed the existence of such a thing out right.

Raymond looked back at Po calmly. The best way to approach a serious conversation with Po was to back into it with a slice of make-believe. "We've been through this before Superman. Our super-powers may have saved us from the Doomsday, but we still need to eat right? We get our powers from the sun, remember?"

"And the sun hits the lake and the wallys eat the sun," Po repeated like a kid being lectured to. "Po knows all that Waymond. Po's sowwy."

"No Po, don't be sorry. Just do your best." He reached over, yanked off Po's baseball cap and rubbed his messy brown hair. "And don't you ever let me catch you doubting yourself again, got that?"

Po let out a shy giggle. "Yeah," Po laughed, "Po get that Waymond."

"What's so funny dorkus?"

Po's simple giggle erupted into a goose-like roaring laugh. "You sounded just like Grandpa Loo!"

Grandpa Lou was their dad's dad and a real stick in the mud. He was also more than a little senile which meant he was prone to repeating the boring things he said three times during the same conversation. Slowly. They all loved him, but the man was, as Abe used to put it, more of a snorefest than an afternoon watching grass grow at the opera while reading Emily Dickinson. Raymond never dug Abe's pretentious humor, but he got the point.

"Grandpa Lou, huh? Well at least he had teeth!"

"Oh Waymond!" Po said, wagging his finger. "Don't you make fun of Auntie Connie! That's Po's Godmother now jocko!"

"Hey, you started it tough guy!" he said, giving him a gentle jab on the shoulder.

Po beamed, letting out a timid chortle. "Wemember," he chuckled, forgetting to use his R's, "when she tried to eat your birthday cake?"

Raymond looked out at the even ripples on the lake with a melancholy grin. "I don't know what was more memorable, her false teeth getting stuck in the frosting or the face she made when she took a sip of the spiked punch." Of course the real reason Raymond remembered his eighteenth birthday was because it was the last one before the virus.

"Wemember Po's story Waymond?"

Raymond nodded. "Sure, of course I do." He stared into the clear Lake Como waters, letting its clear tranquility wash away the shit of dark memories.

"You and Abe never laughed so hard in your lives!"

That was probably true. Sitting around the campfire with their entire extended family that night, Po's story was one for the ages. Resurrecting his "giggly book" glory, this story was interactive, actually involving Raymond and Abraham. As Po got to certain points in his made up story, Raymond and Abraham were expected to fill in the plot. While Raymond thought he was too cool to take part at first, by the end, he and Abe were having a ball. A brief respite in their eternal feud.

"Po sure misses them Waymond. Po misses all of them. Grandpa Loo, Auntie Connie, Grandpa Frank. And mom and dad Waymond, Po miss them most of all." Po paused for a second, looking down. "And Abey too Waymond. Po want them back so we can tell stories by the fire and catch lightning bugs in the dark."

"I know buddy, I want that all back too," he said, knowing that at least most of that were true. Raymond looked up at the position of the sun, realizing that the morning was slipping away. "I'll bet they'd be impressed if you brought back a big fish for dinner tonight?"

"Yeah, Po guesses you're right about that Waymond," he said, slowly putting his pole back into the water.

"You know I love you buddy, right? You know that whenever I talk like Grandpa Lou, it's because I love you. It's for your own good, you know."

"Po always knows you love Po, Waymond, no worries. But Po not know what happened to Po's good."

"Huh?"

"To Po's good Waymond. You're always telling Po you doing it for Po's own good. Po thinks his good is right where he left it. In his sock drawer!" He started to laugh but instead let out a deep stanky belch while he slapped Raymond on the knee.

Raymond wasn't sure if Po was being serious or if this were just a joke. Probably a little bit of both, knowing Po. Sometimes Raymond wished he could treat Po like a brother again, like the wise old goof he used to climb trees with and giggle at when he read. But those days were long gone. By necessity, that relationship had changed.

Raymond leaned back and smiled, tugging at his line. "Listen bud, there's enough good in you to fill a zillion sock drawers."

Po's puffy cheeks turned a rose red as he looked down at his bobber floating on the lake's surface. With a tiny ripple as a warning, something grabbed hold of his line and pulled it under the surface fast. Shaking his head in surprise, he sat up straight, looking over at Raymond with a big nervous grin.

"Hang on!" Raymond shouted, not wanting to say anything else and make him nervous. Nope, he wanted his brother to bring this one in all on his own.

Po looked ready. Standing up, he focused hard, making sure not to let the fish out of his site. Slowly, he reeled the fish closer. Raymond could tell it was not going to come easy. The fish stopped fighting long enough for Raymond to grab a look at him. With dark blotches lining its side, Raymond could tell the fish was a largemouth bass. He forced out a smile that didn't do much to hide his look of worry. These guys were jumpers.

"Keep at it Chewie! You almost got him!" Raymond shouted, trying to sound upbeat. The last thing he wanted to do now was to freak him out. "Get him on the shore and I'll help you hold it down."

Po hesitated, and for a second, it almost looked like he was going to flip forward into the drink. Focusing hard, Po reached over, and with a serious swoop, grabbed the line and slammed the fish onto the dry ground between him and Raymond.

Raymond cheered - for his brother's unorthodox way of doing pretty much everything and at keeping his confidence. As for the squirming fish - with Po's considerable upper arm strength, the bass remained more passed out than Raymond was after over-imbibing on Grandpa Lou's rum-spiked punch. Whistling _Aunt Rhodie_ , Raymond removed the hook from the fish's mouth and placed the catch into their cooler. They would eat tonight.

"So," Raymond said as he closed the lid. "How about a story for the star fisherman?"

Po put his pole down so fast Raymond thought it was going to crack. He sat up straight and looked back at Raymond with his full attention. Po squirmed his hand into his lime-green windbreaker, removing a slightly tattered book with a faded green cover. With a wide grin, he handed the book over to Raymond.

Po loved stories. Any stories, really. He loved hearing them, he loved watching them and he especially loved make-believing them. Of course he especially loved this story.

But the one time "giggly book" was now like a poison for Raymond. It was in fact the only sickness that Raymond caught from the two-weeks of the Rapture. Two weeks.

Raymond recalled that clearly. It started on a Saturday. He remembered that because they cancelled football practice when the news reports started screaming slaughter. Two Saturday's later and everyone was gone. Almost everyone.

Raymond's memories of those two weeks of chaos were jumbled and unclear. Like a rapid-shot _YouTube_ video of washed out images and tinny sounds - of their mother's suffering wails, of fires from the looters. And the sound of their dad's timid voice reading the Giggly Book to Po.

Yes, their father, who had completely disappeared during the weeks leading up to the outbreak, suddenly had decided to show up. He looked tired and distraught, wearing a tattered corduroy sports coat that reeked of sweat. Raymond never got a closer look than that.

He was home less than a day. While Raymond's mother sat in the other room coughing up blood and shitting out her insides, his father locked himself in the room with Po. And read to him. On occasion, he would come out for a couple of minutes and check on his wife. Muttering pointless apologies as her limbs atrophied into dried out cancerous nubs, he would retreat in haste back to the room with Po. Later that night, without a word, he was gone.

Raymond tried to rebury the fury. "So," he said, forcing a smile. "Where should we start?"

Po tapped his head with his finger, pretending to ponder the question. Raymond knew where he'd have him start – the part where Dorothy first arrives in Oz.

"Hmmm...how about..." Po said.

Raymond began turning to the page.

"How about the part where Tin Man saves the Queen of the Field Mice from the Wildcat? Po wants to hear about that Waymond."

"Really?" Raymond stared at Po with a puzzled look. "What makes you want to start there? We never start there." Raymond knew that on most occasions, they never even got to that part.

Po looked back at Raymond, seemingly just as puzzled. "Oh, Po don't know Waymond," he said, shaking his head. "Po just guesses he likes it when the little mice go back and save Lion."

Of course it was about saving the Lion. The Cowardly Lion. It was about saving Abraham. After the great day they had fishing, Raymond didn't want to get into it with him. He'd let this one go.

"Sure bud," Raymond finally said, starting to thumb through the chapters. "Whatever you want."

Coming up to the page, a sharp yelp came from one of the nearby cottages. Raymond looked up. It was Rowdy and by the sound of things, he must have encountered something. The dog was running into the woods, barking furiously now.

"Hey," Raymond said, trying to hide his concern. "How about we have story time at the campfire tonight, during dinner? I'll even break out the Green River, in honor of your catch! But right now, it sounds like Rowdy might need our help."

"No pwob Waymond," Po replied. "Po'll bring the gear back home. You just be careful, all right?"

"Of course," he smiled. With Po lumbering back up to their cottage, Raymond ran off to check on Rowdy.

The dog's barking seemed to be coming from the street in front of their house. Sprinting past the small cedar shed Raymond used to dry fish, he grabbed a baseball bat and jogged between the grove of apple trees. As he turned the corner to the front of the house, he held the bat high, ready to swing.

But there was nothing there. Almost nothing. Standing in front of the cabin where Mr. and Mrs. Beatty used to live was Rowdy. He was staring off at something beyond the thickly overhanging branches at the end of the property, past which was the dam that Raymond and Po would fish off of on occasion. Raymond approached him cautiously, holding the bat up over his shoulders.

"What is it boy?" Raymond asked. Following Rowdy's gaze, Raymond tried to find what it was he was so obsessed with. Then, on one of the tall branches of an expansive maple overlooking the lake, Raymond could make out a single bushy-tailed squirrel, prancing down the trunk onto a crooked power-line pole. "You made me come all the way out here for this?" Raymond gave him a shrill whistle to get his attention. "Come on," he commanded. "Let's get back to the house. Po caught a fish big enough for all of us. If you're lucky, I may even give you some."

Rowdy obeyed, as he always did. But as they began their walk back to the cottage, Raymond couldn't help but notice Rowdy's curious attentions constantly being tugged back to whatever he had noticed just moments earlier. Raymond also couldn't stop thinking about something else. Rowdy didn't care much for squirrel.

Chapter 2

With the sun setting, Raymond tossed a few more logs onto the campfire. It was raging now, painting the sandy beach behind their cabin with a carpet of glowing ash and cinder. While the dancing flames of the campfire reminded Po of happier times, Raymond made sure the flames were stoked for a more practical reason. To keep away the wolves.

For Po, it was about family. Everything was. The smell of the fire meant the opportunity to relive fond memories of a time when, for a change, he was an equal in the Bean family. A time when he and his siblings would stay up late eating junk food, playing pranks on their cousins in the adjoining cabin. All in all, they were times when Po was at the center of the action, not because of his disability, but because of his gift. And Po had one hell of a gift.

Po could tell a great story. He got it up from their Grandpa Frank, on their mom's side. Grandpa Frank was a Harley-riding hooligan who played the fiddle and had partied one time with the _Dropkick Murphys_ \- Raymond's favorite band. Raymond had great memories of sitting around the fire pit at their old house while Grandpa Frank used to alternate between telling tales from when he was a punk kid in Dublin and reading from his Amazing Stories collection. It's probably where Po got his love for science fiction movies – and his gift for spinning his unique brand of yarns.

Raymond passed Po the last can of _Green River_ while the embers from the still smoldering logs continued to glow. Reaching for another log, he looked over at the sun, admiring it as it inched below the horizon of the lake. Normally, Raymond didn't like to keep Po out past dusk. But today, maybe he could make an exception.

"Ah-hem," Po said, clearing his throat. "Ready."

"All right, go for it," Raymond said, munching down the last piece of fish.

Placing his thick hands on his knees, Po heaved his head back and belched while simultaneously singing, "Kiss Me, I'm Shitfaced" - Raymond's favorite song by the _Dropkick Murphys_ and the only time Po would allow himself to cuss (since a burping cuss apparently didn't count). He nearly got to "and I only bought her one round" before running out of gas. It might have been Po's personal best.

Po rested his Superman doll on the red cooler that sat between him and Raymond. "When are we going to go back and look for Abe again?" he asked.

"I dunno," Raymond said. "Maybe right after the last snow."

"That's what you told Po last year Waymond. We can do it you know. Everyone needs saving you know."

Raymond got up and ducked behind a tree, pretending he had to go take a piss. He hated this conversation. Despised anything really that had to do with Abe. Why would they want to risk what they had here to rescue a coward.

He also hated it because he knew Po was right. Before his mom died, before she took her last tortured, plague-filled breath, she sang to him. Just a song. No philosophical one liners. No heartfelt final words of wisdom. Just a song.

_What a Wonderful World_. At the time, Raymond had no idea why she sang it. It was beautiful, sure. And it was another thing that Po did that made Raymond laugh (Po's Louis Armstrong imitation was a spot-on Yoda). But why that song? And why then?

It wasn't until months later, after the streets grew silent, after even the Death Collectors disappeared, when Raymond figured it out. He and his two brothers sat shivering in their basement going through the last can of food from their supplies. Perhaps to lighten the mood, Po started to sing. To sing mom's song. And Abraham started to cry.

The basement. Years ago. The song was playing on a scratchy old vinyl album from mom's vintage stereo while she vacuumed upstairs. Po was talking to Raymond's G.I. Joes in the rec room while Raymond played video games. Abe was reading _Catcher in the Rye_. Again.

There was a loud bang from upstairs and their mom started screaming. The three of them raced upstairs to find that dad's old bookshelf and fallen over onto her legs. Raymond could see bone.

"Lift!" she yelled at them. But the book shelf was massive and they were only like nine years old. In those days, Po was short and flabby.

"Lift it!" she yelled again. They looked at each other, put their hands underneath the top shelf and lifted it just enough for mom to shimmy herself out. Abraham called 911.

When he returned, mom pulled them all together in a hug. "Together, you three can do wonders."

Po was the last to let go of that hug. He wanted to keep it going forever. He knew that this moment was perfect and that the second he let go, everyone would go back to their corners to prepare for the next round. The fight between the twins that would never end.

Ultimately, this was what Raymond was trying to protect. Po's innocence. Their mom's memory. Even in some small way, their family's honor, what was left of it anyway, Raymond guessed. Po, in the stories he'd tell around the campfire at night, was the carrier of it all. This is what he would sacrifice everything for. This right here.

Po looked up. It started like it always started. A far off buzzing sound, wheezing in and out like a lawn mower engine starting to go bad. A screech turning into a steady yet pounding wail. When they first started hearing the sound, Raymond thought it could be a misfiring air raid siren. But no. Air raid sirens didn't move.

On this night, the distant sounds seemed to be quieter than normal. But the sounds still were a collection. A swarm of something playing in unison.

Po got up and sat next to Raymond, taking his hand. Po knew. He knew that nothing scared Raymond much but that this sound did. He knew it terrified him. He smiled at Raymond, chugged down the last drop of his soda pop....

"I play in a band..." he belched. "We're the best in the land..." he burped. "We're big in both Chelsea and France..." he gurgled. "I play one mean guitar and..."

That was it. Out of gas again. Po swung his arm around Raymond's shoulders as the screeching sound fell away into silence.

"Crap!" Raymond blurted out. "The water jug. The one you knocked over. We need to go fill it up before it gets too dark, else you'll have to drink lake water for breakfast!"

"Well let's go do it now Waymond," Po said, standing up as Rowdy ran to his side. "Po'll need time to tell you the story!"

Nodding in agreement, Raymond slung Remmy over his shoulder as he let Po and Rowdy lead him up the long sloping hill back to the main road. Po pulled out his Superman doll for some extra protection. With the glow of their fire pit disappearing back by the shoreline, the dark shadows of empty cabins filled the void. So much had changed here.

Vegetation unchecked grew wildly now in the strangest of places – thorny red roses popping out from the front seat of a yellow Ford Mustang convertible, an apple tree growing out in the middle of a back yard hot tub, sunflowers drooping over a port-a-potty in front of a half-constructed cottage. From within the crumbling foundation of the old Peterson cottage Raymond could now pick blueberries. A baby birch tree had even sprung up in the pool house of the O'Toole cottage, where her mom and the ladies would play bridge in the summers while Po played X-Box with Mrs. O'Toole's son Connor.

Po and Connor were best friends – and not just because they both had Down syndrome. When they weren't playing video games at Connor's cottage they were out running around Lake Como catching frogs that Connor would toss into the oversized black cowboy hat he always wore. Sadly the O'Tooles only lived up here in the summers and were back in Illinois when the virus hit. Raymond had guessed Connor didn't survive. Another sadness he kept buried in silence.

"Stop Po!" Raymond grunted, grabbing Po by the arm as he forced him back behind a row of wildly overgrown hedges. A herd of dark shadows were making their way up the street.

Horses. Four of them. Raymond stopped holding his breath. He'd seen this bunch before. Part of the clan that came from the old stables on Lee Street.

Stepping over twisting vines that marked where Lincoln Avenue used to be, Rowdy headed north past a block of cottages that Raymond never ventured into anymore – not since he saw bears there three months ago. Raymond took another cautionary look around, instinctively passing his hand over the butt of his rifle. He'd long-since taken from the homes anything they might need to survive. As far as he was concerned, if the bears could make use of the flat screen TVs and cedar-planked hot tubs, they were more than welcome to them.

Before long, Rowdy had led them to the old hand crank water pump. The "Laughing Well". That's what people from Lake Como used to call it. Raymond didn't remember why, but he did remember Gramps taking him to the pump when he was a child. Back then, it had been painted fire-engine red, but over the years, most of that had chipped off, revealing a scratchy sort of gun metal gray.

Approaching the pump, Po bent over and held the big plastic jug under the rusty spout as Raymond began pumping the handle. It took a few seconds for the water to come up from the well.

The water came out, first in squirts, then in gushes as Raymond pumped the handle. Po held the jug firmly as it filled. Gathering water was a one-person job, but Raymond always was sure to give Po a role in everything. In days like these, they all needed a sense of purpose.

When the jug was filled, Raymond pulled it aside, letting the pump run a little longer so Rowdy could quench his thirst. He tossed his hair back behind his shoulders and gave Po the thumbs up. "I hope you ate your spinach this morning Po-Pye, because you're carrying back the bucket. I'm taking a break." With that, Raymond sat down on the large old rock next to the water pump, rested his rifle by his side and stretched out.

"Po-Pye! Ha! That's right Waymond!" Seeing that Raymond was taking a breather, Po took it as an opportunity to say his prayers. Grasping the tiny silver cross he wore around his neck between his forefingers, he bowed his head and began to mutter his wishes.

Po's prayers were nearly always the same - not that Raymond always listened in. Unlike most people, it was quite seldom that Po ever asked for things during his prayers. He talked to dead people and past pets. His mom, their dad, their grandparents and a multitude of gerbils, fish and rabbits- Goldie, Hermy, Tony, Buck, Butch and Bob, on this evening. Raymond paid attention last year when Po started adding Abe to his list. Secretly, the addition of Abe to Po's dead family prayer group made Raymond more than a little happy. But he would never say that to Po.

Praying, like mispronouncing his "Rs", was one of those habits that Raymond gave up trying to break Po of. Some battles just weren't worth fighting. As Po threw his Superman doll high up into the air (Po's unique way of making sure his messages were delivered) Raymond stood up, looked around to make sure Rowdy was still lying down next to Po and walked over to the cottage across the street.

The Alamo cottage. Even though Raymond made it a point never to get too personal with the cottages he had to scrounge through for supplies these past three years, the Alamo cottage was different. It seemed to want him to explore it.

With the small and inviting wooden walking bridge that crossed the creek running in front of the home, the Alamo cottage was Raymond's retreat. After a long night hunting, it was a place to hang up his burden of responsibility for a few minutes.

Raymond headed around back, right through the arched walkway that led up to the gazebo. The last of the gardenia's were starting to die off and the wild flowers that grew around the wooden arch had already turned to dried leaves. He'd have to get back here before it got too cold to clear away more of the brush. Out of control house fires. Just another real danger Raymond was responsible for protecting Po from.

Forgetting that for a moment, he stepped up into the gazebo, taking a seat on one of the interior benches. Bending over, he picked up the silver flask he kept hidden there, unscrewed the cap and took a swig. As the warmth of the whiskey trickled down his throat, he threw back his arms and stared up at the pictures lining the inside of the gazebo.

Everyone. Grandpas, grandmas, aunts and uncles. Pictures of nieces and nephews playing near the creek and a wide-eyed toddler holding onto a toad that managed to evade capture by Connor and Po. Birthdays, weddings and family reunions, the Alamo's celebrated it all.

Of course, Raymond had no idea who any of these people really were. Back before the virus, he was aware of the Alamos only in a general, small town kind of a sense. The kind of knowledge you'd pick up by saying hi to each other in the grocery store or waving at as you partied on a pontoon boat. About the only thing Raymond really knew about the Alamos before the Rap came was that they were an old retired couple from Illinois who had a seriously hot granddaughter named Lauren.

Lauren was a dark-haired Italian beauty a couple years older than Raymond who played touch football with him and his friends one year on the beach. During a break in the game, he and Lauren made out behind the concession stands. Raymond remembered just one thing when they got back to the others to finish the game. He didn't get to do nearly as much touching as he wanted.

Raymond looked at more of the pictures, taking another sip from his flask before closing it back up. He didn't know what it was about this place, about these faces and memories that he found so absorbing. It just rang of life. It buzzed. On most days, Raymond was happy the way things were. Life was tough but he and Po got by well enough. He didn't need anyone coming around to muck that up. But sometimes, on some days, he missed the buzz. Or maybe he just missed Lauren Alamo.

Just as he placed the flask back underneath the wooden bench, Rowdy let out a sudden deafening growl. Responsibility came flooding back.

"Waymond!" The scream from Po's faraway voice punched him in the gut. There was a tremble to it. A sickening desperation.

Raymond ran. Ran like he was running down field with two seconds left in the game and had to score to win.

He couldn't believe how fucking stupid he was. Why did he think it was ok to leave him alone? Why did he wander off? Did he really need to get away? Maybe he was just like his dad, a big prick who'd do anything to avoid being with his family. Raymond was running furiously back to the water pump when he heard Po scream again.

"W-Waymond!" He was sobbing. Stinging, sobbing tears that Raymond couldn't see but could sure as hell feel.

But when Raymond arrived at the water pump no one was there. Not even Rowdy. Frantically, Raymond looked around in all directions, noticing footprints in the grass which led into the forest. Clutching Remmy in one hand, Raymond punched through a patch of daisies growing criss-crossed along a small hill and tore into the woods.

He was running blind, the faint glimmer of sunlight blocked fully by the tall trees and overgrown towers of brush. There was a once well-traveled footpath here that Raymond could barely make out. Raymond followed it, close enough to hear his older brother's whimpers while dodging branches. Where was he!

Then, there he was. But he wasn't alone.

For a brief frozen moment, Raymond was stunned. He and Po hadn't seen a single human being since Abe ran away nearly three years ago. Raymond made sure of that. But now, as Raymond hid behind the thick cover of a giant maple tree, he stared silently as three figures marched along.

Covered in tarnished white armor, a diamond-shaped cape with pointed tips was mounted to their backs. The cape appeared to be made from some sort of glass or a thick plastic. Where the curves rose above their shoulders, the cape pulsated in soft blue, spreading out wide like wings giving them the appearance of angels.

But these were no angels. A branch near Raymond's foot snapped, causing the creatures to freeze. Lights on their faceplates suddenly shot violent laser red in all directions, scanning for the sound. The lead soldier pointed its arm in Raymond's direction. Its hand now changed to a fluorescent flashlight which beamed blue over the dark forest floor. Raymond stayed quiet, pressing himself so hard to the ground that the prickly spikes of sticker bushes jabbed through his worn out _Levis_.

The creatures moved on, increasing their pace as the clangs of their white armor beat faster. It was then that Raymond noticed there was a fourth angel. This one was carrying something. Something large. Realizing what it was, Raymond's heart dropped while his fists, by instinct, clenched up, ready to attack.

There, no more than four or five yards away from him, was Po, being dragged like a carcass, drooling and stuttering with fear across the forest floor while the other three soldiers marched closely behind, their weapons drawn.

Po seemed to catch site of Raymond's eyes staring at him through the branches. And he began to sing.

"H-happy birthday to y-you..." he cried out. It was Po's favorite song. And also one that he sang once to the bullies at Glenside when they'd try beating him up. In Po's mind, Happy Birthday was a song that made everything right. Not that it ever did with the bullies at Glenside.

Though in this case, it appeared to be working. The robots stopped. One of them even cocked it's head in the direction of Po's voice. But only for a moment. Before Po could begin the final verse, they were off again. He clutched his Superman in his hands, his two under-grown front teeth revealing themselves through a hopeful smile. He spotted Raymond again. His brother was here to save him.

Raymond knew he only had one shot at this. Ditching Remmy, Raymond rushed towards the monsters dragging away his brother like he was trying to make that game-winning touchdown. Five seconds left...Four...

He pushed through the anarchy of competing forest brush, a mixture of ivy and willow leaves piled amongst three years of untended weeds. Three seconds... The creatures still hadn't taken notice. But Raymond didn't care. He was ready. Two seconds. For anything. Just feet now from the goal. Time to fly.

Midway into a flying leap, warm hands grabbed solidly around his ankles and pulled. The last thing he could see before landing face-first on an old pavement brick was Po, reaching out in desperation as he let Superman fall from his hands.

Chapter 3

It was right after the final game of the season. Beaver Creek beat them but it was close. Really. Close. It sucked. If it wasn't for a screwed up play call during the last drive, hell, they probably would have pulled it off. Ray wanted to go out with his friends to blow off steam and maybe harass some pukes from Beaver Creek. But no, mom came to the game. So mom and Po and Ray were going to Nick's Deli for a hot pastrami. Could have been worse. Dad could have been there too.

So they get there and Ray runs into a pack of players from Beaver Creek. They're wanting to blow off steam too. Only it's Ray they're running into. Ray knew as soon as they walked into Nick's that it sure as shit wasn't going to end well. Nope, it wasn't going to end well at all. It was going to be crazy town.

Of course it was their quarterback that started the inevitable. Goddamned quarterbacks. All they do is throw a ball around and they think they're irreplaceable. So this one decides to throw a can of pop at Po, trying to be funny.

"Think fast!" the prick says. Then when Po drops it and laughs it off because that's what Po does, Joe Quarter-bastard starts laughing too. Only it's not a real laugh. It's a, this-slanty-eyed kid-must-be-a-retard-so-let's-laugh-like-assholes kind of laugh. Po turned red, mom started to cry and Raymond swung a bar stool across Joe Quarterback's backside.

Then things got really crazy.

Crazy town.

Slowly, Raymond opened his eyes. The pungent smell of dog drenched in lake water wafted over his nostrils and his head pounded like a hangover. Next to him, all needy-like, stood Rowdy, nudging Raymond nervously with his wet nose. Lying on his back, staring at the wispy clouds floating past the brightness of the morning sun, he strained to look at Rowdy while his head wanted to do nothing but explode.

"Stupid dog!" Raymond shouted. "Where the hell were you?"

"Quiet!" a woman's voice whispered shrilly back. "And I'll have you know that stupid dog just saved your life _muchacho_! Drew away two drones before I showed up to save your sorry ass last night!"

Raymond looked over in astonishment to see a young woman, somewhere close to his age. Wearing a camouflage hoodie with the sleeves pulled up, her olive skin matched the trunk of the sugar maple tree she crouched behind. Specks of forest-hidden sunlight bounced off her shoulder-length jet-black hair, which fell in straight bangs about her face. As she cautiously approached him, Raymond could see a wild yellow daisy tucked behind her ear, a stark contrast to the brooding dark eyes that currently surveyed him. Forgetting his headache, he jumped to his feet.

"Where is he?" Raymond shouted. "Where'd they take him?"

The young woman pushed Raymond back to the ground. "Sit down you idiot!" she whispered assertively. She poked her head around the base of the tree and then stared back at Raymond. "They're close!" She pulled out a pair of bulky binoculars from a pouch she carried around her waist, quickly scanning the surroundings.

"Damned drones. About a dozen more just showed up this morning, rolled into downtown Lake Geneva and setup a perimeter."

Raymond was feeling anxious and scared. He reached for Remmy but his old friend was gone. "Where is it?" he said with a snarl.

The woman shook her head, flashing a wry smile. Reaching down into a pile of leaves, she pulled out Raymond's rifle. "Doesn't much matter right now, does it handsome?" Examining the rifle, she tossed it to him. "If the drones come back, this ain't gonna do shit."

Catching the rifle, he cocked it, pointing it straight out at the woman's face. But instead of backing off, she just smiled at Raymond, stepping away.

"Ooooooh!" she said, taunting him. "A rifle cock! That supposed to scare me Dirty Harry?" Laughing harder, she continued to look back out into the surrounding woods.

Raymond whistled for Rowdy. Holding his still throbbing head, he started off back towards the last thing he remembered. The Laughing Well.

"Just where the hell do you think you're going?" the woman said, grabbing Raymond by the arm.

Raymond again shook her off. "Back home. I'll need supplies if I'm going to find him."

"Home? You got no home!"

"Shut up and leave me alone!" Raymond shoved her back hard. He picked up the pace as Rowdy let out a howl.

It was the only sound he heard before the woman tackled him to the ground, shoving him face first into a pile of leaves surrounding the sugar maple tree. Raymond tried to break away but couldn't. The woman held him down firm, jabbing him in the side of the gut when he tried to struggle.

"Listen dumb ass!" she whispered fiercely. "You can say adios to your little cottage hombre! It's history! Jehu burned it down!" Slowly, she released him. "Now if you ever want to see your friend again, we need to get out of here, before they come back! I know where they took him!"

Raymond got back up slowly, looking at the woman long and hard to determine what she was and if she were a threat. Feeling his bruised sides, he slowly slung Remmy over his shoulder.

"Smart choice," she said. "Now, about your, uh, friend."

"Not my friend," Raymond hissed. "My brother. And his name is Po.

Ignoring him, she reached back into her pouch and pulled out a hand drawn map. "Your brother then," she said, "must have been pretty special. The Chosen flew him out of here last night by helicopter. But I know where they took him."

Rowdy ran to the woman's side, looking back to Raymond as if to say it was ok. Rowdy lifted his snout to the wind and began sniffing madly. Then he started to howl.

Raymond could smell it too. Sweat. An acidy odor of human perspiration, but different. More concentrated, like the stink of an old high school locker room after a grueling practice.

"The 19 be with us!" the woman said, turning to Raymond with a frightened gasp. Her olive skin suddenly seemed a shade paler. "He's found me!" she bellowed. "Run!"

She tore off into the woods while Raymond and Rowdy blindly followed. Raymond knew the area here well. It was a favorite hunting spot for him, deer mostly but it also gave him cover to pull down the occasional duck and goose. He turned briefly to see what it was the woman was running from.

It was hard to make out, especially with Raymond trying hard not to lose site of the woman leading the way. Like a strobe lamp in a haunted house, moments of sunlight piercing between red and gold leaves briefly illuminated something. Human. Fast. Wearing some helmet. Wild hair. Smiling. Muscular. It could jump cars. It was no more than twenty yards back. Gaining fast. It didn't tire. If Po was out there, alone, he wouldn't stand a chance.

And just like that, Raymond went away. He stopped. Time itself seemed to stop. Or slow. Raymond could see everything. Sense every possible outcome. It was Wonderland.

That's what Po called it anyway, when Raymond tried explaining it to him two years ago. It's the place down the hole that Alice went to, Po would tell him. A place of talking rabbits and queens and tea parties, and when you came out, no one knew you were ever gone.

It began after the Rapture. Raymond still hadn't figured out why. He thought at times it could be some side effect of the plague or the pressure of protecting Po. Maybe some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder like his Uncle Tommy "Big Whiskey" Walsh had suffered after he came back from Afghanistan. Raymond just didn't know.

Whatever it was, Wonderland was a place he would disappear to during times of danger or distress. Intense times. Situations like this. Dire situations where the odds of death were greater than the hope for survival. Raymond went into the rabbit hole. And he couldn't control it.

It's where he found himself now. A place where dangers became shadows. Erasing the face of danger erased the fear. Erasing the fear brought that feeling of punk-ass invincibility. With the danger closing in, Raymond became the real lion of his mother's stories.

He wished he had this when he played football. A slowing down of time that gave him the chance to see the best of all possible outcomes. He stopped and pivoted. Mid-spin he had already slid Remmy from his shoulder. With the vibrations of the creature's footfalls and the crunching of the branches, he felt his target without even having to see it. He fired. One shot. That's all he would need.

The semi-automatic rifle recoiled and Raymond made no move. He watched stoically as the bullet ripped through the man's chest, sending him to the ground. Raymond could see the blood and chunks of flesh blow back like a wet sneeze. The clouds passing by the sun up above cast a bright white glow over the smoke from the shot. The man remained face down in the grasses. Raymond sensed no movement.

But then, ripples. Waves in the dark weeds and grasses. Within seconds, impossibly, the man pushed up from the ground. He stood straight now, his howls of laughter echoing madly between the barren homes as he resumed pursuit.

"No!" Raymond yelled, nearly tripping as he stumbled over a branch. He was out of Wonderland. Hands grabbed him before he fell.

"What's wrong with you! He's one of the fucking Elected you idiot! They don't die! Now run!"

Years of wind sprints in football practice made Raymond quite the runner. He tailed inches behind the woman now, close enough to hear her rapid exhalations and notice her frantic sideways glances.

"You have no idea where you're going, do you", Raymond yelled, running at a crouch to avoid the low-hanging branches. He slowed to glance back at their pursuer. If anything, getting shot in the chest almost seemed to make the man run faster. "Follow me," Raymond commanded.

He made a sharp turn, into a deeper thicket of trees that hugged the south shore of Lake Como. Lake Como was the shallower of the two lakes in the area, the other being Lake Geneva, which was more popular with the tourists. Because of that, Raymond and his friends were able to do a lot more uninterrupted exploring. Raymond knew where they had to go.

Maher's Bar. A popular pub and eatery during the tourist season, Maher's Bar had been a Lake Como landmark since the 1920's, and it showed. Old and neglected even before the end-times drop-off in tourism, Mother Nature had made herself at home here. Weeds and overgrown shrubbery had all but covered up the place where Raymond had tasted his first beer. It had been so long, he almost couldn't find what he was looking for.

But then, there it was. The entrance to the wine cellar. The lake-side patio had partially collapsed beside it, but, between the weed-drenched earth and the reams of ivy which had overtaken it was the metal hatch that led down into the earthy wine cellar. The place was like a vault. Built during the Prohibition era to safely hide bootleg booze, the wine cellar became a popular place with in-the-know Lake Como teens looking to avoid being seen.

With some difficulty, Raymond carefully parted through the thick vines of ivy and lifted the hatch. Looking back, he pushed Rowdy and the woman inside.

It was just like Raymond remembered it. Dank smelling and pitch black. A little too dark for Rowdy, who began to whimper when Raymond closed the hatch. At once, thin hands masked in darkness grabbed Raymond's arm.

"Shut your dog up now!" she said through what he could tell were gritted teeth. "Whatever you do," she whispered, "don't make a sound. Jehu is the most powerful of the Elected! He can hear everything." In the darkness, she crumpled herself into a corner.

And then, almost on cue, he came – making no attempt to hide his arrival. While Raymond couldn't see a thing he could hear the man dashing swiftly back and forth through the tall brush, like a wolf hunting its prey. Raymond patted Rowdy gently on the head, rubbing his fingers behind his ears, which he could tell just by touching were perked up straight.

Over the years, the old metal hatch had begun to show its age. Specks of sunlight shot through minor rust holes. The man was directly over them now, standing on the ivy-covered hatch. As he stood there, Raymond could hear him breathing heavily, while an unnatural smell drifted into their dark cell. Rowdy began to shuffle nervously, his paws scratching at the ground. Raymond tried to calm him down by stroking his head again while the woman's panicked grip on his arm began to draw blood.

Without warning, a roar like a thunderclap crashed near them, followed by several harsh metallic echoes as a massive object was bounced forward - the initial force being so strong that the hatch door popped off its hinges. Raymond cast his eyes upwards to see the crumpled bumper of an orange VW Beetle. With the hatch now a few inches off its hinges, the man above was clearly visible.

Raymond grabbed the woman tight and pressed them both up against the side of the wall so hard, the pieces of chipped masonry cut into his skin. Rowdy, usually so brave, was curled up into a ball between them.

Raymond could hear the man swatting low at the brush, attempting to clear it as he made his way back towards them. The man stopped just feet from the hatch. He was looking out into the forest, listening. The man wore a mask crafted in gold that covered his entire head. Flourishes that looked to be serpents twisted up like golden horns on each side. Attached at the base of the mask, silver chainmail wrapped around his neck. A matted mane of fire-orange hair flowed out from underneath the chainmail, running midway down his bare back.

Running vertically along his bare back were three long stripes. Raymond guessed they were tattoos, their colors dampened by the sun. But as he continued his prowl, the tri-colored stripes seemed to shift in color, turning darker and then brighter. Raymond's heart was pounding so loud he was afraid the monster outside might be able to hear it.

The man launched himself high into the air, landing in a crouching position atop a storage shed, letting out a tremendous roar. Waiting several long moments for a response, he grunted loudly before leaping back down to the ground.

The man sounded frantic now, rushing first towards the spot where the VW had landed, then back towards them. He stopped for a moment directly over the hatch and Raymond thought they were found. After a deep grunt, he headed into Maher's Bar itself where the crashes continued, peppered increasingly with screaming obscenities that Po surely would have had a problem with.

For several disturbing minutes, they sat silently in darkness as the man above them raged on. Raymond could guess at what was being destroyed - the James Bond pinball machine Po always loved to play, the ancient oak grandfather clock with the hands frozen at 12:06, the corner booth overlooking the lake Raymond and his family always sat at. Raymond was surprised at how much the thought of that booth being smashed to splinters saddened him.

Gradually, the man above stopped. He heard something. Raymond could hear it too. At first he couldn't place it. But as the dull repeating "whumps" grew louder and louder, Raymond could finally place it. It was a helicopter. And from the sound of it, Raymond judged that it was hovering just off the beach in front of the bar. Though the words the man shouted were drowned out by the din of the rotating blades, they could hear him dashing from the bar, towards the sound.

Cautiously, Raymond crept slowly towards the door, placing his eye against the hairline ray of sun shining though the door's upper hinge, gazing out at the man as he ran for the chopper. The man was as muscular as one of Po's strongest superhero action figures and just as curious looking. Even at this distance, Raymond could see the effervescent stripes coursing along his backside. Getting to the edge of the lake, the man crouched, and in an instant, propelled himself higher than the top of the massive willow tree back at his grandpa's cabin, grabbing hold of the chopper's landing skids and pulling himself in.

As the chopper flew away, the young woman released her death grip on Raymond's arm to fumble through her canvas shoulder bag. In the silent darkness, Raymond sat motionless, numb in the understanding that, despite what he had told Po yesterday on the lake, super-heroes were real.

"All right!" the girl said, shining a flashlight into Raymond's face. "Train leaves in an hour. Time to catch it."

Chapter 4

The stranger sniffed at the air again before making another move. Considering it safe, she popped up and climbed over to the hatch to peek her head out. Pushing up her sleeves of her camouflage hoody, she scanned the area with her binoculars.

"All right," she called back. "It's clear."

Raymond came out slowly while Rowdy sniffed furiously at the ground where the orange-maned man leaped about just moments earlier.

"My name's Salome Ortiz. And you are?"

"Raymond Bean," he replied. "Did you say train?"

Salome nodded her head. "So the dude has ears," she said with a smirk. "Yeah, a train. We don't have ourselves a chopper so the only way we have of catching up to your brother is the supply train. Lake Geneva's one of its stops. It usually rolls in around 8pm." She flashed a quick glance at her watch. "We don't have much time. We better hustle if we're gonna get ourselves on board."

Raymond looked at her and scoffed. "You're wasting my time. There are no trains! No cars, no trains! No goddam nothing! Now get out of my way and let me find my brother!"

"Listen to me Raymond Bean," Salome said, grabbing his arm. "I know you don't want to believe any of this. I understand that."

"No, I just don't want to believe in you," he replied coldly. "Why the hell did you stop me?"

Salome paused, closing her eyes as she bowed her head. "I apologize Raymond Bean. I am but a humble servant to the man we call the Prophet. Together, we seek the 19."

"The who?"

"The 19," Salome said with a scowl. "Surely you've heard of the 19?"

Raymond shook his head. This time Salome got the point of the sneer.

"I don't have time to give you a history lesson Ray, but let me just tell you that the 19 are our only hope. All of our hope. For the last three years, just the myth that they've become has inspired all of us to fight on against the rise of the Elected."

"You still didn't answer my question," Raymond repeated. "Why the hell are you here?"

Salome turned her back. "The Prophet," she said, rubbing her temples. "He's gone. He and another apostle were captured by Chosen forces last week outside of Rockford. Jehu himself led the raid." She peaked into her backpack and removed a canteen. Unscrewing the cap, she took a drink. She looked at Raymond with a weirdly self-satisfied grin. "Tells you just how much of a threat they consider us that they have to send out the big guns!" She offered Raymond a drink but he shooed it away, ignoring her.

"So you led him to us," Raymond finally said. "It's your damned fault my brother's dead then."

"What are you talking about! I didn't lead nobody nowhere!" Salome replied. "And plus he ain't dead. Just taken. This whole thing is more complicated than you know boy! Anyway, like I said, we can get him back! Together we can get him-"

"Shut up!" Raymond shouted. He looked out at the old restaurant, noticing for the first time how much damage Jehu had inflicted. Instead of going through the front door, he had hurled the rusty trash dumpster through the back entrance. Seeing the back of the restaurant, Raymond had a sudden odd recollection that today was Friday. They used to have fish fries here on Friday nights. On one such night, while Raymond was playing the pinball machine and Abe was feeding the ducks with mom and dad after getting their fill on deep fried walleye, Po went missing. They found him here, in the back of the place. He was just talking to Rolando, one of the cooks. He was telling him how happy his cooking made him.

Raymond let out a snort. "So you stopped me from saving my brother so I could give you a hand to save your preacher!"

"He's the Prophet, Bean!" Salome snapped. "And I stopped you to save you, you fucking dumb ass!

"Oh yeah? And how do you figure that?"

Salome let out a sarcastic laugh. "Four drones against one long haired loner? The drones would've torn those muscular arms right out of your sockets." She looked at him and winked. "What the hell did you think you were going to do there Carrot Top? Tell them fucking knock-knock jokes?"

"Whatever," Raymond said. "I guess we'll never know, will we. All we do know is that Po's gone."

"He's not gone, Raymond. I've already told you that. He's been taken. By Jehu."

Raymond slid Remmy off his shoulder, clutching both hands around the barrel. Remmy was his constant. His security. But today his constant let him down. He looked out to the edge of the lake where the helicopter carried away the creature Remmy couldn't end. He remembered how him and Abe used to scoop up tadpoles around those same shores when they were kids and didn't hate each other. It was a different world, he thought to himself, staring at the twisted up VW bug the man had tossed like it was a toy. And tadpoles were stupid. The damned things always died.

Salome put her small hands on Raymond's shoulder. "We need to get out of here man. Jehu may have left but I'm sure he called for a clean up crew to root us out. That's standard operating procedure. There'll be more drones here soon. If we want to save your brother, we need to be gone. Like already gone." She shook her head. "For all we know, it may already be too late."

"Too late for what?" he said, shrugging her hands off his shoulders.

Salome looked at him. Her dark eyes appeared moist. "Those drones you saw? The ones that carried Po away?"

Raymond looked at her like she was Abe, coming to him with one of his stupid conspiracy theories again. "The robot things?"

"They ain't robots! They're people! People get locked into them suits. They get locked into them suits and those people change!" She turned to look out over the lake. "People like your brother, man."

And Raymond understood. The angel robots that carried Po away. That's why they paused when Po started to sing. Why would a robot care about a birthday.

Raymond trembled as he whistled for Rowdy, trying to keep it together. "I know of a back way to the train station. We won't be caught. After that, it's up to you. And I take it the train's not taking us to Disneyland."

Salome shook her head. "I sure wish I had a snappy retort to that my friend but there ain't nothing funny about where we're gonna need to go," Salome replied. "This train's gonna take us to Camp Glory."

"Camp Glory?"

"Don't let the name fool you. It's a slave labor camp. The largest in the Elected's kingdom. Modeled after everything you've heard about the old Nazi concentration camps."

Raymond stopped abruptly, moving his index finger to his lips as he pointed off to a pack of wolves drinking from the water near the dam. He crouched behind the reeds. "And we're just going to march inside?"

Salome looked back at him with a sullen stare. "I have a plan muchacho," she whispered. "Don't worry."

"Fine," Raymond said, getting up after the wolves moved on. He picked up the pace. "We save my brother and we save your friends. And then me and Po come back."

"Thank you," Salome replied, trying to keep up as Rowdy took the lead. "But you ought to know what you're getting into first. Jehu is the most wicked of the seven known as the Elected." She bowed her head and sighed. "They lead the Chosen."

"The who?" Raymond asked, ducking his head as he crossed under a tree.

"The Chosen," she said, following Raymond into the forest. "Us, technically," she continued, waving her finger between her and Raymond. "All the survivors who ain't Triz-"

"What?" Raymond yelled. "Triz?"

Salome looked at him like he was drunk. "Yeah , the ones who survived the Rap untouched, if not unchanged? People like your brother? People with Down syndrome!" She shook her head. "Anyway, after the Rap, there was a cult that formed, saying that all of us who lived through the Rapture were chosen by God."

"And these Elected?" Raymond cut in. "So I take it all you Chosen voted for them?"

"What?" Salome yelled. "I ain't no Chosen!" She shook her head. "And are you crazy? Voted? No one voted for the Elected!" She pushed up the sleeves of her jacket, revealing a black tattoo of the sun surrounded by words that looked like graffiti.

"So how'd they get to be in charge then?"

"Wow," she laughed, slowly shaking her head. "You've even dimmer than I suspected." She closed her eyes and forced out a sigh. "Listen hombre, when the Elected came on the scene last year, no one said nothing. Who was gonna resist? Strength of a thousand men. Super speed. Near impossible to kill." She paused, looking down at her feet. She was holding back tears.

"We've tried," she said, wiping her eyes. "Believe me, we've tried. People, what few are left, believe they're gods. They're scared Raymond. Scared enough to believe in almost anything."

Raymond shook his head as they came up to a street. Glancing both ways, he quickly crossed. "Well you don't have to worry about me," Raymond said as Salome and Rowdy followed. "I have no use for gods. Old or new."

"So you ain't a believer, eh?" Salome said.

Raymond shrugged. After crossing a shallow brook, he grabbed Rowdy by the collar as they approached the forest's edge. "Not much left to believe in now, is there?" he whispered. Crouching, he peered through the brush to the outskirts of the town of Lake Geneva.

"You got your brother," Salome said, kneeling down beside him.

"Yeah," Raymond replied. "He's about the only thing. If he's even still alive." He started to take a step through the brush. Salome pulled him back. With specks of light bouncing off the edges of her cool dark hair, she stepped forward, kissing him gently on the lips.

"Hope," Salome said, taking a step back.

Raymond nodded.

"Get down!" she suddenly shouted, pushing Raymond to the ground.

"What are you doing?"

"Look!" she said through gritted teeth. "Drones! Six of them."

Raymond raised his rifle.

"No!" Salome yelled. "Too risky. There ain't enough of us. Drones travel in groups. If we fire at them we may take out one or two before the others zero in on us. If only we had a third person to serve as a distraction it may be an even fight."

"We don't have a choice. The train is just on the other side!"

"Well then I'll do it. I'll distract them while you make a run for the train."

Raymond slung Remmy over his shoulders and grunted. "No way," he yelled, moving back into the forest. "Follow me! I have another idea."

Raymond backtracked to the shallow brook that flowed behind them, taking a path that he used to follow when he and Po made their journeys into town. The last time he did that was over two years ago.

Lake Geneva used to be a cool place to hang out. Sure, it was touristy in the summers but that was part of the fun. Besides, the crowds of tourists were a good diversion. It kept people away from places like this.

The courtyard behind the library. Raymond ran along the side, scanning the open air theater and squat marble columns in search of a friend. It was difficult to spot what he was looking for through the thick mass of weeds and vines. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of something shiny. Good, he thought to himself. Gary was still there.

Good old reliable Gary. The gamer. Raymond approached the man with caution. After two years, his animatronic legs were wrapped in twisting vines. Gary sat, his brass arms molded to a marble table, in the middle of the circular brick courtyard. Raymond walked over to the marble benches and other gaming tables positioned directly in front of Gary and stopped, staring down at him.

Salome walked around the circular courtyard.

"What the hell is this?"

Raymond brushed off more of the vines, revealing a tarnished golden man. "Our third man."

"What?" Salome scoffed. "This? A statue of some old white dude? What, was he the mayor of Lake Geneva or something?"

"More like king," Raymond smiled. "This is a memorial to Gary Gygax. The guy who invented Dungeons and Dragons? You know, that role playing game?"

Salome crossed her eyebrows and looked at Raymond curiously. This time, she was the one who didn't know what was going on. Raymond liked that.

"My mom was a big gamer, actually played D&D with Gary once when she was in college. Apparently the guy lived here in Lake Geneva. Anyway, when he died, they took up a collection and built a memorial for him here at the library. Two of them, I think. Though the first one was kind of lame I hear. But the second one, this one," he said, waving his hands over the golden man's spectacled face, "was something else. Some kind of solar-powered animatronic robot thing, donated by a gamer who retired from Disney. Robot Gary would actually spout off entire adventures that you could play along with. Some of them got pretty loud." Raymond sighed, staring off in the direction of the drones patrolling across the street. "Loud enough to serve as a decoy, I think. Do you think the drones'll go for it?"

"Sure, as long as he sounds human enough, they'll come over to check it out." Salome sat down now across from Gary. "So wait a minute," she said, tapping on his metal skull. "You sure he still works? What about the electronics?"

Raymond shrugged. "I dunno. He worked fine when Po played with him a couple years ago. From what I remember my mom saying, he was like a great big music box. There wasn't much in the way of electronics."

"How does he work?"

"Easy, we select a game, pull the lever and he starts talking."

"That's it?"

"From what I remember, yes."

Salome stood up, looking uneasily at her watch. "The train's probably pulling up at the station right now. We don't have much time."

Raymond brushed off the leaves and sat in the marble chair in front of the gaming table. He looked up at Gary's face and shook his head. That calming countenance peeking at him from behind his round-rimmed glasses. He looked so wise. A dry grin on a beard made of brass. Did he have any idea what was about to go down? He looked at the lever on Gary's side that activated him.

"Come on!" Salome yelled, looking off to the road beyond the library. "If we're gonna do this we gotta do it now!"

Raymond's hands were trembling as he looked down at the game game map painted on the marble table. The brass etchings on the board indicated places on the map you could move to as Gary read out the adventure. The game was usually quite random and sometimes made no sense. But it was always fun. Brushing aside vines covering the table, Raymond found the dial and turned it to select the "Dark Tower Quest".

He didn't know why he was so hesitant to do this. Was he too caring? Did he think it actually mattered if this thing was destroyed? Cracked branches.

"Holy shit Raymond, get down!" Salome grabbed him and pushed him hard under one of the benches.

It was his nightmares come to life. Shadows, pouring like thick blotches of black ink, came screaming out from the inner forest.

They were everywhere now as Salome tried desperately to cover the parts of them that stuck out from under the bench with the vines that roped over the top of the table in front of Gary. Shadows leaping over shadows, running faster and faster. Knocking each other down. Stepping over each other to escape. Raymond wanted to run but felt Salome's hand grip tighter.

"Sit still and shut up!" she grimaced. "They ain't here to attack us. If they were, they'd be laughing. Nope, they're being chased!"

"Who the hell are they?"

"Ragers!"

Before Raymond could say another word, they were on top of them, leaping and rolling over the table and around Gary's lap. The smell of them made Raymond want to puke. They reeked of something akin to maggot infested meat. Raymond tried holding his breath.

But he couldn't hold it that long. The fury of the chase seemed to be unending. Then, just as Raymond thought they would be crushed, gunfire.

The shadows froze. Around them, Raymond could hear a low growling from the creatures nearest to the table as the sound of clanging metal drew near. More gunfire. Targeted. A mass of shadow exploded behind the table. Another gunshot. More metal clanging against metal.

"The drones!" Salome whispered. "It ain't what we planned but I think we just got our distraction." She slowly peeked up over the bench to try spotting the drones.

But Raymond remained frozen. There was another sound now. The high-pitched whistle that howled from across the lake. The one that Po would make up funny stories about to keep Raymond calm. The one that made his insides feel like they wanted to melt out.

Salome froze too. By the beads of sweat now trickling down her cheeks as she curled beneath the benches, this new threat seemed to frighten her most of all.

The shadows howled and continued to charge forward once again. Apparently whatever was giving them chase was much worse than the promise of death by drone gunfire.

And Raymond saw it. A dozen men on horseback came charging out from the dark forest. His living nightmares. Skulls, wolves, lightning bolts and other symbols that Raymond couldn't even begin to make out in the ensuing chaos. These men on horseback seemed to be painted almost entirely in black - save for the symbols on their tunics - which chests appeared to be painted in a phosphorescent yellow.

They each carried above them a staff they spun faster and faster above their heads. Inside something at the top of the staff was a burning fire that made the symbols on their tunics glow brighter. And produced the sound that filled Raymond's fears.

Without Po's stories to protect him, Raymond shut his eyes tight and covered his ears. Though the whirling flames and the high-pitched whistles still managed to find a way in. Raymond could hear shots like cannon fire blasting out towards the location of the drones, followed by an explosion and echo of crashing metal.

With the drones gone, the howling from the shadows grew more worrisome, growing in pitch to nearly match the sound made by the staffs from the men on horseback. Raymond covered his ears tighter. The only thing he wanted was for it all to be over. The hooves from the horses were following the sounds of the howls, surrounding them. Herding them.

After several long minutes, the howling sounds seemed to be contained. Then, just as suddenly as they started, they stopped.

The meadow adjacent to the courtyard seemed quiet. Raymond could hear a train's horn off in the distance. Salome got up and peeked out over the table.

"All clear," she said, patting Rowdy on the head. "Come on," she said, offering Raymond a hand. "We may still make it!"

Chapter 5

Raymond's head was pounding as he led Salome across the street to the old train station in downtown Lake Geneva. It was the same kind of deep headache he'd get when he'd wake from his nightmares. Of course Raymond never dreamed. But nightmares was the only name he had for the Wonderland-like state he withdrew into when the howls from across the lake would blow. Being so close to that sound when the men on horseback appeared left a residual effect much worse than the blow to the skull he suffered when Salome tackled him.

The train was parked on the tracks. But it wasn't just any train. This was like a gigantic version of the black locomotive that used to circle around the train set in their Grandpa Lou's basement. Steam curled out from the locomotive's smokestack near its front. The steel side rods connecting the giant silver wheels were splattered with grease and mud but enough of them were visible to shine back a reflection of the rising moon. Behind the locomotive was a coal car. On its side, in fading white lettering, was "SANTA FE".

Behind that coal car however, nothing made any sense. No sense at all. Hiding along the side of an old minivan sitting in the weed-filled parking lot in front of the station, Raymond looked out in horror.

Behind the coal car stood connected a line of freight cars that looked endless. Drones with rifles raised guarded the cars. Muscular work-hands dressed in ragged clothes, their heads covered in black ski masks, were loading pallets stacked with crates. Behind them, in cars further down the line, more drones were supervising the loading of animals, horses, cattle and other livestock. Behind this line, the freight cars seemed to appear older, like a book that was read too much. It was these cars that held the cargo the Chosen cared about the least.

Scores of drones and men in white robes were leading masses of disheveled passengers on board. As best as Raymond could tell, all of them had Down syndrome.

Raymond could also make out a variety of quite unsettling sounds - screams, barking dogs, punches – accompanied by gunshots and more screams. There were more than fifteen freight cars, with people being forced onto each one.

Raymond's eyes were drawn now to a portly man dressed in red sweat pants and a _Wisconsin Dells_ sweatshirt. He was smiling, carrying a sleeping bag as if he were going to a slumber party.

Raymond turned away. "The people," he said. "So many people."

Salome stared ahead, her dark eyes fixated on the hordes of people being led on by gunpoint. "Yep. That train goes all the way past Chicago and on up to Canada I hear."

Salome must have sensed the disgust in his voice and grasped his hand. It was a soothing grasp, holding him tight as her pinky caressed his inner palm.

But it only lasted a few seconds. As the drones began systematically closing the freight car doors, she dropped to her haunches while one of the Chosen guards signaled the conductor.

"What happens to them?" Raymond asked, squatting besides her. A horn blew and the train began to belch more gray smoke.

"You'll find out all too soon," Salome said ominously. Staying hidden behind the weed-choked cars in the parking lot, Salome rose slightly and began running in a crouch.

"Follow me! Quick now!"

The whistle on top of the train clanged and steam began to gush from its stack. Slowly, the side rods began to churn and the ancient locomotive started lumbering forward. One-by-one, the freight cars began to creak along behind it. With the cars secure, the drones retreated into a guardhouse setup near the station. Peeking around quickly, Salome made a run for the last rail car. "Move! This is our only shot! Let's go!"

Bolting forward, Salome stepped onto the metal footing of the rusted out boxcar. Grabbing hold of the door latch, she swiftly lifted herself up. With her other free hand, she unlatched the door to the freight car and slid it open.

"It's empty!" she shouted to Raymond. "Get in!"

Sniffing first, Rowdy was the first to leap in. The cars were starting to pick up speed.

"OK," she said, pointing at Raymond, "you next."

The train was moving quickly now. But Raymond was faster. Throwing Remmy into the freight car to buy him some speed, he grabbed hold of Salome's hand.

But something else had seized Raymond from behind. Something that smelled like road kill left out in the summer sun. By now, Raymond knew what it had to be.

Startled, Salome momentarily released her grip and Raymond tumbled back onto the gravel, the tumored hands of the moaning rager holding firm. As they continued to roll into the dark underbrush, Raymond could hear Rowdy howling from the car as it moved away.

Raymond and the creature thudded against the base of a tree at the bottom of the hill and the muscled rager released his grasp. Raymond, his head pounding from the fall, shot up and stared blindly into the night. He could see nothing. The sound of the train seemed to be getting farther away.

Taking a calculated step back towards the hill they just tumbled from, Raymond was met with the shrill scream of a banshee as the rager's clawed hands pounced on Raymond from behind, wrestling him to the ground. With Raymond pinned on his back, the rager firmly clasped its gnarled hands around Raymond's throat and began pressing in. Staring down at Raymond with blood red eyes, it grunted something and laughed as it tightened its grasp around Raymond's neck. Raymond's vision began to get cloudy and his thoughts began to drift back to Po and the giggly book and nights around the campfire. Thoughts of his brother gave Raymond hope as the clicking sound from the freight train's wheels trailed away into the night.

And hope arrived. Looking up, a bolt of golden lightning, Rowdy, his teeth bared, leapt onto the rager's back. Sinking his sharp teeth into the tumors lining the creature's neck, it howled obscenely, releasing its grasp on Raymond.

Raymond rolled away, trying to catch his breath while Rowdy chased the creature away. Looking down the tracks, Raymond could still see the last car of the freight train. There still might be time to catch it.

"Rowdy!" Raymond yelled. "Let's go boy!"

They both ran, shooting off across the rocky ground alongside the tracks. Charging forward with only the light of the moon to guide them, Raymond did his best to keep his footing. While the train was picking up speed, so were they.

Salome saw them, excitedly extending her hand to Raymond. Grasping it firmly, she pulled Raymond aboard the train in one fell swoop.

Raymond immediately turned back towards the open car door to help Rowdy.

"Jump boy!" he yelled.

Rowdy kept running, and with a mighty thrust of his back legs, hurtled himself towards the open door, missing by just inches. He hit the ground at an angle but almost immediately was back running. Moving relentlessly towards them, his legs, like the steel side rods of the powerful locomotive, were a blur of light.

Raymond dropped down onto his stomach and leaned forward, stretching both of his arms out the freight car door. "Come on boy!" he shouted. He hoped the dog didn't catch the tinge of panic in his voice. He knew that Rowdy was sensitive to such things.

Rowdy was close enough to them now that Raymond could see his jowls bouncing, his legs moving with purpose to reach his master. Once again, he leaped forward, this time, so high that Raymond was able to grab hold of his collar.

"Gotcha boy!" Raymond exclaimed. Salome was behind them, clapping her hands.

He looked down at Rowdy, who Raymond was still struggling to get into the car, which was now moving at full speed. Like Po used to always tell him, Rowdy was most definitely smiling. Holding the old leather collar firmly, he gave Rowdy a final strong yank towards him.

And he was gone. Raymond stared dumbfounded at his hands, which held only half the collar. Worn and weathered, the old collar had torn in two. Rowdy had tumbled backwards landing hard on his side. He appeared motionless, a tiny diminishing blur of moonlit gray as the train pulled rapidly away.

"No!" Raymond got up from his stomach holding back tears, screaming. Confused. So confused. The train kept moving, the moon blinking between the slits of the wooden planks. He turned around and ran towards the open door of the rail car as Salome's cold hands grabbed him by the shoulders.

"It's too late!" she shouted. "No time!"

"Get out of my way!" Raymond yelled back. "I'm going after him!"

"No you ain't! There're Ragers out there! Screechers! More drones! A whole mess of shit that will just whack you hombre! You understand?" Salome looked furious.

Raymond tried to break free, struggled and fell back. It was useless. Salome held him tight for a few more seconds before letting him go. She closed the rail car door and gave Raymond some space.

In the darkness, Raymond wiped away tears and crouched in the corner of the freight car. Anger, brutal anger. At Salome, at the Rager. Maybe even a little at Po. He thought about Rowdy, hurt and alone in a wilderness of wild beasts and mechanical monsters. He only hoped that Rowdy was able to recover while he still had a fighting chance.

But it didn't matter. The clicks from the train wheels grinding over the rusty tracks caused him to feel anxious and alone. But the repetition centered him. It wasn't a peace though. Not in this place. Raymond's only constant was his anger. He knew he needed to keep that anger stockpiled. Keep it ready. Ready for a destination he knew nothing about. Ready for a fight.

After many long minutes, Raymond felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Startled, he turned to it.

"It's ok Raymond," Salome gently whispered. "It wasn't your fault you know."

"Sure it was," Raymond replied coldly. He'd forgotten he wasn't alone. He rubbed his eyes and continued to stare into the darkness as he hunched over into the corner.

"I don't mean the dog. I mean everything."

Raymond remained still while the train continued along. Through the narrow slits between the wooden planks, he could occasionally make out some piece of scenery. He wondered just where they were right now. Wherever it was, it was far from Lake Como. Far from the quiet of the lakeshore, the tranquility of staring up at the stars with Po, the peace of listening to one of his stories. He missed that blessing. That blessing that meant things would stay the same. That they wouldn't go back to the emptiness of the past. But Raymond knew that blessings really were. Blessings were bullshit.

"So, it's Christmas time in post-Rap Chicago," Salome says. Me and the Jake-Man are out trying to find a present for someone. Some young kid that started tagging around with us." She laughed, shaking her head just enough to make Raymond know all she really wanted to do was cry. She put her hand on Raymond's knee. He didn't care enough to push it away.

"The kid was maybe seven or eight," she continued. "A real wild one. Probably alone since the Rap. When we found him at that factory outside of Melrose Park, he was living on chocolate chips and Doritos. But the little shit knew the terrain. Found us a place to hide when we were ambushed by a drone squadron. The Prophet called him a blessing."

"There's no such thing as blessings," Raymond grumbled.

"What-ev's," Salome said. "The little shit became out mascot. Our good luck charm. So that's who me and Jake were out trying to find a present for."

Raymond shook his head.

"Me and Jake, we're up on State Street!" she laughed again. "Man, nothing like how it used to be back in the day, right? Not a sign of any rich bitches from the burbs, you know? Outside of wolves and the occasional bandit, me and Jake, we had all the stores to ourselves. The Chosen hadn't taken Chicago yet, you know. But they were close."

Raymond continued to squint out at the moonlit landscape, finding solace in the desolation. But not everything was so desolate.

"So we find a big ass panda bear. Seriously, this thing had to be bigger than me. The little shit, he likes stuffed animals, you know? In the warehouse where he was holed up he had a whole mess of them. They were like his little plush protectors. So like we take the big ass panda. Figure that'll be the kid's Christmas."

Raymond thought he saw what could have been lights and people passing in the streets. Salome was crying.

"We get back to the camp and everything's just red," she sighed, rubbing her face. "The little shit, he's gone. But not gone, you know. Not gone. Just blown away. A big fucking chunk of his chest just blown away."

She started crying now, hard. Raymond put his arms around her, wrapping them tight as the train passed over a bridge. She was shaking.

"Jake's freaking out, running around the camp. There were more of us then. Me, Jake, my brother Jose. A few others. Jake's trying to find the Prophet. Me, I'm there trying to bandage up the kid. Trying to bandage up blown out fucking intestines knowing fully well that the little shit's dead. I mean how stupid!"

Raymond held her tight. "I'm sorry," he said to her.

Salome leaned into Raymond, laying her head on his chest.

"So a few minutes later, Jake comes back. The Prophet's hurt, but not dead. The others though. All of them. All gone. Everyone was trying to save the little shit. I mean of course they were, right? He was a child! A kid, man! You don't see kids no more! They had to try to save him!"

"Of course they did," Raymond said slowly. He closed his eyes. "So nothing's changed then," Raymond said matter-of-factly. Without knowing why he found himself soothingly rubbing his fingers through Salome's hair. She looked like she needed it. Contact.

"Yes?" she said to him.

"The children..."

Salome frowned for a moment, looking down at the splintered floor of the old freight car. In the darkness, she looked up at him with a look that could have been a smile. "You know what the Prophet told me Ray? Do you know what he told me when I was burying what was left of the little shit? God's holding all the children until we're ready for them again."

"So the virus," Raymond said softly. "It's still out there."

"Course it is Raymond. It's everywhere. Barren. No one can have kids."

"So what's the point then?"

"The point is Raymond, we can bring it all back. We just need to find the 19. That's what the Prophet believes. And that's what I believe."

Raymond let out a deep breath, shaking his head. "Fuck, you know, I just can't..."

"What?" Salome snapped.

"Process this!" Raymond yelled, punching his fist against the side of the freight car.

"Well process this, hombre. Your brother Po? He's in danger. No matter how big Po became after the transformation..."

"The what?" Raymond interrupted.

"The transformation! You know? People with Down syndrome, they all survived the Rap, right. But most of them beefed up like pro-wrestlers. Why do you think the Chosen call them mules?"

"So that's why Po got so big? It was part of the Rap?"

"Yeah, a nice little side benefit, eh?"

Raymond looked to the ground, his mouth agape. "All this time I thought I was feeding him funny or something."

Salome shook her head, letting out a sigh. "This one's not your fault either Ray." Placing her hand on Raymond's shoulder, she stood up, carefully sliding open the door of the freight car a tad to let in a sliver of moonlight. She glanced outside for a moment. Leaving the door open a crack, she sat back down next to Raymond.

"Not much longer now," she said softly. She said it in a way that made Raymond think she was ready. Like she was always ready for things to go wrong because they always did.

"So Po," she said as she took a seat back next to him. She spread her legs out along the splintery boxcar floor and leaned in close to Raymond. "That's an interesting name. What is it? Like Welsh or something?"

"Welsh?' he said back with a laugh. "Nah, Po's not his real name. His real name is Peter. Po's just what everyone used to call him. Came from our Grandpa Frank. Used to call him Topo, after some puppet mouse that gramps used to watch on TV when he was a kid – you know, because he was as quiet as a mouse I guess. Anyway, when Po was like six, his kindergarten teacher asked him to tell the class his name and he apparently yelled out, 'Po'. Those were the first words he spoke and it stuck. No one's ever called him anything different."

Raymond looked at her from the side while she continued to stare intently at him. Her eyes wouldn't let him go.

"It's been a while since I had to trust someone," Raymond said. "But just so you know, I trust you. And that doesn't come easy for me. Don't let me down."

"I won't," she said, turning around now to check the supplies in her bag. "Trust doesn't really come easy for me either." She turned to him and smiled, putting her hand on Raymond's knee.

"Before the Rap, my life was..." She stopped now, shaking her head. "Well it was no Lake Como, that's for sure."

Salome stopped and smiled, her dark brown eyes taking Raymond in. "But the Prophet, he told me different Raymond. He trusted me. Trusted me despite all my shortcomings and past transgressions. It's a new world he'd tell me and all of that shit from before is just plain washed away. He gave me hope Ray. And he told me about the 19."

"Tell me about them," Raymond said.

Salome laughed. "Really?"

"Sure," Raymond replied. "Why not."

Salome took the daisy out from behind her ear. Leaning closer to Raymond, she gently drew the daisy's soft white petals lightly across his cheek. The daisy's caress gave Raymond goosebumps and he looked back at Salome with a wide grin. Salome smiled back, holding the daisy to the sliver of moonlight before letting it go to the wind gusting through the cracks.

"That's the 19 Raymond," she said.

"What is? A tickle?"

"No Ray, a fleeting moment of bliss in a world that doesn't give you any reason to expect it."

She pulled her arms inside the sleeves of her camouflage hoodie and crossed them, resting her head on Raymond's chest.

"Fleeting," she said softly. "In the months after the Rap, when us survivors sat shivering alone, wondering when it was our turn...In those times," she continued as if trying to remember a dream, "the 19 made themselves known."

Salome put her arms back into her sleeves, pushing out her hands and placing them on Raymond's arm.

"Fleeting," she repeated. "I have trouble remembering them, it was so long ago. But it happened. They happened."

"What happened?" Raymond said, trying to be respectful.

"Spectacular stories. All over the place, when we started coming out into the light again, you'd hear stories. Everyone seemed to have a story about the 19 heroes."

"Did you?"

Salome paused for a few seconds as the train rumbled across a rough section of track. She nodded her head.

"Fire. Raging fire and smoke all around me. I was in my foster mom's house. I'm alone. All alone and had been for awhile now. I'm too tired to run and even if I could, there was no where to run to. I don't even want to run."

Raymond reached over and put his arm around her back.

"Then, the weirdest thing happened," she said. She started to cry. "I wake up outside and there's someone with me."

"These 19?"

Salome shook her head. "No. It's my brother Jose."

"So he saved you from the fire?"

Again Salome paused. She shook her head. "He couldn't of. There wasn't a burn mark on him..."

"So, maybe he just was quick."

"Well handsome, he'd had to have been Speedy Gonzales to have pulled that off. Jose was in Puerto Rico when the Rap hit."

"What?"

"Visiting my Aunt and Uncle. I figured he was dead like everyone else. Even if he wasn't dead, how in the hell was he gonna make it back to Chicago, right?"

"How did he then?"

Salome looked up at him, shrugging her shoulders as if to concede she didn't know all the answers. "He just did Ray. The one second, he's alone on a beach, the next, he's in our front yard. Me, I'm starving in a pit of fire. Then I'm saved. At the time, we were both terrified. We just didn't know. We felt their presence though. Yep, we both did. Our minds were too terrified still to let them in. It wasn't until we started venturing out, meeting others. Joining up with the Prophet. It wasn't until then that we learned it was the 19."

"So you're calling it a miracle," Raymond said.

"I grew up a gang banger from Pilsen, Ray. For me, a miracle was a weekend without someone you know getting stabbed or shot in the head. The 19 were no miracle Raymond. Now, the Prophet has his theories about the 19. How they came to be and all. But for me and Jose, it didn't matter. All we knew was that we were part of their plan and it was a good one."

"What then?" Raymond asked. "If these 19 could do all you claim, why are we still in the mess we're in? Why's my brother still gone?"

"I don't know Ray," she said, looking away. "About the time the Elected appeared, the stories of the 19, they stopped. No more sightings. Fleeting. Like everything else, fleeting."

"Sounds like your new gods are pretty selective," Raymond shrugged. "But I'm sorry you lost your brother."

"And I'm sorry about yours Raymond," she said. Slowly, she crawled up onto his lap. "I know you're your brother's hero Ray," Salome said to him. "Can you be mine too?" She leaned in, closed her eyes...

Raymond felt the small of her back arching. Gently, he rolled her over to her side. It was something he didn't think he'd ever feel again. Sure, back in high school, he was a player. At least he thought he was. But that was easy. So easy. And the women back then? They were just as stupid and carefree as he was. Kids playing grown-up in a pop culture world.

But Salome was no kid. With the jet black hair that fell along her bronze cheeks. Those eyes. Those dark eyes that saw life and death. This one was a woman. And she wanted him more than anything.

Undressing, Raymond could hear the train's wheels clicking over the tracks. She ran her hands over his arms and over his chest and brought him inside of her.

Raymond felt a different kind of Wonderland now. He was gone, for sure. But here. There. He felt her. He consumed her. Took her in. It was fleeting too. Not the act, of course. No, Ray knew how to keep it going. But the love. The simple knowledge that there was a connection there that meant something. Raymond felt it. He wondered if she did? It didn't matter in either case. Raymond would soon be gone. And he would never see this one again.

The train's horn let out a blow and Salome screamed out. She gave Raymond a peck on his bare chest, stood up and began to get dressed.

"Maybe you're right," Raymond said as he put on his clothes.

Salome let out a long drawn out sigh and leaned back as the train continued to rumble through the darkness. It seemed like it was starting to slow.

"Right about what?"

"About having hope," he replied, kissing her on the back of the neck. He knew how this would eventually all play out. How it had to play out, once he got Po back. Even still, he felt he owed her. Something. "I'm glad I didn't jump off the train."

"Heh," she laughed, slapping Raymond on the behind. "I wouldn't be so sure about that. Where we're going now...maybe the best thing you could have done was to jump off this beast." Shaking her head, she moved towards the freight car door. Opening it slightly, she peeked outside.

Raymond looked over Salome's shoulder. About a mile ahead, he could see lights from two guard towers ominously crossing the night sky. The towers appeared to rise from a small island just past a bridge. As the train began to slow, Raymond could make out a bare flagpole covered with vines and a small building on the land adjacent to the island. A rusty green sign half covered with weeds revealed the words, Illinois National Guard Armory.

"The island's Camp Glory," Salome said without emotion. She tightened the straps on her backpack, pulled down the sleeves of her camouflage hoody and kissed Raymond on the cheek. "Time to fly!"

"What?" Raymond shouted.

Salome turned to him with a mad grin, whipping open the doors fully. Kissing Raymond fully on the lips she crouched. And jumped.

Chapter 6

Raymond didn't question it further. He just flew. After three years of fighting through days filled up with carefully planned moments, he just flew. Flew into the unknowable unknowing of it all.

Flew into the loud helicopter whumps coming from somewhere high above. The whumps masked other sounds. Growling dogs. Alarms. Screams. Cries. Raymond tried to shut them all out as he rolled to his feet and followed Salome through the surrounding forest. She seemed to know where she was going.

The train they had jumped from was pulling into a station about 100 feet past what looked to be an old two-story gathering hall. Smoke still drifted from the locomotive's engines. Tall street lamps lit up the parking lot and the front of the building. It was an old VFW hall. Raymond could spot the faded outline of the letters above the double glass doors and blacked out neon beer sign marking the hall's entrance. But the beer sign was about the only light not burning. This building was far from abandoned. Through its dimly lit windows, Raymond could see faceless shadows cloaked in white moving with purpose.

Just past the building, a paved walkway sloped upwards, towards the track where the old freight train had stopped. Several men were busily pushing hand trucks stacked with crates, loading them onto the empty cars. He couldn't tell from this position, but by their bulging muscles, Raymond guessed these fellows to be Triz. Like Po.

Looking back at the adjoining island, he could see more lights. A towering brick chimney billowed smoke somewhere near the small island's center. The top of a massive dam served as a bridge which led from a brick path near the VFW hall over to the island. Erected over the start of the bridge hung a darkened sign, which faced the tracks. It looked to be freshly painted.

Another train was approaching on a parallel track. It began to slow as it came to the old VFW hall. As it did, a barrage of halogen lights - which looked to have been borrowed from a high school football team's night game crew – suddenly flashed on.

The lights cast the area in strange shadows. From the hall, the robed attendants emerged, moving with purpose towards the approaching train. Accompanied by armed drones, their scurried movements made the large sign hanging over the entry to the camp seem to flicker.

Squinting, Raymond could make out the words.

Purgatory Camp Glory

Cleanse Your Sins. For Losing You Now is No Loss to God.

"C'mere!" Salome said. "The other train's coming."

Raymond followed her to a line of trees about twenty yards from the dam. Close to the sign, Raymond could see barbed wire fencing and a guard's station blocking the way forward across the top of the dam. The dam seemed even bigger from here. At the other side of the dam, Raymond could spot a smaller bridge leading down to the island.

"Get down and stay quiet," Salome whispered. Crouching low, she ran over to a stack of empty pallets piled close to the tracks. Looking around, she signaled for Raymond to follow her. "You're gonna see some things here," she said as Raymond crouched next to her. "Things you're not going to want to believe are real."

They stayed hidden behind the empty pallets. The ground was dry and gravely. The wind whipped up the dust and Raymond looked out in horror. Drones with rifles raised approached the second train, unloading the cars and leading the disheveled passengers to the brick road that led to the island. All Triz.

"How the hell can they fucking do this?" Raymond said, his voice cracking.

"They?" Salome shot back defiantly. "Ain't no they. It's us hombre. We let them do this. Not the Prophet of course, but damned near everyone else. The Chosen say they're rounding up the Triz to protect them. To study them. To see why they lived. It's all bullshit, of course."

"What happens to them once they're inside?" Raymond said coldly. The line of people exiting the trains seemed to be unending.

"Once inside, they're divided. Divided into three groups. If you're big and strong like your brother, you go to drone processing. If you ain't so strong, but you look like you got a few years left in you, then they take you to the Mess Hall. That's mule training."

"What's the third place?"

Salome paused, rising to her feet when the guards near the train were finished unloading the prisoners. "The third place is something I don't even talk about."

Raymond nodded, letting it go. "So what's the plan?"

"Plan?" Salome replied, raising her eyebrows. "Duck!"

"What?" Raymond blurted out.

Salome didn't have time to explain. Kicking out Raymond's legs, she tripped him to the ground, pulled a revolver from her side pocket and fired two shots.

Rolling to his side, Raymond got up to see two Chosen guards lying dead near the tracks.

"Here's our plan handsome," she said, running up to the fallen guards. Quickly, she pulled the robes off of the smaller guard and draped them over her clothes. She pulled the white helmet off of the guard's head and put it on.

"Well don't just stand there handsome," she barked from behind the helmet's tinted visor. "Get dressed!"

Raymond quickly did as she said, following her out towards the bridge where the prisoners were being marched.

There were more guards here, supplemented now by drones. Raymond looked around at the other guards as they moved deeper into the camp, trying to match their gait and pace. The flurry of activity kept him off balance. The chaos.

Everything seemed to be moving maddeningly fast. The snap of a whip crack startled Raymond to attention. He slipped his hand under his robe to make sure Remmy was still there. Slowly, he turned to see an obese Chosen guard cursing a young man with Down syndrome. The young man had black curly hair and had turned into even more of an ox than Po.

"Stop holding up the line, mule!" the man barked. Shoving him aside, the fat guard screamed more unpleasantries at the other scared souls marching forward. The young man with black curly hair started to cry.

But there were more than Triz here. Scattered packs of survivors just like Raymond were being herded through the gates. Men were separated from women. The few elderly in the crowds were chased like cattle. Children, what few there were, seemed to be an especially important prize. Chosen guards, their white robes dirtied at the seams with a mixture of mud and humanity, pulled them from the masses personally.

Salome and Raymond paused, waiting for a gap in the herds and then ran fast to what looked to be a line of dorms. Angel-armored drones criss-crossed the yard, the red focusing lights from their helmets moving methodically back and forth as they scanned.

"We gotta move fast," Salome said. "Follow me."

Raymond nodded, following Salome quickly to the side of a dark building. Salome pushed Raymond behind a wall of carefully stacked metal barrels and peeked around the corner of the building.

Some of the Triz, the older ones mostly, were being separated from the others. A Chosen woman was supervising the process. Dressed in a long black gown, a dirty white scarf covered part of her face. She reminded Raymond of his kindergarten teacher Mrs. Pavlov. The one who used to pronounce his name Be-An, even after he corrected her. A fat old hag with a hair lip who got off on showing she was in charge. She was probably the reason Raymond hated school so much.

The woman in the black gown was making marks on a clipboard as she glared at the older Triz with fake, condescending smiles. Whatever she was saying to them, it was a lie.

But now the smile seemed real. It stretched golden between her wrinkled cheeks, as she motioned for the old Triz to climb onto a bus. It was a school bus. Raymond looked at it. Something about it wasn't right. As the old woman ushered the last of the group onto the bus, Raymond figured it out. There were no rear wheels on the bus. The back of the bus was held up by cinder blocks. The old lady fastened the door shut with a chain and flipped a switch attached to a light pole. A motor started and the inside of the bus began filling with smoke.

"That's number three," Salome said faintly. "But no time for tears Ray," she said. "Not now that we're so close." Wiping her eyes, she dashed towards a dumpster adjacent to a long building that looked like something post-industrial. It stunk like methane and oil. Glancing up, Raymond could see the smoke belching chimney he spotted earlier. Crouching behind the dumpster, she waited for the last of the prisoners to be marched inside.

With a pair of channel locks she pulled from her bag, she busted a lock on a service door and pushed her way in. Quickly looking around, she bolted up a flight of wooden stairs. Raymond followed, Stopping when they got to a junction in a sterile hallway, she glanced both ways before continuing up to the next level. Raymond followed her to an area that looked like a mechanic's garage. The smell of grease was heavy. From somewhere nearby, he could hear the rhythmic machinations of some type of assembly line. Salome motioned for Raymond to stay back while she ran ahead, glancing out at an open room around the other end of the hallway before giving him the signal to join her.

Raymond made it to Salome, finding her crouched down behind what looked to be a canoe-sized log, the insides of which were hollowed out, revealing a narrow padded bench. Made out of hard plastic or fiber glass, the log was obviously artificial. Men in white robes and black skullcaps walked by in both directions. A trio of drones, their armor clanging as they marched, moved past them with singular purpose.

Beyond the hallway was an entrance to another facility. Red carpeting led into a darkened area. When the drones had passed, Salome ducked and ran across the hall and into the room.

Entering the front of the facility, Raymond realized that this was more than just another room. It was the entrance to an exhibit. No, Raymond thought to himself. Of course. This was a ride.

Salome led them past a set of saloon-style swinging screen doors that looked like they once marked the way to the start of this ride's line queue. They moved underneath the metal railings that twisted around a cement maze, coming to a wide open foyer.

"Detention wing's just past here. If we're quiet, we'll get there unnoticed." Passing through the queue, she pointed to a circular launching pad, surrounded by a mote-like trench.

"Were you ever here?" Salome asked, stepping into the dried out mote.

"No," Raymond said, following Salome. "Why would I have been?"

"Before they turned this island into a National Guard armory, it used to be a water park. They actually kept this ride open for awhile to entertain the families."

"How do you know so much?"

"Jake, he knows everything. Used to be in the Marines. The Prophet had plans for this place."

Salome turned on a flashlight as she walked swiftly into a dark tunnel. It looked like this was supposed to be some sort of Colonial American themed adventure ride. And while the log boats that once sailed by were long gone, the faux villages were not. It reminded Raymond a little of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride he rode on when they visited Disneyland back when he was a kid. Except, in this case, instead of scenes of marauding pirates and dancing bar-maids, there were scenes of Minutemen and Betsy Ross and some guy who looked like a garden gnome guarding General George Washington's boat. Upon closer inspection, Raymond corrected himself. It was a garden gnome.

"Stop gawking handsome!" Salome whispered. "This way!" As they continued along the boat track, they came upon a British fort. A couple of mannequins dressed as Red Coats lied on their side guarding the entrance, muskets still in their hands. A Union Jack hung from a flagpole next to the set of plastic log doors the soldiers were once tasked to guard. With a mock salute, Salome stepped over the guards and entered the fort.

Behind the log doors and the wilted British flag there was just moldy drywall and a narrow hallway leading to an exit sign hanging above a black door with a push bar. "The detention wing's on the other side," Salome said. "If your brother's still alive, he's in here."

Salome ran to the door and stopped. Reaching to her side, she removed a slim device that looked like an old smart phone. It was pink and had hung from a holster tucked under her pants. Raymond hadn't noticed that back on the train. She raised the device up, holding it like it were a gun in her right hand; with her left, she signaled for Raymond to keep quiet. Raymond quietly raised Remmy. With a gentle shushing sound, Salome lowered her hand to the push-bar on the door and opened it.

Three drones patrolling the far end of the hallway took notice, swung around and immediately opened fire.

"Shit!" Salome screamed. She flipped back around to try and reopen the door but it was locked shut. "Get down!" Salome rolled to a crawl, leaping behind an admin's desk as drone fire ripped just over her shoulder.

Raymond didn't wait for any orders. Parking himself behind a gurney with dark-stained sheets he opened fire.

By the time he pulled the trigger and let Remmy rage, the drones had figured out their gameplan and the shot went wide right. They appeared to be working together. Much more than a human team. They were fighting and defending as one unit.

The two drones in front paused for less than a second, simultaneously switching weapons. With their angel wings fully raised, they started running up the hallway, machine guns blazing with a strafing fire aimed low at the sides of the hallway. They weren't trying to kill them. They were trying to flush them out.

Their mistake. As the bullets ripped, Raymond aimed left and fired. Swinging right, he fired again and both drones were down.

He was about to take out the third when it began to speak...

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE WAYMOND!"

Raymond dropped his rifle and froze.

"NO SUDDEN MOVEMENTS OR YOU WILL BE KILLED WAYMOND!" the voice commanded.

This was Po.

"NOOOO!" With every rage he held against their dad for causing this, Raymond jumped, not even knowing why exactly, hurling herself towards Po with all of his strength.

Before Raymond could connect, the not-Po pivoted, much quicker than Raymond would have thought possible, and fired.

The bullets grazed Raymond's arm, enough to sting like a scratch on a sunburn but no deeper. Hitting the hard linoleum floor, Raymond rolled behind another gurney and sat up.

Salome was also in motion, leaping behind the counter of a reception desk at the center of the hallway. She looked up at the ceiling, at a solid black device about the size of a cigar box with dual silver antennas sticking down. Jumping up on the counter, she reached up and tore the box down.

For a moment, Po stopped. Salome jumped down off the counter, looking scared but ready. Raymond felt that she'd been in situations like this before. Probably many times before.

"Come to me!" Salome yelled. "Taking out the network relay's only gonna stop him for a few seconds!"

Raymond got up and ran towards Salome's voice as Po came back to life. He grabbed Raymond firmly by the neck and hurled him back against the wall.

"You will soon join Po, Waymond," the creature yelled. Through the helmet, the voice sounded like Po was playing with Abraham's old synthesizer. He reloaded his weapon and raised it.

"You will join Po or Waymond will die."

Raymond made no effort to move. All he could do now was bury his face in his hands and cry. With his gun still raised, Po lumbered towards him, his boots banging off of the linoleum tiles.

Salome was looking at Raymond too, mouthing some words he couldn't understand. With Po just feet away, Salome raised up her slim pink smart-phone-looking gun like she were going to take Po's picture.

"No! That's my brother!" Raymond yelled.

"Not anymore." Salome gritted her teeth and fired.

Raymond turned towards the rampaging Po and jumped, hoping to block the shot.

As he flew through the air, he had a momentary recollection of his earliest memory of his older brother. They were at a beach in Ohio visiting their Aunt Audrey. Raymond couldn't have been more than four or five. Po was maybe seven. Some older boys, probably having sensed that Raymond was deathly afraid of water, were pushing him towards it. About neck deep into the lake, he remembered hearing someone screaming incoherently, causing the boys to bolt. Raymond turned to see his older brother, a red blanket tucked behind the back of his shirt so that it flew behind him like a cape. His little arms were outstretched long, running as fast as he could. "Po save you Waymond!" It was his Superman. His hero.

Raymond hit the ground hard, bursting the memory, and quite possibly his shoulder blade. As he did, he looked up to see a surge of blue electrical charge hitting Po square on the chest. He kicked slightly, whimpered, and then was motionless. Raymond ran to him as tiny sparks enveloped the metal armor like synapses on the brain. Underneath the armor, Raymond hoped he was still wearing his windbreaker. Po got cold without it. Within a few seconds the sparks slowed, then stopped. Raymond dropped down to his knees and began to cry.

Raymond had failed his hero again.

Chapter 7

Salome rushed out from behind the reception desk. Tucking her gun back in her holster, she ran to the drone lying on the ground. Stopping, she rolled Po over to his side, removing the white helmet.

"Help me get this armor off so we can stand him up!"

"What?"

"Shut up and listen!" she yelled as she unclasped the latches along the side of his leg and chest armor. "I ripped down the network relay. The other drones won't see this floor for another ten, maybe fifteen minutes, but no longer. After that, the data blasts fill in the gaps. We gotta get him up now!"

"But he's dead! Look at him!"

"Are you cracked? You think I'd take you all this way just to pop a cap in him? I just stunned him! Now hurry and do what I said!"

The clothes Raymond had laid out for Po yesterday morning. They were still on him. His baggy red corduroys and plain white sweatshirt. His lime-green windbreaker. Force of habit of course. Po could quite easily pick out his own clothes. But Raymond liked doing it. And Po let him.

Raymond did as she said, lifting Po to his feet while Salome struggled to hold up his other side.

"This way!" Salome said, walking quickly now down the hall.

"Where are we taking him?"

"To someone who can help."

Holding Po by the shoulders, they carried his slumping body down to the far end of the hall. Turning the corner, Salome flipped the visor on her helmet down.

Already coming towards them were three Chosen guards, each of them armed. "Over here!" she yelled to them.

"What the hell?" Raymond said to her.

"Play along," she said through gritted teeth.

In a few seconds, the three guards were on them.

"This one was trying to escape," Salome said, letting Po drop to the ground. "We caught him."

The three guards seemed to be ignoring her. The tallest of the three, a tall man with a long dark beard approached them. "Security breach," he said to Salome. "Someone pulled down the drone relays. Put your hands up, both of you. We need to be sure."

"Of course you do," Salome said, a tinge of excitement in her voice. Raising her hands, she let the buzz of her pink pistol envelop them. All three of the guards dropped to the floor in silence.

She quickly went through the pockets of the guards until she found something she was looking for. Smiling, she removed a white key card from the lead guard's pocket.

"Come on," she said, once again lifting Po up by the shoulder. "Your brother doesn't have much time."

Raymond said nothing as they lifted him to his feet. He was just dead wait. His skin looked pale and lifeless and his breathing was becoming shallow. Raymond followed Salome's lead until they came to a door.

Salome took out the keycard and inserted it into a notch just above the door handle. With a clicking sound, she pushed opened the door, dragging Po through the threshold. Getting a few feet into the room, Raymond looked up, noticing the two prisoners sitting on metal cots. His arms grew suddenly limp.

"Son of a bitch!" Raymond dropped hold of Po and charged.

One of the men, Raymond had never seen before. He wore faded green army fatigues and a black shirt. His dark blond hair was parted down the middle, flowing evenly in a loose wave above his broad shoulders. He quickly stood up as Raymond ran towards them, his muscular arms supporting his rock-solid frame.

The other prisoner was this man's polar opposite. The gangly stance. The nose piercing. The black trench coat he would wear, even in the summer. The gaunt cheeks and the greasy black hair – now at shoulder length. Nothing had changed. Raymond's fist connected with this one's jaw just a second before the other prisoner pulled him back.

"Hello Raymond," Abraham said, getting up to his feet as he spat up a modicum of blood. His arms were no longer gangly, Raymond noticed. While not nearly as muscular as the other guy, Raymond could tell his brother had been engaged in exercise that required more than a keyboard or joystick.

"I'd say thanks," he continued, looking now at Salome, "but I'm fairly certain someone used her feminine charms to lure you here."

Salome dragged Po into the room by herself, handing her off to the blonde guy. She looked at Abraham and bowed. "He's been droned, Prophet," she said softly. Stepping back, she looked to Raymond.

"Sorry Raymond," Salome said. "The Elected want all of the Beans. You, Po." She stopped and dropped her gaze. "And I knew you'd never help me if you knew you were going to rescue Abraham."

Raymond said nothing, shaking his head. "So the train..."

"All for the cause handsome," she said softly. "All for the cause."

"Enough!" Abraham commanded. "Get him on the bed!" He gestured for the muscular guy to move. "Jake!" he said, pointing to the man in the army fatigues, "Cover the door! If anyone tries to get in, kill them. My brother's life depends on it."

Placing his hands on Po's temples, Abraham swallowed hard and began. On Po's skull, there was a black plastic fitting. In the middle of the fitting, a small silver pin, not much thicker than a strand of hair pushed through a tiny red flap. He tossed the black electrode square to the ground. As he did, Po began to moan.

Salome kneeled down across from Raymond on the opposite side of the cot. Clearing her throat, Salome put her backpack on the cold prison floor. Unzipping it, she removed something, placing it on Po's chest. It was his Superman doll.

Abraham paused for a moment, holding his breath. With steady hands, he began slowly pulling out the silver pin. Po's moaning grew louder.

But as Raymond listened closer, it wasn't a moan coming from Po's sad face. It was a word.

"Jooowie..." Raymond could hear Po whimper. Tiny tears formed in the corners of his blue eyes. He pushed his head down into the pillow on the cot and started rocking it slightly, as if he were recoiling from something horrific.

The Julie Kramer incident. Back in high school, Po was in love with a girl named Julie Kramer. She was perfect for him, at least in Po's mind. They were both seniors (although Po was a little more senior). She was a long-haired brunette with a gorgeous smile. Even though Raymond was a freshman at the time, he remembered her as one of the popular girls that every guy wanted.

So Po was no exception. But Po was luckier than most guys because he was actually seeing Julie Kramer on a regular basis. Every Saturday at noon she'd come over to the house to tutor Po, part of some service project she was doing at the church. She'd read to him and play games and Po loved it.

Po also apparently loved Julie Kramer. Every time she'd come over, Po would put on his best clothes and splash on way too much of their dad's aftershave. He did this every week, for six weeks. On the seventh week, he actually put on the tuxedo he had worn from their cousin's wedding he was in the year before. Unfortunately for Po, Julie Kramer's service project only lasted six weeks. She neglected to tell Po this.

Po stayed in his room, alone and devastated. Raymond could remember his sad howls echoing through their small ranch-style house. Mom ran straight to him. As it turned out, Po had decided to wear his tuxedo because he had a surprise for Julie Kramer that afternoon. He was going to propose to her. He even had a ring (one Raymond later learned was a piece of plastic "bling" he had gotten from a gumball machine at the grocery store). Po was a pretty happy-go-lucky guy. Not much seemed to bother him. But whenever he happened to catch a true glimpse of the world, in all of its wretched glory, their mom knew exactly how to set things right. She would sing to him.

Raymond looked down at his trembling brother right now and hoped he could carry an Elvis tune as well as his mom did that Saturday afternoon.

"Wise, men, say...," Raymond began singing. "Why do fools, rush, in..." Po turned his head slightly towards the sound of Raymond's voice and stared. Raymond continued. As he did, Abraham grabbed the tip of the metal pin and began pulling. "Cause I, can't, help, falling in love, with, you..."

The pin was much longer than Raymond thought possible. Abraham concentrated on keeping the pull steady and straight while Raymond finished humming the rest of the tune. Po didn't seem to mind. His lips had turned from a small pout into something on the brink of becoming a grin.

Clutching his Superman doll, he began to sit up. Abraham put his hand behind Po's back, helping to support him. He turned to Abraham with a smile, a mild look of surprise and then a great big hug that nearly knocked him off the cot. Abraham hugged him back.

"Abey!" Po yelled. "Is it you? Is it really you?"

"It is my fine man, it is!" he said. He looked over at Jake who was still standing by the door to the cell. He was shaking his head.

"Po missed you so much! How've you been?"

"Er, capital, sir, I'm sure." Abraham took Po by the hand. "I'll tell you more about it once we're out of here. You ok to move Professor X?"

Po let out a snort, looked at Abraham and nodded.

"Good. Because we're going to play a game now Po. The same game we played at Mrs. O'Flynn's house. Remember that one?"

Raymond remembered that one well, even though he wasn't there. Rosie O'Flynn was the older lady who lived in the cottage across the lake. She'd survived the virus too, for a time. But slowly, she began to change. Small tumors began to form on the back of her head and she became irritable and easily agitated. One day, when Abe and Po were there, she just snapped, trying to cut Po with a shard of glass. Abraham said that the only way he got Po out in one piece was by pretending they were playing hide and seek. Po wanted to try to fix her. When they came back with Raymond the next morning, she was dead, floating in the lake. Apparently she tried to swim across to finish what she started.

"Po understands Abe," Po replied.

"Good," Abraham said. He looked at Salome and nodded. "Let's move."

Everyone started towards the door.

"No!" Raymond shouted. "What Abe, you up and run off three years ago and suddenly we're just supposed to trust you?"

"Waymond," Po said. "It doesn't matter where he was! It just matters he's back now, right?"

"Sure it matters Po!" Raymond yelled. "For the last three years, you thought he was fucking dead!"

"Waymond!"

"Drop it Po! I'm just getting-"

Before Raymond could finish, Jake had pulled Remmy off of Raymond's shoulders, crouched and fired.

"They're here!" Jake barked. He threw the rifle back at Raymond, who caught it as he ran ahead to the door. Scooping the gun out of the hands of the drone now lying on its back on the floor outside the cell, he looked back at Abraham. "Your orders sir?"

"Up top," Abraham said. "We won't have this opportunity again."

Jake nodded, stepping quickly into the hallway. Salome followed through the door, her pink tazer at the ready as she ran ahead of him down to the end of the hall, stopping at the sound of gunshots. Peeking around the corner, she returned the fire then flashed Jake a thumbs-up sign.

Abraham took Po's hand and led him out of the cell, towards Salome.

"I suggest you follow, Ray," Abraham said back to Raymond as he ran ahead with Po. Raymond looked into the hall to see Jake grinning. He winked at him as shots fired out. "And I suggest you run dipshit!" Jake shouted back.

Things were moving too fast for Raymond to argue. Keeping site on Po, he followed as more shots were fired from behind. Jake turned back, aimed and fired a shot that Raymond could feel as it flew by.

"Hurry up people!" Abraham yelled from up ahead. "We're almost there!"

They came to a chained up door. Jake fired a single shot to blast off the lock. Kicking it in, he stepped inside as the others followed behind.

Raymond could smell the grease. Grease and motor oil mixed with the pungent stink of stale cigarette smoke and cleaning solutions. It smelled like the machine shop at the airport that Grandpa Frank had his retirement party at. Pneumatic hoses snaked down from the ceiling, wrapping their tentacles around band saws and under workbenches. In the back, Raymond could here a very loud humming sound that seemed to make the entire room vibrate.

"What is this place?" Po asked. "It seems kind of familiar to Po."

"I'm sorry," Abraham said, running to the controls. He shot Raymond an uneasy stare. "This here is the generator room." He punched some buttons on a panel next to a drill press, making some lights dim out. An alarm begin to blare. "It's the heart of drone processing. No way in hell I was going to leave before shutting it down. Might be temporary. But at least it'll give them a few more days of peace."

Jake returned. "I think I managed to pull down the main," he said. "All we gotta do now is kill the back-ups."

"Very good," Abraham said, patting him on the shoulder. "I'll try to pry open the worker's panel into the transformer. You find me something we can use that'll generate an explosion!" He looked feverishly around the room for something he could wedge into the panel as Salome came running towards them.

"We're gonna have company boys!" she screamed.

She ran off while Abraham bolted over to the side of the transformer. About the size of an old SUV, the cylindrically shaped transformer looked pretty secure. Near the bottom of the transformer however was some type of control panel.

"Po!" Abraham shouted. "Grab me a phillips head from the workbench."

Po nodded, running to the workbench. Looking around, he spotted the correct screwdriver and quickly ran it back to Abraham.

"All right guys!" he yelled. "The battery inside this panel is just a dummy. All the controls for each of the main generators here at Camp Glory are controlled from a central location. However, if we remove the battery casing, it'll give us direct access to the guts of this generator, allowing us to take it out. Once Jake returns with something to blow it up with, that is."

"So what do you need us to do Abe?" Po asked, ready to help.

"The battery casing is at least five hundred pounds. It's going to take all three of us to get it out."

Glaring at Abraham, Raymond jumped down to the middle of the panel to help his brothers. He shoved Abe to the side to get a grip just as Salome bounded back into the shop.

"We gotta get out of here NOW!" she hollered.

Abraham ignored her, pulling harder. Po, sensing how important this must be, dug in, and with a grimace, gave the casing one final yank. It gave just as Jake ran back into the room. Empty handed.

"I couldn't find anything sir, sorry," he said.

"Come on!" Salome pleaded, grabbing Abrahams's arm. "We need to be gone!"

"No Salome! Not until we do this!"

She cocked her head, getting up close. "Abraham," she said softly. Her dark eyes cast a deep gaze that spoke of pain. Like a friend passing on news of sorrow. "We have no other choice. They're coming!"

A barrage of shots rang overhead as three drones charged through the door behind them, taking defensive positions behind another set of work benches and shop equipment.

"Now what?" Salome said.

"Give me a second to think!" Abraham shouted.

Quickly, he eyed something on the bench where he found the crowbar. A coffee machine. He ran to the old machine, swiping a tall glass jar filled with white powder off a dusty table standing next to it.

He sprinted back towards the propped open service panel as one of the drones took aim and fired, barely missing Abe before he reached the panel. Striking a pack of matches, he lit a clump of paper towels and threw them into the space where the casing was just as Jake stepped in and fired back at the drone, taking it out.

"Catch," Abraham said, tossing the glass jar at Raymond.

Grabbing it, he looked at Abraham and frowned. "What the hell's this for?"

"You're the football star, right Raymond?" He started running as six more drones entered the room.

"What?"

Abraham looked to everyone as the drones started moving in. "Everyone," he shouted, "Up the ladder!" He motioned for everyone to climb, grabbing Raymond by the hand. "As soon as the drones are close, toss the jar at the fire!"

Raymond followed Abraham up the ladder as the drones poured in. With everyone climbing through the opening at the top of the roof, he heaved the jar.

He never even heard the shatter. The explosion knocked him forward as the surviving drones began firing through the fiery orange smoke.

Regaining his balance, he closed the hatch and met up with the others gathered now at a spot on the corner of the roof. The generator fell silent as the lights in the facility went suddenly black.

"What the hell was in the glass jar?" he shouted to Abraham.

"Coffee creamer," he said with a smug grin. "One of the benefits of not having had a packed social life was that I got to watch a lot of Myth Busters!"

Jake stood motionless, listening to the wind. "You did it sir," he finally said. "It's quiet. You took drone processing offline!"

"For now," Abraham said.

"Abraham!" Salome yelled. "Down there!"

Abraham stood on top of the roof, looking down. They were everywhere. A flurry of red lights piercing through the darkness, swarming to their position as the alarms throughout the camp began to blare.

"Good job!" Raymond yelled, grabbing Abraham by the scruff of his leather trench coat. "We're trapped!" He looked him in the eyes. Those spoiled rotten eyes. The kid who got everything handed to him because everyone thought he was sick and helpless. The kid who even after he was better used that for years as an excuse to get out of chores. The kid who always thought he knew everything.

"Sorry," he said to himself. "I thought providence would show us a sign. After what we did."

Raymond let go of him, shoving him aside with a grunt. He wasn't worth it. Pathetic, spoiled child.

"Hey guys!" Po yelled, pointing at something with marked curiosity. "What is that?"

Anchored to the roof by a thick metal chain was a giant red hot air balloon. It floated blissfully above wooden stairs. On two sides of the giant gondola were black mounted telescopes.

"A scout ship," Jake said. "I do believe you've found your sign sir."

"All right people," Abraham yelled. "Get on board!"

With everyone on, Jake unhooked the chains and Abraham started the burner. Flames igniting propane began to grow, filling the balloon with heat. Slowly, the balloon began to rise into the sky. They were gone. Into the night. Away.

Chapter 8

Raymond stared down at the low-lying clouds - over the smoke billowing out from the explosion they created at the machine shop. Underneath, he could see the moon, reflecting on the waves of the lake below. They were moving past the island, higher into the sky. As Abraham turned the propane valve for an extra boost, they passed far over the edge of the dam they had crossed over earlier.

"We did it!" Salome shouted. She looked down now at a feeble creek that flowed from the dam. Abraham looked down at it, wrapped his arms around Salome and flashed Raymond a cocky grin.

"Recognize that crik there Ray?"

"No, I don't recognize the _crik_ ," Raymond replied mockingly.

"Hmm," Abraham said with a smirk, giving Salome a sudden kiss on the lips. "I thought for sure you'd remember the Fox River, Ray. After all, you and your buds used to spend half your summers fishing on it."

"That's the Fox?" Raymond said, staring down at the winding creek in disbelief.

"Yes Ray," Abraham replied smugly. "What? Too drunk to remember?"

Salome let out a laugh. Raymond thought how much higher the balloon might fly once he tossed Abraham's fat ass off of it.

"Sir!" Jake shouted before Raymond got the chance. He pointed up to a light. "Helicopter! Looks like a Python Class!"

Bigger than the one Raymond saw at Lake Como, it came out of nowhere and was hovering directly at their side. Abraham turned the valve all the way to the left and the balloon shot up higher. The helicopter matched them. A man with a megaphone stuck his head out of the passenger side of the chopper.

"Shit!" Salome shouted, looking to Abraham. "It's Zephaniah!"

"Who the hell's that?" Raymond yelled.

"Another one of the Elected, Ray," Abraham replied, trying to stay calm.

The helicopter flew close to them now and the creature came into closer view.

"Well done," Zephaniah shouted. He wore a long purple trench coat and a similar neck shield as Jehu. Red veins pulsated vertically along the sides of his face. "I'm not here to bring you back to jail. You've earned your freedom. All I ask is to examine Po. I promise you, if you do it my way, no one will be hurt. If you disobey my bargain, well..."

With a nod of his head, six drones made themselves seen now from the side of the attack chopper, weapons aimed squarely on the balloon.

"You see, I can examine your brother alive, or dead. Your choice."

Raymond swung around to shove Abraham up against the side of the gondola. "Do something! Can't this thing go any higher? Because believe me, if you can't think of a way, I got me one that solves all kinds of problems."

"I...maybe..." Abraham jumped on the controls, desperately trying to turn the valve more but couldn't.

"Sir, our options are limited here. I'm afraid-"

"Ten seconds!" a voice boomed out from the helicopter. "Ten seconds and I order my Guardians to open fire."

Broken, his face a twisted mess of contradicting emotions, Abraham slowly turned the valve in the other direction, shrinking the flame. The balloon, carried still by the winds, began to make a gradual descent.

Raymond grabbed him by the shoulder. "What the hell are you doing! We aren't handing Po over to that thing!" Raymond pushed him away to grab the controls himself, stopped cold by Jake's brick like fists pushing him back.

"Let go of me!" Raymond yelled, kicking his legs out.

"Settle down kid," Jake said. "This ain't over yet."

Seeing that the balloon was descending, the helicopter zoomed out, tailing them as the gondola quickly sank. Po was sitting in the corner of the gondola, his eyes shut tight, muttering something to himself as beads of sweat dripped along the sides of his chubby cheeks.

"Everyone brace yourselves!" Jake shouted.

The gondola hit the ground hard, bouncing as it dragged along the rocky surface of the dried out river. Po cried soft tears as the balloon draped over them.

"Everyone stay close," Abraham said, stepping out of the gondola. With Jake propping up the deflated balloon, Raymond took Po by the arm and followed along. Outside, he could hear the slowing whumps of the helicopter blades.

Holding a brown leather medical bag, Zephaniah exited the chopper. The colors on his exposed forearms shifted and warped from purple to blue to yellow to red. "Greetings," the man said, approaching them. "Your brother here. Po. He has something in his blood stream, something I desperately need to study."

Zephaniah looked at Raymond now and smiled.

"You don't remember me, do you?"

Raymond looked at the man with an awkward gaze. Partly because of his natural fear of the creature. Mostly because he was thinking of a way to kill it. He said nothing, holding Po's arm tighter.

"No, of course you don't," Zephaniah said, shaking his head. "It was a long time ago. Another lifetime. You were just a child."

"I wemember," Po said softly. "You were the Wizard."

"Po?" Raymond said. "Who is this?"

"I worked with your father," Zephaniah said. "We were friends, he and I, until I let him down. As I said. Another world. A dead world that makes no difference to anyone now." He lowered his head and walked up close to Raymond and Po. "When I learned that Jehu droned Po, I noticed something. Something very strange." With the lines criss-crossing his face seeming to boil over in red, he stood in front of Po and stared. "A blood sample Raymond. That's it. One simple blood sample and I let him and all of you go."

In the forest behind them the sound of cracking wood echoed loudly along the sloping ravine. "Oh Zeph," a familiar voice boomed from within the forest. "When are you gonna get it?"

He was coming for them. The next second, crackling branches from the tallest treetops drew their attention to the night sky, as Jehu propelled himself over a towering maple, landing hard just inches from Zephaniah's tired gaze. "Old doc Bean fucked us all."

Jehu stood over Zephaniah, brooding. "Old Man Bean may not be able to tell me where he's at, but I bet you one of these three can."

"Ah, good evening Jehu," Zephaniah quipped, giving a short bow. "I see it must be your feeding time."

"As always, a barrel of laughs Zeph," Jehu replied. "Now get out of my way and give me what's mine."

"What's yours?" Zephaniah said, breaking out in laughter. "Why I didn't think they were your type."

The veins in Jehu's arms suddenly flowed red. From their position behind Zephaniah, Raymond could see Jehu's eyes flicker in shades of red and bright pink as he stepped in closer to the older man. "Mock me one more time and I'll-"

"You'll what, John? Kill me?" he said. "Again? Please, you have no idea what you're interfering with. We're dying you fool! And this one here has what I think to be a cure. A _real_ cure!"

"Get bent old man!" His chest was beating hard while the bulging veins under his thick muscular biceps churned a twisted red and yellow. "You know you don't want to cure us! You want to make us like them!" He stared down at the old man, the same way Raymond could look down at his dad. "After all we sacrificed? No way. I worked too hard to get here to go back now. And I'm pretty sure that goes for the rest of us."

Zephaniah visibly cringed while the blood in his veins shifted to match the skin hues of blue and orange crawling up his wrists and forearms.

"Even if you found it John, do you even know how it works? There's only one man who understood that infernal machine and he's-"

"Dead?" Jehu laughed. Red hues like fire spread rapidly over every muscle of his body while his shout echoed along the dry river basin. "Maybe, maybe not."

Zephaniah stared down at him, shaking his head. "Please John, we've been through this many times before. You just don't remember anymore. That's part of our problem. We have the Rager variation, you know that. It's just a matter of time before the half-ass cure I concocted loses its ability to keep us..."

Before Zephaniah could finish, Jehu had lifted him into the air and hurled him into the backyard of a nearby cottage.

"Doesn't matter doc," he said, landing in a controlled crouch right next to him. "I have Bean's kids. All three of them. If one doesn't talk, the other dies. Figure I got me three chance to pull out the intel."

"No, John. We've done enough killing," he shouted. Leaning back against the cottage's brick exterior, he turned just enough to avoid another powerful blow from Jehu's fist. The impact turned the aging brick to shards of pebble.

"You were a decent man once!" Zephaniah pleaded. "Dammit! Fight it off! We take the blood, we end our madness and we leave the Bean family alone. Now get out of my way."

Before Zephaniah could take a step, Jehu grabbed him by the back of the arms and sent him soaring back across the dried riverbed. His body flailed as it was thrust forward through the air, the moonlight flickering within Zephaniah's now rapidly color-shifting eyes.

"Oh Zeph, haven't you worked for me long enough to know never to turn your back?" he thundered. He rocketed into the air as Zephaniah bounced to a stop, his face slamming solidly against the edge of a half-buried pontoon boat. As he hit it, the dried seaweed shook off the hull to reveal the name, "Enterprise" on its side. With an evil smile, Jehu lifted his foot.

"One to beam up." Still smiling, he thrust his boot down hard onto Zephainah's leg. With a single sickening crack, blood sprayed up over Jehu's black boots. Zephaniah's screams went on forever as Jehu paced jubilantly back and forth, wiping the mess from his boots onto the side of the pontoons. His smile grew as he began to walk towards Po.

"What you call madness Zeph, I call glory."

With a deep howl, Zephaniah snapped his leg back into place. Through the tear in the man's robes, Raymond could see a bubbling of the skin surrounding the spot where the leg had been broken at. Slowly, around the edges of the gash, more color changes as the wound healed itself completely.

"The rate of deterioration John," Zephaniah said, rising to his feet. "It's alarming. We had thought ourselves immortal." He shook his head. "Months. Perhaps only weeks."

Jehu turned around with a growl. "Enough! If we find Adam Bean, none of this matters!" He looked at Zephaniah and howled, his skin shifting colors. Raymond even thought he could see his skin moving as the man continued to look up into the night and scream.

"Look at yourself John!" Zephaniah countered. "Do you think we're normal? Each day, we slip into bouts of insanity. Look at Boorwhich! The Mother, John, really? She's so far gone she actually believes she can make the world immortal! She truly thinks she's the bride of God!"

Jehu bounded towards Zephaniah with another growl. "Watch your blasphemous tongue old man!"

Zephaniah didn't waver. "Even me old friend, there are hours that I can't recollect, and when I do, I wish I hadn't. All of us, we're all growing more irrational and xenophobic by the day. Even now," he said, looking Jehu in the eyes. "I feel certain...urges. Urges that I find...unnatural. Splicing their genes into us was always supposed to be a stop-gap measure, never a permanent cure."

"You're an idiot Zeph! A goddamned idiot! A cure!" He stopped and looked off at the dam and the swirling spotlights. "Immortality Zeph! That's what I'm after. It's the only way to ensure the survival of our species." Slowly, his mouth twisted in a grin, he stepped towards the older man like a mountain lion stalking a doe. "Of course...how does that old Springsteen song go? Poor man wants to be rich, rich man wants to be king?" The stripes on his bare chest churned a hot red. "Sure, we'll make the masses immortal, like the stupid bitch says. But in a world of immortals Nick, there still needs to be gods!"

Screaming, Jehu shot out his arms, trying to grab Zephaniah by the shoulders again, but he was too slow this time. Shooting up into the night sky, the older man landed several yards away. This time he was ready.

"It doesn't matter," he said, breathing heavily. "Immortality's a fool's errand John. We'll never get there. You know that our deterioration proceeds unabated. The grafting of their DNA strands onto our own may have slowed the effects of the nano-virus. Despite Boorwhich's delusional grasp of the truth, it even gave us a limited version of the powers possessed by the test subjects. But it has not eliminated the infection."

Zephaniah looked over at Po and smiled, as a buoy, covered in dark dried seaweed smashed into his skull. Within moments, Jehu landed again at his feet.

He looked down at Zephaniah, whose face was bloodied from scraping along the rocks and debris from the dry river bottom. Even now though, those scrapes and cuts were busy healing themselves, like mini-menders stitching away the hurt.

"That was always your problem Nicky. You and all your scientist friends down at Costello. Too small-minded. Bean though, he was different. He saw the greater potential."

"Yes," Zephaniah said, while blood still trickled out from a rapidly healing wound in his skull. "But he was wise enough to destroy it."

"Oh he didn't destroy it Nick," Jehu said, stepping directly onto the spot on the old man's leg that had been crushed earlier. Raymond could hear the bones once again splitting and snapping as Jehu's foot continued to drive into his flesh. As the bubbles formed, Jehu would step on it again. And again. Each time, the bubbles took longer to come back. Finally, the wound just bled.

Jehu removed his foot. "Oh, we'd have known if he destroyed it," he smiled. "Something like that just doesn't get unplugged. Adam Bean locked it away somewhere. And his kids here are the keys to get it back."

With great pain, Zephaniah attempted to straighten out his contorted legs, though it seemed his shattered bones weren't healed enough to do that. "Stop him!" he shouted through gritted teeth to his contingent of drones.

But they stood at attention. Motionless. Jehu began to laugh. "I made the Guardians, you old fool," he bellowed. "They do what I say!" He rubbed his hands together before combing them through the strands of knotted orange hair coming out the sides of his helmet.

"Come here little Po-Po," Jehu teased. "That's what your daddy used to call you, isn't it? That guy was so proud of his little Po-Po." As he walked closer, Jehu signaled Zephaniah's drones to follow him, which they did, along with more than two dozen others that suddenly emerged from the forest along their sides, a clanging cacophony of metal armor, swarming into formation.

Raymond got in front of Po who had his head down, sobbing. Another bully looking to tear him down. "Get away from him!" Raymond shouted. He cocked his rifle, raising it to eye-level. "Now!"

Jehu waltzed towards him with a grin. "How are you gonna stop me little Ray-Ray?"

The drones surrounded them now in a circle. Smiling like a jackal, Jehu crept through, stopping just a few feet from Raymond, his palms out in a mocking gesture of peaceful atonement. "Come now Raymond, I respect your devotion to family. You want to protect your brother. That's good. Family's all that matters kid. Too bad your old man never got that. He took his eyes off the prize."

He stepped closer to Raymond. "As for your brother, the tortures I have planned for him are simply delightful," he said. "You're gonna wish you kept him droned." That same rancid scent of aftershave and whiskey filled Raymond's nostrils as Jehu's smiling face stepped in to size up his prey. Raymond's eyes, as if in genuflection, gazed upwards.

A rush of purple streaked across the night sky as Zephaniah landed square on Jehu's shoulders, pinning him to the ground. The drones drew away from Raymond and the others and focused on this new threat. "You know Jehu," he said, punching him in the ribs so hard that Raymond could hear them crack. "This man-crush you got on Adam Bean really is getting to be a problem." He punched him again and again in the rib cage, making sure to strike him in the exact same spot

"When...I...heal..." Jehu muttered, blood pouring from his lips.

"Yes, when you heal," Zephaniah said. "But by that point, I'll have already extracted enough blood from young Po to-" He looked around. They were gone.

Raymond looked back to see Jehu struggling to his feet. Hunched over, he was already barking orders to his drones. Grabbing Po by the hand, Raymond ran hard to keep up with the others. Abraham was out in front, running fast. Passing through a row of densely packed cattails, they emerged at once to a graveyard of party craft.

"Do you know where you're going?" Raymond shouted, catching up to Abraham.

"Yes 'Ray-Ray" Abraham mocked. "I know where we're going."

"Good, because when we get there, I'm going to beat you bloody."

Raymond looked back to see the rapidly approaching red lights of the drones poking holes through the forest. Ahead of him, Jake spotted a blue Dodge Challenger, dried weeds covering its wheels. He quickly grabbed a clump, jammed them into the gas tank and lit it up.

"If the fuel hasn't evaporated, it may buy us some time," he shouted.

More bright red dots beamed out from the forest and the drones emerged onto the street. Raymond and the others took off quickly as the fuel left in the gas tank ignited. With a loud boom the car exploded into a fireball of mangled blue metal, forcing the drones back.

Raymond and Po followed the others around the corner to a vine-covered brick colonial on an acre lot that backed to where the river used to be. Abraham ran fast along its side. "Get down!"

"You have no idea where we're going, do you?" Raymond yelled.

"Listen Raymond," Abraham replied. "You don't try running from the Elected, especially Jehu. It's what he expects. He makes a game out it."

"So what," Raymond said furiously, "we just stay here? Wait until the killer robots slaughter us? Some things never change, do they Abe. Still a wussy."

Jake grabbed Raymond by the arm, pulling him close.

"Watch your mouth sally girl!" he shouted. "Abraham's the bravest guy I ever..."

Abraham raised his hand, cutting him off. "Don't waste your time Jake, it's not worth getting in the middle of this fight. It's pointless."

"I'm sorry sir, I just don't like little pricks like this one talking shit about..."

Jake paused, looking up at Po who was glaring at him, his eyes narrowed.

"Um, what did I do to piss off this one?" Jake asked, slowly letting go of Raymond's arm.

Raymond jerked it away and stepped back.

"Oh," Abraham said with a grin. "I should have warned you. Po doesn't like potty mouths."

"Uh, sorry kid," Jake said. "But I'm an ex-Marine..."

"Guys!" Salome yelled out. "I think we have bigger things to worry about right now!" She peered out over the dry riverbed up to the dam. Standing on top of the dam, right at the middle of the walkway, was Jehu. Drones in a tight formation surrounded him on both sides.

He seemed to be looking directly back at them as he paced along the edge of the massive dam, peering over it. He raised his hands to his mouth.

"You know," he shouted down to them. "I love fishing. Why, I remember once, before the Rapture, I took my yacht out to this little freshwater inlet off the coast of Cuba. Yep, just yours truly, some chiquitas from Miami and a suitcase full of coke."

Raymond stood in silence, watching every move the cocky bastard was making as he monologued over the dam's walkway.

"Well we're there all day and I'm not catching a thing. That doesn't sit well with me, you know? Just doesn't fit my personality. I'm kind of a type A, you know? I like to get things done quick. So, you know what I did?"

He stood at the top of the dam, peering down its steep edge, into the valley below. He waited patiently, as if expecting to receive an answer. The flanking drones, which had to number in the several dozen, stood motionless.

He raised his hands back to his mouth. "I blew 'em out of the water!" He casually walked behind the line of drones, over to the other side of the dam.

"Suicide!" he shouted. All at once, the drones lowered their heads and dropped their weapons. The red lights on their face plates began to flash.

"Goddamit!" Jake said, almost to himself. "He's blowing up the dam."

"What?" Raymond yelled.

"He issued a self-destruct command to the drones. It overloads the tri-lithium batteries that power their suits." He turned suddenly to Abraham. "Sir," he said. "Do you remember the safe house in Milwaukee?"

Abraham lowered his eyebrows and nodded.

"One single drone," Jake continued, "took out an entire four story building. It left an impact crater six feet deep! There are 36 drones positioned on top of the dam, ready to blow. And when they do, watch out. There ain't going to be a thing left of this dam but dust."

"How much time do we have?" Raymond frantically asked.

Jake tightened his lips and shook his head slowly. "None. None at all. I sure hope someone brought bubble bath."

"We have to run!" Salome shouted, grabbing Abraham by the arm.

"Yeah," Abraham said. "let's go!"

Jake stood up. "I told you, there ain't no time! When the dam blows, this entire basin's gonna be gushing some twenty feet deep with the Chosen's holy water faster than you can say a Hail Mary."

"Hail Mary," Raymond said to himself, looking down the dry riverbed. "All of you, follow me," Raymond yelled. "I think I have an idea." Without waiting for the others, he started running towards the dam.

Po ran right beside him. "Hey Waymond," he shouted. "Just in case you didn't know, the bad guys are right where you're running."

"I know Chewie," Raymond shouted back. "That's the plan."

"What the hell are you doing?" Salome yelled. "We need to run away from the dam muchacho, not towards it!" Shaking her head, she darted down the hill after Raymond with Jake and Abraham close behind.

"Not this time," Raymond yelled back. "You ever go white-water rafting?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jake said with a snarl.

"The pontoon boat! The one that Jehu threw the other guy into! We might not have time to out run the water, but we may have time to out ride it!"

Confused, Jake looked over at Abraham, "Sir?"

Abraham narrowed his eyes. "Folks took us white water rafting on the Colorado River when we were freshman. I stayed with Po exploring the canyon. Raymond broke his arm and nearly drowned. This should be good. That is, if we don't die of course."

"Oh we're gonna die," Jake barked. "And you know death by drowning isn't even on my top ten list! Well, maybe the Chosen keep piranhas in that lake. Least that'll be close to making number seven."

Making it to the overturned pontoon boat, Raymond glanced up to the dam to see that the blinking eyes of the drones had stopped. At once, a high pitched screech like the sound of stereo feedback from a misplaced microphone began to emanate from the top of the dam.

"Get ready people!" Abraham shouted. "The 19 be with us!"

The boat was turned on its side, with the pontoon marked "Enterprise" partially buried in the dirt of the dried river. "Come on!" Raymond yelled, pushing his shoulder into the side of the overturned boat while Po leaned in his broad shoulder, offering immediate assistance. "Give us a hand! Let's see if we can push this thing back over."

Jake and Abraham rushed to Raymond's side, pushing hard with all of their might. Salome found a spot and began pushing forward along the top of the padded seats.

Raymond looked up to the dam as they continued to try to get the boat to budge. The sound of the drones had risen so high now that it was almost undetectable. Somewhere, off in the distance, Raymond thought he heard a dog howl. He could only hope it was their red rascal.

With a final push, the buried pontoon budged and the boat fell down with a thud, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Raymond rushed to get on board. "Find a seat and grab hold of something!" he yelled.

Reaching the front of the boat, he stood behind its controls and grabbed hold of the steering wheel. Like that would even matter. He looked up to the dam to see Zephaniah flinging himself onto Jehu's back. Like two battling titans, they tumbled off the face of the dam as the drones exploded into a nebulae of burning blue.

Then came the roar.

Chapter 9

The bottled fury of the Fox Lake was unleashed like the mighty buffalo herds that once roamed the Illinois prairie. Their thundering hooves echoed across the dry basin while chunks of debris from the dam collided with the power station near its base. The mighty buffalo, hurling themselves free, were raging towards them from behind the crest of a wave that was at least fifty feet tall.

Jake shot up from his seat and squeezed close to Po. He stared like a madman at the approaching waves, whipping one arm outside of the boat, gripping its side like he was going to bend it in half. The other arm gripped tightly around Po. The buffalo were here. Holding his head back in a defiant rage, he screamed.

"Here she comes!"

The waters cascaded over them with such force that Raymond had to wrap his ankle around the narrow steering column to keep from being tossed into the chaos. He hardly imagined how the others could still be there. Part of him hoped that one of them wasn't.

Like Raymond's take on Abe, the boat refused to budge, stubbornly keeping its pontoons planted in the now churning river bottom. But then, a chunk of something solid brushed against the boat's side and it had a change of heart. And like the cork from the champagne bottle Coach Salerno popped when their football team won state, the boat shot to the surface.

Raymond sucked in the returning air. They were flying now, careening over the moonlit waters faster than a drunk speed boater on old Lake Como. The passing shoreline was a blur of weeds and occasional back porches. Raymond didn't even know if his attempts at steering were making any difference. And he didn't care. They were free. Looking down at the sparkling clear waters carrying them away, Raymond smiled. The river was happy to be free too.

Po stood up tall. "Whooooooo, hoo!" he proudly cheered. While Raymond pretended to steer, the others celebrated with high fives and hugs. Raymond took a glance back just as Abraham planted a long kiss on Salome's lips.

She could have him. He had to carry them through this. All of them. Though it appeared for the moment that the river was carrying him. As they burst around another bend, the river began to straighten out and widen. After a time, the currents began to slow.

"So, do you think they survived?" Salome said. "Jehu and Zephaniah?"

"They couldn't have," Raymond said. "I saw their bodies hit the floor of the power station at the base of the dam. It had to have been like a hundred foot drop."

Po shook his head. "The bad guys never die that easy Waymond," he said. "Don't you know that by now?"

Abraham smiled as he cuddled closer to Salome "That's right Po, they don't. We've seen the bad guys die before. Only to come back even stronger. But that's all gonna change now Po."

Po peered over at Abraham a bit suspiciously. "Weally Abey?"

"Sir," Jake said, getting Abraham's attention. He then leaned over, whispering something in his ear.

"What are you two talking about?" Raymond said.

"Nothing," Jake said flatly. "None of your business kid."

Raymond had had enough. "Hey asshole," he screamed back. "My brother. My business. Every time your precious prophet gets an idea into his head, someone gets hurt. That ain't happening again." He clenched his fists, ready to tango with this cat just like he did with the quarterback in high school who made fun of Po. "Ever. Again."

Jake started to stand but Abraham pulled him back down. Closing his eyes, he leaned against the torn leatherback seat cushions lining the benches along the side of the boat and lifted his head. Opening his eyes, he stared up at the moon and the sparkling stars while he looked back at Raymond with a steady grin.

"Yes, I suppose you're right," Abraham replied calmly. Keeping his balance as the pontoon boat continued to sail the rapids, he stood by Po.

"You heard what Jehu said Po, about Dad being alive?" he said, still looking off towards Raymond. "Well it's true."

"Weally Abey?" Po said with a startled smile.

Raymond swung around. "Stop lying to him!" he shouted. "God!" he continued, punching the side of the boat. "Nothing's changed with you Abe! Still always trying to get people to buy in to your bull-"

"WAYMOND!" Po scolded. "Watch your potty mouth!"

Raymond turned back around, his attentions drawn to the rapidly swelling waves. "Sorry Po," Raymond shouted. "But whatever Abe tells you, it's a lie. You know that, right?" "

Abraham shook his head, looking back over at Jake and Salome.

"Jake," he said. "Do you mind telling the group what we know?" He sat next to Po and let out a deep sigh. "It seems that my credibility is being called into question."

"Not by me sir," Jake said sternly, looking over at Raymond whose back was turned towards them. "Your dad was working on a cure for Down syndrome."

"Oh please!" Raymond shouted. "We already knew all about that. That's why the guy was gone so much. Trying to work on a cure for someone who was already perfect. Bunch of bullshit if you ask me. And none of it means the old man's still alive."

"It does when we learn that he didn't die Ray!"

Raymond got up from the resin backed chair, stomped past the remnants of a tiny tiki bar and smacked Abraham hard across the side of the head.

"Bastard!" he screamed as Abraham jumped to his feet. "You lying sack of-"

But Abraham had already grabbed Raymond's arm and swung him around. Kneeing him from behind, he pushed Raymond face-forward over the side of the pontoon boat.

"It's no lie Ray," Abraham shouted. "I was there that night too. That night dad left."

"Yeah," Raymond said, his head locked down inches from the river's currents. "Bet you cried like a baby seeing your hero walk out like that."

"I did. I won't lie. For a few minutes I cried like the child I was. I cried out every last of those child tears. Then I chased out after him. I ran like a lunatic down Lincoln, then Lark. I ran past houses on fire with the stench of corpses and past half-buried bodies." He pulled Raymond's arm so tight now he thought it was going to snap. He pushed him closer to the water. Raymond thought it was beautiful.

"Then you know what I saw Ray?"

"No asshole," Raymond yelled back, grimacing in pain. "Tell me."

"I saw dad get into the passenger seat of a Ford Fairlane and drive away." With that, he quickly snapped loose Raymond's arm and pushed him away.

"What?" Raymond said, rubbing his arm.

"He was tired Ray, exhausted. Near death, perhaps. But he didn't have the Rap. And whoever he was with didn't have it either."

Both brothers turned from each other, standing inches apart near the cushioned seats along the side of the boat. Salome took Abraham's hand into her own and sighed.

"Tell him my love," she said softly. "Tell him why we're here. And where we're going."

"What is it Abey?" Po asked.

"Jake," Abraham said. "Tell my brothers what you came to me with."

"Yes sir," Jake replied with a tinge of pride in his deep voice. "Your brother here saved my life. I was in a dark place. A place no man should ever be. And he came to me and without any care for his own safety, saved me. After I was healed, and after I realized the truth to his preachings about the 19, I came to him with what I knew."

"What was that Mr. Jake?" Po asked.

"That your old man was working on something that would do a heck of a lot more than just cure people with Down syndrome. A helluva lot more," he said, looking at Raymond now, who had returned to pretending to steer the boat. Keeping it centered, he turned back to the conversation.

"Nanobodies. That's was dad's expertise was in. I tried explaining it to you once but you were too busy figuring out who you were going to call to buy beer for the party you were planning."

"Yeah," Raymond laughed. "Explains why I needed to drink all the time - to tune out your annoying voice."

Abraham ignored him. "Dad wasn't just thinking about a cure for Down syndrome. He was looking at a range of disorders that had to do with the 21st chromosome. Alzheimers, Parkinson's Disease. Down syndrome was just one of them." He paused for a moment and looked at Po. "It just so happens that the first subjects given the nano treatments happened to have Down syndrome."

"What happened to them Abe?" Po asked.

Abraham smiled. "They developed powers that far exceeded anyone's wildest expectations Po. They became gods. Superheroes. Powers that would make Superman look as weak as...well, as Batman. And there were 19 of them. It's my belief that the reason for Dad's condition when we last saw him was that he took them some place. Some place safe. Some place hidden."

"Or, maybe you're just crazy," Raymond said. "Even if what you're saying is true, why would he hide them? Wouldn't he just want them to keep helping people?"

"Don't be naive kid," Jake growled. "You see what it's like out there now with the Chosen and the Elected. Well, let me tell you, in the weeks and months after the Rap it was even worse. Especially for those of us who didn't have the luxury of a Lake Como." He shook his head and looked out to the burned out houses on the other side of the dark river. "When those that kept on living had to fight nightmares worse than an inferno of blood sucking demons..." He shook his head and frowned. "The Rap killed billions, sure. But we who survived? Man, we did a pretty good job killing what was left."

Abraham turned fully around, placing his hands on Po's shoulders. He looked at him and smiled before looking up to Raymond. "Dad had to know that these 19, as powerful as they may have been, that they just weren't up to the fight yet. Not a fight like that one."

"So, what?" Raymond said. "You're saying that dad's got them in some Fortress of Solitude or something? Keeping them tucked away until the time's right to reveal them to the world?"

"Perhaps," Abraham replied.

"And what if there's no world left when he decides to bring them back?"

Abraham shook his head. "I understand your doubt Ray, I truly do. But consider this. The Chosen are growing stronger by the day. We can't keep on protecting Po from them. Not me..." He lowered his head. "Not even you. But the 19, if there's even a chance that what I'm saying is true, they could. They could keep Po and people like him safe from the Elected forever."

"Are you so sure about that?" Raymond asked. "Even if these 19 are real, they can't be everywhere at once. And what makes you think that if you do find them that you'll be able to convince them to fight for you anyway?"

"Because Ray," Abraham said. "We have faith. They just need to know that we believe in them, that we-"

"Enough!" Raymond shouted, pounding his fist against the boat's Plexiglas steering column. "You just think that if you pray your rosary hard enough and sprinkle on some fairy dust that these 19 Tinkerbelles will fly out and save the world from the wicked? Faith? Is that what you think this is about? Did having faith save our friends and neighbors? You know what faith is Abe? Faith is shit!"

Abraham looked at him like he was going to cry or throw a bunch. Raymond couldn't tell.

"Faith saved dad, Ray," he said softly.

"Yes," Raymond said, letting out a laugh. "It's just too bad his wasn't a life worth saving."

Raymond thought quick about another comeback to a jab that Abe was sure to return with. Something that crushed him. Something that won the argument.

But nothing came. Just icy silence as the boat drifted along, passing empty shacks and dead dormant trees, their spindly grey branches reaching down to a river that had been cut off - but was now returning. Passing by their skeleton-like trunks, Raymond wondered if life would ever return.

The silence festered as they moved down river. And Raymond enjoyed it. He was too exhausted to continue a sibling rivalry that could never be settled anyway. Looking ahead at the moonbeam ripples, he continued navigating the pontoon boat around a bend in the river. All along the sides of the slowing currents, Raymond could see rocks and debris kicked up by the water's return.

Raymond had no idea where he was at. By his calculations, they could be anywhere near McHenry by now, maybe even further south. Moraine Valley was one of the places he and his friends would fish at. If that were true though, they would have seen felt it. The last time Raymond was there, the river was plugged by a dam. Unless those chunks of debris he had spotted earlier was what was left of it.

The boat approached an overpass, a road leading to some dark town that Raymond couldn't recognize. The overpass itself seemed to be freshly clear of the grass and weeds that covered most of the roads he remembered seeing back in Lake Como.Peering east, he could almost make out the dim flicker of candle light behind the family room window of a river's edge mansion. In front of a shed at the back of the yard, Raymond could see a raccoon scrounging around for a late night snack. Raymond heard a rumbling roar.

It was Po, snoring. The others were sleeping too. Everyone but Abraham. Slowly rising, he walked over and sat on a bench next to Raymond.

"Sorry brother," he said in a hushed tone. "For this. For everything. For things that both of us probably can't even remember anymore. I'm sorry."

Raymond just shook his head. He started to say something and stopped, looking out at the raccoon as it took a tentative sip from the river's edge.

"What did that guy want with Po's blood?" he finally said.

"Hard to say for sure, Ray. Could be he know's something we don't. Of course, all of the elected are insane. Chances are, he's delusional. You can't trust anything that the Elected say Ray. Whatever we do, we need to keep Po away from them."

Raymond nodded in agreement. "I was a little rough on you out there," he added. "I'm sorry too."

Abraham smiled, looking out at a stretch of farmland opening up to the south. Raymond turned towards it, releasing a long sigh as a bat shot out from the stalks of corn, darting across the meandering river.

"We'll need to park this beast soon," Raymond said with a yawn. "I suppose you and your friends will be leaving us in the morning. Got any idea where you'll be going?"

"Youngstown, Ohio, Ray. And I assumed you and Po would be coming with us."

Raymond looked up at Abraham. "No," he said firmly. "Me and Po aren't going to Youngstown."

"But you have to Ray. It's where dad grew up. Think of the clues we may be able to dig up there. At the very least, with everyone migrating to Illinois to join the Elected's New Eden, places like Youngstown are pretty empty. We'd be safe there."

"Doubtful," Raymond said.

"But Ray, together, we can do so much. It's what Po would want you know. To be together."

"This matter's closed. If I have learned anything these past few days it's that the only way to keep Po safe is to find a better place to hide."

"Seriously Ray? Is that really all you've learned?"

"No, not all," Raymond replied. "I've learned that people don't change. I've learned that the world was uglier than I thought. I learned you can't trust anyone. I learned..."

Raymond stopped, his voice trailing off as he stood up.

"What the hell is that?" he shouted, pointing up to a quickly moving set of lights he was tracking as it flew across the sky from the north.

"Pull this thing over man," Abraham said. "Looks like a Chosen helicopter. Could be searching for us."

Raymond quickly nodded. "Doing it now," he shouted, turning the wheel hard. The boat's rusty rudders responded painfully, moving the boat in the direction of the shoreline. "Go wake the others! Let them know to brace for impact!"

"Everybody up!" Abraham yelled.

"What's happening?" Po said, rubbing his eyes.

"Just found a place to rest for the night," Abraham said, putting his arm around Po as he took a seat next to him. He was still tracking the lights.

"Sir?' Jake said.

"Search chopper. Be ready."

Jake nodded, gripping the handrail on the back of the boat. Salome did the same.

Somehow, the boat veered successfully to the shoreline, crashing harmlessly into a line of more mostly dead trees. Behind the trees Raymond could make out traces of a brick path leading up to another empty cottage. It's roof had caved in and by the pairs of low-to-the-ground moonlit eyes staring back at them, it appeared to be inhabited. Everything else around them was wide open field.

"Come on," Abraham said, already on the ground beyond the trees. He flipped on a flashlight. "We need to find deeper cover."

"How about that?" Po said, pointing at something just up the hill.

Walking uphill, they looked out at the edge of a vast cornfield. While weeds and brush lined the edges, the inner stalks seemed quite tall and healthy. A nondescript white sign stood in front of the field. The wind was starting to kick up now, carrying with it a potpourri of autumn leaves and debris as Raymond squinted to read it.

Glorious Shekinah Meaning of Life Farm 42

"Odd name for a farm," Raymond said, shrugging his shoulders. As he started into the cornfield Salome grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back.

"Are you crazy?" she stammered. "We can't go in there!"

"Why not?"

"This is the Mother's farm!"

"The who?"

"The Mother! Are you stupid?"

"No, I'm not," he replied, staring peevishly at Abe. "Just uneducated."

"The Mother is the leader of the Chosen," Jake said. "The leader of the Elected. The Bride of God and all of that bullshit? The one Zephaniah said was wacko? You trying to tell us you never heard of her?"

"No, I haven't." Raymond replied. Looking around at the field, he started to walk. "Come on. It seems dead."

Before he had even set foot past the sign, he could hear it. He could always hear it before Po could. From far beyond the fields, Raymond's nightmare whistles echoed. He crouched in front of the sign and froze.

"What are you doing kid?" Jake asked, looking around. He looked up and down the line of the field, checking out every movement.

"They're coming!" Raymond shouted back.

Po ran over to him. "It's gonna be all right Waymond!" he said. Do you want Po to tell you a story?

"No Po," he said, trying to shake off the embarrassment. The whistling turned now into a blaring alarm. The men on horseback were close. Painfully close for Raymond.

"Dammit," Abraham said. "Everyone, into the cornfield! Hurry!"

Charging into the field, the cornstalks rose around them like emaciated ghouls growing up from the inky black soil. They ran, faster and faster as the stalks tried blocking their advance. They were so tall and tightly packed, Raymond wasn't even sure what direction they were heading. And he didn't care. All he knew was that they were heading away from the shrieking winds.

They stepped out suddenly to a small clearing in the field, where the stalks of corn had been flattened. Po screamed. Abraham aimed his flashlight on something directly ahead.

It was Jehu. Wielding a sword, he hovered over them with his stringy orange hair and demonic scowl. Po let out another horrific scream and jumped back behind the stalks of corn. Raymond stood his ground. If Jehu wanted them dead, Raymond wasn't going to make it easy. He and the others would fight long enough to give Po a chance to escape. He was confident of that. Raymond crouched into a defensive stance as Abraham put the flashlight back into his pocket.

Because it wasn't Jehu. Stepping closer to the figure he noticed it wasn't anything human, or whatever Jehu was, at all. It was a scarecrow.

"Po, come here!" Abraham laughed, calling into the surrounding stalks.

Trembling, Po stumbled slowly back into the clearing. "Oh my god!" he shouted, pointing at the macabre scarecrow.

"What?" Raymond asked, puzzled.

"Are you cwazy Waymond?" Po yelled. "Don't you remember _Planet of the Apes_? We have to get outa here! They're coming!!"

From somewhere close by they heard another high-pitched cry. Not a whistle this time. But a whimper.

"What the hell was that?" Jake said, looking out towards the spot where the sound came.

"Sounded like a cry," Salome said. "Like a child's cry."

"Come on," Abraham said, charging into the stalks of corn. Po was right behind him.

Raymond followed. Within a few moments, they tripped into to another wide clearing where the stalks had been flattened. Only this time, they looked to have been violently smashed down. Stalks had been torn from the ground and fresh husks were tossed about. Many of the ears of corn had gashes bit out of them. Raymond froze.

"What in the hell is that?" Raymond bellowed.

"Abraham..." Salome let out slowly. "We need to run."

It was a little girl. But she wasn't alone. Three...others were hunched over her. The shadows. Rapid raspy breaths produced a thick steam that circled the frightened little girl. Wearing a pink University of Wisconsin sweatshirt and dirt-stained white sweatpants, she cowered beneath them, trembling. Clutching a ragged brown teddy bear, she recoiled into the flattened stalks, condemned.

"Ragers," Raymond said.

"Yeah kid," Jake said, reaching for his pistol. The Ragers turned and smiled. "And they look hungry."

Raymond cocked his rifle. "Hey!" he shouted, stepping into the clearing. "Move away from the girl or I-"

They turned at once, their mouths in wide pointed smiles, and charged.

A slender woman in a threadbare hospital gown led it. She cackled as her gown flowed behind her like a tattered pirate's sail. All Raymond could see before he pulled the trigger were blood red eyes, a manic smile and thick bunches of bloody tumors covering her head. She hit the ground laughing while the blood poured from her chest.

Threat of gunshot did nothing to stop the other two. They were on them. A guy in ripped army fatigues and wisps of a white afro, smashed his tumor-covered skull hard into Raymond's chest, launching him into the corn stalks.

On his back, Raymond looked up to see the third creature ready to leap on them both. But all he could hear was afro-guy's teeth clicking, trying like hell to gnaw into Raymond's thigh as Abraham desperately tried to hold it back. Somewhere, past the fog of battle, Raymond thought he could see Po protecting the little girl.

The third rager, a woman in a red coat, leaped instead on Abraham, her blood-stained lips curled up in a devilish grin. She let out a demented high-pitched wail as she cracked her head repeatedly on Abraham's back until he lost his grip.

Everything was moving faster than Raymond could keep up with. He felt like he was about to slip into Wonderland. But something was holding him back.

It didn't matter. Afro-guy, his jaws wide open, had him pinned. He shot his head down in several quick bursts, his jaws snapping at Raymond's neck. Each time, Raymond was just a second ahead. Anticipating. Rolling to the right, then to the left. Centering himself, Raymond kicked loose and jumped to his feet. Sliding Remmy off his shoulder, he fired.

Instead of scaring her off, the rager woman holding Abraham suddenly let go and leaped at Raymond. She was laughing hysterically now, bouncing and bobbing her head like a hyper toddler. Giddy in a violent rage, she grabbed Raymond's approaching fist and pushed it into her mouth, knocking out a couple of festering teeth still remaining on her upper jaw. Purposefully? Raymond didn't think so, as she tried to sink what was left of her jagged teeth into Raymond's neck. She didn't have a chance.

Another man grabbed her by the coat and flipped her off of Raymond, whipping her onto her back in the center of the clearing. The woman, still laughing, bounced back with a moan and charged.

"Watch it!" Raymond screamed.

But it was too late. The woman had already dug her long, unkempt nails into the man's leather coat, flipping him onto his back. Like afro-guy, she was strong too. Stronger than her delicate frame would suggest. The man had a good fifty pounds of bulk on him and was still losing the fight. She was about to bite down on his exposed arm when she had a change in plans.

The woman saw Po and the little girl again and immediately jumped off the man on the ground. She whipped herself around, looking Raymond in the eye. She seemed to be asking him something. Wishing. Begging for Raymond to open fire. With a desperate laugh, she leaped towards the little girl.

Before Raymond could react, Po pounced on the woman. She was surprised for just a moment before sinking her teeth into his arm. Po grimaced but was too busy to cry out. He was spinning.

Moving faster than Raymond could ever remember Po move before, he lifted her up with a powerful bear hug up above his head, whipping her over his shoulders. He swung the woman blindly around in a circle, so fast, that the woman's head was a wailing blur. After several twirls, Po let her go, spinning her off like a runaway Tilt-a-Whirl car. Doing an uneasy twirl like a drunken ballerina, she snapped around to face the cornstalks, bent herself over and ran into the shadows, disappearing the way she came.

Raymond returned Remmy to his side as the little girl's father stood up and ran to her. Making sure she was alright, he turned around, to look Raymond over. He seemed to be considering him, determining whether or not Raymond was a threat.

The silent seconds seemed like an eternity. It was uncomfortable to look at the man. The severity of his Rapture wounds reminded him of his own mother's last days. Bulging tumors and dried over scars littered his face. He looked nearly identical to the Ragers that had just tried to kill them.

The girl's mother ran out from the stalks now to attend to her husband. Her Rapture scars were much less noticeable. Or maybe it was because she held her beauty so well. Raymond thought it was the latter.

She exchanged some words with her husband before she took a silver flask from the inside of her coat and ran towards Po, who was sitting on the ground with his right hand wrapped around the bite on his arm. Without saying a word, the woman softly coaxed Po's hand away to examine the gash.

"Unlike us," the woman said, "your kind are immune to Rager bites." With a cloth, she dabbed more of the solution from the flask over Po's wound. "But not immune to whatever bacteria it might have been carrying. This ought to clean it but you'd be good to keep an eye on it for a few days."

Po smiled back his thanks to her, looking at the woman with that eternally grateful grin he would give to their mom every time she patched a scrape or hugged him after a difficult day at Glenside. Raymond wasn't even the slightest bit resentful of the fact that it was also a look he never quite gave to Raymond, even though he did all of the same, and more, these past three years. He could never be their mom.

Still smiling, Po stood up and walked over to the little girl. She was softly sobbing, futilely trying to cram the stuffing back into the back of her teddy bear, which had been ripped open. She froze as Po approached.

Po stopped and smiled down at the girl, reaching into the lining of his lime-green windbreaker to pull something out. Without hesitation, he handed it to the little girl. It was his prized Superman doll.

The girl looked back up to Po's gentle face with a simple mixture of surprise and wonder. "Are you Santa Claus?"

Po looked confused before letting out a hearty laugh. "No, Po not Santa wittle girl. Santa's not as chubby as Po!" he said with a laugh, smacking his belly. "Nope, Po's just Po." He looked over at Raymond for a second then back at the girl. "Sorry about your teddy bear."

"That's ok mister", the little girl replied softly, brushing the tears from her face.

Po stepped forward, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the remaining tears from underneath her eyes. "You're a sweety-pie," Po said solemnly. "God always takes the most care of sweety-pies."

"What do you say Sasha?" the father stated.

"Thank you," the girl said to Po, who was still standing next to her. Overlapping sores and pockmarks did nothing to stomp out her sincerity. The little girl's soft blue eyes, wide open in wonder, were filled with an innocence that Raymond found jarring. Like praying to a god that never answered, he couldn't believe that a girl who grew up knowing only fear and despair could still shows sign of...hope.

Nodding back in silence, the father and his family ducked into the cornstalks, disappearing.

Salome walked up behind Raymond, laying her hand on his shoulder. He didn't make an effort to push her away.

"Lowlies," she said softly. "Don't see much of them anymore."

"What did that guy mean by saying we're immune?"

"Well that's why you don't see many lowlies," Abraham said. "You see Ray, there's people like you and me. You know, people who look normal and all. Then there's people like the lowlies. People who have the virus. I mean we all have the virus, right? But with the lowlies, it's bad in a different way. One bite from a Rager and a lowlie turns."

"Turns?" Raymond said.

"Yeah kid," Jake added, "into a Rager."

Raymond wanted to cry. He turned around, looking past Po at the tops of the stalks trying to find evidence of the lowly family. Gone. Or gone enough. While a light wind fluttered the leaves of the moonlit stalks Salome stood on her toes, rubbed her chest against Raymond and kissed him on the cheek.

Salome pulled back, looking over at Abraham and Jake with a laugh. "We're a good team," she said, letting out a sigh. "All of us did pretty good here tonight."

"Yeah," Jake added. "We lived another day. Of course, the night's still young and we have plenty of time to run out of luck."

Her smile faded as she saw the look on Raymond's face. Already, he was looking away from her and the others. He looked back at her with a frown, slowly shaking his head.

"What?" Salome asked.

Raymond stared down at this feet, pretending to inspect the barrel of his rifle. "Me and Po are leaving in the morning."

"Why in the hell would you do a thing like that?" she snapped back at him.

"Because Salome, there's too much danger. And you all seem to attract it."

"Oh man," Jake said, letting out a long sigh. "What kid? You think you'll be able to go back to Candyland and hide out?"

Raymond hesitated. "Sure," he replied. "Why not. It worked out just fine for me and Po before."

Jake shook his head and laughed. "You might think that hiding out under a rock will keep you safe but it won't. They'll find you. They will always find you. Now that Jehu knows you're alive? He'll flip over every rock in New Eden until he finds you. "

"Abraham!" Salome shouted. "Tell him he needs to stay!"

"I can't Salome!" Abraham shouted. He swatted down a cornstalk and turned his back on them. "Ray does what Ray wants," he said. "That's the way it's always been."

"Well sir," Jake said. "It ain't like we're talking about going to the mall for a frozen yogurt. The Elected want you sir. They want you, they want jocko over there," he said, waving off to Raymond. "And they want Po. Zephaniah especially. He has a jones for him. Don't know why, but he does. We know that. And Jehu? You can bet all our sorry asses that he's made damned sure to burn all our cute, pretty faces into the mission memories of the drone collective."

"Uh, guys?" Salome suddenly said, a tone of worry in her voice. "What's he doing?" She was pointing at Po.

Everyone turned to see Po holding his head back like he was looking at the Man in the Moon. With his head jerking side to side, his blue eyes shot up, leaving a bloodshot white. The next moment, he was on his back.

"Po!" Raymond yelled, running to him. The others did the same. Abraham knelt next to him, taking his hand while Jake hurriedly looked him over.

"Could be a seizure," he said, checking his mouth.

"A seizure?" Raymond yelled. "He's never had a seizure in his life!" Raymond looked down at Po's pale cheeks as spiddle dripped from the corner of his lips.

Jake shrugged. "Sorry kid, I was a recruited field medic, not a doc."

"Po?" Abraham said. "You ok?"

"Give him some room," Salome said.

With a jarring shriek that filled the empty cornfield, Po sat up straight, his upper body as rigid as a rock . Everyone jumped back as Po closed his eyes, his body jerking in violent convulsions.

"Po!" Raymond yelled, trying to sound calm but failing. He shot a glance over to Abraham for an answer. Old habit. "What's happening?"

"I don't know!" Abraham shouted, turning to Jake.

"Convulsions," he said, sounding unsure. "We've seen it in a couple of instances, you remember. In the de-droned."

Ignoring the chatter, Po held out his hand, waving it in the air like he was hailing a cab.

"Hurry back with them root beers Topo!" Po exclaimed. "The movie's about to start!"

Abraham studied Po with a short gaze before turning back to Raymond. "What's he saying?"

Raymond shrugged his shoulders, too busy watching Po put on some kind of grumpy face.

"What the hell ya doing up there Topo?" Po yelled out. "Eating all the ice cream? If little Ray here doesn't get a full scoop he'll cry like a girl again! Those bumps aren't getting any smaller you know!" Po reached out at something, like he was giving the air a play punch before bursting out in joyous laughter.

"It's Grandpa Frank," Raymond said. "He's being Grandpa Frank. I remember. Something happened."

"Of course something happened brainless," Abraham said with a smirk. "The hornet attack."

"The what?"

"The hornet stings Ray. You were out playing in Grandpa Frank's back yard and stumbled over a hornet's nest. You got bit like three times before Grandpa Frank scooped you up and ran you inside. Po thought it would be a good idea if we watched Star Wars to make you feel better. And, of course, the root beer floats, too."

Po's eyes rolled back into his head again and he started to shake back and forth.

"Oh, this little droid! I think he's searching for his former master...I've never seen such devotion in a droid before...there seems to be no stopping him. He claims to be the property of a..."

Po's voice trailed off into a whispering mumble. With great effort, he seemed to be doing everything in his powers to complete the sentence. Slowly, he opened his mouth. "Of a Noah."

Abraham turned swiftly towards Salome and Jake, who were standing just behind him.

"General," Po said, looking frantic. "Years ago you served my father in the Flathead Wars. Now he begs you to help him in his struggle against the Wicked Witch." His voice sounded higher, like he was pretending to be Glenda the Good Witch. Or, someone else. Raymond thought he caught the hint of a British accent.

"What's he talking about?" Salome asked.

"Sounds like he's mixing up his stories," Raymond said.

"Yes," Abraham said, paying keen attention. "The Wizard of Star Wars, perhaps? Heck, I think we may even have played this with Po once."

"I believe we did," Raymond replied.

"I regret that I am unable to present my father's request to you in person," he continued. "But my balloon has fallen under attack and I'm afraid my mission to bring you to Oz has failed. This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Noah, you're my only hope."

"Princess Leia," Raymond said, finally figuring out the accent. "What do you think it-"

"Quiet!" Abraham said. "Did you hear it? He said it again!" This time, he didn't even bother to look back at Jake and Salome.

Po paused for a few moments, taking a deep breath as he looked out over the cornfield. Or whatever he was seeing in his make-believe world. Raymond wished he could see it too. He always wanted to see it.

Looking out at his two younger brothers, Po frowned as his tears began again in earnest.

"Mommy! Daddy!" he screamed. He was pointing at something, something far away

With a final, tormented scream, Po threw back his head in another convulsive fit. Bringing his head back down, the tears had disappeared. Another shudder, more of an aftershock, and Po's face changed to a look of frantic worry to a frown of sympathetic loss.

"There's nothing you could have done, Scarecrow," Po began. "You'd have been killed, too, and the others would be in the hands of the Empire."

Raymond looked at Abraham. "The scene where Luke's aunt and uncle died. Po used to cry every time he watched it."

The tears returned and Po tried snorting them back. Wiping his face with the sleeves of his lime green windbreaker, he looked up towards the stars. "I want to come with you to Oz, Noah. There's nothing here for me now. I want to ride the merry-go-round. Like my father. Carousel."

With that final proclamation, Po's entire body seized up like he had stuck his finger in an electric socket. His lips started mumbling words no one could hear and he started shaking uncontrollably. In a final violent flip onto his back, the shakes were even more chaotic. And they weren't stopping.

"Grab his head!" Raymond shouted to Abraham.

Abraham quickly shifted over to help support Po's head, which was flopping up and down now like the fish Po let get away back at the lake.

"Po!" Abraham said loudly. "We're all here for you Po. It's ok!"

Salome dropped down to her knees. Leaning over him, she began gently massaging his shoulders as he continued to rock furiously from side to side.

He seized up again. With his eyes shut tight, he arched his back and let out a long, terrifying scream, at the end of which the shaking stopped. His breathing returned to normal. He opened his eyes.

Smiling, Po lifted himself so that he was sitting up straight. He opened his eyes and looked around at the clearing like he was seeing it for the first time before resting his eyes on Raymond and Abraham.

"Noah says to go to Oz," Po said. "Oz we go. Noah says. To Oz we go."

Raymond looked awkwardly back at Abraham, unsure of what to say next. He was just happy it was over and that Po returned. He put his hand on Po's shoulder, flashing him a nervous smile. "Uh, that was quite a story there Chewie. You almost had me worried that-"

"Carousel!" Salome said, cutting him off. She looked at Raymond. "I thought you said you never told him about the 19?"

"The 19?" Raymond said. "I didn't!"

"The hell you didn't!" she snapped. "How in the world does he know about the carousel?"

"The what?"

"The carousel!" Salome yelled. "The merry-go-round!" She looked like bad sex manic. Pacing back and forth like in an alternate universe where something had gone real wrong after they did it back on the train. Pissed beyond pissed. Angry like she were going to swing. "Abraham!" she said in a horrifying squeal. "Tell him!"

Abraham sat motionless for a few long moments, just watching Po. "Oh yes, Carousel," he said coolly. He shook his head. "It's nothing," he said, waving her off. "I mean, it's _everything_ , of course," he continued, stressing the word _everything_ like he were a preacher giving a sermon. "The whole talk of the carousel or simply carousel. It's all wrapped up into 19 lore. A oneness with the divine. Like climbing Mount Olympus or seeing the Burning Bush. A spiritual ecstasy that only a handful have experienced. But none of that is going to mean anything to Raymond here Salome so don't waste your breath." He paused, putting his fingers to his lips as he continued to look at Po. "So, Po," Abraham said with a cautious grin. "How do you know Noah?"

"Po don't know the answer to that one Abe," he said. "Po just knows the story."

"The story of what Po?" Raymond asked.

"Oh come on Waymond!" Po snorted. "Does Po have to burp it back to you? Of the 19, of course!"

Raymond looked uneasily around the empty clearing. "But we never talked about the 19 Po."

"No, but Po's friends did Waymond. They told Po all about the 19. And Noah. And the Merry-go-round. And Oz, Waymond. To Oz we go, Noah says."

"Your friends Po?" Abraham asked. "Do you mean Jake and Salome?"

"Not at all Abe," Po replied. Widening his eyes, he looked over to Salome and Jake as his face went red. "Oh sorry guys," he mumbled embarrassingly to himself. "Of course, Po does think you two are his friends!" Jake offered back a befuddled nod while Salome grinned.

"Nope," Po continued, suddenly looking perky. "Po's talking about the voices that talked to him when he was playing Stormtrooper in his dreams..." Slowly, Po lifted himself up and started walking around to the edges of the clearing in the cornfield.

"We need to go to Oz guys," Po said, peering through the cornstalks. "To Oz we go!"

"You think he's talking about when he was droned?" Abraham asked Jake.

Jake nodded. "Yes sir. Looks to me like an echo memory."

Raymond raised his hands up into the air. "Echo memory?" he snapped. "Noah? What are you guys talking about?"

"Noah was one of the 19 Ray. At least we think he was. Only people who've had long, significant interactions with the 19 can ever recall anything more than a few details. But when they do, it's a name. Noah." He crossed his arms and observed Po with a curious grin. "My question now is what happened to him when he was droned for him to retain this."

"So, what, you think Po picked up this memory when he was in the suit?"

"Perhaps," Abraham said, studying Po as he spread out his windbreaker like a cape, racing around the edges of the clearing.

"To Oz!" Po shouted gleefully. "To Oz we go!"

Abraham raised his eyebrows, watching Po as he zipped by. "Or perhaps someone purposefully implanted it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Abraham shrugged his shoulders and frowned. "I don't know Ray. Could be a lot of things. This isn't like me trying to help you cheat on your chemistry exam. I don't always have all the answers you know."

With a final lap around the clearing, Po slowed down and returned to his brothers. Raising his arms, he patted them both on the shoulders, letting out a long yawn.

"Po's pooped!" Po said. With another yawn, he lowered himself to the ground, covered himself with his lime-green windbreaker and curled up into a ball. In a few seconds, he was snoring. Raymond was jealous of Po for a lot of things. But nothing more than how easy it was for him to fall asleep.

"At the drop of a hat," Raymond said, looking down at his snoring brother.

"Yes, I see some things never change," Abraham said. "All right people," he said, looking around at the others. "I suggest we do the same. Who knows when we'll get another chance. Jake? What do you think?"

Jake looked around the edges of the clearing. "Seems safe enough. But I still think we should take turns keeping watch."

"Agreed," Abraham replied. "I'll take first."

"No," Raymond said. "I'll go first. You just got out of prison. I'm thinking you need to rest more than I do."

"Gee Ray," Abraham said, eying his brother a bit suspiciously, "Thanks? And what's the catch? Are you going to shave my eyebrows and put a mouse in my pants? Again?"

Raymond laughed. "No, not tonight at least."

"Fine then," he replied. He nodded to Jake and Salome. "I'll go after Ray. Jake, why don't you go after me. Salome, you take last watch. I'm quite sure you need the rest more than me my love."

Salome kissed Abraham on the cheek while Jake spread out a spot on the flattened cornstalks and laid down. Raymond was surprised at how much respect his dickish brother commanded in this world. How in a place where giants and supermen and freakish angel droids, Abraham seemed to be able to keep it together. To lead them. Raymond took a seat with his knees up, Remmy held across them, while the others tried to rest.

And Raymond thought. Thought how long it would take for the others to fall asleep. Thought how he could do it. How he could wake Po without anyone else hearing. How he could convince him to take a walk with him, maybe by turning it into a game. It would be a lie, Raymond knew that. But it'd be a worthy lie, as lies go.

Raymond remembered passing a town just north of here as they sailed down river. Maybe they could get there while the night still covered them. A few days of sleeping during the day and traveling by night? They could do that.

West. They'd travel west. Maybe once they got across the Mississippi, they could revert to a normal sleep schedule again. That's only if they could find another Lake Como of course. They might need to go farther west. Like Nebraska, west. Or South Dakota, west. The Badlands. Those were places that would have to be safe. Hell, those were places that didn't have people even when there were people.

Devil's Tower. That's it. That's where they'd go. Devil's Tower. The giant monolithic rock formation that punches up from the center of an oval-shaped mesa somewhere in Wyoming. The landmark that Richard Dreyfus recreated out of mashed potatoes in the movie, _Close Encounters of the Third Kind_. Po loved that movie and always wanted to go there. That would be enough to keep him going. That would be their goal.

Raymond turned suddenly to the sound. It was the wailing again. The high-pitched sound made by the men on horseback. Raymond grabbed Remmy and stood up, facing the western sky where the wails seemed to be passing. The sound was fading away. Fading westward.

Raymond sat back down next to Abraham. It looked like he may have opened his eyes. Knowing someone was else was awake and hearing the sound made the fear bearable for Raymond. Even if that someone were dickish Abe.

"Hey," Raymond whispered. "You awake?"

"Yes," Abraham said in a quiet, even tone. "I don't sleep much. And after what happened here tonight? I'm too jacked up to sleep." He turned towards Raymond, who was still looking at him. "What's up?"

"The story Po told."

"Yes Ray?"

"Grandpa Frank didn't bring me in the house. You and Po did."

"Oh yeah," Abraham said, nodding to himself. "I suppose we did, didn't we."

Raymond paused, letting out a relaxed sigh as the sound of the wailing faded away entirely. "Were you pulling a Grandpa Lou or did you just make it up on purpose?"

Abraham smiled, shaking his head. Grandpa Lou was senile. Not Alzheimer's senile but forgetful to the point of it being dangerous - especially in terms of it making his family dangerously angry with him. Grandpa Lou's senility seemed to always work out in his favor.

"I don't know," Abraham finally said. "I suppose a little of both. It was a long time ago Ray."

Raymond rolled over onto his back, placing his hands behind his head. He looked up at the stars and shook his head.

"So you had a chance to make yourself look good," Raymond said. "And you passed on it."

Abraham let out a laugh. "Please," he said, "they call me the Prophet. Do you think I need a bigger head?"

"I dunno," Raymond said, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. "It's just weird to me, that's all I guess. I mean, growing up, you were always..."

"Always what?"

"Well, always not there. I mean, you were there, of course. But I barely noticed you. You had a way of staying under the radar. Do you know, I had friends in high school who didn't even know you existed? Most of my friends thought I was an only child. I mean, I can see them not knowing Po. But you and me? Hell, we had gym class together!"

Now it was Abraham's turn to shake his head. "Do you even know why I left?"

Raymond looked at his brother, then looked back up at the wide open star-sparkling sky. He stayed silent.

"You know Ray, you never did like to say yes to me. Anytime I ever asked you anything, _no_ was the only answer I'd get out of you. Whenever you meant yes, you'd just ignore me."

Raymond let out a sigh. "If someone'd asked me a couple days ago why you left, I would have told them it was because you were a chicken-shit coward."

"And now?"

"Now," Raymond paused. "Now I'd say it's because you're like Po. You're curious."

Abraham turned over onto his back and placed his folded his hands, placing them on his stomach.

"I think it was dad," he stated.

"You think it was dad, what?"

"I think it was dad that implanted the memory into Po."

"When Po was a drone? How would he have done that?"

"I think dad was droned."

"How's that possible? You were there tonight! You heard what Jehu said! He controls the drones, right? And he's looking for dad too, remember? Don't you think if dad were droned he'd know about it?"

Abraham shook his head.

"Not necessarily. Jake and I have some experience with the de-droned. When you go under the suit, your identity is stripped. Completely. You become one with the hive and nothing of your old self remains."

"So?"

"So." Abraham said simply. "Ray, do you know how many drones there are?"

"Hundreds, I don't know."

"Try thousands.

"What do you think we should do?" Raymond asked.

"Po is special Ray. We've always known that. The connections he could make. The worlds he could believe in. If anyone knew how to cut through the drone chatter and preserve himself in the hive, it would have been Po."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that maybe dad allowed himself to be droned knowing that Po might someday get droned too."

It was an interesting theory but one that Raymond had nothing more to say about. It was time to change the subject.

"So you never answered your own question," Raymond said.

"Excuse me?"

"About why you left," Raymond said.

"Well I thought the answer was obvious Ray," he said with a questioning gaze. "To step out of your shadow."

"You didn't need to leave us to do that," Raymond said.

"Yes Ray, I did."

Raymond turned towards his brother, ready to lash out something spiteful Something he'd held up inside for the last three years. Something about having to take care of Po all by himself. Something about having to be the responsible one. But he chose not to say anything. Mostly because having to take care of Po was the greatest thing he had ever done.

Perhaps noticing the change of heart, Abraham smiled. "Your turn," he said. "I'm wide awake. No sense in both of us being up."

Raymond didn't argue. Besides, he didn't think there was anything more for either one of them to say. Not without unsettling this temporary peace.

"And Ray?"

"Yes?"

"Stay with us."

Letting out a long sigh, Raymond didn't say no.

Abraham smiled as Raymond tried to get some rest.
Chapter 10

A single shot from a rifle blast tore Raymond from his slumber. With a slight trail of smoke drifting up over the field, a flock of crows flew off from the tips of the stalks they had been feeding on.

"Get up!" an angry voice snarled.

Raymond jumped to his feet. Salome was standing next to him, her head drooping low to the ground. She must have fallen asleep. Raymond couldn't blame her. They'd both been on the run since Lake Como. Raymond wondered how long she'd been on the run by herself before that.

It didn't matter now. Because now there were three men on horseback, facing them. The man in the middle wore a tan Stetson hat and carried a black rifle. As he drew nearer, the two men flanking him came into focus. The light of the morning sun cast sleek shadows off their white armor plating. They weren't men at all. Drones. They raised their rifles, aiming them at Po.

A fourth rider approached, his horse galloping calmly in from behind. Stopping, his big black steed stood firm while its steamy breath escaped through its nostrils like the contrails of a jet. Over his head, the man wore a sleek silver helmet with coiled flourishes on each side. The sides of the helmet melded down like a flexible chain mail, encircling his neck and padded shoulders from his purple trench coat. It was Zephaniah.

"The reward money is yours, tracker," Zephaniah said sourly. "What you do with the woman and the mercenary is of no concern to me." He removed a fist-sized felt sack from his cloak and tossed it to the ground. "But the Beans are mine."

The thick-bellied man with the cowboy hat let out a huff, dismounting from his horse to inspect the sack. "A true pleasure doing business with you again Lord Zephaniah," the man said, tipping his hat. Removing a pair of cuffs from a sack tied up to his horse, he approached Jake with caution.

"Now don't do anything stupid, big guy," the tracker warned. "We got you covered eight ways to-"

Jake reached out, grabbing the tracker's arm with both hands. With a practiced motion, he snapped it back like a stick. Not stopping, he pulled his pistol from his holster, aiming it at the first drone as the bullet ripped through his chest. Clutching his heart, Jake tumbled backwards into the cornfield. He was spitting blood.

"Jake!" Abraham screamed.

It was crazy town. With no time to think, Raymond swung Remmy off his shoulder and aimed it at Zephaniah. The drone that killed Jake turned and fired at Raymond, hitting him in the shoulder. Biting his lip trying to hold back the pain, he got the shot off, blasting it wide left.

While it missed its target, the shot spooked the horse Zephaniah was on. The black horse whinnied, rearing itself up by its back legs as its front hooves punched at the air. With a frantic cry, the horse hurled Zephaniah into the air, out of the clearing and into the stalks. He landed with a soft thud, marching right back into the fray.

"Get them!" Zephaniah shouted, gesturing now to his two drones.

But nothing could move. Nothing could get past the light. The light was everywhere.

And it came from Po. A brilliant white light, shining so bright it made the day look like darkness. It shot out now, spreading forth across the field in all directions.

Raymond cringed in fear as the light shot past him. It was cold. But comfortably cold, like stepping into Lake Como on the first day of spring. Everything was silent as he fell back. Silent and slow like a fading dream. As he hit the ground he saw Salome crying out something in tears. Silence.

Raymond suddenly grew flush while the cool light began to cleanse away his fears. More than anything, he wanted to sleep. With all of his remaining energy, he tried to fight it off, tried to crawl towards Salome and Po. He needed to get to Po. He needed to get to Abe. They had to help Mom. Mom would know what to do. Ask mom.

There was a howling sound. Howling like the wind, like the high-pitched howls of the men on horseback. The same howls that made him want to run back into his cottage and hide under the covers when he was supposed to be guarding Po. A single howl now. The horses were dancing. There was nothing else to fight. Abe's tears at the loss of his friend were almost enough to keep the sleep from overcoming him. But not quite. Raymond made it to Salome and laid his head on her chest. Before letting sleep overcome him, Raymond gave one last glance across the clearing in the corn over to Abraham.

And saw Jake open his eyes.

END OF EPISODE ONE

