Steal Tomorrow

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2012-05-31T23:56:00.000-05:00

Note: The entire novel has been posted, but new short stories and updates to existing posts are still ongoing.

Jazz Gang: Stormy Weather

2012-01-11T22:09:00.000-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Three Word Wednesday and is cross-posted at Alice Audrey's Serialists. Although it is set in the same world as Steal Tomorrow it is part of a new series of stories centered around new characters. The "Extras" section of the sidebar has been updated to reflect this. Be sure to drop by Three Word Wednesday and The Serialists for more fun.
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Mario poked his nose out from under the stack of blankets and immediately wished he hadn't. How could it be so cold indoors? He hadn't fully appreciated central heating before the pandemic but now with the adults dead, the electric and sewage plants shut down, and all deliveries halted, he understood what a paradise he had once lived in.

He braced himself for the shock and slipped out from under the covers, then he wedged his feet into his slippers, pulled a quilt around himself and went to the window. Outside, the skies were gray and sullen, promising another bitter winter day.

On the other side of the room, Tim and Cee still slept, their breath making white clouds as they exhaled. They counted on him to make the decisions for their little jazz trio, but today Mario wondered if their trust was misplaced. They had opted out of working for two days now, choosing the shelter of this abandoned apartment over the frozen streets. Now they were out of food and nearly out of water. If they wanted to eat today, they would have to brave the elements and either play music for donations or go foraging like the other survivors.

He looked out the window again. The wind had picked up, driving snow and bits of ice. Who could play music in such brutal conditions?

Shivering, Mario went back to bed and covered himself with blankets. He needed a plan but he couldn't think when it was so damn cold. After awhile warmth returned to his body and his muscles slowly relaxed. With the warmth came a renewed sleepiness. He snuggled deeper into the pillows and pulled a down comforter close against his body. Maybe the decision about what to do for food and water could be resolved later. Perhaps by afternoon the snow would be gone and the sun would be out. For now, Mario was comfortable. In this crazy world, that would have to be enough.

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Jazz Gang: Flutes and Rumors

2012-01-01T15:12:00.001-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Sunday Scribblings. Although it is set in the same world as Steal Tomorrow it is part of a new series of stories centered around new characters. The "Extras" section of the sidebar has updated to reflect this. If you enjoyed this story, drop by Sunday Scribblings for more fun!

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It was only a rumor. If Tim listened to everything that got said in this post-pandemic city full of hungry and traumatized children, he'd have no time for the performances that kept his little gang alive. Still, this most recent story wasn't the sort of tale that would get told for no reason. What purpose did it serve for the strange teenage boy with the painted face and wild hair to tell him of a music shop that had been mostly spared by looters?

Tim raised himself on one elbow and looked across the room. In the moonlight he could see the outline of their band leader Mario, sleeping soundly next to his saxophone case. The sax was of professional quality and probably better than anything Tim could steal. Cee's flute, on the other hand...he turned his gaze to the skinny girl sleeping fully clothed by his side. Her instrument was a student-grade flute with old pads and a headjoint that often went out of tune. An upgrade would be nice, both for her and for the future of their jazz trio. Perhaps the music shop would also have drumsticks. He had everything he needed, but it was always fun to see what other options were available.

Quietly, Tim got to his feet, fumbled in the dark for his shoes, coat and flashlight, felt his way down the stairs and out onto the filthy streets. He kept to the shadows, trying not to trip over trash and dead electrical lines as he splashed through puddles of fetid water from the backed-up sewers and crunched over glass from broken windows. Somewhere a cat howled, but he no longer shivered at the sound of skittering rats or the other strange noises made by feral animals in the night. Teenage survivors like himself were far more dangerous.

After an agonizing half hour that felt much longer, he found Jim's Music World. Although the door was off its hinges and the plate glass windows broken, very little had been taken. The rumors were correct.

Tim switched on his flashlight and found the woodwind section. Now he had a new dilemma: which flute was best? As a percussionist, he had no idea what to look for, so he selected the three most expensive models and was examining them for clues when he was startled by the sound of footsteps at the back of the shop. With no time to even take it apart and put it back in its case, Tim grabbed a flute at random and sprinted for the door.

He ran until he felt certain he wasn't being followed, then stopped to catch his breath. It had been a close call, and he hadn't even had a chance to look at drumsticks. Oh well. At least he had gotten the most important thing.

When he got back to the apartment, he noticed a faint light at one of the windows. Cee and Mario greeted him at the door.

"Where the hell were you?" Mario demanded.

Before Tim could answer, Cee noticed what he held in his hand and her expression of concern turned to one of delight. She nudged past Mario and took the flute reverently.

Mario understood but shook his head anyway. "Dumb thing to do. We should've all gone together, in daylight."

"I wanted it to be a surprise." He turned to Cee. "Did I surprise you?"

She nodded and threw her arms around him.

"Surprised you didn't get killed is more like it," Mario muttered. He picked up his solar lantern, which was rapidly losing its charge, and headed toward the bedroom. "Lock the door and let's go back to bed."

Tim threw the deadbolt, then turned back to Cee. "I'm sorry I couldn't get the case that goes with it. Think your old one will work?"

She nodded and blew a few hesitant notes. Under her skilled breath and talented hands, the new Pearl Elegante sounded like liquid water or the cooing of a dove.

"I'm sorry if I worried you."

Cee put the flute down and gave a little shrug. She was a mute, unable to speak, but that didn't mean she couldn't communicate. She brought the flute back to her lips and played a little blues riff before segueing into a soft, sentimental tune that Tim couldn't place. He sat down in a nearby chair to listen. There was plenty of night in their world and sleep could wait.

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If you enjoyed this story, check the sidebar, where you'll find the serialized novel, more flash fiction (including prequels), and other fun Steal Tomorrow stuff.

Steal Tomorrow Extra: Christmas Surprise

2011-12-25T13:21:00.004-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Sunday Scribblings. It is a prequel to the novel and contains no spoilers. Be sure to drop by Sunday Scribblings for more fun!
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The decision was a difficult one. With all their loved ones dead, Cassie didn't have the heart for Christmas, but it felt wrong not to mark the occasion in some way.

"It would be like giving up," Cassie told her friend Leila.

"But what exactly are we supposed to do?" Leila pulled her wool wrap tighter around her body. Without gas or electricity to run the furnace, it wasn't much warmer indoors than out. "It's not like we can roast a turkey and bake a pie. We can't buy presents and there's no point in hanging Christmas lights."

Cassie acknowledged this was true. The pandemic that killed the adults also robbed them of food and gasoline deliveries, electricity, and even water, other than what they gathered themselves from rain or the river. "We could still put up decorations," she offered. "It's just a matter of getting them down from the attic. As for food, we've still got freeze-dried turkey tetrazzini and cheesecake."

Leila rolled her eyes. "Camp food. How festive."

"Okay, you come up with an idea."

She shook her head. "There's no point in celebrating Christmas. Why pretend?"

Cassie knew better to argue when Leila was in this sort of mood, and to be honest, she didn't really feel like celebrating either. What was the point of Christmas when you had no family to share it with?

Later that night though, she found herself lying awake in her cold room. Was it right to give in to such a joyless season? Christmas was supposed to be about giving, not wishing for what was gone. And as for spending the holiday with family, weren't friends just as important? Cassie slipped from under the covers, found her flashlight and slippers in the dark, and crept out of the room.

Cassie worked through the night as silently as she was able. She worried over the creaking of the attic door and the rustle of wrapping paper, but Leila was a sound sleeper and by the time the first early rays of sunlight filtered around the edges of the blankets they had hung over the windows for insulation, all was ready. She heated some water over her soda can stove for the hot chocolate she had found, and she lit the bayberry candles. Then she went back into the bedroom she shared with Leila.

"Wake up." She shook Leila's shoulder.

Leila rolled over and frowned. "Why?"

"Just come on." Cassie pestered until Leila got out of bed and followed her down the hall. At the doorway to the living room, Cassie stepped out of the way so Leila could take it all in; the garland and ornaments, the flickering candles, and cups of hot chocolate. The bulging stockings hanging from the mantle of the gas fireplace contained only practical items they already owned, such as batteries and vitamins, but at least it looked festive. Perhaps for just one day they could remember to be grateful for what they had instead of pining for what was lost.

Leila turned to Cassie with a puzzled smile. "You did all this just to surprise me?"

Cassie grinned, a little light of mischief in her eyes. "No," she said. "Santa came."

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If you enjoyed this story, check the sidebar, where you'll find the serialized novel, more flash fiction, and other fun Steal Tomorrow stuff.

Jazz Gang: Jingle All the Way

2011-12-21T10:37:00.001-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Three Word Wednesday and is cross-posted at Alice Audrey's Serialists. Although it is set in the same world as Steal Tomorrow it is part of a new series of stories centered around new characters. The "Extras" section of the sidebar has been updated to reflect this. Be sure to drop by Three Word Wednesday and The Serialists for more fun.
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They had been rehearsing for over an hour and it was going badly. Mario pulled the sax away from his lips and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Cee, but this one just isn't going to work."

The boys had never known Cee to speak a word, but Tim correctly interpreted the frustration on her face. "We can't not play 'Jingle Bells.' The kids will be expecting it."

"But it sounds all wrong on a saxophone."

"So? It's festive and familiar, and that's what they need right now."

Mario suspected Tim was right, but the pandemic survivors knew other songs besides "Jingle Bells." Why not entertain them with something that actually sounded good? "I'm sure 'Silent Night,' 'Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire,' and 'Adeste Fidelis' are just as familiar to them, and they're better music, too."

Tim and Cee exchanged a look. The girl gave a little sigh and smoothed the rumpled skirt of the holiday elf costume she had found in a looted costume shop.

"Me and her could do it as a duet, if you don't want to play it."

Mario made a face. "Flute and percussion aren’t enough for 'Jingle Bells.'"

"It works for 'Little Drummer Boy,' and you're letting us play that."

What could Mario do to make them understand? Sure, they were living in filth and chaos. They were hungry, malnourished, and their days were numbered, but that was no reason to make bad music.

"Come on," Tim said. "This is the worst Christmas of everyone's life, not a command performance at Carnegie Hall. Besides, a lot of these kids don’t even have faith in God any more. We need more secular songs in our repertoire.”

“Maybe the religious songs will help restore their belief,” Mario countered. “We’re certainly not going to inspire anyone by playing things that sound bad.”

Tim slammed a stick on his snare drum in annoyance. “I’m telling you, no one cares if 'Jingle Bells' sounds wrong on a saxophone. These kids are starving and they just want to hear their favorite songs."

Mario turned from Tim's pleading to Cee's dark reproachful eyes and a feeling of guilt came over him. Tim was right; things were hard enough without telling hungry children they couldn’t hear a simple tune like "Jingle Bells."

Reluctantly, he reached for his sax and motioned for Tim to pick up his bells. "Fine," he said. "'Jingle Bells' it is."

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If you enjoyed this story, check the sidebar, where you'll find the serialized novel, more flash fiction (including prequels), and other fun Steal Tomorrow stuff.

Jazz Gang: In Sickness and In Health

2011-12-18T10:54:00.004-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Sunday Scribblings. Although it is set in the same world as Steal Tomorrow it is part of a new series of stories centered around new characters. The "Extras" section of the sidebar has updated to reflect this. If you enjoyed this story, drop by Sunday Scribblings for more fun!

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They pulled the covers up to his chin. When they saw he was still shivering, Cee pulled a comforter from her own bed and Tim helped her tuck it around Mario's feverish body.

"He's just going to push it off in a few minutes," Tim observed.

Cee shrugged and wiped Mario's face with a decorative hand towel she had found in the bathroom of the abandoned apartment.

"At least it isn't Telo." Tim pulled up a chair and sat down with a sigh. That Mario didn't show the symptoms of the pandemic virus that had killed all the adults was cold comfort when some other illness might carry him off due to lack of medical care. "We need proper meds."

Cee pointed to the bottle of vitamins they had found.

Tim shook his head. "That'll help, but he probably needs antibiotics." He threw up his hands in frustration. "How are any of us supposed to survive when we've got no fresh food, no clean water, and no medicine?"

It was a rhetorical question, of course. Telo was a retrovirus and they were all infected. Even if they survived the current chaos, the normal division of their cells would trigger the deadly virus as they reached adulthood.

An early death from some mundane bug that could've once been easily cured was another matter, though. What was worse was that it was Mario who was sick - Mario, the leader of their little jazz trio. His saxophone music brought a glimmer of happiness and normality back into the lives of the pandemic survivors and his crazy optimism had reminded Tim that life, however short, could still be worth living.

Tim looked again at Mario, his hair wet with sweat even as he shivered under the extra blankets. Then his gaze wandered to Cee, the mute flutist. Tim had always been ambivalent about the gawky little girl but today her wide eyes and frightened expression annoyed him more than usual. "What are you staring at? Can't you do something useful, or at least talk?" Getting only the expected silence in answer, he added, "Go away. You're getting on my nerves."

For the rest of the day, Tim watched over Mario, removing covers when he claimed to be too hot and piling them back on when he began shivering again. He made Mario take vitamins every few hours, washed down with the last of their clean water. When Mario's shirt soaked through with sweat, Tim rifled through the closet and found him a clean one.

Shadows lengthened and Tim brought their solar lantern in from where it had been charging on the apartment balcony. He mopped Mario's forehead and helped him sit so he could drink a little water. It occurred to him that he hadn't seen Cee for several hours, but when he searched the apartment they were squatting in, she was nowhere to be found.

Where had she gone? The city was rife with gangs, feral dogs, and other post-pandemic dangers. It was no place for a girl, especially one who couldn't speak her needs or scream for help. The thought that he might've sent her into danger was sobering and with this added worry on his mind, Tim spent a sleepless night by Mario's side. Every sound from the front room made him jump, but it was never Cee, only the ordinary creakings of the old brownstone.

Tim finally dozed off at dawn and was woken a little later by new sounds - the creaking of bed springs, Mario's murmurings, and another sound he couldn't place. Tim opened his eyes to find Cee, dirty and with inexplicably wet hair, pressing pills through the foil backing of a card. "What is that?"

Cee handed him the card and began feeding Mario pills.

"Zithromax," Tim read. A slow smile spread across his face. Where in hell had she found these? Most of the remaining drugs in the city were controlled by powerful gangs who weren't in the business of giving things away for charity. The only way Cee could've gotten antibiotics from them would've been by theft or barter, and she had nothing to barter with except...Tim gazed at her thin body and frowned. She wouldn't have gone that far would she?

However she had gotten the antibiotics, it had been at enormous risk and sacrifice. Tim got to his feet and came around to the other side of the bed as Cee was lowering Mario back onto his pillows.

"Hey." He touched her shoulder.

Cee gazed up at him with defiant eyes.

He clasped her in his arms and was surprised at how good it felt to hold her. Cee's body molded itself to his and her head fit neatly under his chin, as if she had been designed just for him. Cautiously, Tim stroked her hair and all ambivalence about this strange silent girl vanished. "You're the best."

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If you enjoyed this story, check the sidebar, where you'll find the serialized novel, more flash fiction (including prequels), and other fun Steal Tomorrow stuff.

City News: Holiday Special

2011-12-14T17:00:00.002-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Three Word Wednesday and is cross-posted at Alice Audrey's Serialists. Although it is set in the same world as Steal Tomorrow it is part of a new series of stories centered around new characters. The "Extras" section of the sidebar has been updated to reflect this. Be sure to drop by Three Word Wednesday and The Serialists for more fun.
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The teenage boy crossed his long legs and gave Petra a steady look that was impossible to read. “We don’t need to advertise.”

Her friend Jamail had warned her this would happen, but Petra was nothing if not determined. She forced a bright smile. “Of course you don’t need to advertise your actual products, but don’t you want your customers to know about your holiday specials?”

The boy’s features remained immobile, except for a slightly raised eyebrow.

“Oh, come on. Christmas sales are an American tradition.”

The boy leaned forward, his voice a deadly growl. “We’re the most powerful gang in the city. Pharms don’t follow traditions and we lower our prices for no one.”

Petra sucked in her breath. The Pharm leader’s proximity frightened her, but it wouldn’t serve her purpose to let him know his intimidation techniques were succeeding. “Well, I just thought—”

“Don’t.” He sat up straight and glared, daring her to continue.

Her mind racing, Petra scrambled for a comeback that would be both snappy and convincing. Sure the Pharms were thugs, hoarding the drugs that other kids needed in order to survive, but that didn’t mean they had no Christmas spirit at all, did it? Had the trauma of the pandemic left them with no other sentiments beyond greed?

She affected a sigh and closed her notebook. “Okay, then.” Her hand trembled as she clipped the pen to the outside cover. “The Zoo Tribe is advertising special discounts on duck eggs because it’s good publicity. Some kids think they’re dangerous and are afraid to trade with them, so doing the whole Merry Christmas thing will help their reputation. Pharms don’t have to worry about anything like that, though.” She stood up. “Thanks for your time.”

Petra was nearly to the door when the Pharm leader called after her. “What’d you say your rates were?”

She turned around slowly, suppressing a smile. “As you say, you’re the most powerful gang in the city. You get a special price.”

While the Pharm leader fidgeted in his seat, Petra returned to hers with a polite smile and retribution on her mind. She’d give this guy a special price, all right. And with any luck, he’d fall victim to the pandemic virus without ever having had a chance to discover that City News was charging the Pharms twenty percent more.

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If you enjoyed this story, check the sidebar, where you'll find the serialized novel, more flash fiction (including prequels), and other fun Steal Tomorrow stuff.

City News: The Kindness of Strangers

2011-11-30T08:36:00.000-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Three Word Wednesday and is cross-posted at Alice Audrey's Serialists. Although it is set in the same world as Steal Tomorrow it is part of a new series of stories centered around new characters. The "Extras" section of the sidebar has been updated to reflect this. Be sure to drop by Three Word Wednesday and The Serialists for more fun.
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Petra wrote a few words, scratched them out, and tried again. The arts reviewer was down with food poisoning, leaving her the unwelcome task of doing a write-up of the Thespians' latest performance. She hadn't seen the show, so she was working off Al's notes which suggested more than just a few things had gone awry. The Thespians were too important to the power dynamics of the post-pandemic city for her to pan them, though, so she considered her words carefully.

"Despite a lighting mishap, Miller pulls off a sympathetic Blanche DuBois."

According to Al's notes, Miranda Miller nearly became a human torch after her costume caught fire when she made a dramatic gesture near a candle, but Petra could leave out that particular detail. It was remarkable that the Thespians could light the theater at all without electricity, so it wouldn't be fair to take cheap shots.

"The subdued lighting and spartan scenery add to the sense of impending catastrophe."

Petra suspected that the scenery debacle had been the result of a drunken misunderstanding by Thespian crew members, but why go there? She was trying to think of a way to end the review on a positive but truthful note when a sound in the doorway grabbed her attention.

"This where we place ads in the paper?"

Petra's eyes widened at the sight of the tattooed boy in animal skins standing in the doorway. She jettisoned all notions of writing a theater review as he ran a filthy hand up and down the length of his club. There were a lot of rumors about the mob of kids who had taken over the zoo, and none of them were good.

Assuming by her silence that he was in the right place, the boy strode into the room, trailing a reek of unwashed herbivores. "I'm with the Zoo Tribe."

As if she hadn't guessed.

He handed her a crumpled scrap of paper. "How much to run this for a week?"

Petra smoothed the paper with trembling hands. "Duck Eggs. Goat Milk. Trade at the Zoo." She sucked in her breath while visions of omelets and ice cream filled her mind. How long had it been since city services shut down and deliveries stopped arriving in the stores? How long had it been since she had fresh food of any kind? "We can run this right away," she said, with a quick glance at her typewriter. She had re-inked her ribbon just that morning and could have a late ad edition ready for limited distribution by evening. "Would you like to run it as is, or should I help you with the wording?"

With a grunt, the Zoo boy sat down and they spent the next twenty minutes in careful deliberation. When he finally left, Petra fondled her payment with a satisfied sigh. Two whole eggs, just for her! She could boil them, fry them, scramble them...she had some pepper and still had a bit of salt, but even raw and unseasoned, the eggs were an amazing windfall that justified her rationale for establishing a news service in the first place. Soon she would have milk and eggs as often as she liked, as well as meat and vegetables. Just how she would come by all this bounty wasn't clear, but things would get better. If she worked hard and behaved sensibly, she could make it happen.

Her gaze returned to the draft of her theater review. "Kindness of strangers be damned," she said as she headed toward the door. She had eggs of her own earning to fry.

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If you enjoyed this story, check the sidebar, where you'll find the serialized novel, more flash fiction (including prequels), and other fun Steal Tomorrow stuff.

City News: Investigative Reporting

2011-11-27T10:41:00.001-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Magpie Tales and Sunday Scribblings. Although it is set in the same world as Steal Tomorrow it is part of a new series of stories centered around new characters. Check the "Extras" section of the sidebar for more stories in this series.
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"This is a bad idea," Jamail said.

"It'll be fine," Petra reassured him. "We're just getting the story, not trying to bring anyone to justice."

Jamail shook his head and looked around at the broken windows, destroyed traffic signs and streets filthy with the disgorged muck of backed-up sewers. "Like there's any justice in this place."

"Don't be so dramatic."

"It's the end of the world." Jamail waved a hand in exasperation. "All the adults are dead, we're infected and will die soon too, and in the meantime we're living like animals. There's no way to describe it that isn't dramatic."

"It's just a pandemic."

"'Just a pandemic.' Petra, listen to yourself. Ever since you got this idea that we need a news service—"

"Hush." Petra put a hand on his arm. "That's him over there, by the red sofa."

"What's a sofa doing out here by—"

"End of the world, remember?" Petra hurried up to the boy, who was looking around anxiously and cradling his arm at an odd angle. "Hi, I'm Petra Madari, and you must be Casey James."

The boy stared with round eyes. "Uh, yeah."

"Thanks for agreeing to meet me here."

"Sure." He glanced around. "Just make it quick, okay? And don't use my name in your story."

"But—" Petra glanced at Jamail, who threw up his hands as if to ask what she had expected. "The whole point of putting your story in the paper is to make sure other kids know how to avoid the trouble you ended up in. If I don't print you name, they might not think it's true."

The boy rolled his eyes. "Use any name. With so many dead people, how will they know?"

Before she could concede he had a point, Jamail grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh through the long sleeves of her coat. "Pharms." He pointed with his other hand at the teenage boys running toward them with white lab coats and face paint branding them as members of the most powerful gang in the city.

With a yelp, the boy took off at a sprint. Petra clutched her notebook to her chest. "They won't want us. We're just—"

"Investigating." Jamail pulled her down the street, into an alleyway, up an unused fire escape and into an apartment building where the reek of pandemic dead still lingered. "I told you you're going to get yourself killed," he said, letting go of her arm. He went to peer out the window, making sure they hadn't been followed.

"Journalists are impartial," Petra said, breathing heavily. She smoothed her sleeve with an injured air.

"You think the Pharms care about that?"

"But I only—"

"Wanted to get the story. I know." Certain now that they were alone, he moved a little closer but resisted the temptation to take her in his arms. Would she ever come to care for him the way he cared for her? "Look, how about we stick with safer types of reporting for now? Why don't you write about which of these kids with food stands offers a decent meal and which of the street performers has a good show?"

Petra nodded slowly. "I guess that would be safer. For now."

Jamail beamed. "That's my girl. Now let's go check out that jazz trio on Eleventh. You can write a story about them."

With a small nod of assent, Petra followed him. A jazz trio playing on the street corner for donations was hardly the scoop of the century, but it was safe, at least. For now that was all that mattered.

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If you enjoyed this story, check the sidebar, where you'll find the serialized novel, more flash fiction (including prequels), and other fun Steal Tomorrow stuff.

Jazz Gang Flash Fiction: What's in a Name?

2011-11-23T09:21:00.002-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Three Word Wednesday and is cross-posted at Alice Audrey's Serialists. Although it is set in the same world as Steal Tomorrow it is part of a new series of stories centered around new characters. The "Extras" section of the sidebar has been updated to reflect this. Be sure to drop by Three Word Wednesday and The Serialists for more fun.
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They had to call her something; that much was certain. "Everyone has a name," Mario pointed out. "Write it down if you can't talk."

The skinny dark-haired girl shook her head and refused the offered pen and paper.

"Maybe she can't write," Tim said. "I bet she was in one of those special classes before the pandemic. You know, the classes for stupid kids."

Tim ducked as the girl grabbed one of his drum sticks and threw it at him.

Mario toyed with a splintered saxophone reed and considered their options. The girl had shown up two days ago, hungry and eager, with a battered Gemeinhardt and a hopeful look in her eyes. She had proven herself a passable musician in spite of her youth and the limitations of her cheap student flute, and Mario was inclined to let her stay even though it meant an extra mouth to feed. A jazz trio was better than a sax-drum duo, and a girl added class to their musical operation. Nevertheless, she couldn't go without a name.

"We could just call her Flute," Tim offered.

The girl rolled her eyes and blew a piercing G sharp of annoyance.

"She needs a real name." Mario said. He was trying to be sympathetic, but his patience was wearing thin. There were a lot of kids who had shed their old names in order to distance themselves from the misery of so many pandemic deaths, but even the most psychologically damaged of them went by some kind of moniker. "How are we supposed to call for you if you get lost?" he asked her. "And how are we supposed to give you billing in our advertisements?"

His other arguments had rung hollow, but the girl narrowed her eyes at this last one.

The look wasn't lost on Mario. "We're not advertising now, of course, but we will. So come on, what should we call you? Tell us or you'll have to leave."

They locked eyes and it was the girl who turned away first. She picked up her flute and blew a long single note.

Mario put his sax to his lips and tried to match it. E-flat? That was a silly name. Then he remembered—flutes were tuned to a different key. "You want us to call you C?"

She took a shallow breath and nodded.

"Well, okay. Any sort of last name?"

The girl shook her head.

"This is stupid," Tim said. "She can't—"

Mario held up a hand for silence. Going without a last name was unorthodox, but for now it didn't matter. The important thing was that they had something to call the girl by. "One name will do for now," he said. "Cee it is."

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If you enjoyed this story, check the sidebar, where you'll find the serialized novel, more flash fiction (including prequels), and other fun Steal Tomorrow stuff.

Steal Tomorrow Extra: Impure

2011-11-20T12:30:00.000-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece about Danny and Danica was written for Magpie Tales. Be sure to drop by Magpie Tales for more fun.

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Danica sat at the kitchen table watching the murky water drip through a filter of silk scarves. There were easier ways to get drinking water, but she and Danny didn't trust the street vendors. Besides, filtering and pasteurizing river water cost them nothing but time. Since the die-off, time was one of the few things they had in abundance.

At the sound of footsteps she sat up straight. Danny strode into the room as if intent on a mission, but stopped to give her an amorous kiss. She returned his affection but pulled away when his fingers groped for her breasts. "Wasn't this morning enough?"

"I can never have enough of you." He kissed her again.

Four months after first indulging their mutual longing, Danica still didn't know what to make of Danny's constant need to make love. Like his father, he seemed always to be burning at a white-hot heat, ready to take her wherever and whenever the mood struck him, which was often.

"How about after I get this water filtered?" she said, pushing him away.

With a sigh of frustration, Danny agreed and went to rummage in a cupboard.

Danica returned to watching the water drip. Her mind flashed back on Danny's parents, so different from her own, even though their fathers were identical twins. While her parents' relationship had been cool and dignified, Danny's parents seemed to live for lovemaking. Sometimes Danny's father didn't even take off his shoes and business jacket before whisking his wife off to the bedroom with no apologies to the children, who watched in fascinated wonder, as if catching a glimpse of movie stars. Danica had always been a little embarrassed by such behavior, but Danny, she now realized, had been jealous, seeing his parents' passion as a model for his own future.

The dripping water slowed and Danica stood and examined the sediment remaining in her improvised filter. It was funny how something as necessary to life as water could be so full of impurities. She glanced over her shoulder at Danny, struggling to open a dented can of beans. Love could be full of impurities too. She walked over and took the can opener out of his hand. "You can do that later." She put her arms around him and pulled him close.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Jazz Gang Flash Fiction: Someone To Watch Over Me

2011-11-13T23:37:00.006-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Magpie Tales. Although it is set in the same world as Steal Tomorrow it is part of a new series of stories centered around new characters. Check the "Extras" section of the sidebar for more stories in this series.
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The hardest part of surviving the pandemic had nothing to do with backed-up sewers, packs of hungry dogs or violent teenage boys. These, at least, were reality and the twelve year-old girl with the dark hair and lanky frame had always been good at accepting things as they were.

It was the dreams, and not her haunted reality, that disturbed her. Nocturnal visits from her mother should've comforted her, but she found them strange and foreboding, with her mother always in a white slip and with her hair hanging down her back. She looked sultry and vulnerable and hardly like her mother at all. Just what these dreams were supposed to foretell, the girl didn't know. She had never been like her classmates who whispered about their horoscopes before English class and told ghost stories at slumber parties. Superstitious fantasies weren't her way, so what was she to make of recurring dreams full of images so insistent that it seemed impossible they meant nothing at all?

One afternoon, exhausted from yet another restless night, the girl dozed off on the plush sofa of an apartment where she had been foraging for food. She had one of the dreams again, only this time it came with a soundtrack of saxophone music - jazz tunes the girl remembered her mother having a fondness for and that she herself had learned to play on her flute in an effort to please her.

She awoke with a start, but although the world around her snapped back to the familiar, the music persisted. A quick scan of the apartment confirmed that nothing nearby was making any sound, so she looked out the window. A few stories below, a boy stood on a street corner playing a saxophone.

Was this the message of her dreams - to seek the protection of someone who loved the same music her mother loved? She could find a new flute, practice a little and go to the mysterious sax player, but then what? Perhaps it would be best to just watch him at a distance and enjoy his music. Yes, for now that was what she would do.

The girl leaned her elbows on the windowsill and listened, thinking of her flute, her mother, and her easy childhood. It was only when the boy finished the last bars of "Someone To Watch Over Me" that she realized for the first time in months that she was smiling.

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Jazz Gang Flash Fiction: Going Pro

2011-11-13T08:05:00.003-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Sunday Scribblings. Although it is set in the same world as Steal Tomorrow it is part of a new series of stories centered around some new characters. The "Extras" section of the sidebar has been updated to reflect this.

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For a week Mario played his newly acquired saxophone in secret, hiding in vacant apartments and empty office towers. He had a few places where he stashed his instrument when he went foraging in the looted stores and warehouses, but fear of theft was a habit from the old days. No one was likely to steal a saxophone in this crazy, post-pandemic world. Finding food, clean water and a safe place to sleep was enough to keep most survivors occupied.

It was hard to find meaning in being alive when you were infected with a retrovirus that would kill you before you reached your early twenties, but the saxophone gave Mario a sense of purpose. Many young people had given up all pretense of wanting to live and spent their days in drug and alcohol-induced oblivion. Mario had been tempted to take that route himself before he found the saxophone in a dead jazz musician's apartment and rekindled the love of music that had sustained him from childhood to high school band.

Although Mario was reasonably content with practicing in empty buildings, he was growing weary of solitude. It was well enough to play for himself, but a real musician needed an audience.

It was with this thought that he set up on a street corner one afternoon outside a looted bank. He got a few odd looks from roving gangs and foragers, but he had nothing they wanted. A saxophone was just a useless luxury.

He affixed a reed to the mouthpiece and blew a tentative note, followed by a few warmup scales. Then he launched into a rendition of "Sunny," followed by "Ain't Misbehaving." Finding his rhythm, Mario played his own version of "Perdido," adding a few favorite licks from his high school soloist days. He was so caught up in his music that he didn't notice anyone approach him until he glimpsed a movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned too late to see anything but the startling item left on the sidewalk beside his saxophone case.

He approached the can warily and picked it up. Although there were other young people in the area, they seemed intent on their own business except for the couple sitting on the curb across the street sharing a bottle of whiskey. They had been watching his performance with bleary-eyed attention, but were too intoxicated to have slipped across the street then run away so quickly.

Mario examined the can more closely. Creamed corn. He hadn't intended to play for tips, let alone something as disgusting and prosaic as creamed corn. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers, and maybe if he continued to play, he would get something better. With any luck, he wouldn't have to forage today and could concentrate on making music.

The thought that he could earn his survival for the price of a few jazz standards made him smile. He might achieve his dream of being a professional musician after all. In spite of everything, life was good.

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If you enjoyed this story, check the sidebar, where you'll find the serialized novel, more flash fiction (including prequels), and other fun Steal Tomorrow stuff.

Jazz Gang Flash Fiction: Dinner Theater

2011-11-12T01:22:00.016-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Three Word Wednesday and is cross-posted at Alice Audrey's Serialists. Although it is set in the same world as Steal Tomorrow it is part of a new series of stories centered around new characters. The "Extras" section of the sidebar has been updated to reflect this. Be sure to drop by Three Word Wednesday and The Serialists for more fun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mario played a few scales, stopping from time to time to adjust his reed or flex his fingers. A chilly day like today made his tuning off, but that would change as the saxophone warmed from his breath. A few feet away, the mute girl blew a tentative note on her flute while Tim set up their sign on the curb: New Dawn Jazz Trio: Donations Gladly Accepted

Dirty children began wandering over but for now they waited in silent curiosity. The young survivors were willing to share their food for a taste of such pre-pandemic luxuries as music, but they were a tough audience.

Tim went and stood behind his drum, sticks and brushes at the ready. Mario met the eyes of his band mates, mouthed the words "Autumn Leaves," and they launched into the old jazz standard. They continued the set with "Georgia on My Mind" and "Mack the Knife." By the time they reached the end of an energetic version of "I Got Rhythm," a crowd had gathered and a few gifts had been put into their tip basket in vindication of their efforts: a bottle of water, a small bag of dry beans, a tin of mushrooms and a watch battery.

Mario called a break and the crowd thinned out. The kids had their own daily hustle to be concerned with, after all. One teenage boy remained.

"We'll start again in about fifteen minutes," Mario said.

"Actually, I came to make you an offer."

Was this a chance to play a gig? Mario could hardly suppress his excitement. Things were getting more civilized every day! The boy's next words brought him back to reality, though.

"Me and a couple girls have a food stand over on Eleventh." He looked from Mario to Tim and the mute flutist, then back to Mario again. "You seem to draw a good crowd. Kids are talking about you guys as far away as Columbus Street."

"Okay," Mario said cautiously, still not sure where this line of conversation was leading.

"I was thinking maybe we could make a deal." When he saw that Mario didn't understand, the boy explained. "If you guys set up by my food stand, I'll draw more customers."

"And how would that benefit us?" Tim asked. He twirled a snare stick in an idle fashion, but the glint in his eyes was all business.

"I'll give you one meal apiece each day. And you keep all your donations, of course."

Mario frowned. He was familiar with these sidewalk vendors. They worked outside because there hadn't been gas or electricity in months and it was too dangerous to light a cooking fire indoors. Guys like this one sold anything they could get their hands on, which usually meant meat from questionable sources such as rats and stray dogs. "What do you think?" Mario asked his friends.

The girl gave a noncommittal shrug but Tim wanted to know what kind of meal they would be given. "Are you talking about whatever you can't sell at the end of the day, or what?"

"You'll get the same as me and my girls. Want to try it out for a week and see how it goes?"

Mario considered. The boy seemed reasonably healthy, so whatever he was eating must not be too bad, and it wasn't like food was getting easier to find. Hunger gave impetus to his decision. "We'll give it a try." He glanced at Tim for confirmation. "One meal per day, same as whatever you're eating. After a week if we're not happy, we go our separate ways."

The boy grinned and stuck out a hand. "It's a deal."

After he left, Mario and his band members looked at each other.

"Can't be much worse than how we're doing now," Tim said.

The girl nodded and blew a long F-sharp on her flute.

Mario picked up his sax. A food cart arrangement wasn't as good as a real gig, but he solaced himself that it would be a form of dinner theater. "Days of Wine and Roses," he called to Tim.

"You referring to the song or our new business arrangement?"

With any luck, it would be both.

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If you enjoyed this story, check the sidebar, where you'll find the serialized novel, more flash fiction (including prequels), and other fun Steal Tomorrow stuff.

Jazz Gang Flash Fiction: Survivor's Song

2011-11-09T08:50:00.003-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Three Word Wednesday and is cross-posted at Alice Audrey's Serialists. Although it is set in the same world as Steal Tomorrow it is part of a new series of stories centered around new characters. The "Extras" section of the sidebar has been updated to reflect this. Be sure to drop by Three Word Wednesday and The Serialists for more fun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mario pushed his way into the hushed apartment. It was looted like the others but perhaps something useful had been overlooked. Earlier in the morning he had stumbled upon a stash of Clif bars and electrolyte tablets in a former athlete's home. The man's apparent interest in good health had been no match for the pandemic virus that wiped out the adults and left young people like seventeen year-old Mario scrambling for survival.

He stood a moment in the hushed and musty living room. It had been awhile since other young people had gone through, taking what they could. Everything, even the overturned chairs, was coated in a fine filter of dust. It was the pictures that drew Mario's attention, though - framed posters from important jazz festivals. He walked the perimeter of the room, examining them. Some were signed originals. How he would've liked to have gone to New Orleans, Montreux, or Chicago to see the masters! His parents never had the money for such a pilgrimage, but he would’ve gladly hitchhiked if only they would’ve let him. Now all the greats were gone, their bones mingling with those of bankers and garbage collectors in the common pits.

It occurred to him that a home like this must have a good collection of jazz CDs, and with any luck maybe some batteries as well. Mario was looking for a CD organizer when his gaze fell on something more precious than shiny plastic discs and the batteries he would need to play them.

Reverently, he approached the saxophone, still gleaming on the faded rug where it had fallen. Had it been damaged? He picked it up and examined it. The rods appeared unbent and the keys were tight. Markings identified it as a Yanagisawa Professional, and Mario sighed with pleasure. What wouldn't he have given to own one of these babies before the pandemic?

A search of the other rooms turned up a box of reeds, but they were so dry they would require a good soaking before Mario could make use of them. He wet one in a few drips from his bottle of precious drinking water, then cleaned the saxophone and did a thorough examination of the key pads before polishing the lacquer of the bell until it shone.

Finally the reed was soft enough to affix to the mouthpiece. He drank a bit of water to wet his lips, mustered up his courage and blew a hesitant note. Scowling, he let go of the mouthpiece and glared as if the reed and not his ability were at fault. What had he expected, though? It had been months since he abandoned the suburban neighborhood of his childhood, leaving his old student Yamaha sax behind. It had been even longer since he last played, because who could make music while teachers, parents and friends were dying all around?

Things were different now, though. Life was much harder than before, but Mario and others like him had adjusted. The children who couldn't cope with the new reality were in graves or strung out on the city's remaining drugs and alcohol.

Mario was a survivor and he would get his old skills back. He would turn pain and loss into music. He would express, too, the small transcendent joys of simply being alive. He licked his reed and blew a long E flat. It wouldn't take long to be the musician he once was. He took a shuddering breath, closed his eyes, and began playing.

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If you enjoyed this story, check the sidebar, where you'll find the serialized novel, more flash fiction (including prequels), and other fun Steal Tomorrow stuff.

Jazz Gang Flash Fiction: Graveside Groove

2011-11-06T15:32:00.003-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Magpie Tales. Although it is set in the same world as Steal Tomorrow it is part of a new series of stories centered around new characters. The "Extras" section of the sidebar will soon be updated to reflect this. In the meantime, enjoy the new story and then drop by Magpie Tales for more fun!
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It was a mission of questionable merit, but Mario was determined to accomplish it.

"You better be right," Tim said, looking around the empty graveyard and brandishing a smooth polished stick. "Kids don't spread rumors for no reason."

"If you don't want to do this, go back," Mario told him. "You too," he added, glancing over his shoulder at the mute, round-eyed girl who they had named Cee when she offered no name of her own.

The girl clutched a narrow black case to her body and shook her head. Tim added, "We're with you in spite of the cannibals, grave-robbers, feral dogs or whatever."

Mario didn't want to discuss yet again why he didn't believe the stories, so he kept silent, reading the stones in search of one special monument. There was no danger here that they didn't already risk just by waking up in the morning. The city had been utter chaos since the pandemic. A few more dead people, safely buried under decades-old tombstones, were hardly cause for concern. If anything, this place with its orderly rows and neatly carved markers was a relief.

It took them awhile to find it, but Mario finally announced, "This is it."

He unlatched his leather saxophone case. Behind him, Cee opened her flute case and began putting her instrument together.

Tim took his other snare stick out of his back pocket and scanned the area for a suitable stone to tap on. "You sure this is appropriate?" he asked while Mario affixed his reed.

"Are you kidding? Elijah Moore practically invented saxophone music in this town. He's the only national-calibre jazz musician we've ever had." He played a few warmup scales, then frowned and tightened his reed. "This is the first time since 1932 there hasn't been a jazz festival on his birthday, and we're going to make it up to him."

Tim and the flutist exchanged a look, then a shrug. "You're the boss."

Mario blew a few more notes, then had the girl play a C to his E-flat to make sure they were both in tune. When all was finally ready, he turned to Tim. "Don't just stand there, man. Lead us in."

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Jazz Gang Flash Fiction: Good Omens

2011-11-06T11:26:00.001-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Sunday Scribblings. Although it is set in the same world as Steal Tomorrow it is part of a new series of stories centered around some new characters. The "Extras" section of the sidebar will soon be updated to reflect this. In the meantime, enjoy the new story and then drop by Sunday Scribblings for more fun!
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He had heard the sound for the last three nights, a plaintive wail that sometimes cooed like a homesick dove and other times howled like an omen of disaster.

Tim was skeptical that any catastrophe could befall him that hadn't already. Death, violence, hunger, dirty water, and dark nights without electricity had been bad enough, but now there was the cold of winter to deal with as well. The pandemic had taken everything and there was no fresh calamity Tim could find alarming.

As the sound started again, he shivered in the parka he had taken from a looted sporting goods store. The haunting song was familiar now, and not just because he had heard it before. Having finally identified it, Tim struggled to decide what, if anything, to do. Was the saxophone player the ghost of a jazz artist rotting in a mass grave, or was it a teenage survivor like himself, seeking a little comfort in music?

It seemed unlikely someone would waste precious energy on playing a sax when so much needed to be done just to survive, but Tim could relate. From his back pocket he pulled out a pair of snare sticks and drummed on a nearby surface. At first he played to his own inner rhythm, recalling the cadences he had played in marching band, but gradually his tapping slowed to accompany the sonorous call of the saxophone.

When the song ended, Tim smiled and shoved the sticks back in his pocket. Perhaps tomorrow he would work up the courage to seek out the mysterious musician. Maybe they could play together, or even start a band. Tim stifled a laugh at the absurdity of a post-apocalyptic musical group, but...why not? There was something oddly liberating about losing everything. Whatever the source of the mysterious saxophone's wail, it was a harbinger of good things to come.

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Steal Tomorrow Extra: Broken Promises

2011-11-02T10:51:00.007-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Three Word Wednesday and is cross-posted at Alice Audrey's Serialists. It's a prequel and it contains no spoilers. Be sure to drop by Three Word Wednesday and The Serialists for more fun.

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At first Jay was reluctant to open his eyes. He was dimly aware he was lying on something lumpy and the room was cold, but he wasn’t uncomfortable. It would be nice to lie like this forever, suspended in a place with no pain, no fear, no worries. The horror of the pandemic and the violence of the resulting turf wars over food, drugs and gasoline couldn’t touch him here.

He heard a soft sigh beside him and opened his eyes. The previous night came back with a rush: the fighting, the whiskey, and the little white pills one of their gang members had scored from a looted pharmacy. Although Jay only vaguely remembered how he ended up on this filthy restaurant floor, there was no mistaking what had taken place between him and the sleeping girl whose breath had startled him out of oblivion.

Jay hoisted himself on his elbow. Of all the girls he could’ve bedded last night, didn’t it just have to be Trina? He glanced around, relieved they were alone. He put a hand on her shoulder and was startled at how cold her skin felt. “Wake up.”

Trina blinked her eyes open, then scrunched them closed again.

Noticing her skin was stippled with goose bumps, Jay fumbled for one of the tablecloths they were lying on. He pulled it over them both, but it offered no comfort. “We can’t stay here like this.”

She opened her eyes again and gave him a drowsy smile. “Why not? We’ll tell David and the rest of them to go to hell.”

“Trina, I don’t think—”

“What?” She sat up and ran her fingers through her tousled hair. “I never really liked him – he’s a jerk.” She found her jacket and pulled it around her shoulders. “It was always you I wanted.”

Jay felt himself cringe. He had known, and David had known too. How could he explain without puncturing her ego, that the reason he had let David have her was because he wasn’t interested? It was only the drugs, the whiskey, and the crazy roller-coaster of emotions as he tried to navigate the carnage of the die-off that had made him do what he did last night.

“I couldn’t go back to him now, even if you sent me away.”

This was true in more ways than one. Unless Jay offered Trina his protection, made her his girlfriend, David would kill her for her infidelity. The lawless post-pandemic city could offer her no protection. Without him, she would die.

Jay shoved his hair out of his eyes. Like it or not, he was stuck with this angular girl with frizzy hair and smudged makeup, just like he was stuck with every other cold, miserable, stinking aspect of this post-pandemic life. With any luck the virus would soon take him out of this hell. In the meantime…he found his jeans lying nearby and fumbled in one of the pockets.

“Can I have one too?” Trina held out her hand.

Jay gave her a pill and took two for himself, washing them down with some sour Chardonnay from a bottle nearby. By the time he got his clothes on he was buzzing lightly and the looted restaurant didn’t seem like such a terrible place anymore. Trina, now dressed and wobbly from intoxication, didn’t seem such a bad sort, either. He offered her his hand and she took it.

“We going to find David?” she asked nervously.

Jay drank the last of the wine and motioned toward the front door, listing on its hinges and with its beveled glass broken out. On the other side lay the ruined city and a host of broken promises. “He’ll find us soon enough.”

“What happens then?”

Jay gave a little shrug. Either David would kill him or he wouldn’t. What did it matter anymore? There were worse things than death, but it didn’t seem right to tell that to Trina. Poor girl was screwed up enough as it was. “Don’t worry,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I’ll protect you.”

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If you enjoyed this story, check the sidebar, where you'll find the serialized novel, more flash fiction (including prequels), and other fun Steal Tomorrow stuff. Stories specifically related to this one include: On the Bridge, Second Chances, Scavenged.

Steal Tomorrow Extra: Words on Paper

2011-10-30T10:54:00.008-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Magpie Tales. It is not part of the novel and it contains new characters that have not been mentioned in the novel or previous short stories. Be sure to drop by Magpie Tales for more fun!
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Petra saw it first, sitting on a desk in the corner with a piece of paper stuck in it as if its owner had stepped away for a snack instead of gone away to die like the other victims of the pandemic. The little machine was so like a computer, yet so different! She touched a key and jumped back when something inside moved with a sharp clack.

Jamail came running, gun drawn. "What was that?"

"It's all right." Petra suppressed a smile. How like him to think he still needed to protect her, after all they had been through. "Look what I found."

"So what?" Jamail put his gun away. "We need food and water filters, not another useless invention."

"But it's not useless. Petra approached the typewriter again and examined the piece of paper. Her random keystroke had resulted in a neat letter q. "Since it doesn't need electricity, we can use it to type things."

"We don't need to type anything. Come on." He gestured toward the door. "The others found some boxes that look like they might contain something useful."

Petra followed him, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Of course the typewriter was useful. People had once used them to write books, conduct business, and... "I've got it!"

"Food?"

"No, silly. A newspaper."

Jamail glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Are you finally losing it? We've all been under a lot of stress since the die-off, but—"

Petra stopped in the musty hallway. "We can start a city newspaper. We'll take subscriptions and ads, and make people give us food in exchange." She clasped her hands in excitement. "There's news everywhere, with all the gang wars, so we've got plenty of material. We'll become journalists and we won't have to forage every day. It'll be just like civilization!"

With an exasperated shake of his head, Jamail grabbed Petra by the sleeve of her coat. "Quit dreaming. There might be MREs in those boxes the other guys found, and survival is all that matters."

Petra allowed herself to be pulled down the hall, but no power on earth could drag her away from her fantasies. They couldn't live like beasts forever and civilization had to start somewhere. Why not begin with words on paper?

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If you enjoyed this story, check the sidebar, where you'll find the serialized novel, more flash fiction (including prequels), and other fun Steal Tomorrow stuff.

Steal Tomorrow Extra: The Last Barbecue

2011-10-23T02:19:00.005-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Sunday Scribblings. It is not part of the novel and it contains no spoilers. Be sure to drop by Sunday Scribblings for more fun!
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Natasha lay on the chaise lounge, watching her sister Leila try to light the patio grill. A barbecue was a bad idea, but their neighborhood was still relatively safe. The smoke of the cooking fire wouldn't attract much attention. Young survivors of the pandemic hadn't come looting here yet.

There was no real occasion for this improvised event, but electricity was becoming uncertain and the sisters were down to their last pieces of chicken from what had once been a fully-stocked family freezer. The meat was freezer-burned and smelled funny, but that didn't deter Leila. "We might as well enjoy it and besides, you need protein," she had insisted. "You're sick because you kept giving your food away."

Natasha knew better. She was symptomatic with the same pandemic virus that had killed their parents and older sister Carmen. Leila had it too, although at sixteen she was still too young for the symptoms to manifest.

"The fire's going good now," Leila announced. "We'll have a grilled chicken dinner in no time."

Natasha gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile, but even the smallest gestures exhausted her. While Leila brushed barbeque sauce on the chicken breasts, Natasha let her gaze wander their backyard. Her parents and had loved this place with its pool and landscaping. How many summer parties had they hosted? Through the fog of fever, Natasha tried to remember but had only a vague impression of paper lanterns, music, laughter, and the splash of guests jumping into the pool.

"Would you like a glass of water?"

Natasha was desperately thirsty, but it didn't seem fair to take such a scarce resource for herself. Leila was going to need everything she could get. "Maybe when the chicken is ready."

What would become of Leila? Natasha wondered at the irony of her dumpy, math-loving little sister surviving while their beautiful older sister and their charming and successful parents rotted in the pits. Natasha wondered if her own body would be cast into a mass grave as well, but in spite of her visceral revulsion to the idea she hesitated to say anything to Leila, who already had enough to deal with.

"Too bad we don't have any potato salad and ice cream." Leila said. "But I know just the thing."

Natasha closed her eyes and listened to Leila's footsteps disappear into the house. What was she up to now? Unbidden, her mind returned to those backyard parties. When Leila was very young, she had enjoyed cutting up and trying to get the guests' attention. Years of rejection and disapproval subdued her, though. Occasionally Natasha would see glimpses of the old, exuberant Leila when she brought one of her friends over to play in the pool, but for the most part she comforted herself with food and calculus while Natasha and Carmen basked in their parents' approval. They were the pretty and talented ones. Leila was just a disappointment.

"Here we are!"

Natasha opened her eyes to find Leila holding a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"Why not?" she asked before Natasha could protest. "Who's going to arrest us for not being twenty-one?" She giggled. "Besides, we're in our own backyard, so we can do what we want."

Natasha accepted a glass. Before she could thank her, Leila went back to the grill and turned the chicken, humming a little tune.

While she sipped her wine, Natasha tried to remember why she and Carmen had never thought much of Leila, but as with the memories of the pool parties, she could remember nothing specific. Leila was sloppy and lazy, but those were just words. No particular instances from before the pandemic came to mind; only the images of how her sister had behaved since. It was Leila who had driven their mother to the hospital and braved the half-looted stores to get food when they ran low. It was Leila who nursed Carmen and held her hand when she died.

It occurred to Natasha that she should tell her how much she loved her. She should tell Leila that she was good and kind, and she was so sorry to only notice these qualities in her now, when it was too late to make amends. Would Leila even listen, though? Natasha took another sip of wine and tried to think, but concentration was an elusive thing. Her fever was up again. She closed her eyes.

"Dinner's ready."

Natasha tried to sit up but every joint ached and she was too weak to do more than struggle against the cushions. Although the night was cool and a refreshing breeze blew through the trees, her clothes were soaked with sweat.

Leila held a plate out too her. "You need to eat."

She tried again to sit up and look around. Where were the paper lanterns and music? Where was Carmen? Why was there only Leila, offering her a piece of burnt chicken? Natasha closed her eyes and a moment later felt a cool hand on her forehead. Leila was saying something, but the words made no more sense than the chatter of sparrows tussling over a piece of bread. She had a vague impression that there was something she had intended say to her; something important, but the memory of it eluded her. She was only aware of the laughter of her parents' guests and the splash of people frolicking in the pool. It was a lovely evening for a party, and whatever it was Leila was trying to say to her in that urgent, panicked voice, didn't matter very much. In fact, it wasn't important at all.

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Steal Tomorrow Extra: Blessed Mother

2011-07-06T23:58:00.002-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Three Word Wednesday. It's a prequel and it contains no spoilers. Be sure to drop by Three Word Wednesday for more fun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Yeah, Mom, I'm coming." Julilla got off the couch where she had been flipping through an entertainment magazine. It was several months old and the articles didn't interest her, but any distraction from the pandemic was welcome. She went into the bedroom. "What do you need?"

Her mother didn't answer. She clutched the covers, her body drenched in sweat.

"I know you called me in here for a reason." Julilla poured a glass of water from a gallon jug she had looted from a convenience store. It wasn't Julilla's habit to steal, but the city's pumping plants were failing and the tap water was questionable. "Drink." She held the glass to her mother's lips.

The woman shook her head and little rivulets of blood escaped the corners of her eyes.

"You can do it. Try."

"No point."

Julilla eased her onto the pillow.

"I'm sorry, you know."

Julilla sucked in her breath. There was a time when she would've made Aztec blood sacrifices to hear these words, but now...

"You're so good, so talented. Smart at everything. I let you down."

Although Julilla wanted to say, "Yes, you did," she instead pointed out that she had always had Aunt Veegee.

"Thank God for my sister. Is she...?"

Julilla hesitated. Aunt Veegee, who exercised, ate organics, and never touched drugs or alcohol was one of the first to go. How was it that her mother, who survived on meth and french fries, was still among the living? "She's always with me," Julilla said. It was true, in a way.

Her mother frowned as if she suspected the truth, but let the matter go. "You'll be alone."

"I'm used to it."

Their eyes met, and Julilla silently cursed herself. This was no time to be pointing out her mother's many failings. Julilla couldn't muster forgiveness, but she could at least feel pity. The pandemic virus, Telo, was a nasty way to die.

Hours later, the coughing began. Julilla paced the other room as her mother choked on the blood filling her diseased lungs. Even if telephones still worked, there would've been no point in calling for an ambulance. Fuel deliveries had stopped weeks ago, and the overcrowded hospitals could do nothing, anyway. There was a local gang that would shoot your loved one for you and end their suffering quickly, but Julilla couldn't bring herself to such a measure.

When the coughing resolved into a rasping wheeze, she went into the bedroom. The brain bleeding had begun and her mother had ceased to be aware of her surroundings. A small blessing. She pulled a chair to the side of the bed, picked up her mother's hand, dark and puffy from the vessels breaking beneath the skin, and waited.

When the last of her mother's body heat had left, she sank to her knees and wept.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Steal Tomorrow Extra: Lonely Planet

2011-06-22T22:43:00.015-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Three Word Wednesday and it contains no spoilers. Be sure to drop by Three Word Wednesday for more fun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They had to maintain order, and that was all there was to it. Julilla glanced at the slight figure in annoyance. Had these been ordinary times she would've been one of the first to say justice should go easy on him, but since the pandemic there was no such thing as ordinary. Disruptive behavior had to be punished.

"You're only making it harder on yourself."

The boy quit tugging at his bonds and looked up at her in desperation.

Julilla turned away. The last time she had removed his gag, thinking to offer him some water, he cursed and spat at her. "Fool me twice, shame on me," she muttered. She picked up a magazine, left behind by the previous guard, and tried to read, but the glossy photos left her uneasy. Singapore, Sydney, Cape Town...no place had been left unscathed. Some of the other survivors might be able to indulge in nostalgia, but that wasn't Julilla's way.

She tossed the magazine aside and was reaching for a book, when the boy made a sound and pulled again at his tethers. "What?" She frowned and stood up. "You want to look at this magazine?"

The boy nodded.

She took the travel magazine to him and opened it on a scene of Buenos Aires nightlife in better times. "It's all just wishful thinking, you know. These places aren't like this any more."

He gave a little shrug.

"We won't live long enough to recreate it." She turned the page on a view of a shopping district, lit up for Christmas. Not even the smallest detail had been omitted. "We're all infected. You know that, right? It's just a matter of time."

He nodded again and Julilla turned a few more pages and found the Orkney Islands, green and fog-drenched, surrounded by steel-gray oceans. "Looks cold," she said.

They spent the next half hour flipping through the magazine, admiring photos of places as diverse as Paris and Patagonia. When they reached the end, Julilla closed the magazine with a sigh. "That's as close to seeing the world as we'll ever get."

The boy looked at her, a question in his eyes.

"If I take it off, are you going to yell and cuss at me again?"

He shook his head.

"Life sucks enough without having to deal with other people's bullshit, you know." She fumbled with the knot on his gag. "You so much as stick your tongue out at me, and I'll recommend you stay locked up until you die."

The boy gasped as the bandana came off. He accepted a glass of water and drank it greedily. "I'm in the danger age. I'll die soon, anyway."

"So will all of us. Why make it more miserable than it has to be?"

He didn't have an answer. "Can I look at the magazine again?"

"For God's sake, why?" She shoved it toward him and picked up her book while he struggled to turn the pages with his bound hands. After several minutes she glanced his way, noting his expression of deep contentment as he gazed at a photo of a couple sharing a romantic embrace on the banks of the Seine.

Ridiculous. She sniffed and returned to her book, but found that the information about survival techniques didn't hold her attention. Instead she saw before her all the places that maybe, if she had played her cards right and the pandemic hadn't struck, she could've indulged her carefree fantasies.

"It was perfect, and we didn't even realize it," the boy said.

Julilla frowned over her book and shook her head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Steal Tomorrow Extra: Sweets for the Sweet

2011-06-05T10:48:00.005-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Sunday Scribblings. It is not part of the novel and it contains no spoilers. I've embedded links to spoiler-free supplemental information, where appropriate. Be sure to drop by Sunday Scribblings for more fun!
~~~~~~~~~

Danica rifled through their canned goods and other packaged foods salvaged from empty buildings. It was hard to find food six months after the pandemic, so she knew she should be grateful for what they had. Nevertheless, she sighed in frustration and went into the living room. "I want something sweet."

Danny looked up from cleaning one of his guns. "You're sweet."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it." She flung herself onto the sofa. "I'd kill for a cupcake."

"And I'd kill anyone who tried to take one from you." He set the Colt aside, stood up and strapped on his Glock. "How about I go see what I can find for you, babe?"

Danica smiled and shook her head. "There aren't any cupcakes any more. Even if someone had all the ingredients, how would they bake them without gas or electricity?"

"You never know. World's a weird place these days."

"Tell me about it." Danica leaned back and closed her eyes.

Danny moved toward the window. Rappelling was their preferred method of entering and exiting their third-story apartment, since one could never be sure what kind of thugs might be lurking outside a doorway. "Wait here. If there's a cupcake anywhere in this city, I'll get it for you."

He was out the window and down the rope before Danica could collect her thoughts. She dashed across the room and called after him. Her little cravings weren't worth risking his life, but he merely smiled and waved from the street, and then he was gone.

Should she go after him? By the time she got properly dressed and armed, Danny would be long gone. She would have to wait. After pacing the room a few moments, she sat on the sofa, picked up a book and willed herself to read it. Her eyes scanned the pages for several minutes before she set the book aside in frustration. How could she concentrate when the boy who was friend, lover, and her only living relative was out there on a foolish mission in the dangerous, gang-ridden city?

Why had she even opened her mouth? Danny had always been crazy about her, even when they were children, back in normal times when they weren't all infected with a retrovirus that ended lives at eighteen. He would do anything for her, no matter how ridiculous. Cupcakes, indeed.

The sun lowered in the sky and shadows lengthened. Danica grew increasingly agitated as she paced the room, peered out windows, and started at even the most ordinary of sounds. Where was he? Had he been hurt? How would she find him? Was it possible that he was...she couldn't complete the thought. He had to be all right. After everything else she had lost, life couldn't be that cruel, could it?

Finally at dusk she heard a sound at the window and nearly fainted in relief to see Danny climbing the rope. He jumped into the room and she threw her arms around him. "Don't ever do that again. I was worried sick."

"You know nothing would ever keep me from you." Danny pulled away and rummaged in a small pack. "I found you this." He set out a can of peaches.

Danica picked it up reverently.

"Sorry it's not a cupcake."

"But it is sweet." Danica leaned toward him and kissed him on the lips. "And so are you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Steal Tomorrow Extra: Double Agent

2011-03-23T23:53:00.002-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Three Word Wednesday and it contains no spoilers. Be sure to drop by Three Word Wednesday for more fun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As a child, he had longed for a secret identity. Clark Kent, Peter Parker, and Bruce Wayne had all had them. What would his be if he had the chance?

Pre-pandemic life had allowed for nothing more dramatic than a video game avatar, and what kind of dual identity was that? Now, though, with the grownups dead and civilization collapsed, sixteen year-old Tom Meyers could live out his fantasy. He had become Cuervo, the crow, alleged part-time member of the Pharm gang and hoarder of tequila.

The rumors he inspired would've been funny if life hadn't become so deadly serious.

Tonight's visitor to his warehouse loft was a pretty Asian girl. If not for her weird necklace made from the lenses of shattered traffic lights, Cuervo might have imagined himself in a noir movie; the suave detective offered an assignment by a mysterious and potentially dangerous beauty.

"I need your help," she said, just like in the movies.

Cuervo affected a blasé air and lifted a glass of phony tequila. "Go on."

She shook her head, and her long earrings of broken glass danced in the light of the candles. "First I have to know how close you really are to the Pharms. I've heard—"

"What?"

"That you're not really with them. I've heard you're friendly with them, but not an official member of their gang. Is that true?"

He set the glass on the table and sat up. The girl seemed sincere, and he was familiar with her shop, where she traded art and hand-made jewelry for food. It was a gutsy thing to do - going it alone in a world gone mad. If nothing else, he admired her courage, but there was a small matter that troubled him. "You should know the answer to that question, since you're pretty close to them, yourself. You manufacture simple pharmaceuticals for them; menthol, aspirin and the like."

May hung her head, acknowledging that this was true. "It's just for protection so I can get my art business off the ground. I have other loyalties."

Cuervo grinned. He admired fellow mercenaries. "I do too." He scooted over on the sofa and patted the space beside him. "Want to come over here and talk about them?"

"This isn't that kind of offer." May moved toward the door, but didn't flee. "I just want to know whose side you're on, because if you want to see the Pharms done away with, I've got an assignment that's right up your alley."

Cuervo sucked in his breath. This wasn't the sort of offer he had expected, even after all this verbal sparring and volleying. How could he, plain old Tom Meyers, do away with the most powerful gang in the city? With a silent smirk he remembered he was Cuervo now: mysterious and powerful. "I have no love for the Pharms, honey." He picked up a glass identical to his own and filled it with real tequila. "How about a toast," he offered as he handed it to her. "To a mutually beneficial relationship."

~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Steal Tomorrow Extra: A Birthday Present

2011-01-19T19:06:00.003-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece about Danny (one of the twins) was written for Three Word Wednesday and it contains no spoilers. Be sure to drop by Three Word Wednesday for more fun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Danny stood in the shadows and watched the scene below. The pandemic-ravaged city was surreal even without the Thespians, but the kids who lived at the theater and went about in costumes trumped even the oddest of the survivors. Today, Danny eyed them with particular concern. The Thespian forage team, clad in pirate costumes, had converged on the half-looted shop Danny staked out the day before, and there were too many take on alone.

Exasperated, Danny climbed down from his perch on the questionable fire escape. As he made his descent, he pondered his options. What do you get for the girl who means everything to you when the city is a wreck and some crazy gang of misfits beat you to the goods?

On the filthy streets, a few teens had set up makeshift vending stalls to sell what they could scavenge, but although food and liquor would be welcome, they were too practical for a birthday present. Silk scarves and perfume were romantic, but not Danica's style. He needed something different, something special, and if at all possible, something he could steal.

Without realizing how it happened, he found himself in a part of the city he hadn't ventured to since the pandemic. He looked around with narrowed eyes. Between his martial arts training and the knife and Glock on his belt, he wasn't concerned about being jumped by a stranger, but if he was on some jealous gang's turf, some group of paranoid freaks like the Christian Soldiers, who would just as soon kill you as look at you...

Something odd caught his eye: a tattered canopy hung with ribbons and chains of broken glass that clattered a merry chant in the afternoon breeze. Danny went closer and peered at the hand-lettered sign: "May's Creations." A real store? In this wreck of a world? Fascinated, Danny stepped inside.

In the dim light that filtered through the windows, he saw long glass cases full of glittering objects. More items sat perched on shelves or dangled on colorful ribbons from the ceiling. Scented candles provided light deeper inside, and a slim Asian girl with painted face and her hair in an odd configuration of looped braids and ponytails came to one of the display cases. "Can I help you find anything in particular? I make everything myself."

Danny examined the items more closely - pendants, earrings, charm bracelets, and spangled items of all description, made from what looked like...

"I use the broken glass and plastic I find in the street."

"I see." Danica wasn't much of a jewelry type, but something as unique at this might be right up her alley. He pointed to one that seemed like her style. "How much?"

The girl named a price and Danny frowned. It would be easier to come back later and steal something, but as he looked around again he had second thoughts. There were kids out there who were pretty enterprising, but not like this. May had gone to a lot of work to make all these things and set up shop. Besides, how fair was it to give the love of his life a stolen birthday present? "Do you do gift wrap?"

May grinned. "I decorate the wrapping paper with my own designs."

"It's a deal, then."

He would probably come back later to steal a few more, if Danica really liked May's "creations," but for today, he'd play things straight. After all, nothing was too good for the girl you loved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Steal Tomorrow Extra: Treatment

2010-09-12T14:22:00.000-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Sunday Scribblings. It is not part of the novel and it contains no spoilers. I've embedded links to spoiler-free supplemental information, where appropriate. Be sure to drop by Sunday Scribblings for more fun!
~~~~~~~~~

Cassie watched as Doc applied the poultice. When he was done, she handed him a bandage made from torn strips of hotel sheets.

"You really think it will work?" their patient asked.

"Hell if I know." At the boy's sudden look of alarm, Doc added, "The book says clove oil is effective in these types of cases."

"And turmeric is a known anti-inflammatory," Cassie added.

The boy sighed and sank a little deeper into the pillows. "Why do I feel like you're experimenting on me?

"The foragers are trying to get more antibiotics," Cassie assured him. "And in the meantime, there's nothing wrong with herbal treatments. They were used for thousands of years."

"So we're back to the Stone Age."

Doc and Cassie looked at each other. What was one supposed to say? The pandemic had taken more than just the adults and their knowledge. The industries and transportation services that had supplied the advantages of modern life were gone now. "Stone Age" wasn't a bad way to describe how they were living these days.

"We're doing the best we can," Cassie said.

"And if that doesn't work?" The boy turned to Doc. "You can be honest. I'm sixteen and I'm not stupid."

Doc shoved his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. "If it doesn't work and we can't get antibiotics, you'll either heal on your own or..."

"Or what?"

"Develop gangrene and die."

The boy nodded. "That's what I thought."

To Doc and Cassie's surprise, he closed his eyes and seemed to relax a little.

"Is there anything else we can do for you right now?" Cassie asked.

"No," the boy said, without opening his eyes. "Just keep being straight with me. I can handle the truth."

Doc and Cassie moved away. When they were far enough from their patients that they thought they wouldn't be overheard, Cassie said, "Well, that was a surprise."

Doc shrugged. "Some of them prefer to know the truth. Mom used to talk about patients like that, but I had forgotten until now."

"Sometimes honesty is the best policy."

Doc nodded in agreement. "The truth still sucks, though."

Cassie looked outside. She didn't really expect to see their group's foragers. It was still early in the day, and this particular window of the hotel ballroom didn't offer a clear view to the street. "I do hope, though..."

"Seems like wishing and hoping is all we do."

"Got any better ideas?"

Doc shook his head and they both went back to work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Flash Fiction Extra: New Role

2010-08-25T19:04:00.016-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece about the Thespians was written for Three Word Wednesday and will be cross-posted later this week at Weekend Writer's Retreat. It is not part of the novel and it contains no spoilers. Be sure to drop by Three Word Wednesday or Weekend Writer's Retreat for more fun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Miranda pushed open the door. “Here we are.” She switched on a battery-powered lantern and handed her flashlight to Celia. “You can wear anything you like as long as you give it back if it’s needed for a production.”

Celia shone her beam over the racks of clothes. When she had decided to see if she could join the Thespians, she hadn’t considered that she would be expected to go around in costume like the rest of them. But since the pandemic, it was dangerous to be without the protection of a group, and although the Thespians were weird with their makeup and flair for the dramatic, they were skilled foragers who protected their people. Eleven-year old Celia would be safe here.

“Go on,” Miranda said. “Be whatever you want to be. That’s what this group is all about.”

While Miranda preened in front of a mirror, checking the fit of her bizarrely striped and spotted leotard, Celia approached the nearest clothes rack and began examining what was on the hangers. Medieval gowns. A milkmaid dress. A checkered gingham thing that looked like someone’s idea of an old-fashioned farm dress. Celia fingered the sleeve of a blousy pirate shirt, but she didn’t want to be a pirate. Was there no way she could beg off, abstain from this silliness?

Miranda was leaning into the mirror now, dabbing at her lipstick in the halo of light from her lantern. She met Celia’s eyes in the glass. “What’s the matter? Can’t decide?”

“Uh, yeah. So many choices.”

“If you try something and don’t like it, you can come back and change anytime, as long as you mend anything you tear and put everything back where you found it. Now go on. Choose something that expresses the real inner you.”

Celia looked at the clothes again. She didn’t want to express anything; she only wanted to be safe and fed. When was dinner at this crazy place? She hadn’t eaten in nearly two days, and they had made her audition to join. Her performance had come off well, but had taken the last of her energy.

With a small sigh, Miranda came and stood beside her. “You really are confused, aren’t you?”

“Just tired. And hungry.”

“Well, I’ve got just the thing.” Miranda fumbled in the pouch at her hip, and slipped something into Celia’s hand.

For a moment, Celia was too dumbfounded to speak. A Snickers bar? She ripped open the paper and shoved the candy in her mouth, relishing the sweet chocolate like the answer to a prayer.

Miranda watched in silence as the girl ate, then smiled. “Hit the spot?”

Celia nodded.

“Great.” Miranda put an arm around her, lifted her lantern in her other hand and led Celia back to the long row of costumes. “Now let’s find you something fabulous.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Flash Fiction Extra: Keep Out

2010-08-22T13:52:00.010-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Sunday Scribblings. It is not part of the novel and it contains no spoilers. Be sure to drop by Sunday Scribblings for more fun!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sign said "Keep Out."

"What could be so dangerous about a couple of old tanks?" Danica wondered aloud.

"Probably nothing." Danny shrugged. "You know how some of these kids are. They like messing with people's heads."

Danica nodded but didn't speak. Instead, she walked toward the fence, her entire body alert for trouble.

"We should go back there anyway," Danny said.

"Why? Doesn't look like there's anything we need."

"We should do it just because. I don't like being told where I can't go."

Wasn't that the truth? She turned and looked at him, taking in his slim, agile body, black hair, dark eyes, and features so like her own that even if they didn't make a game of telling people they were twins, a family relationship of some sort was obvious. "I know," she said slowly, recalling his many childhood transgressions. "But that's a stupid reason to go someplace we don't need to go, when there are so many other ways we could use our time."

Danny gave her a mischievous grin. "What other things do you have in mind?" He kissed her hard on the mouth and his hand groped her ass. "I'm up for a different kind of exploring, if that's what you mean."

Another transgression, another line crossed. What would her mother have said if she had known? What about his? The pandemic had been convenient in that respect, at least. With a contented sigh, Danica returned his kiss. It was dangerous to love like this, but wasn't everything dangerous since the die-off?

"We could do it back there," Danny murmured between kisses. "Two forbidden things for the price of one."

"No." Danica shook her head. "Let's go where we'll be more comfortable."

"Works for me."

They headed up the street, back to the deserted brownstone they called home. Behind them, unnoticed, a boy peeked around one of the hulking black tanks, sniper rifle at the ready. He wouldn't have to defend his turf today.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Steal Tomorrow Extra: Ira Quod Ruina

2010-07-28T15:57:00.009-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Three Word Wednesday and will be cross-posted later this week at Weekend Writer's Retreat. It is not part of the novel and it contains no spoilers. Be sure to drop by Three Word Wednesday or Weekend Writer's Retreat for more fun!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jay pushed his way through the crowded corridor, so blind with rage he didn't care who he shoved or stepped on. If he didn't get out of here fast, he was going to do something both he and the hospital staff would regret.

He picked his way over the bodies of the ill and dying, and dodged the hands plucking at his clothes, as if he, a mere teenager, could do anything. It was a pandemic. No, it was the end of the world, or at least the end of the world he knew.

An orderly cut in front of him, pushing a dying man on a gurney. The orderly looked none too healthy himself, but Jay was tempted to punch him, anyway. The man might not be personally responsible for the laws that prevented him from retrieving his parents' bodies from the hospital morgue, but every one of these people knew it was hopeless. They would all die, so why not let a guy bury his loved ones as he wished?

He went outside into the chaos of the emergency drop-off area. Here, the healthy argued with security guards over the ill and dying, who slumped over wheelchairs or lay limp and gasping on improvised stretchers.

"They're not taking anyone else," a guard insisted. "There's nothing they can do, anyway."

Jay stepped around two small children, abandoned in the crowd and crying. He was about to go into the street, not because he had a destination but because he had no place else to go, when a particularly fierce argument at the end of the driveway caught his attention.

The boy was about his own age, wiry and agile, with long dark hair and a savage look in his eyes. He brandished a blade at a security guard, screaming epithets, while the harried guard kept his hand on his gun, glancing around for backup.

"Put that away, son. It won't do you any good."

"I'm not your son, you goddamn pig. You're going to die like the other ones, and when you do, I hope you get thrown in the pits to rot."

"Well, at least your parents will have some company, won't they?"

The boy sprang, howling with hatred.

Jay ran forward and pulled him away. "Stop that." He held the struggling boy, his muscles nearly cramping with the effort. "If they put you in jail, you'll be trapped there when the cops die."

The boy squirmed in Jay's grip. "What do I care?"

The security guard looked at them with sad eyes that bore the deep shadows of one who hadn't rested in days and who was already symptomatic with the disease that would kill him. "I'm sorry, young man," he said, addressing the boy who had abused him. "The only thing you can do for your parents is try to live in a way that honors their memory."

Jay didn't release the boy until the security guard was lost in the crowd. He was ready when he turned on him with a flash of his switchblade, but he hadn't expected to recognize him. Frantically, he searched his mind for a name. This boy wasn't one he had been friends with or even spoken to, but he had seen him in the halls at school and had a vague memory of him sitting in the back row of biology class one semester, slumped across his desk, sleeping. "David Collier?"

The boy paused. "I remember you. Jay Gallard, popular guy." He took a step closer and shoved the blade of his knife against Jay's throat. "Charm and good looks won't do you any good around here."

Jay fought to stay calm. Guys like David were all bluff...usually. "Look, man, we're in the same boat. My parents died in there, too, and they won't let me have them back."

"Sucks, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, but maybe together," he darted a glance toward the hospital doors where the crowds were still begging to be let in. "We can do something. If they're still in the morgue, all we need is a plan."

David drew the knife away, but his eyes remained wary. "What kind of plan?"

"Hell if I know." He resisted the temptation to rub the spot where the knife had been. "But we've got a better chance if we work together than if we work separately. What do you say?"

After a long moment's hesitation, David closed the knife and slipped it back in his pocket. "It's worth a try."

Jay relaxed slightly, feeling a bit of hope for the first time all day. "Let's get away from here so they won't see us talking." He gestured toward the street. "We'll think of something. There's got to be a way."

~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Flash Fiction Extra: Coffee with Sugar

2010-07-21T22:47:00.006-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Three Word Wednesday and will be cross-posted later this week at Weekend Writer's Retreat. It is not part of the novel and it contains no spoilers. Be sure to drop by Three Word Wednesday or Weekend Writer's Retreat for more fun!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The stark concrete building didn't look promising, but that was why David had chosen it.

He heaved a chunk of concrete through a window, then used a piece of pipe to break out the jagged edges of glass still clinging to the frame. He scrambled inside and found himself in a musty office full of cluttered metal desks and vinyl chairs on rollers. Suppressing a smile of satisfaction, he began working the room, checking desk drawers for aspirin, batteries, and snacks that hadn't been nibbled by rodents. From a small table, he swiped a lidded glass jar full of candy. He found a plastic bag and dumped his goods inside. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

He went into the hall and tried the door of the next room. Locked. What had the grownups been thinking? Did they not care that the young survivors would need access to every resource? Had they really been so deeply in denial, or was it just habit that made them lock everything up tight?

He tried a few more doors and was relieved when one opened into an employee break room. The refrigerator was off limits, no doubt full of mold after so many months without electricity, but the packets of sugar and coffee were a gold mine. David dumped them into his bag, hardly daring to believe his luck. With these, he could buy his way into a new tribe - one less violent than the Kevorks, who had taken to killing each other over the slightest drug and alcohol-fueled provocation, when they bothered with an excuse at all.

With the bag slung over his shoulder, he went back into the hallway, so deep in his own thoughts he didn't notice the boy until it was too late. David took the full force of the body blow and felt the bag torn from his grasp. He recovered and gave chase, but the boy had a good head start. There was no way David could catch up, but the boy didn't know the building any better than he did and suddenly they were both at a dead end, facing a defunct elevator.

David grabbed the boy and shoved him against the wall. "You worthless little shit. Thought jumping someone else for their goods was easier than finding your own?"

The boy gasped and squirmed, but didn't answer.

In David's pocket was a switchblade, and he flicked it open with one hand and pressed it against the boy's throat. "Who're you with? Did you follow me?"

"I'm alone. I live here." The boy's voice was barely a squeak.

"Liar. Don't play the victim with me. You think I'm not wise to your tricks?"

The boy protested again, but David had no patience for excuses. He plunged his blade into the boy's neck, the first time just to enjoy the look of surprise on his face, then again and again until he found the artery to kill him quickly.

With that messy business finished, he wiped the knife clean on his pants, picked up his bag and looked around. Were there others here? It was unlikely, but after this he couldn't be sure, and no way was he going to hang around any longer as bait and temptation to kids less enterprising than himself. He had what he needed. With coffee and sugar, he was rich.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Flash Fiction Extra: Lucky Escape

2010-07-14T22:55:00.022-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Three Word Wednesday and will be cross-posted later this week at Weekend Writer's Retreat. It is not part of the novel and it contains no spoilers. Be sure to drop by Three Word Wednesday or Weekend Writer's Retreat for more fun!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seth ran as fast as his ten year-old legs could carry him, dodging trash and leaping over potholes. The teenagers were faster, though, and he could hear them gaining. He swerved around a dirty girl’s cook fire and scanned the way ahead for friendly faces, but there were no allies here. The kids saw the boys chasing him and knew better than to interfere. No one in their right mind would challenge a group of Kevorks, the most violent tribe in the post-pandemic city.

In a last desperate bid to evade his pursuers, Seth ducked into a building. He dodged a few chairs, then felt his feet slide out from under him as he slipped on glossy information sheets about checking accounts and mortgage loans. He skidded into a rope that had once defined the queue to speak to a teller and went down with a crash. The stolen goods he had been clutching to his chest went flying, and in an instant, he was surrounded.

“You stupid little shit.”

“Think you’re such a bad-ass, don’t you?”

One of the boys bent over him, his eyes crackling with malevolence. “Ready to find out what we do to thieves?”

Seth didn’t dare point out that the Kevorks were themselves thieves and that in a lawless world without adults, theft was a matter of survival, not a crime.

The boy kicked Seth hard in the ribs, called him a “goddamned ignorant punk,” then let loose with a string of vulgarities that was impressive even by the standards of Kevorks.

“Come on, David, that’s not necessary.”

The boy had been about to kick him again, but now he turned around. “What do you think I should do instead, Gallows? Praise this little fucker’s breaking and entering skills?”

“He’s just a kid, and we caught him. He’s not worth wasting our time on.”

Seth held his breath as a taller boy emerged out of the shadows. He half-expected another kick, but instead Gallows motioned him to his feet. “Pick up our stuff that you dropped and give it back.”

He hurried to obey, fumbling in the shadows for the scattered candy bars. When he had found them all and handed them over, Gallows patted down his pockets just to be sure. “Try something like this again, and you won’t get off so easy. Got it?”

The words were stern, but Seth caught a glimpse of something gentle in Gallows’ eyes. There was also a bulge in one of his pockets that hadn’t been there before, but he asked no questions, and lowered his gaze respectfully. “I won’t do it again. Promise.”

“You believe this brat?” David said.

“The kid is sorry, we got our stuff back, and we’ve got better things to do than harass children.”

“Like find some more bourbon,” one of the boys agreed.

“Screw that,” said one of the others. “Oxycontin. We passed a pharmacy that looks like it hasn't been raided yet…”

The Kevorks walked away, bickering over their next move, leaving Seth alone in the ruined bank. It had been a lucky escape. He would have to be more careful who he stole from, and he wondered if he should seek out the protection of a group. A lot of kids were forming tribes these days, since there was safety in numbers.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out the Snickers bar Gallows had slipped in there while pretending to pat him down for stolen goods. There would be time enough tomorrow to look for a group to join. For the moment, he had what he needed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Flash Fiction Extra: Noisy Neighbors

2010-07-07T21:51:00.025-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Three Word Wednesday and will be cross-posted later this week at Weekend Writer's Retreat. It is not part of the novel and it contains no spoilers. Be sure to drop by Three Word Wednesday or Weekend Writer's Retreat for more fun!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny slipped through the window, dropped into a crouch, and looked around as best he could in the musty, tepid darkness.

Empty, but that came as no surprise. He and his twin, Danica, had staked the place out carefully. One wrong decision could get a person killed in the wreckage of the city, so they were in the habit of planning each move carefully.

He jerked the rope and felt it grow taut. A minute later, Danica appeared at the window, and he helped her in.

“Anyone see us?” he whispered.

Danica shook her head, then turned her attention to the dusty room. “We were right.”

“We’re always right.” He kissed her, then indicated the door with a jerk of his chin.

They went into the hall and moved silently from room to room. In one, several small children slept huddled on a pile of sheets and sofa cushions beneath an open window. Another room smelled faintly of rot, overlaid with the acrid odor of someone’s attempt at cooking. Behind a closed door near the end of the hall were grunts and sighs that suggested a couple members of this ragged gang of survivors had found a little distraction in each others’ arms.

Danny slipped a hand around Danica’s waist, then lower. “They’re giving me ideas.”

She stifled a giggle. “Later.”

Behind the next door they found what they were looking for. It didn’t take long to determine that the boy slumped across the table with a flickering candle stub and an empty bottle by his side wasn’t waking up anytime soon. Danny turned on his flashlight, illuminating metal shelves full of books, tools, and office supplies. Danica examined a few cans of peanuts, then turned away in regret. They had a more important mission here.

While Danny fumbled with a portable CD player, Danica searched bags and boxes until she found what they had come for. She stuffed the small items into her backpack, signaled to Danny, and then they slipped through the dark corridor to the empty room they had entered through. Their rope was still there, and they shimmied to the ground with the ease of many years of practice.

A few minutes later, safely back in their own abandoned brownstone, they examined their takings with pleasure.

“Just let them try it now.”

“Did you make sure to break the lid?”

Danny nodded. The neighbor gang’s wild music had been the bane of their existence. “Disc drive, too. Even if they find more batteries to replace the ones we stole, that boom box will never play another CD.”

“Now we can sleep as late as we want.”

“Who said anything about sleeping?”

Danica let him unbutton her shirt and sighed with pleasure as he ran his hand across her skin. “I just hope they don’t think of some other way to make noise.”

“If they annoy us again, we’ll have to kill them.”

“I guess so. Seems a little extreme, though.” She pulled away from his kiss and frowned.

“Everything’s extreme at the end of the world.” He drew her back to him and this time she didn’t resist. “Now take those pants off, love, or do I have to take them off for you?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Flash Fiction Extra: Figment of the Imagination

2010-07-05T16:02:00.010-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Sunday Scribblings. It is not part of the novel and it contains no spoilers. I've embedded links to spoiler-free supplemental information, where appropriate. Be sure to drop by Sunday Scribblings for more fun!
~~~~~~~~~

“If it’s not all about me, who else should our survival be about? Those useless brats back at the hotel? A smart guy only looks out for Number One.”

Galahad shrugged. He was used to this kind of talk from David, although he had never managed to figure out how much of it was real and how much was bluster. “You’re not the only person in the universe.”

“How do you know?” David leaned toward him across the aisle of the battered hotel shuttle. “You could be a figment of my imagination.” He gestured toward a window. “Maybe everything is.”

“You’d have to be pretty sick to have dreamed up the pandemic.”

“Maybe so, but how do you know for sure I didn’t?”

Galahad thought of the ravaged city, empty of adults and devoid of food deliveries, clean water and electricity. He thought of the half-feral children and teenagers who preyed on those who would be more civilized. For someone of David’s temperament, it wasn’t such a bad place. “I could see you coming up with something like this.”

David leaned back on the ripped vinyl seat with an air of satisfaction. “So, you see, it really is all about me: you, the city, every last deranged, filthy bit of it. In fact—

The shuttle hit a pothole and lurched to one side.

“Watch where you’re going,” David shouted.

Jimmy, the driver, had been listening to their conversation, and he met David’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “I’m just a figment of your imagination, remember? Maybe you should watch where we’re going.”

Galahad laughed and David folded his arms across his chest and slumped back in his seat. “Just you wait.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~
If you enjoyed this story, check the sidebar, where you'll find the serialized novel, more stories, and other fun Steal Tomorrow stuff.

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Flash Fiction Extra: Practice Makes Perfect

2010-06-30T18:20:00.016-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Three Word Wednesday and will be cross-posted later this week at Weekend Writer's Retreat. It is not part of the novel and it contains no spoilers. I've embedded links to spoiler-free supplemental information, where appropriate. Be sure to drop by Three Word Wednesday or Weekend Writer's Retreat for more fun!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The book recommended practicing on an orange.

“Oh, that’s really helpful.” Doc shoved the book away. “If there was an orange anywhere in this city, it would be under guard for some gang leader’s dinner.”

Rochelle picked up a syringe and examined it. “We could practice on something else.”

“Like what?” Doc reached for the book again. “The foragers wouldn’t know an injection pad if they saw it, and you can imagine the hassle of trying to convince someone like David to scout for anything we can’t eat or drink.”

“He brought us needles and medicine.”

“Only because he found them by accident while looking for pretzels, or whatever it was he thought he’d find.”

“Well…” Rochelle shrugged. She admired Doc too much to ever say that he was wrong, but what would become of them if David didn’t keep the forage team focused on finding food? “Maybe we don’t really need to practice. Anyone so sick they need these drugs will be too sick to care if we miss the first time.”

“It’s not about missing a vein. We could hit a nerve and cause paralysis. We might kill someone by mistake.” Doc flipped through the pages. “Maybe we should just practice on dead people.”

“You’re not serious, are you?”

Doc met Rochelle’s eyes, then looked away. “Maybe not.”

“I don’t think I could do it.”

“Me, either. I mean, maybe I could, but…” he reached for another text from his stack of medical books. “It just seems so crazy. Here we are with the wealth of human knowledge at our disposal, and we have to risk injuring or killing our patients because we only half-understand what we’re doing.”

Rochelle frowned. “Wasn’t it always that way? My mom had a friend who died of appendicitis because the doctor thought she had the flu. And one time I—”

Doc bent back over his book with a little huff of contempt. “Maybe you can accept less than perfection, but I won’t. This is a new day.”

Rochelle gazed at him solemnly, then edged her chair closer so she could read over his shoulder. “So where are we going to get an orange?”

Doc shook his head. “Hell if I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~
If you enjoyed this story, check the sidebar, where you'll find the serialized novel, more stories, and other fun Steal Tomorrow stuff.

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Flash Fiction Extra: Fairy Tales

2010-06-28T01:20:00.013-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Sunday Scribblings. It is not part of the novel and it contains no spoilers. I've embedded links to spoiler-free supplemental information, where appropriate. Be sure to drop by Sunday Scribblings for more fun!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alaina sat at her desk, watching in satisfaction as the children bent over their books. It hadn't been easy to get ten copies of the same text. Although Mundo gave lip service to the importance of education for their tribe of pandemic survivors, convincing him to authorize a trip to acquire teaching supplies was another matter. Anything not directly related to the group's day to day survival was suspect.

One girl glanced up from her book. Alaina nodded, and Tashawna reached for her colored pencils. Good students were allowed to amuse themselves quietly while waiting for the others to finish.

Alaina bent back over her own book - a coveted teacher's guide for the history lesson the children had been reading. As the daughter of a high school teacher and university professor, she keenly felt her responsibility to do everything the correct way. The pandemic retrovirus was merciless and the days were numbered when teenagers like herself, who had been taught by actual grownups, would be around to instruct the younger generation. Thousands of years of civilized history stood to be wiped out, but Alaina wouldn't let that happen without a fight.

Ten minutes later, with most of the class now bored and fidgeting, Alaina stood up. "Is everybody done? Who wants to share their thoughts about what we just read?"

Tashawna raised her hand. "I liked it."

"Yes?" Alaina glanced at the other children. Since no one else seemed willing to chime in, she asked Tashawna for clarification. "What did you like about it?"

"It was interesting. You know, the way it said how the president made laws so people would always be safe and have food."

"And good water," a boy piped up.

"And medicine," a girl added.

"The president doesn't really make the laws," Alaina explained. "That's what Congress does. But the president helps give them ideas, and he can say no if Congress tries to make a law he doesn't like."

"Who's our president now?" Tashawna asked.

"Mundo is our president," a boy told her.

"He's a gang leader." Tashawna looked to Alaina for confirmation.

"Well, yes," Alaina said. This wasn't how she had intended the lesson to go. "Only grownups can be president, so until someone cures the Telo or writes new laws..."

"It's just a fairy tale," Tashawna finished for her. "Something that sounds nice and pretty, but isn't real."

The other children nodded, and Alaina suppressed a sigh. She had always wanted to be a teacher, but never like this. What stupid whims of fate had put her in this crazy situation, educating children for a role in a world that was likely gone forever? Moments like this made her wish she had lived in just about any era but this one.

"We talked about fairy tales a few weeks ago," she reminded Tashawna. "Besides being 'not real' what else did we learn?"

Tashawna screwed up her face in thought. "That they teach us important things about the world?"

"Exactly." Alaina glanced around the room, feeling as if she were on more solid footing now. "So if it's just a fairy tale that there's a grownup leader, elected by the people to help other grownups make laws, what does that say about our own situation?"

"That we're doomed," a girl said.

Once again, Tashawna came to Alaina's rescue. "It means that the best way to make decisions is to vote on a leader who will listen to your ideas."

Alaina nodded. This was probably as good as she could expect. "That's right. We're all smart, but none of us is so smart we can make every decision for ourselves. We need each other's ideas, but we also need each other's cooperation. That's how we make sure there's food, water, and safety for all of us." She looked around the room and met each child's eyes in turn. Would they grow up to remember any of this? Would they grow up at all? She had no way of knowing, but like the others in the Regents tribe, she did what she could.

"Working together is how we make things right. And that's no fairy tale."

~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Flash Fiction Extra: Double-Dealing

2010-06-23T12:03:00.012-05:00

This is a Three Word Wednesday post and is cross-posted at Weekend Writer's Retreat. It is not part of the novel, and contains no spoilers. Support your fellow writers by going to Three Word Wednesday and Weekend Writer's Retreat for stories, poetry, and other literary fun!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He lived alone in a warren of rambling rooms in a downtown building that had seen better days even before the pandemic. Word on the street was that he had an entire closet stocked floor to ceiling with cases of tequila, which was a story Cuervo was disinclined to dispute, even though the real source of his nickname was his love of high places and his long, hooked nose like the beak of a crow. Rumors had their uses, and Cuervo wasn’t one to let any tool at his disposal go to waste.

Today’s visitor was a greasy-haired teenager who had once gone by the prosaic name of Craig but now insisted he be called Spike. Cuervo offered him a shot of tequila and motioned him toward a hard wooden chair, then threw himself onto a battered blue sofa and hoisted a bottle in his direction. The bottle contained mostly water, but feigning a prodigious tolerance for the hard stuff helped his reputation. “May the Telo not get you before your time.”

Spike tossed back his pure tequila and winced. “How do you stand it, man?”

“A guy grows used to it. The way I figure, I’m killing off the germs from the rotten food I get from you guys in trade.”

“Don’t give me that.” Spike set the glass on the floor by his feet. “You eat as well as any of us, and you’re not even a member of our gang.”

“Didn’t mean to imply anything. Just stating a fact.” Cuervo took another hit off his bottle of phony tequila. “But let’s skip the bullshit; you came here for a reason. What can I do for you?”

Spike hesitated and darted a glance toward the door. Then, as if concluding there was no virtue in beating around the bush, he said, “Meds. We’ve got a sick girl in our group and we need antibiotics. Pain-killers too, if you’ve got them.”

“Only type of pain-killer I’ve got is the kind you just sampled. Why do you think—”

“Oh, come on.” Spike got to his feet. “Everyone knows you work for the Pharms, and this—” he waved an arm to indicate the ramshackle rooms, “—is just a cover. What’s your price? We’ve got Gatorade, Cheerios, watch batteries, powdered eggs…”

Cuervo had started to sit up, but now he lay back against the cushions as Spike continued his spiel. So they thought he worked for the Pharms, did they? Interesting. He sucked on his bottle and considered. The Pharms were one of the most powerful gangs in the city and controlled most of the remaining drug supply. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would think he, Cuervo, was one of them, but a rumor like that might be useful.

“So what do you think?”

Cuervo rubbed his chin and considered. He had no antibiotics and pain-killers, but he was on friendly terms with a few Pharms. If Spike hadn’t gone to them directly, it must be because they were enemies. Either that, or they thought Cuervo could cut them a better deal. He smiled. He’d make them a special offer, all right.

“Sit back down, friend.” He sat up and offered to refill Spike’s glass from the bottle of real tequila that he kept for guests. “Nothing’s too good for a trusted ally, especially not now that you know my secret.” He set the bottle on a small table and rested his elbows on his knees. “So tell me again what you plan to do for me. Then I’ll tell you how I can help.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Flash Fiction Extra: Bethany's Luck

2010-06-20T10:49:00.015-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story was written for Thursday Tales. I've embedded links to spoiler-free supplemental information, where applicable.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"There she is." Galahad pointed.

"How did she get all the way over here?"

Galahad was as mystified as David, but he had seen a lot of strange things since the pandemic. That a three year old should wander this far, successfully evading the dangers of the city was miraculous. "Let's just be glad she's okay. She could've gotten hurt or picked up."

"Would've suited me fine." David shoved his hands in his pockets and followed Galahad toward the swing set where the girl was singing about rainbows. "I don't mind foraging food for the older kids; they do chores, guard the hotel, and all that, so I get something in return for risking my ass. But these little ones don't do jack."

"They do what they can." Galahad glanced at David out of the corner of his eye. "It's not like there weren't people to do for us when we were that age."

"That was a different world."

They were almost to her now, and Bethany stopped singing and looked at them, first in alarm, then with a smile of recognition.

Galahad returned her smile and was about to say something, when David interrupted.

"Hey, you stupid brat. We're here to take you back to the hotel before the Obits get you."

"Don't talk like that." Galahad went up to her. "You're safe now, honey, but don't come out here alone again. If you want to play on the swings, ask someone to bring you, okay?"

Bethany nodded and David rolled his eyes. "Like any of us has time to take kids to a playground."

Galahad picked Bethany up and met David's eyes over her head. "Kids need to play. It's how they learn."

"Let her learn by playing with the other useless brats at the hotel." David jerked his chin, indicating they should return to the shuttle. "We're wasting gas and time."

Galahad followed, holding Bethany tightly in his arms.

"Am I in trouble?" she whispered.

"No, baby."

"Why is David mad?"

"We were scared something happened to you."

"Like what?"

They were at the shuttle now, and Galahad paused and looked around. The city was a wreck; dirty and dangerous since the die-off. If Bethany lived to grow up, she would have violence, sanitation, and basic survival to contend with. What could happen to her? Everything. This wasn't the day to tell her that, though. He and the others sheltering at the hotel could protect her for a little longer, help her preserve the luxury of innocence. "Nothing, sweetheart. Stick close to the bigger kids, and nothing bad will happen."

From inside the shuttle, David shouted, "Don't lie to her."

Galahad shook his head. "He's jealous."

"He has no one to take care of him," Bethany observed.

"Yes, that's it." Galahad held the girl close. "You're one of the lucky ones."

Pic by andrewf1

Flash Fiction Extra: Here Be Dragons

2010-05-23T10:53:00.018-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Sunday Scribblings. It is not part of the novel and it contains no spoilers. I've embedded links to spoiler-free supplemental information, where appropriate. Be sure to drop by Sunday Scribblings for more fun!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hotel had always been spooky with its gloomy corners, useless televisions, and portraits of the deceased gazing down from the walls, but since the pandemic, the entire city was a dark and frightening place. Before now the children's only fears had been the ghosts of the dead and the feral children of rival tribes. Now, though, the youngest had a new worry.

In an effort to convince them, Cassie and Galahad led them in a nervous, whispering group through the darkest rooms and corridors, shining their flashlights into corners and behind furniture. "See?" Cassie told them. "No dragons."

The children shook their heads. Dragons were fast and were good at hiding. They wouldn't be found until they were ready.

Alaina, the sixteen year old teacher, tried next. She rounded up the children and conducted a lesson on dragons. "They're a myth," she said. "No more real than the tooth fairy."

Some of the children pouted, while others stared in disbelief. One, more enterprising than the others, searched the improvised schoolroom's meager selection of books and handed her a copy of The Reluctant Dragon.

"This is just a story," Alaina said, but her words fell on deaf ears.

Sid, the teenage engineer, was enlisted to devise security measures around the children's rooms with a notion that maybe bells and trip wires would help them feel safe. Dragons were clever, though, not easily defeated by such measures. The children continued to wake in the night, screaming.

Exasperated, Mundo called a meeting in his favorite conference room. "This is getting out of control. It's not my policy to dictate what anyone thinks. If these kids want to believe in dragons, that's their business, but the screaming and crying has got to stop."

His girlfriend Kayleen agreed. "I haven't had a good night's sleep all week, thanks to those brats."

"Who started this crazy rumor, anyway?" Cassie asked.

Everyone looked at David, the lead forager, but he shook his head. "Why would I do a dumb thing like that? They're disturbing my rest, too."

"Well, we have to do something," Mundo said. "I'm open to any suggestions."

They debated for a quarter of an hour, but no one had any new ideas. They could give more lessons and keep shining lights in dark places, but if these tactics hadn't worked before, why would they succeed now?

"Take them to the Zoo Tribe," David said. "Everyone knows they're animal experts. Maybe they can convince them."

Julilla, the guard leader's second in command shuddered. "Then they'll have nightmares about dead elephants."

"You got any better ideas?"

"To make them quit thinking there's dragons around here? No." Julilla glanced at Alex, the guard leader, before continuing. "Instead of trying to convince them of something they seem hell-bent on believing, we should make them think they're strong and smart enough that no dragon would be able to hurt them."

At the head of the table, Mundo leaned forward. "You mean teach them to fight or something?"

"Fight, outsmart them...you know, show them how to be better than the dragons."

Alex nodded. "We can do that. Teach them to overpower their dragons instead of run from them."

Heads around the table nodded. "It's the one thing we haven't tried," Cassie agreed.

"So that's the plan," Mundo said. "We'll teach them to outwit their dragons."

"Something we all ought to know how to do," Cassie added.

Everyone looked at each other in silence for a moment, each thinking of their own darkest fears. Then Mundo reached for a pen and notepad and shoved them toward Kayleen. "Take some notes, babe." He turned to Julilla. "Go on. Tell us how to beat the dragons."

Flash Fiction Extra: The Rehearsal

2010-05-23T01:11:00.019-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story about a Thespian rehearsal was written for Thursday Tales. A familiarity with Jean-Paul Sartre's play No Exit is helpful for this story, but not necessary.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She called herself Miranda. Banquo wasn't sure if she had renamed herself from Shakespeare, like he had, or if that was her given name. Such things hardly mattered, though, since the pandemic. Everyone in the Thespian tribe had re-formed their identity; that's why they had joined in the first place.

He looked at her in her odd leotard of stripes and spots. "The line is, 'Fear was for before, while we still had hope.'"

"But it makes no sense. We have no hope and we're afraid all the time."

Banquo sighed and cast a glance toward the director, but the boy who was in charge of this particular production was busy sucking on a bottle of green liquid that looked like absinthe. Sartre would've been proud, or at least found it ironic.

"I know you're into method acting," Banquo said, "And that's cool and all, but you can't go changing the lines to where they don't even mean what the playwright intended."

"Just try it." Miranda brushed a lock of dark hair out of her eyes. "It'll make the play better, I promise." She returned to her spot and motioned for him to stand where he had been before. "Now go on. Give me my cue."

Banquo stifled a sigh and repeated his line. "You're not afraid?"

"Of course I'm afraid. There's no more hope."

"There's no more hope, I know, but we're still before. Whatever is to be, it hasn't begun yet, you know."

Miranda beamed, no longer in character. "See? It makes more sense this way, doesn't it?"

Banquo gave a small shrug. What did it matter, really, if they changed their lines? There was no exit for any of them, save the way their elders had gone. The virus was ruthless, and anything they did in the meantime was just a temporary diversion from the reality of their own future.

Banquo cast a glance toward the director, then straightened his shoulders and went back into character. "I don't know," he said, understanding in this moment how Cradeau felt in his oddly appointed hell. "I'm just waiting."

Pic by Katja Faith

Flash Fiction Extra: Lucky Day

2010-05-20T01:27:00.029-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece about how Alex and Julilla met precedes the action of the novel and contains no spoilers. This is a Three Word Wednesday post, and is cross-posted at Weekend Writer's Retreat, so follow the links for more literary fun!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alex looked out the door, scanning the street for trouble. These were the moments he dreaded. Having found food, he now had to get it back to the team without it being stolen by a rival gang of hungry children. If he was caught by someone with a mean streak, not just his food but his life would be in danger. Until his gang could field a larger forage team, though, this was how it had to be.

With an easy motion, he lifted the box to his shoulder and headed out.

The streets were quiet and the sun took some of the chill off the air. It would soon be spring, and it would be nice to not be cold all the time. Weeds would sprout in the cracks of the streets and sidewalks, and anything green and living would be a welcome sight among the post-pandemic wreckage.

Up ahead, he saw the gleam of a fire and a few small figures in dark coats huddled around it for warmth or perhaps to cook a stray animal. Since Alex couldn't be sure if the group was dangerous, he took a detour, even though the side street would take him farther from his rendezvous point.

When he got back to the hotel, he would remind Mundo that they needed to find more guards and foragers. Although Alex wore a .45 and knew how to use it, real safety lay in numbers, and no one should forage alone. Their band of survivors was getting a good reputation around the city, so surely it wouldn't be hard to recruit--

Three tall boys emerged from a door down the street and started toward him with a tough, street-wise air. Alex cast a glance over his shoulder, but going back wasn't a good option, since who knew what that group around the fire would do if they caught him, or if they saw what he was carrying?

One of the three strangers shouted and they started running.

Alex took off back the way he had come, but the cumbersome box slowed him down. Footsteps pounded behind him, and then he found himself surrounded. He picked out their leader easily, with his long blond hair and aura of command, and searched his face for weakness. Maybe surrendering the food would pacify him, and he could at least escape unharmed.

One of the other boys shoved him and the box fell to the ground, then all three closed in, kicking and punching. Finally he found an opportunity and drew his .45, but one boy grabbed him from behind and forced him to drop it. Then the leader drew a coiled leather whip from under his coat and began slowly unwinding it.

Alex felt his mouth go dry. He had trained for a lot of scenarios in ROTC and his martial arts classes, but never for anything like this. He cast about for ideas, but knew with a sick feeling in his stomach that unless the rest of his team found him fast, or a more entertaining prospect came along to distract these thugs, there would be no escape.

The first lash knocked him back against his captors and laid open a gash in his coat, but didn't touch his skin. The second strike of the whip found the opening, drawing blood. Alex gasped and struggled not to cry out.

The boy was preparing to strike again when something round and orange hit him in the face. The basketball bounced to the tarmac and the boy screamed and clutched his bleeding nose. Alex felt his captors loosen their grasp in surprise and he jerked himself free as a stranger leaped into their midst, kicking and striking out with a piece of pipe.

"Run," she said, but no way was Alex going to let a girl rescue him and then abandon her. Besides, now that it was two against three, maybe he could salvage his box of food, after all.

It took only a couple of minutes for Alex and the rangy girl with the pipe to convince their assailants that this fight wasn't worth their trouble. The three boys edged away, then started running, the sound of their feet soon dying into the distance.

Alex leaned over, breathing hard. When he had caught his breath enough to speak, he shoved his hair out of his eyes and looked at the girl. "Who are you?"

"Julilla."

She looked remarkably unwinded, and although her fighting had lacked technique, she was strong and had good instincts. "Who're you with?"

"No one." She tucked her pipe in a pocket and went to retrieve her basketball. She bounced it a few times with a casual air of experience, then her gaze fell on the box. "Since I helped you out, any chance you'd share some of that?"

"How about back at my place?" At her look of alarm, he added, "Not like that. Regency Hotel. There's about twenty of us, but we're peaceful and we're trying to grow." When she still didn't answer, he added, "We could really use someone like you. I'll teach you everything I know."

Julilla gazed at him through narrowed eyes. "For real, no tricks?"

"You probably saved my life. No tricks, ever. Word of honor."

She smiled and bounced her ball. "I guess I could check it out."

Alex hoisted the box to his shoulder and they began walking in the direction of the rendezvous point.

"What's in the box, by the way?" Julilla asked.

"Pop-Tarts."

"Oh, man. I really hit the jackpot today."

Alex smiled to himself. Not an hour ago he had been wishing he had another savvy fighter on his team, and now look. "No," he said. "I did."

Flash Fiction Extra: A Special Meal

2010-05-15T23:55:00.014-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece featuring the Regents' head cook, Sandra, was written for Sunday Scribblings. It is not part of the novel and it contains no spoilers. I've embedded links to spoiler-free supplemental information, where appropriate. Be sure to drop by Sunday Scribblings for more fun!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sandra flung open the door to the walk-in and hung her electric lantern so she could see. She had instructed that any food that might get eaten by rats be kept here in the defunct cooler, but as she examined the pitiful assortment of bags and boxes, she frowned.

A special meal. That's what she had been charged with cooking. Why it had to be special, Sandra didn't know or care because what could she possibly make with this? She had a few cans of Spaghetti-Os and evaporated milk in the pantry, and she was pretty sure she still had some peanut butter and a few cans of chickpeas, but...

She heard footsteps and turned around.

"Here." David held up a box of melba toast. "Someone tried to put it where the rats might get it."

Sandra snatched the box from his hands. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Hell if I know. I'm in charge of foraging, not cooking."

"And you keep bringing me crap." She waved a hand that indicated the stale fig newtons, half-empty box of cous-cous, and lone box of cheese crackers.

"Crap is all that's out there. You don't like what I bring you, go out there and fight the other kids for it yourself."

"I'm supposed to make a special meal tonight."

David shrugged. "That shouldn't be hard. All your meals are special, as in Special Olympics special."

Sandra threw the box of melba toast at him and watched in satisfaction as he slunk away. What a jerk. But then, what could one expect from a former Kevork? David used to run with one of the most violent gangs in the city, which made him a good forager, but not someone she wanted any dealings with. She had joined the Regents to get away from guys like him.

She picked up the box and set it on a shelf, then returned to her dilemma. Spaghetti-Os over cous-cous, perhaps? Or maybe a Spaghetti-O casserole with the cheese crackers and some garbanzo beans? What could she make with this odd assortment of items?

Well, peanut butter on melba toast, for starters. It would look nice on one of the hotel's silver trays and would be a good appetizer. And for dessert, she could make a sort of bread pudding with the fig newtons and condensed milk. But what to make for a main course?

Sandra stared so long at the shelves that everything started to blur in her mind. Green chili enchiladas - that's what she would make for a special meal, if she had the right ingredients. Or maybe stuffed quail with orange sauce. Sauteed scallops with a side of grilled vegetables in garlic butter sounded good, too. Her stomach rumbled with hunger.

Suppressing a sigh of discouragement, she reached for the box of cheese crackers. Spaghetti-O casserole it would be. And if they didn't like it, well, no one could say it wasn't special.

Flash Fiction Extra: All That Glitters

2010-05-05T22:32:00.007-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece about May precedes the action of the novel and contains no spoilers. This is a Three Word Wednesday post, so please go the Three Word Wednesday site for stories, poetry, and other literary fun!

It had been a sad and dusty little place when May took it over, but at least the windows weren't broken, and the door was easily fixed. The shop had lacked the tables and display cases she would need to show off her creations, but such items were easily acquired. Jewelry shops had been looted early in the pandemic and it was a simple matter to walk into an empty store and take the satin and velvet-lined showcases and gilt-framed mirrors.

It hadn’t been difficult for May to get the materials she needed to create her jewelry, either. Her inspiration was the detritus of civilization; the vibrant shards of glass and plastic that littered the city streets. Using her knowledge of chemistry, she etched and stained the remains of the past into colorful creations that could be worn around the neck or wrists, or dangle from a pair of young ears. Young, of course, because there were no more adults, and now their own survival was an uncertain thing as well.

May was hanging some necklaces for display, humming a little tune, when the door flew open and a greasy-haired teenager in a leather duster strode in.

“Hey, babe, got the goods?”

She offered a grim smile. “Just a minute.” She went in the back room, then returned with a package. “I’ll need more willow if you expect me to make any more. And some food.”

The boy shoved aside some necklaces made from broken semaphore lights and opened the package on one of her display tables. He counted the vials of aspirin and gave a curt nod. “You’ll get it.” Without another word, he walked away.

Suppressing a sigh, May returned to her work. She had longed to escape the career in chemistry her parents had mapped out for her, but it was coming in handy as a way to finance her art. Hopefully she would make a few sales soon and could quit having to depend on her skill at making primitive medicines. Now that all the real jewelry stores had been looted, silver and diamonds were common as dirt, and about as valuable. But these colorful remains of the past…she looked around her sparkling shop with an air of satisfaction. As far as she was concerned, this was real gold.

Related Stories: Ars Gratia Artis, Alchemy.

Steal Tomorrow Extra: An Evening's Entertainment

2010-05-01T00:59:00.021-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece was written for Sunday Scribblings and is not part of the novel. It is concurrent with part of the novel but contains no spoilers. I've embedded links to spoiler-free supplemental information, where appropriate. Please to go the Sunday Scribblings for more fun!

"They sent an actual postman?" Mundo accepted the stamped envelope with an attitude of amusement.

The guard shrugged. "The kid was dressed like one. You know how Thespians are."

Mundo motioned for the guard to leave, and then examined the envelope again. Since the pandemic, surviving teens and children had formed tribes for mutual protection. The Thespians lived at the Ariel Theater and were known for their costumes and wild stunts. Sending a make-believe postman to deliver a letter was right up their alley.

With his friends watching closely, Mundo broke the seal and pulled out a card. "Save the date," he read. He opened the card and scanned it, then sighed and handed it to his guard commander.

Alex read the card and frowned. "'A night of entertainment you won't soon forget.' I bet. I ran into some Thespians on a forage mission once. They were dressed like monks and chanting as they took things out of the St Ignatius church school. They weren't our allies yet, and their leader threatened to excommunicate me if I tried to take their stuff."

Mundo laughed. "What would've been the point? We're already in hell."

"That's what I said. We left them alone, though."

Throughout this exchange, Kayleen had been examining the invitation with a thoughtful expression. "I think we should go."

Mundo and Alex stared.

"It's not like we ever get much entertainment around here, other than the occasional kiddie squabbles. It might be fun to watch a play and hear some music."

"Thespians are insane," Alex reminded her.

"They're also our allies, so it's not like they're going to hurt us. Besides," she looked at the invitation again. "I bet they've put a lot of hard work into this."

Mundo leaned over and snatched the card from her hand. "Knowing them, they spent a few drunken hours prancing around in tights and quoting Shakespeare, and they figure that'll do. It'll probably suck."

"So what if it does? At least we'll have gotten out of this place for awhile and done something different for a change." She gave him a pointed look. "It's not like you've ever taken me on a date, you know."

Mundo's face flushed and Alex was suddenly very interested in one of his cuticles. Kayleen had offered herself to Mundo in return for his protection, and before now she had never asked for any of the usual trappings of a teenage relationship.

"Well?"

Mundo set the card aside and offered an embarrassed smile. "Sure, babe. We can go check out this Thespian event." Since she continued to look at him with an attitude of expectation, he added, "You can even get yourself dolled up if you want. I'll dress up, too. It'll be just like a date."

Related Stories: The Beauty Queen, about how Kayleen and Mundo met, and In Dependence Day, about another occasion when the Regents were invited to a Thespian function.

Steal Tomrrow Extra: Priorities

2010-04-28T18:19:00.014-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece about Doc and Mundo in the early days of the Regents precedes the action of the novel and contains no spoilers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shivering in the drizzle, waiting for the pyre to ignite, the teenage gang leader turned to the fifteen-year-old who served as doctor to his group of survivors. “We can’t do any more after this one. Not unless it’s urgent.”

“They’re all urgent.” Johnny squinted at him through glasses misted with rain. “Leaving them to rot is a health hazard. And it’s disrespectful.”

“Hey, I respected my elders as much as the next guy,” Mundo said. “But there’s too many. First all the grownups, and now all the kids who can’t make it without them.” He shook his head. “Dearly departed or not, we have to look out for ourselves.”

“Rotting corpses spread disease.”

“And so does rotten food, which is why we need to focus on laying in supplies for winter, before some other gang gets all the good stuff.”

Johnny turned away without answering. The kids who had been delegated to set the bodies on fire were still struggling to light the pyre in the bad weather.

“You gave me quite a lecture about vitamins and nutrition the other day, Doc. Were you bullshitting me or not?”

“Of course not,” Johnny said. “It’s just…”

Mundo slicked his wet hair out of his eyes. “Priorities. We don’t have enough people to forage for food and collect dead bodies, too.”

“I know.”

“Good, so quit getting sentimental on me. No more funerals after today, unless they’re our own people.”

“Food and vitamins, top priorities,” Johnny agreed. He took off his glasses and tried to wipe them clean on his shirt. “But they’re all our people,” he said softly.

When he put the glasses back on, he made a surreptitious swipe at a few drops on his cheeks that weren’t from the rain. If Mundo noticed, he said nothing. Someone had succeeded in lighting the fire, and the flames roared up, orange and greasy, burning the drizzle to a fine mist, and then into nothing at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
If you enjoyed this story, check the sidebar, where you'll find the serialized novel, more flash fiction (including prequels), and other fun Steal Tomorrow stuff.

Steal Tomorrow Extra: Stealing Dinner

2010-04-25T00:22:00.011-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece about Danny and Danica, otherwise known as the twins, is not part of the novel. This is also a Sunday Scribblings post. It contains no spoilers, and it contains links to relevant supplemental information, where appropriate. Please to go the Sunday Scribblings for more fun!

Danica inhaled deeply and sighed.

"They're even using barbeque sauce," Danny whispered. "Damn them."

The twins peered cautiously over the ledge, but the ragged group below was too entranced by their find to look up. Their attention was fixed on the grill where shanks of goat were roasting over the flames.

"I wish we'd seen it before they did," Danica said.

Danny nodded. "I thought the Zoo Tribe was doing a better job of watching their animals. We'll have to monitor them. Maybe another one will get loose."

"And in the meantime..." Danica looked at the roasting meat below. Since the pandemic, fresh meat had consisted mostly of stray pets, rats and pigeons, causing the badly hacked-off limbs of the petting zoo goat to take on the aura of divine culinary art.

"They're a bunch of nobodies," Danny said, in reference to the group of hungry children waiting for a meal. "We just need a plan."

Silently, they moved away from the ledge to check their weapons and equipment. The hooks and ropes of their rappelling gear might stand them in good stead, if their aim was good, but...

"We'll need a distraction," Danny said. "Otherwise they aren't taking their eyes off that meat until it goes into their stomachs."

"We can't do anything too chaotic. Someone else might come and steal it before we get our share."

Danny drew a lighter from his pocket. "I've got just the thing."

Danica trusted his judgment on these matters and began unwinding a rope. "Where should I meet you? Home?"

"That looted bank on Fourteenth. If I'm not there, keep going."

Danny moved to go, but she called him back. "Hey." She met his eyes, then glanced away. "They don't look like much, but sometimes the ones who don't seem dangerous--"

"Are the worst," he finished for her. "I know." He kissed her hard on the mouth, then slipped into the shadows of the building.

Danica finished getting her hooks and ropes ready. She wouldn't have much time, but she and Danny were used to working fast. All those years of martial arts, sharpshooting, and survival classes had been good fun when they were children, but as orphans of the pandemic, it was the difference between life and death, between preserving their special bond and independence, versus being forced by hunger to join a gang.

She moved to the ledge, picked out a promising piece of meat on the grill below, and waited. She and Danny would eat well tonight.

Steal Tomorrow Extra: Second Chances

2010-04-21T22:26:00.018-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece is an origins story about how Jay Gallard was allowed to join the Regents. It contains no spoilers, and it contains links to relevant supplemental information, where appropriate. This is also a Three Word Wednesday post. Please to go the Three Word Wednesday site for more fun!

He had been a source of contention since the night he was brought in, intoxicated and incoherent. Doc had insisted on treating him and Mundo wasn’t prepared to argue with one of the only kids in the city who knew a thing or two about medicine. Having a doctor and a clinic gave Mundo status among the other gang leaders in the post-pandemic city, so the stranger had been allowed to stay. But now he was well.

Mundo motioned Doc toward a chair, but the young doctor ignored him and remained standing. Alex, the guard leader, sat down and glared at Doc with an expression almost as stern as Mundo’s own.

“If you’re afraid to tell him, I'll do it,” Alex said. “Me and my team will throw him out if he won’t go willingly.”

“We should let him stay. He seems like an okay guy,” Doc said.

“He’s a Kevork,” Mundo said. “He’s a member of the most violent gang in the city.”

“He says he’s done with random violence and wants to join us.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “We’d have to be crazy to believe anything someone from that group of thugs says. He’s just biding his time.”

Mundo agreed. “If we let him stay, sooner or later something will turn up stolen or someone will end up dead.” At the look of frustration on Doc’s face, he softened his tone. “You did a good deed helping him detox, and if he goes out there and acts more civilized, we can take this up again in a few months. I’m always willing to negotiate.”

“Without the protection of a group, no one can be civilized out in the city,” Doc said. “He’ll have to scavenge in order to eat. He’ll get in fights over food and shelter. Then you’ll say he’s not peaceful enough for our group, even though we have people on our forage team who aren't any better.”

Alex sat up straight. “That’s not fair.”

“But he has a point.” Mundo frowned in thought. “Why not put him on our forage team? He has experience killing and stealing. Our supplies are ebbing fast and we need a stockpile for winter. An aggressive scavenger would be an asset and if he gets killed out there…”

“Just another dead Kevork,” Alex finished for him. “Good riddance.”

Doc wiped his glasses on his dingy lab coat, then shoved them back on his nose. “I can’t believe you can talk about a human being this way. Jay Gallard is a person, not a gang affiliation.”

“Your job is to think about individuals; mine is to think about the group.” Mundo glanced at Alex for confirmation. “He can stay on as a forager, contingent upon good behavior. That’s our offer, and if he doesn’t like it, he leaves. Today.”

“You want me to tell him?” Alex said. “It’s dangerous to piss off a Kevork.”

Doc shook his head. “He’s not dangerous. You’ll see.”

After he was gone, Alex turned to Mundo. “Do you really think that was wise? I mean, me and my team can handle him if he gets out of line, but….”

“Keep an eye on him, but try not to be too obvious. If he’s really not ready to be one of us, we’ll know it pretty quick. Then at least no one can say we don’t give people a chance.”

“Our survival is at stake. Giving second chances is a little reckless, don’t you think?”

Mundo stood up, signaling that the meeting was over. “As long as we take precautions and protect our own, we'll be okay. Second chances is what the end of the world is all about.”

Related Story: On the Bridge

Steal Tomorrow Extra: Preppies and Potatoes

2010-04-14T22:06:00.011-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece about foragers David and Galahad relates an incident alluded to in the novel, but contains no spoilers. This is also a Three Word Wednesday post. Please to go the Three Word Wednesday for more fun!

With a crunch of tires over broken glass, the shuttle pulled up in front of the warehouse. Galahad stood and checked the gun at his hip, then looked at David, who was lounging on one of the vinyl seats in an attitude of annoyance. “Well?”

David hauled himself to his feet. "We’re here, I know. This better be good."

"There's no reason for the girls to have lied to us."

"Yeah. Perfect little prep-school saints, I bet.” David grabbed his Glock and stuck it in his waistband.

"If it's a trick, we can handle it."

As Galahad followed David toward the loading dock, the other members of their forage team fell in behind them. The girls from St. Catherine's were waiting, lined up in a row. The only giveaways that they were living in an altered, post-pandemic world and weren’t on a school field trip were the weapons at their hips and the condition of their uniforms - their plaid skirts were ragged and their white shirts were wrinkled and smudged with grime.

Two of the older girls, their hair neatly slicked into ponytails and their shirts a little cleaner than the others', separated themselves from the group.

"We were beginning to worry," one said.

"We had to stop and siphon gas,” David said. “It’s not like we can pull into a Chevron station, you know.”

The other girl pursed her lips. "We thought maybe you got jumped by another gang."

"Not a chance. But I'll jump you if you're game."

The girl drew back, but before she could protest, Galahad motioned David to silence. "Don't mind his little jokes. We're cool. Show us what you think is the best way in."

The girls cast suspicious glances at David, then indicated the boys should follow them. To the side of the loading dock was a steel door pocked with bullet holes. "We tried shooting it, but I guess that only works in the movies."

"You just have to know how to do it," David said, but at Galahad's scowl he put away his brash demeanor and called for someone to bring him a crowbar.

After half an hour of effort, the boys got the door open. Inside, the warehouse was dark and musky, full of shelves and pallets piled high with boxes. The girls took one end and the boys started working the other, searching for food and useful items that might help them survive.

"This isn't as good as they promised," David muttered, after prying open a box and finding it contained nothing edible. "What are we supposed to do with sewing machine oil?"

Galahad gave a philosophical shrug. "We could use it to lubricate hinges at the hotel so the doors won't squeak."

"We need food and water, not quiet doors."

While David continued to work the area near west end of the building, Galahad slowly made his way back to the side the girls had claimed. He wondered if these sheltered girls from the city’s wealthiest families really had what it took to be good foragers. Maybe so, since they had collected a sizeable pile of boxes.

Somewhere on the other side of a stack of wooden pallets, he heard sudden cries of excitement, then dismay. Curious, Galahad wandered over and found several girls gathered around a dusty burlap bag while one shone her flashlight inside.

“Too bad,” one girl said. “I sure would’ve liked a baked potato.”

“French fries,” said another.

They looked up at Galahad’s approach. “Want some rotten potatoes?”

Galahad peered inside the bag and sucked in his breath. The potatoes were shriveled, with green tendrils sticking out like the legs of giant insects. Did these girls really not know what they had found? “Looks pretty bad,” he said, trying to sound like he meant it. “What are you going to do with them?”

“Leave them here, of course. You don’t think they’re any good, do you?”

“No.” Galahad shook his head. “They might make good compost, though. Mind if we take them?”

“Help yourself.”

He could barely contain his excitement as he added the sack of potatoes to their stash. Those girls might’ve learned a thing or two at their expensive prep school, but what they hadn’t learned was that sprouting potatoes grew more potatoes. These might seem worthless today, but they were seed for tomorrow.

“What’d you find?” David said, emerging out of the shadows.

Galahad smiled. “The future.”

Steal Tomorrow Extra: Darkened Lamps

2010-04-10T00:50:00.015-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This nano-piece precedes the action of the novel and there are no spoilers. I wrote this story for Thursday Tales, a new weekly prompt site for writers. Go check it out, everyone, and write a Thursday tale of your own!

The night the street lights didn't come on was when she accepted what the pandemic had done.

Cassie's parents had been among the first to die, leaving her in shock. She no longer ate out of hunger but because she knew she should. She washed and dressed out of a sense of duty, even though her clothes didn't seem to match any more. She opened her school books to study, but the words made no sense and her teachers were dead, so what was the point of algebra?

She couldn't bear to watch television or listen to the radio because it was non-stop news about the pandemic. So she spent long hours sitting on her bedroom floor, staring at nothing, until the evening someone knocked at her door.

"Cassie. I know you're in there."

Maybe if she was still, Leila would go away.

"Please!"

Cassie got up and found her neighbor on the doorstep, eyes puffy and dark curls in a tangle.

"Natasha is sick."

Cassie blinked. She had assumed Leila's parents and oldest sister were dead by now because the pandemic retrovirus was lethal to adults. Natasha was the middle sister, eighteen and young for a Telo victim, but within the danger age. "You know there's nothing anyone can do."

Leila shook her head. "It can't be Telo. Do your cars have gas? I've got to get her to a hospital."

"It's dangerous out there."

"Cassie." Leila squeezed her arm hard.

Cassie pulled away. "Go home. I'll meet you there."

It took her a few minutes to find the keys. The electricity had been sporadic lately, and now dusk was falling but still there was no light. She finally found what she was looking for, figured out how to manually open the garage door, and backed the car into the street.

As she drove the short distance to Leila's house, she looked up at the darkening sky and realized the street lights hadn't turned on. It occurred to her then with a chilling calm that her nights would be dark from this day forward. She would have to light her own way.

Image courtesy of Luca-de-Bellis.

Flash Fiction Extra: Unidentified

2010-04-08T00:13:00.013-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece about Cassie and Leila is not part of the novel, and there are no spoilers. This is also a Three Word Wednesday post. Please to go the Three Word Wednesday for more fun!

"Every time we deviate from our plan, something goes wrong."

Cassie ignored Leila and shone her flashlight in an arc.

"Don't do that. It smells like there's something dead in here, and I don't want to see it."

"Then don't look. What if there's danger?"

"Anything dangerous would've gotten us by now." Leila looked around the musty living room and shivered. "If we're going to do this, let's hurry up. This place makes me nervous."

Cassie stepped into the room and the carpet squished under her feet. "A pipe must've broken somewhere. It's saturated."

"No wonder this place stinks."

They crossed the silent living room, and in the hallway, stepped over a pile of plaster where part of the ceiling had fallen in.

"Here's that broken pipe," Cassie said, but Leila didn't answer. They continued to the kitchen, where the water had mostly evaporated after turning the floor wax an odd yellowish white. All the cabinet doors were open, revealing dishes, coffee cups and tea towels, but no food.

"I told you someone's been through this neighborhood already."

"Hush," Cassie said. "That was at the beginning. A lot of stuff got overlooked then, back when everyone thought things would get better."

Leila began methodically poring through the cabinets, looking behind and under things, but without enthusiasm. Meanwhile, Cassie gave the pantry a cursory look, and moved on to the laundry room. Here, at the back of a cabinet containing detergent and stain remover, she found something. Her call brought Leila running.

"Cans of food? You're kidding me."

Cassie pulled them out one by one and began stacking them.

"Wait a minute." Leila picked one up. "Where are the labels?"

"Who cares? Food is food."

"Yeah, but how are we supposed to identify what's inside, or whether it's safe to eat?"

Cassie stood and wiped her dusty hands on her pants. "We're starving anyway, so does it really matter?"

"I guess not." Leila examined the can in her hands and smiled. "I'm so hungry, even lima beans would probably taste good."

"Imagine what our mothers would say if they could hear us right now." Cassie's gaze met Leila's and both their smiles faded. They had a rule, and Cassie had just broken it. They weren't supposed to talk about the dead.

Cassie blushed and turned away. "I saw some bags in the pantry. I'll go get a few so we can carry these home."

"Good idea."

In the kitchen, Cassie started toward the pantry, then stopped and went to the window instead. She moved a few desiccated houseplants aside and gazed out on the back yard, wondering who had lived here and if they were nice. When they died, had they been given proper burial, or were they among the anonymous dead in the pits?

She hugged herself and tried to imagine what this place had been like before the pandemic, when the water in the pool was clear and the yard wasn't clotted with weeds and fallen leaves. She imagined the smell of barbeque from the grill and the shouts of children on the swing set.

Where were the children? The pandemic wouldn't have killed them, but on their own, they might not have survived. Perhaps they had simply gone away, seeking the protection of a larger group and unable to bear the memories of home. Or maybe—

"Hey, are you getting those bags, or what?"

Cassie sighed and turned away from the window. As always, nostalgia did no good; it only kept her from the things that needed doing. The identities of those who had lived here and what happened to them didn't matter. There was only now.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm getting them. I don't know what's in those cans, but we'll eat well tonight."

Flash Fiction Extra: On Target

2010-04-03T22:47:00.011-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece about Julilla Walker is not part of the novel. This is also a Sunday Scribblings post. Please to go the Sunday Scribblings for more fun!

“Guns down.”

Julilla holstered her Glock. Guns down, indeed. This was a private tutoring session, so there was no need for formalities. But Alex got his position as guard leader by being the only one in their gang with military training, and he didn’t let anyone forget it. A year of college ROTC wouldn’t have counted for much before the pandemic, but it marked him as an expert now.

After frowning at the holes in her target, he turned to her in frustration. “You’re drifting again.”

“I know.” Did he think she was blind and couldn’t see the marks in the paper for herself? “It doesn’t happen at long range. Give me a break.”

Alex walked over to her. “Anyone can learn to shoot under optimal conditions. You’re good at it – best in the group. But you know damn well that in real life, that’s not the way it happens.”

Julilla started to respond, but he cut her off.

“You’ll be guarding the front door one day, and some girl will come up looking all innocent, and then pull a gun on you from six feet away. Or you’ll be out guarding a forage team, and a guy will jump out from behind some boxes in a warehouse and start shooting.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“Prove it.” He pointed to the target. “Three rounds, as fast as you can. He’s from a rival gang and he’s after our food. Ready…fire!”

Julilla whipped out her Glock and started shooting, but Alex’s shout stopped her.

“I see what you’re doing wrong. Hold out your gun.”

Julilla rolled her eyes, but did as she was told.

He moved in close and examined her stance with a critical frown. “Your weight is too far back. Your elbows are bent.”

“But—

“It’s fine for target practice, if that's how you feel comfortable, but when someone jumps you, you aren’t going to have time to get all lined up in whatever way suits you best. He put one hand on the back of her waist and the other on her shoulder. “Weight forward. Crouch down a little. Arms locked and gun in line with your vision.” He put his face close to hers so he could see what she was seeing.

Julilla tensed, remembering how her mother’s boyfriends had sometimes touched her, but Alex’s hands were respectful, his attitude all business. She could feel his body heat through her shirt, and she found the presence of his lips so close to hers disconcerting. Why was her head suddenly as empty as that of any cheerleader at her now-useless high school, and why this weakness in her knees?

“Just keep it in your line of sight,” he said, but in a distracted way that lacked conviction.

She turned her face slightly and their eyes met. The look felt like it lasted a century, and Julilla could’ve kept on looking, waiting for that kiss, knowing with a sudden certainty that he wanted it as much as she did. But then he looked away and took a step back.

“Let’s try again,” he said softly.

Julilla nodded and turned her attention back to the target. Weight forward, arms locked. She wouldn’t forget this time. She also wouldn’t forget that Alex could’ve taken advantage of her in that moment, but didn’t.

She waited for his command to pump another round into the target. This was the only kind of command he would ever give her. If she wanted something more, she would have to target him on purpose.

“Ready?”

Not yet. There were still too many bad memories to contend with. But soon.

Flash Fiction Extra: Alchemy

2010-03-27T21:47:00.006-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece about artist May Ellison is not part of the novel. This is also a Sunday Scribblings post. Please to go the Sunday Scribblings for more fun!

Sand. Then a silk scarf from a looted department store. Next, a pot over a propane flame, where the water boiled into steam and rose into a tube, condensing as water again in another basin. If she wanted to be extra-sure, she could pour the cooled water into glass bottles and lay them on a dark surface in the sun to pasteurize.

May’s water was good and she had no need to fight or beg for water filters like some of the other young people did since the pandemic. Her education had been good for something, at least. Clean water was more precious than gold in the wreckage of the city.

But May had little real interest in science; such things were a means to an end. Her true love lay in the chemicals she combined into brightly glowing colors to light her ramshackle shop, and in the acids that etched the glass and plastic detritus of civilization that she made into jewelry and baubles.

No one needed decorative things to survive, but they soothed her in ways pure water never could. Survival of the body was a simple matter. Saving one’s soul required a different kind of alchemy.

Flash Fiction Extra: Scavenged

2010-03-17T22:18:00.020-05:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece about forager David Collier is not part of the novel. This is also a Three Word Wednesday post. Please to go the Three Word Wednesday for more fun!

The smell of dust and molding cardboard choked the air and somewhere in the darkness was a skittering sound of rats. David pulled a knife and slit open the box. Peanuts. He did a quick mental calculation. How many packets could he keep for himself without the others finding out? He trusted no one, not even his fellow gang members, in the pandemic-ravaged city. And with good reason.

The heavy crunch of footsteps on shards of broken glass caught his attention. He shut off his flashlight and ducked behind some boxes, his heart racing and his pulse pounding in his ears. Of all the rotten luck – a rival gang of hungry survivors. He held his breath and hoped they would walk past in the darkness. But then David saw the sweep of a flashlight beam and heard a familiar voice.

“Here’s something, guys.”

David jumped out of his hiding place and brandished his knife. “Back off, Gallows. This is mine.”

The young man who had been in the lead paused, but affected no surprise. “Hi, David.”

“Don’t ‘hi’ me. I found this stash first, so take your friends and leave.”

“Forget it,” one of the other boys said. He pulled a .45 from a holster at his hip, but the one who David had addressed as “Gallows,” motioned for him to put it away.

“It’s all right. David’s cool. He won’t hurt us.”

David stood a little taller. Who was Jay Gallard to take up for him? Oh sure, everyone liked Gallows. They had been with the Kevorkians until a few months ago, where Jay stole, scrapped, and killed with the best of them. But that didn’t stop him from being popular with the girls. They said he was kind and thoughtful. They loved him. Especially David’s girl.

“I don’t need your endorsement, Gallows. Just get the hell out of here.”

Jay gave him a steady look. “We can’t do that. We’ve got fifty people to feed.”

“You think I don’t have a gang to feed, too?”

“I know you’re with some Kevorkian offshoot.” Jay gave a little shrug. “Why don’t you join us instead? I’m with the Regents now, and it’s a good group. We’re organized. We’ve got a school and a clinic. We’re going to rebuild civilization.”

“Like you would know about civilization,” David scoffed. “Who do you think you're fooling? Don't forget, I know things about you.”

“Besides, not just anyone can join us,” one of the other kids said. He cast a suspicious look at Jay. “No one would trust this guy. Everyone knows what ex-Kevorkians are like.”

“I’m an ex-Kevork,” Jay reminded him. “David is one of the best foragers in the city. He’ll be an asset.”

While the others rolled their eyes, Jay turned back to David. “So how about it? Want to join us?”

David hesitated. Why should he accept any favors from Jay Gallard, stealer of pretty girls and two-faced liar who could string up rival gang members, then toss back a glass of whiskey and weep over the chaos in the devastated city?

But David was weary of the constant fights in his small, violent gang. He was tired of always having to watch his back, even among so-called friends. The Regents were one of the better gangs - as peaceful as anyone could be in this apocalyptic mess of a world. Perhaps they would suit his purposes for now.

“Will you vouch for me?” he asked.

Jay stuck out his hand, and after only a moment's pause to consider, David took it.

Flash Fiction Extra: A Civilized Place

2010-03-13T23:56:00.012-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story about Jay Gallard (called Galahad by the Regents) precedes the action of the novel. This is also a Sunday Scribblings post.
----------------------------------------------------------

Jay fumbled with the keys in the darkness, fighting the creeping sensation that he was being watched. There was no one up here but the shades of the pandemic dead. From the way his legs were cramping and quivering after climbing twenty stories in claustrophobic darkness, maybe even the ghosts had said to heck with it and decided not to bother coming this far.

One of Jay's stolen keys slipped into the lock and turned easily. He pushed open the door and swept the beam of his flashlight in an arc.

The suite lay in a state of hushed and dusty abandonment, but Jay had smelled enough decomposing bodies to know that no one had died here. He was the first to find this place since the pandemic had laid waste to the city below.

He took care to lock the door behind him, then began making the rounds, shining his light this way and that, illuminating oil paintings and sofas, Persian rugs and oak wainscoting. That was just the first room. He made his way into a bedroom with a four-poster bed piled high with feather pillows. He strolled in wonder through a dining room with a heavy crystal chandelier. In the kitchen he found a miracle of food - crackers, cookies, chocolate, and preserves, all untouched by vermin and his for the taking. His stomach growled, so he opened a box of ginger snaps.

He forced himself to eat slowly. He was no longer used to rich foods, and it was best to pace himself, lest it all come up again. With the box of cookies tucked under his arm, he moved on to the next room, then stopped in his tracks.

Bookshelves lined the walls, packed tight with leather-bound volumes. A leather sofa and a wing chair dominated the center of the room, and underneath a window was a desk for writing and reading. Of all the things Jay had hoped he would find in this hotel penthouse suite, he hadn't dreamed of a library. He approached the nearest bookcase in curiosity. Plato. Aristotle. Euripides. Virgil. The next bookcase held volumes by Dante, Machiavelli and Shakespeare. A classics library.

He pulled a volume at random and sat down in the dusty wing chair. Still munching cookies, he opened The Iliad, but his mind was too fevered to read more than a few lines, so he set the book aside and sat for a few minutes, lost in thought.

He had done terrible things out of anger and frustration as the pandemic raged, but he had since resolved that he would find some way to make his survival mean something. Until now, he couldn't fathom what service he could offer the other survivors, other than scavenging the wreckage of the city so that others could eat for another day.

He stood and shone his light around the room again. He had at his disposal all the wisdom of his collapsed civilization, and there was no one to fight him for it or distract him from learning everything he could. He would read these books and find out how to make things right again. There was no need to rebuild society from scratch, because here were the collected thoughts of the greatest minds in history. All Jay had to do was read them and share his knowledge with his friends.

Jay picked up The Iliad, his flashlight, and the box of cookies, and went out on the balcony where the air was fresh and the stars glittered in the night sky. Somewhere far below, someone screamed, followed by the sound of gunfire. But up here, the world was still a civilized place. Blinking back tears of gratitude, Jay sank onto a chaise lounge, opened up his book and began to read.

Flash Fiction Extra: Photograph

2010-03-10T23:56:00.004-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction piece about the twins is not part of the novel. This is also a Three Word Wednesday post. Please to go the Three Word Wednesday for more fun stuff!
Danny moved the rifle into position, tracked his target until he had it in the cross-hairs and squeezed the trigger. Three stories below the dog yelped and took off running.

“Damn.” He set the rifle aside and stretched his arms overhead. He had hoped to get a little fresh meat for dinner, but it was getting late in the day and he would have to modify his plans. Luckily he and Danica still had some MREs and canned goods.

He looked around the cluttered living room, noticing for the first time that he was alone. Odd. With furtive steps he went into the hall and heard the faint sound of sniffles from behind a closed door.

There was no need to knock, since that had never been their way. He opened the door and walked in.

From a mattress on the floor, Danica looked up, startled, and shoved something under a pillow.

“What was that, love?”

She swiped her nose in answer and turned away with a veiled, secretive look in her eyes.

“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?”

“I was just resting. And thinking.”

Danny crouched beside her and took her chin in his hand. “Liar.” He brushed his lips over hers. Getting no response, he leaned in harder, nearly bruising her lips with his. But when he tried to slip his tongue in her mouth, she pushed him away.

“Don’t.”

“Why? The only time you ever feel weird about it is after…”

“I know.” Danica hung her head and picked at a cuticle. “It’s just that it doesn’t seem right to forget.”

For a long moment neither spoke, frozen in a lifetime of shared memories and now mutual guilt. “You do the same thing,” she added. “You think I don't notice, but I do.”

Danny stretched out on the mattress and pulled her to him. “You’re right. But we both need to quit that. They told us to stick together and look out for each other.”

“Not like this.”

“Let them take it up with us in Hell. We're all dying, so we’ll be there before long.” He kissed her softly and began unbuttoning her shirt. “The only thing that matters is now. And us.”

Danica sighed with pleasure at his touch. Obedient to his wishes and the desires of her own body, she shrugged out of her shirt and let him press her back against the mattress.

Beneath the pillow, the family photograph crumpled. Time creased, became warped, and faded into banished memory.

Flash Fiction Extra: Civic Duty

2010-02-17T22:39:00.011-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story about Regents leader Reymundo Morales (Mundo) precedes the action of the novel. This is also a Three Word Wednesday post.
----------------------------------------------------------

“Diesel,” Jimmy muttered as his spade struck a rock.

Mundo looked across the field at the idled backhoe. The work would go a lot faster if they hadn't run out of fuel for the heavy equipment. “That would be nice, but don’t hold your breath.”

“What about food?” Carlos asked. “They can’t expect us to keep working like this without feeding us properly.”

“No deliveries,” Mundo reminded him. “There’s not much they can do.”

“Bullshit. They're hoarding MREs. Everyone says so."

"They could at least let us rest," Jimmy added.

Mundo glanced up and down the row of exhausted, ragged boys. As the one who had called them together in a spirit of civic duty, he had a responsibility to them. It was one thing to volunteer to help collect the trash and bury the dead, but it was something else to tolerate abuse. He set his shovel aside and climbed out of the pit.

The city employee was a thin, nervous man named Preston. He reeked of garlic and had a cluster of tiny ulcers on his lips, but Mundo could see the tell-tale shadows under his eyes and a faint sheen of sweat on his skin. He would be dead soon, his efforts with garlic and Vitamin C no match for the pandemic virus. Mundo had once felt pity for the grownups as they sickened and died, but now he was merely numb. “We need a break.”

Preston shook his head. “We have to be ready for a thousand more before two o’clock.”

“Just fifteen minutes, so we can rest and have some water.”

“There’s no more water. Maybe they’ll bring some when they deliver the bodies.”

Mundo looked back at the pit, where the rest of the crew had stopped working and watched him with expectant eyes. “We’ll just rest, then.” He motioned for them to lay down their shovels and come out.

Preston reached for the Glock at his hip. “You can’t do that. This is a civil emergency.” His hands trembled as he aimed the gun at the muddy teenage boys climbing out of the trench. “Get back in there. This is an order. This—

Mundo slammed a shoulder into Preston's frail body, knocking him to the ground. The Glock fell out of his grasp, but before he could reach for it, Carlos vaulted himself out of the pit, shovel in hand, and prepared to strike a killing blow.

Mundo held up a hand to stop him, then turned his attention back on Preston.

“Did it ever occur to you that whether we bury a thousand at two o’clock or at two-fifteen makes no fucking difference when the dead in this city number in the hundreds of thousands? In another few weeks, you’ll all be gone, every one of you. It’s the end of the goddamn world.”

Preston's panic turned to the cold rage of fear. “And what’ll you little bastards do then? There’ll be no one to run the electric plants or treat the sewage. No more deliveries of food and fuel. It’ll just be you ignorant kids and a bunch of rotting corpses.”

“In that case, what does it matter if we take a break?”

The man laughed, a high-pitched, hysterical sound. “Go on, then. Rest. In fact, have a party. Call each other on your cell phones if you can still find a signal. You’ll be tearing each other apart soon enough. Without adults to guide you, it’ll be just like Lord of the Flies.”

Mundo wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he knew an insult when he heard it. Preston was weak, yet still had the nerve to abuse Mundo and his friends, who would be the only authority in the city before long. They would probably screw it up, but how could they do worse than the adults who had created this mess in the first place? “We’ll find a way,” he said. “Too bad you’ll be dead, because you just might've been surprised.”

Before Preston could answer, Mundo motioned to Carlos, who silenced the fool forever with a blow from his spade.

“Well, that’s one who won’t die from the telo,” Carlos said.

Mundo picked up the Glock and removed the holster and extra magazines from Preston's body. Things were getting crazy and being armed would come in handy. With his crew watching him warily, he strapped the gun on. “I'll find weapons for all of you as soon as I can. We won't let them push us around any more.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the road out of the park, back to the city streets. “Come on, guys. Let's go find us some food.”

Flash Fiction Extra: On Earth As In Heaven

2010-02-10T23:45:00.010-06:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story about Jay Gallard's cousin Paul precedes the action of the novel. This is also a Three Word Wednesday post.

The answer, of course, was prayer. But although Paul prayed fervently, the deaths continued.

“It’s because there’s so much sin in the world,” his church friends said. Paul’s parents and older sister hadn’t been particularly religious, and it had now been two weeks since they were tossed into mass graves with the others. Nevertheless, Paul was reluctant to ascribe their deaths to sin. The explanations of the scientists didn’t help much either, though. It was a pandemic; it was no one’s fault.

If a just and loving God ruled the earth, what lucid mind could believe He would allow such devastation?

Paul shifted his weight on his aching knees and tried again to focus on his prayers. The other young people who had been living at this church weren’t agitated like he was. Heads down, hands clasped before them, they were true believers and would be among the saved. Paul, on the other hand, would surely go to hell for doubting.

He tried to force the conundrum of the pandemic out of his thoughts. Since the words of Jeremy’s new anti-plague prayer refused to come to mind, he softly mumbled the only words he could think of. “Our Father, who art in Heaven….”

He felt more than heard the presence of someone at his side, but for the moment he kept his eyes clenched shut. “…forgive us our trespasses….”

A hand fell on his shoulder and Paul looked up into Jeremy Worthington’s stern features. Did he know Paul had already forgotten the new prayer? As the preacher’s son, Jeremy had taken over after his father had been called to Heaven. The spiritual integrity of the remaining congregation was a duty he took seriously.

Jeremy gave a little jerk of his chin, indicating that he should follow, and with a knot of fear in his stomach, Paul obeyed. Was this it? Would he be asked to leave for lack of orthodoxy? In a world suddenly without adults, electricity, or food deliveries, how would he survive without the protection and guidance of friends?

In the minister’s office, Jeremy waved Paul to a guest chair and took a seat behind his father’s desk. “I’ve had my eye on you.”

Paul sucked in his breath and waited to hear the words of banishment.

“As you know, it’s getting worse out there.”

“Jesus will save the righteous,” Paul said, hoping that was the right response.

“Yes,” Jeremy agreed. “But not if we refuse to be instruments of our own salvation.” He leaned forward and rested his hands on the desk. “God has spoken to me, and He says you should be on our salvage team.”

Paul blinked. “Our what?”

“The church pantry is empty and we can’t go on much longer this way. We need a team to go to the stores, homes and warehouses and get supplies.”

“Isn’t that stealing? We should trust the Lord to provide.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jeremy sneered. “The Lord has provided by removing the sinners who were keeping us from obtaining what we need. Now we must simply collect it, like manna from Heaven.”

Paul didn’t care for the analogy, but Jeremy had a point. Taking from the dead wasn’t quite the same as stealing from the living.

“You’ll be given a weapon. Don’t hesitate to defend yourself or to use it against any infidel gangs who try to take supplies that God has decreed are rightly ours.”

“I can't—”

Jeremy jumped to his feet. “Are you refusing the call of God? I’m telling you, He spoke to me in a dream and you are among those chosen for this special mission. The world of sin and ugliness is passing and we are to lead the crusade in bringing about God’s holy purpose. You are to find food to feed His needy and you are to send anyone who opposes you to Hell.” He fixed Paul with a feverish gaze. “Any questions? Or are you a doubter?”

Paul had doubts – lots of them. He had seen the filth of the streets and the wild gangs of angry, desperate young people struggling for survival in the wreckage. Realistically, he had always known their group couldn’t hide in this church forever, praying for deliverance. He understood that sin and evil stalked the city streets, but he had hoped that if he were to be called to a mission, it would be to distribute goods to the hungry and preach God’s love to the frightened. What good could come from being a common looter?

“There will be a team meeting in the church library in an hour,” Jeremy said. “Be on time, and may God be with you.”

In thoughtful silence, Paul returned to the sanctuary. He found a space among the other young people and dropped to his knees. Surely he would be doing no wrong by taking abandoned goods and putting them to use in the house of the Lord, so why did he feel uneasy? He bowed his head over his clasped hands and waited in desperation for proper words of prayer to come. The Lord would guide him. He had to.

Flash Fiction Extra: Practical Nurse

2010-02-03T23:51:00.011-06:00

“We’ll be there soon.”

Rochelle said it for herself more than for the sick boy who lay curled on dirty towels in the shopping cart. She had heard the gang that took over the Regency Hotel had a clinic with a real doctor – or at least a boy who had been raised by doctors, which was the next best thing since the pandemic had wiped out the adults. Word on the street was that John Brody was smart and capable. Twelve year-old Rochelle had her doubts - there were a lot of rumors these days. But she was desperate.

She pushed the cart along the muddy street, past thin, hungry children hustling for a meal. On a corner, a teenager with painted face and a hard look in his eyes assessed her with a steely gaze Rochelle felt through her clothes like the unwelcome grope of a pedophile. She shuddered, gave the cart an extra push and hurried on.

When she arrived at the hotel, she found it under guard, but a tall black girl with a Glock at her hip listened to Rochelle’s frantic words with compassion in her eyes. “Our clinic isn’t free for people who aren’t in our gang,” she said. “Can you pay?”

Rochelle shook her head. The only currency these days was food, and she hadn’t eaten in two days.

“Well, maybe we can work something out.”

Rochelle was too weak from hunger to remove her brother from the cart unaided, so the guard helped, and together they took him upstairs to the ballroom, which had been turned into a clinic. A slight, brown-haired teenager in spectacles met them in the triage area and introduced himself as Dr Brody.

“This is Rochelle,” the guard said. “She says her brother has some kind of infection.”

The doctor instructed Rochelle to lay her brother on a mattress and proceeded to examine him. The wound on his leg had suppurated and gave off a foul odor. “You should’ve come earlier.”

“I’ve been rinsing out his wound every day and giving him antibiotics. At least that’s what I was told they were.”

“Whatever you were given, it didn’t work. He’s septicemic now.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means it doesn’t look good.” He took off his glasses and wiped them on the tail of his dingy lab coat. “I’ll do what I can, but it’s hard to get the right meds. Don’t expect much.”

Rochelle’s heart gave a little lurch. “You mean he might die?”

“Yes.”

She sank into a chair and watched while the teenage doctor worked on her brother’s wound. When he had done all he could, he carried the boy into the convalescent ward. “I’m not optimistic. But I’ll do everything I can think of.”

Rochelle was dizzy with gratitude. “I already told the guard I can’t pay, but I can help in other ways. I’ll clean your clinic. I’ll feed your patients and change their sheets, I’ll—”

The doctor shook his head. “Only group members are allowed to work and you'd have to be voted on. But I’ll vouch for you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What I mean is I could use a decent nurse. You kept your brother clean and took good care of his injury. It’s not your fault you didn’t have the right medicine to keep it from getting infected. If you want to join our gang, I’ll be your patron. That way you’ll get voted on right away.”

Rochelle hesitated. She had heard this hotel gang was well-organized and relatively peaceful, but did she want to give up her independence?

"Your brother's care will be free, and I'll teach you everything I know."

The doctor's eyes were kind and his words were wise. Without skills or a protector, she was nothing. Rochelle didn't much care what happened to her any more. The pandemic had taken everything that gave her life structure and meaning. But younger children like her brother needed hope. And help. “I’ll be your nurse,” she said. “Just tell me what I have to do.”

CONCLUSION

2009-02-09T00:01:00.002-06:00

EXCERPT FROM CASSIE’S JOURNAL:

Jay and I are leaving. We asked a few of our friends to come with us, but Doc and Rochelle want to return to the hotel and open a clinic for the general public. Julilla thinks we’re crazy and said she was too much a city girl to consider “living in the forest like an animal.” I think her real issue, though, is that winning the battle has given her clout with the alliance and she sees an opportunity to take a leadership role in the city. I hope it works out for her and that she doesn’t let it go to her head.

Elissa is grieving Mundo’s death on the battlefield and making such a show of going around in a black dress and veil that I’m glad Kayleen stayed at the hotel. Jason is effectively in charge of the Thespians now and Elissa doesn’t seem to care. To their credit, none of the Thespians have come up with a skit to commemorate Mundo’s heroic death in battle. Or maybe one already did and I just haven’t heard about it.

As I was helping in the field hospital, I mentioned my concern for who would care for the baby now that Mundo is gone. Rochelle took a piece of paper from her pocket. It was a will, in which Mundo named Rochelle his child’s guardian should anything happen to him. “Congratulations. But it’s going to be hard to be a single mom.”

Rochelle’s cheeks turned pink but before she could explain, Doc came over and told me the news himself. “Did she tell you we’re getting married? One of the Thespians offered to perform a ceremony for us.”

I looked from one to the other of them. “That was fast.”

“Actually, it was slow.” Doc looked fondly at Rochelle. “I’m glad May told me. I can be pretty dense.”

“So will you come to our wedding?” Rochelle asked. “You can be my maid of honor.”

“Matron of honor,” I said, showing her my ring. “And I’d love to, but Jay and I are leaving in the morning.”

“The Thespians said they could do it anytime,” Doc offered.

And so Rochelle and Doc were married last night by a boy in chaplain’s garb. It’s no more legal than my marriage to Jay, but since there are no more lawmakers, I guess there are no more laws, either. There’s only what’s in our hearts, and maybe that’s all there really was to begin with.

It’s nearly dawn now. I didn’t get much sleep, but I’m too excited to care. We’ll have eternity in which to rest, but our time to love each other will likely be measured in months.

Jay is awake now. He wants to know if I’m writing about him.

“Of course.”

“What else are you writing?”

“Our plans.”

He sits and stretches and looks at me with so much love in his eyes I think I’ll burn up in a great blue flame of emotion. The world is a beautiful place when he looks at me like that, and anything is possible. It might even be possible to survive.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

“I’m thinking to hell with tomorrow. Today is going to be a wonderful day.”

FIN

Previous

Announcements

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

2009-02-06T00:01:00.003-06:00

Cassie awoke to the dim rustle of movement around her. Remembering that she was in danger but confused as to what the threat might be, she made to sit up. A hand on her shoulder stopped her. “Stay quiet,” Galahad said. “You took a pretty nasty kick to the head.”

So that was why her head was pounding. She opened her eyes and saw she was in a reception area, lying on the carpet near several bandaged teens resting quietly in the dim light of yellow glow sticks. Nearby, a Thespian nurse in a white uniform and starched cap moved among the patients. She noticed Cassie was awake and came over. “How are you doing?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Galahad smiled. “Let her finish waking up.”

The nurse took her vitals, asked a lot of questions and made Cassie tell her how many fingers she was holding up.

“Three. There’s nothing wrong with my eyes.”

“I think she’s fine,” Galahad told the nurse. He helped Cassie to her feet and held her while she saw spots and swayed. When she was steady on her feet, he led her into the tunnel that would take them to the stairs and daylight.

“Are they all dead?” Cassie asked. There was no need to clarify who she meant.

“Yes.”

For a moment the only sound was the echo of their footsteps. “So that’s it, then. No cure.”

Galahad’s arm tightened around her. “It may be possible for May to make something of the lab notes, but… no disrespect to her intelligence, but if a group of elite biomedical researchers couldn’t figure it out….” He held open a door so they could enter the stairwell. They emerged into an open area of marble floors and elevator banks, sunny with the afternoon rays angling through the plate glass windows.

“Well,” Cassie said with a sigh, “It’s not like we expected much.”

“Some kids did. The twins died thinking the cure was real.”

Cassie cringed at mention of the twins. “May tried to warn us. She said we would probably be disappointed.”

They stepped into the sunshine and walked toward the parking lot and the rolling fields beyond. Scattered about were the bodies of the dead and the bloody forms of the injured. Weak voices called to them as they passed, begging for water and medicine, but Galahad steered Cassie away, assuring her that care of the injured was under control and that Pharms and Obits would likely be shot anyway, so it was best not to waste any sympathy on them.

Cassie tried to feel something for the doomed enemy soldiers but found only indifference. This disturbed her more than anything else so far. “I can’t take this any more.”

Galahad looked at her in alarm. “You’ll feel better soon. We’re going to help each other through this.”

Realizing he had misinterpreted her words, Cassie shook her head. “I’m not planning on doing the Telo’s job. What I mean is I can’t go back to the city. I want to go to my family’s retreat.”

“Is that wise?”

“I think I can do it. I know how to forage off the land, and my parents stocked the place like they were preparing for the apocalypse. A different kind, of course.”

“If that’s what you think you need to do.” Galahad looked away, his jaw set and his eyes fixed on an imaginary point of interest on the horizon.

Cassie stopped walking and made him look at her. “I was hoping…” she felt herself blush and hated herself for the sudden wave of bashfulness. “I thought maybe you’d like to come.”

“Are you sure you want me?” His features were stern, but there was no mistaking the spark of hope in his eyes. “There’s things I can’t explain about my past.”

She took his hand, knowing what was troubling him. “You didn’t do it.” When he didn’t answer, she added, “And even if you did, I wouldn’t care. Everything is changing so fast.” Cassie struggled to come up with words that would capture what she meant. “We’re not who we were a year ago, or even last week. I should’ve had faith in you all along, but I do now and…well, can we just start over?”

“On one condition.” He tugged at her necklace and pulled the ring out of her shirt. “That you’ll wear this on your finger instead of around your neck.”

He unclasped the chain and held the ring in his hand for a moment where it sparkled with a fine white light. Then he slipped it onto her finger and closed his hand over hers. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

Cassie sucked in her breath. “We can’t.”

“Who says? The dead people? What did they ever know?”

She pulled her hand out of his and examined the ring in the golden light of late afternoon. There was so little time and she wanted so much!

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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

2009-02-04T00:01:00.003-06:00

“I know another way in,” Galahad said. “Station a guard here in case they try to escape, then the rest of you follow me.”

If Julilla was offended at Galahad taking charge, she didn’t show it. She frowned at Cassie, who was using a torn shirt to try and stop the bleeding from a gouge in her thigh. “Hurry, before it stiffens up.”

“You really should lie down for a few minutes. Just until the bleeding stops.”

“When we’re this close? No way.” Julilla met Galahad’s eyes. “What are we waiting for?”

Galahad led the ragged group toward one of the office towers, slowing his pace to Julilla’s limp while he explained about the network of tunnels and how he had rigged a few doors.

“How did you gain access?” Julilla asked.

He cast a hesitant look in Cassie’s direction before answering. “I needed medical treatment when I arrived. A lot of the Obits were ex-Kevorks and I got in good with them.”

By now Jason had caught up. “But why did Banquo say—”

“Severing ties with the alliance was the only way I could make sure they didn’t find me out. Banquo said he was one of your best actors, and he told you what we agreed he would.”

“We didn’t suspect a thing,” Jason admitted.

“So what’s in the bunker?” Amy said, looking remarkably tidy for just having fought a battle.

“Just what we thought,” Galahad told her. “Sort of.”

Julilla had been leaning on Cassie for support, but now she pushed her away so she could walk on her own. “You mean there really is a cure and it’s not all bullshit?”

Galahad gave a jerk of his shoulders. “I have no idea what they’re doing in there. But it is grownups and there’s some big secret that I couldn’t get anyone to tell me.”

Cassie edged her way to Galahad’s side and slipped her hand into his. She thought her heart would burst when he smiled at her and observed that she hadn’t been saying much.

What could she say that wouldn’t sound stupid? That a Telo cure was nothing compared to seeing him again? That she had never been so happy as in this moment, with him by her side, even though friends and allies lay dead on the office park lawn?

They arrived at the office tower and someone took a swing at the glass doors, which Galahad hadn’t found a safe way to prop open. Suddenly Doc burst into their midst, his hands and lab coat stained with blood. “What’s the matter?” Cassie asked.

Doc shook his head, but before Cassie could ask again, the doors shattered.

Whooping and shouting, the troops surged into the building. “Come on,” Cassie said, pulling Doc along by his sleeve.

They charged across the lobby and into the stairwell. At the bottom, Galahad was nearly crushed as he fumbled to open the door into the tunnel. No sooner had he got it open, when they were met with a staccato of gunfire. Galahad and a few others drew their guns and killed the Obit guards, and then the crowd rushed forward, the few who had lights running ahead and holding them aloft. In a mob they reached another set of doors and Galahad pushed his way to the front to open them. This time they were prepared for resistance on the other side, but found themselves instead in a still and pristine reception area. The room was unguarded, so they broke the glass door on the other side and stormed through a series of narrow hallways that terminated in a heavy steel door.

This time Galahad couldn’t get through the frantic, howling mob. Fueled by adrenaline and desperate hope, they pounded on the door and walls with clubs and the butts of their rifles. Someone got the idea to shoot the lock and a few people tried to move out of the line of ricocheting bits of metal as Neal fired his city-issue Glock over and over. A Thespian got to work shooting at the hinges until finally with a screaming wrench of metal, the door moved in its frame. The crowd shoved against it as it fell and trampled over it in a rush, only to stop, startled into stunned immobility.

The lab was clean and orderly, bright with electric lights and the flash of images on computer screens. But more startling than the autoclaves and test tubes, the hum of fluorescent bulbs and the beep of monitors, were the men—actual grown men—who stood lined up in front of a table to meet them.

For a long moment, no one moved or spoke. Then Doc pushed his way to the front of the crowd and one of the men stepped forward to meet him.

“Hello, Johnny. Nice to see you again.”

Doc stared. “Hi, Dr. Fielding.”

The man’s smile was strained and didn’t extend past the tight curve of his lips. “Please call me Frank. I’m sure your father would’ve wanted it that way.” He cast a nervous glance at the crowd. “Welcome to our lab.”

Neal shoved his way forward. “Fuck your welcome. I want to know where my brother is.”

Frank exchanged a guilty glance with one of his colleagues. “I’m afraid I don’t know you or your brother, and—”

“Liar!” Julilla said. “You used him for his brain hormones, like you did all the others.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You children are delusional.”

“Bullshit. You’re a bunch of killers.”

Frank turned to Doc, as if their prior connection might hold some weight. “There are things happening here you can’t possibly understand, son.”

“I’m not your son. And quit lying. We know you bring children here and kill them.”

“It’s for a worthy cause,” said another scientist.

“Do they know it’s a worthy cause before you murder them?”

Frank ran a trembling hand through his hair. “Look, kids.” His eyes scanned the group, challenging them to see reason. “We’re close to finding a cure. We’ve got the materials, we’ve got the supplies—” he indicated the lab with a sweep of his arm. “But what we don’t have is time. What we’re doing is distasteful, but the future of humanity is at stake.”

Angry murmurs rose from the crowd and another researcher stepped forward. “Who do you think will find the cure if all the trained scientists are dead?”

“At least they died with their principles,” Doc said.

Frank turned on Doc with an ugly light in his eyes. “What kind of morality makes a man like your father choose a needless death when he has a boy to raise? What kind of ethics say it’s better to go to the Telo pits when one has the skills and knowledge to save the human race?” When Doc didn’t answer, he turned back to the group. “We were going to share the cure with you once we had it. Please believe it was never our intent to hoard—”

“So there really isn’t a cure?” Julilla said in disbelief.

“Not yet,” Frank said, his voice softening. “But we’ll keep doing research until we have it or until the hormone treatments stop working and we die. We’re completely dedicated.”

“Wait a minute,” Neal said. “There isn’t a cure and you want more hormone. So does that mean…?”

Frank threw up his hands. “We’ve tried other methods. We agonized over this course of action.”

With a scream of rage, Neal drew a semiautomatic. In the chaos of shouts and gunfire that erupted around her, Cassie heard someone call on them to stop firing while others shouted that they should kill all the bastards. Behind her, the crowd tried to move and as she felt herself pushed forward, Cassie slipped in a spreading pool of blood and pitched forward under trampling feet.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: PART TWO

2009-02-02T00:01:00.006-06:00

PART TWO

“You expect me to change my strategy over what a girlfriend-killing traitor of a Kevork wears under his shirt?”

Cassie tried to stay calm in the face of Julilla’s contempt. “It was a signal.”

“A fake one, meant to exploit your soft-headedness for him.”

“He means it. I know he does.”

“It’s a trick. Can’t you see that?” At the look of defiance on Cassie’s face, she added, “Even if it is a signal that he’s on our side, what’s he going to do for us? Or can he do anything at all?” Julilla shook her head. “The plans go forward as previously agreed. If he does something on our behalf during the fight, great. But this is no time to be taking chances.”

Cassie turned away, annoyed, and tried to distract herself by watching the final preparations for battle. Each group had its own attire, from the bailiff uniforms of the City Hall group and the neat fatigues of the St. Catherine’s and St. Xavier’s students, to the animal skins of the Zoo Tribe. The Thespians were in particularly fine form, with the main body of their unit dressed for the Napoleonic Wars and their elite troops under Jason clad in the gear of the ancient Roman army. A girl from the Operatics strolled among them in a breastplate and horned helmet from a Wagner production. Her role appeared to be related to morale because at one point she stopped to sing to a group of late arrivals in Black Watch kilts.

Julilla followed her gaze. “This is turning into a fucking circus.” She glanced at the scaffolding where final adjustments were being made to the Fresnels. “They’ve got fifteen minutes. After that, if the sun isn’t at an angle that suits them, screw it.” Danny was nearby, having delivered a message just a few minutes before, and she waved him over. “Go ask the spotlight people how much longer. Tell them we’re about out of time.”

Danny frowned at the rickety scaffold.

“Don’t say you’re scared of heights,” Julilla said. “I’ve seen your Spiderman breaking and entering tactics.”

“It’s not that,” Danny said, rubbing his chin. “It just looks like that thing is about to fall over. Very unstable.”

“And so are we. Yell up to them, if you’re scared to climb it.”

“Oh, I’m not afraid.” He flashed a smile. “I’m worried for the safety of your people and equipment. I always land on my feet.” He strolled over to the scaffold and circled it a few times, looking for the best angle of approach. He avoided the ladder, for reasons best known to himself, and began pulling himself up the network of bars.

“The twins make everything look easy,” Julilla observed to no one in particular. “Too bad they’re bat shit insane.” She turned away and went to meet Mundo, who was walking toward her with an air of urgency.

Meanwhile, a group of bored Pharms on the other side of the field were yelling and pointing at Danny. Someone grabbed a bullhorn and shouted epithets about the Human Fly, which Danny countered with a gesture that made it clear just what he thought of Pharms. The rowdy taunts grew louder and Sid stopped helping Griffin with a lens and leaned over the railing. Over the increasing insults from the Pharm front lines, Danny and Sid exchanged a few shouted words. Danny laughed at something Sid told him, then gripped a rail tightly between his knees so he would have both arms free to make appropriate gestures to his Pharm tormenters.

Danny didn’t notice the one who raised a sniper rifle to his shoulder, but Cassie saw and called to the allied front lines for a sharpshooter. She heard the shot before anyone could respond and wheeled about in time to see Danny fall.

While the Pharms cheered, Cassie shouted for a medic. She rushed toward him, with Julilla screaming at her to get back and stay out the line of fire. Cassie ignored her and dropped to the ground by Danny’s side. Now it was she the Pharms were taunting and someone fired a warning shot to tease her. She fumbled at Danny’s wrists, then his neck, searching for a pulse. By the time Danica appeared, wild-eyed and trembling, all she could do was shake her head and move a little distance away to give Danica space to grieve.

By this point Galahad, in his role as an Obit sergeant, had calmed the Pharms, no doubt telling them to save their fighting until they received orders. Now they watched in bemused silence as Danica keened over her twin’s body. But as her wails of anguish turned to screams of rage, they edged back from the front line, glancing at each other in guilty confusion.

Danica got to her feet and advanced on them. “Who did it? Come out here and fight me, you fucking coward!” She pointed at the nearest Pharm, a skinny boy with a crooked nose. “You! Did you do it?”

The boy’s eyes grew wide and he took several stumbling steps back.

Danica selected another target. “You. Admit it, chickenshit. Come out here and prove what you can do.”

Julilla appeared at Cassie’s side and gripped her elbow. “Get back to our lines. Now, while they’re distracted.”

“But she’s—”

“I know. Let her do what she needs to do.”

By now Danica had found her man—a brown, stocky teen with snapping black eyes and a mocking smirk. “Come out here and fight,” she snarled.

He drew a knife and made a show of examining the blade. “Go home and bake some cookies, honey. Before you get hurt out here.”

“Make me. Or are you scared?”

“I ain’t scared of you, darling.” He glanced at his buddies, then took a step toward her. “But I’m going to hate cutting up your pretty face.”

In a move so quick Cassie almost didn’t see it, Danica whipped a throwing blade from her belt. Her aim was off, but the wound to the Pharm’s shoulder stopped his sneer.
“Now I’m going to kill you, bitch.”

Danica drew her fighting knife. “Try it.”

Julilla dragged Cassie back to their lines. “This isn’t a TV show, girlfriend.”

Cassie stumbled over clumps of weeds, remembering too late that she was a captain and was supposed to act like she was in control of things. “Let me go. I’m not a child.”

“Then quit acting like one. Because as soon as this fight is over—”

A gasp went up from the Pharms as their man fell. Cassie and Julilla, safely back among their soldiers, looked up to see Danica bend over the dead Pharm and stab him over and over. She laid his belly open and dug in with her hands, spilling out intestines and other organs in a gory, glistening mass.

“What the hell is she doing?” Cassie said to no one in particular.

“Trying to get a reaction from the enemy, it looks like,” Julilla said.

While the Pharms stared in shocked silence, Danica reached into the dead man again, punching upwards in the body cavity with her knife and fumbling with both hands. Her body now drenched in blood, she jerked back and got to her feet, holding something wet and bleeding aloft.

“Holy fuck,” Julilla breathed. “I thought she hated blood. Does she think she’s an Aztec now?”

Danica threw the heart at the stunned Pharms, and an angry buzz arose from among them, like a disturbed hive. “Who’s next?” Danica demanded, advancing on them. “Come on fuckers. Show me what brave men you are!”

The buzzing grew louder and there was movement among the ranks.

Cassie turned to Julilla in alarm. “They’re going to kill her.”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t we going to save her?”

Julilla shook her head. “Do you think she wants to live without him?” She signaled to her bugler to stand by. “Go to your unit, Captain. As soon as she’s down, we move.”

“But—”

“It’s an order.”

Cassie backed away, trying to keep Danica in her sight as she taunted the Pharm front lines. Then someone called Cassie’s name. Cursing, she turned her back on the battlefield. She had taken only two steps when the shot rang out. She spun around and saw Danica lying on the field, and this time the blood spreading slowly around her was her own.

Julilla gave the signal to her bugler, and Cassie ran toward the back lines and her command.

* * *

The battle began with an agonizing wait while the front lines moved toward the enemy and the north and south flanks awaited their signal. Finally Cassie heard the call to move her line forward. Shouting encouragement, she led her troops into the fray, where she lost her sense of direction amid the guns, knives and flailing clubs. She halted an attack on her left with a shot from her semiautomatic, then shoved her way to the aid of Zoo girl under fire as she beat an Obit bloody with her club. There was no time to reload, catch her breath, or even think as she threw herself into the full force of battle, kicking, shooting and stabbing wherever she could get a move on the enemy.

The sun rose higher and the boys working the Fresnels got their beams focused. They trained the concentrated heat on the Pharms’ back lines where their fuel was stored, and the explosions halted the Pharms’ progress long enough for the alliance to push them back a few yards. Then one of the Obit leaders gave a signal and a group of motorcyclists roared onto the battlefield, scattering allied troops ahead of them.

Julilla rallied the troops under this fresh attack, screaming at them to shoot the tires, shoot the riders, and fight. Alone near the front, Cassie urged her group forward and was cutting a hole into the Pharms’ front line when someone shouted that Mundo was down. Her troops hesitated in confusion.

The Pharms pressed their advantage, pushing back hard on Cassie’s unit. But now Julilla’s troops moved forward again while Jason and his Romans finished off the motorcyclists. Blocked from moving forward and pushed from behind, Cassie tried to wipe the sweat from her eyes while bodies fell around her and a red-haired girl with evil in her eyes lunged toward her with a knife.

Inexplicably, the girl collapsed at Cassie’s feet. The Pharm attack faltered and Cassie glanced around in confusion to find Galahad, the sleeves of his shirt torn off to reveal his Regents gauntlet, leading his subcommand of Obit turncoats as they cut down the Pharms from within their own lines.

In the mayhem that followed, Julilla roared her approval as the Pharm attack faded and her troops surged forward. The allied flanks closed in and Cassie let herself be swept along, slipping on slimy battlefield gore as they moved faster and faster, until they were running, chasing the Pharms through the burning remains of their ordinance, to the bunker.

Pharms and Obits alike pounded on the bunker doors, but no one let them in. Surrounded and betrayed, they turned as one, backs to the wall, and waited to be cut down.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: PART ONE

2009-01-30T00:01:00.006-06:00

PART ONE

Cassie awoke to the staccato of the Operatic drummer’s warning, overlaid with the sound of trumpets blaring the call to arms. Cassie reached for her weapons in the dark, and after checking that the boys and girls assigned to her were awake and knew their duties, she left the sergeant in charge and ran to her assigned rendezvous point.

She found the allied commanders in a huddle, discussing the arrival of the Pharms. Elissa was kitted out in a Napoleonic uniform, even to the impractical light pants, and Cassie’s eyebrows went up at the sight of all the grass stains. Judging from Mundo’s smug expression of ownership as he eyed Elissa’s rump, Cassie suspected there were new secrets in camp other than her own.

“The plan is the same as it was yesterday,” Julilla told the group. “We want to prevent them from setting up any major ordinance, but given the terrain and our present good position, it’s not wise to attack until after sunrise.” At Jason’s protests, she added, “Don’t forget they’re to the west of us. If we wait another couple hours, they’ll have to fight with the sun in their eyes. And besides, we need sunlight if we’re going to use your precious Fresnels.” She glanced at Jason’s legs, bare and pale underneath the skirt of his Roman general’s costume. “Nice legs, by the way.”

While Jason turned red and sputtered, Amy, arrogant in fatigues and an armband in the St. Catherine’s colors, agreed with Julilla’s plan, adding that it wasn’t good to change strategy because “the public school lowlifes” among them would only screw it up.

Cassie held her breath and was relieved when Julilla let the classist remark pass as if she hadn’t heard it.

“So we need scouts to spy on the Pharms. We’ll need details of their number, their weapons, their setup, and how many Obits will be fighting with them,” Julilla continued.

This suggestion was greeted by agreement as to strategy, but everyone had an excuse as to why their own people shouldn’t be put on the task. Cassie was the only one who volunteered some of her team, a proposal Mundo nixed. Julilla had just declared she would conscript scouts if none were offered willingly, when the answer to her dilemma strolled up to them, sleepy and yawning in the grim light just before dawn.

“Is this the strategy meeting?” Danica asked.

“It’s for leaders, not freaks,” Jason snapped.

Danica eyed his short skirt and sandals. “So why are you here?”

While Amy giggled and Elissa and Jason glared, Julilla said, “Actually, I may have an assignment for you.”

“Not another one,” Danny protested. “We just wanted to know what the plan is, so we’d know if we had time to make coffee and have breakfast.” At the raised eyebrows all around, he added, “Don’t get excited. We brought our own.”

“Regents food always sucks,” Danica added. “And judging from last night, it hasn’t gotten any better now that it’s an allied project.”

Julilla held up a hand to forestall the firestorm that was sure to follow Danica’s remarks. “We need someone to spy on the Pharms and report on what we’re up against. You’re good at that sort of thing.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Danny said. After glancing at his twin for confirmation, he added, “But yeah, that would be right up our alley.”

“Pharms always have coffee,’ Danica reminded him. “If we steal theirs, we won’t have to use our own.”

“That’s right.” Danny gave Julilla a grin. “We’ll do it. Just tell us what kind of information you’re looking for.” Danica poked him and a look passed between them. “But we only steal coffee for ourselves. If you want caffeine, you’re on your own.”

* * *

Cassie spent the next half hour readying her troops in a weedy field with a service road behind it. They had barricaded the road the day before to slow down any enemy attempt at a flanking maneuver, but it also limited the possibility of retreat should the battle go badly. Then again, nearly everyone was at or near the Telo danger age. Without a life to lose and with a lifetime to gain, there was no reason not to fight hard.

She was scanning the horizon, trying to determine the time by the angle of the sun, when a boy ran up to her. “You’re wanted on the front lines, Captain!”

Cassie started, still not used to being addressed by her new rank. “Do you know what for?”

“Parley,” the messenger said, then babbled a lot of words that made no sense, although they were all perfectly good English.

Cassie followed the boy to the front, where the leaders stood near Julilla, who was watching something through a pair of binoculars.

“Cassie’s here,” Mundo told her.

Julilla lowered the binoculars and turned around. “Your boyfriend is over there,” she said. “It looks like he’s with the parley group, and he doesn’t appear to be a prisoner. There could be an advantage to having you go with us to meet them.” Her grim tones softened as she added, “But we understand if you’d rather not.”

Cassie glanced toward the Pharms and Obits, who had arrayed their troops in the main parking lot. A knot of people had separated from the army and were walking toward them, carrying a truce flag. Fear and hope surged through her. Jay was with them! He was okay and she would actually get to see him!

“Well?” Julilla asked.

“Remember, he’s the enemy,” Elissa said.

“You owe him nothing,” Mundo added. “Come with us to the parley, but only if you can do it for the right reasons.”

Cassie swallowed and gave a faint nod. “I’m on your side, not his.” Unconsciously, she reached a hand toward her throat where she wore Jay’s diamond ring on a chain under her shirt. “Maybe I’ll notice something the rest of you don’t.”

Amy sniffed and Neal rolled his eyes, but Julilla nodded as if Cassie had said nothing unexpected. “We demand free access to the bunker,” she reminded the group. “We want a full accounting of the kidnappings and the motivations behind them. We want the bodies of any dead returned to us. And if there’s a Telo cure, we want it.”

“And the formula,” Mundo reminded her.

“For God’s sake, yes,” Julilla agreed. She scanned the group of leaders. “So are we all in? Have I forgotten anything? Good. Let’s go, and remember to stay on message.”

* * *

Cassie thought she had never seen Galahad look as good as he did that morning, tall, tan and powerful in his black Obit uniform and with his long hair ruffled by the morning breeze. He turned pale at the sight of her and she wondered how she looked to him now—well-fed and strong, her hair in braids and her face made up for battle with a blue swath painted across her eyes like a raccoon’s mask.

She barely heard the negotiations as they progressed from politely firm to mocking and hostile. The Obits denied there was a Telo cure in the bunker. The Pharms said the office park and surrounding countryside were their turf and to leave or face the consequences. Both groups denied any knowledge of the kidnappings, and Neal, who had lost a brother to them, had to be restrained from attacking with his fists.

“We know you’re lying,” Elissa told them. “Our spy who didn’t turn traitor,” she stopped to sneer at Galahad, “Told us different.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Galahad said. “Everyone knows Thespians say whatever will make the best story.”

“And everyone knows not to trust a Kevork,” Julilla countered.

While the accusations and counterarguments moved into high gear, Cassie caught herself staring at Galahad. Their eyes met and for a moment the world stopped on its axis. She loved him, no matter what he had done. What stupid sequence of events had put them on opposite sides like this? Why hadn’t they run away together, Telo be damned, when they had the chance?

Galahad made a small tugging motion at the cuff of one sleeve. It was a casual act, so subtle as to go unnoticed in the heated arguments swirling around them. But Cassie noticed and for a moment didn’t comprehend. Under the cuff of his sleeve was a patch of blue, but—

He dropped his sleeve and his features went blank as an Obit turned to him with a question. Cassie didn’t hear his response because suddenly she understood. He was wearing his Regents gauntlet. Did this mean he was on their side, after all?

As soon as she had his attention again, she unbuttoned the collar of her shirt, just enough so he could see the ring. She scanned his face for a reaction.

Galahad gave a slow nod and touched his wrist again. Then with relief in his eyes and a faint sly smile, he turned back to the conversation.

Cassie buttoned her shirt and pretended interest, but there was nothing more to be gained by the parley. They would fight, but Galahad was on their side. She couldn’t wait to tell Julilla.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: PART TWO

2009-01-28T00:01:00.005-06:00

PART TWO

Dinner consisted of oatmeal, with other foraged foods tossed in to make a thick gruel. Since it was filling and there was plenty of it, no one complained, although some of the allied groups grumbled when Julilla refused to allow alcohol. Cassie thought Julilla’s decision a wise one, although she suspected some groups, like the Thespians, would disobey orders once they went to their tents. Well, that was their business. For her part, she was going to turn in early.

She walked through the darkness toward the latrines they had dug on their arrival, but found them inadequate and smelly. After glancing around for signs of danger, she struck out toward a line of overgrown hedges. She had just finished her business and was taking a few minutes to walk the hedge line and enjoy the peaceful night when a shadow detached itself from the darkness.

“What’d you think of dinner?”

Cassie sucked in her breath and was glad she had a pistol at her hip. “Good job,” she said in neutral tones. “I knew you wouldn’t need my help out here.”

“I didn’t need your help,” David agreed, “But I would’ve liked your company.”

“Why? When have we ever been friends?”

“That’s the problem. We should’ve been friends long ago.” He moved closer and reached a hand toward her hair, but recoiled with a scowl when she jerked away. “Don’t be prissy with me. You’ve already had one Kevork, so why not another? I can do things your goody boyfriend would never dream of trying.”

“I wouldn’t go to bed with you if you were the last guy on the planet. You aren’t fit to lick Jay’s boots.”

“I was thinking I’d like to lick something else.” He pushed his face close to hers. “But maybe you’re the type who likes to be forced, so you can keep pretending you’re a good girl who doesn’t really want to get laid.”

He grabbed her shoulder and Cassie felt his breath, hot and sour in her face.

“Is that the way you want it, babe?”

His fingers dug into her flesh and for a moment, Cassie went light-headed with fear. Then in a rush, her training came back to her and so did her confidence. “Get your hands off me.” With her free hand, she reached for her gun.

David grabbed her arm and they struggled in the darkness, David cursing and Cassie breathing hard as she kicked and tried to jerk away. Somewhere in the confusion, she found an opportunity. She squeezed the trigger and felt the shock of the pistol’s kick, even though she couldn’t hear the shot for the rushing in her ears. David dropped her arm and stepped back in confusion. Cassie aimed and fired again. With a gasp of surprise, David fell bleeding at her feet.

EXCERPT FROM CASSIE’S JOURNAL:

I killed David. I had to do it and luckily we were far enough away from camp that no one heard. At first I was just glad I had done it and I waited for an opportunity to drag him into the latrine pit. But now that I’m back in my tent, I’m worried.

David’s foraging smarts kept the Regents fed, so I have a feeling there would be no sympathy for me if anyone found out what I did. Considering what guys like Eleven do to girls like Rochelle, some would probably say I should’ve let David do whatever he wanted. Make him happy so he’ll keep finding noodles, canned beans, and stale ginger snaps. Take one for the team, and all that. But I won’t sell myself, not even for the good of the group. Is that wrong? I wish I knew.

I’m glad David is dead, even if it means I’ll never have an answer for why he wanted to cause trouble for me and Jay. I may not be sure if Jay can be trusted, but it’s a fact that I couldn’t trust David.

It’s late and I should be trying to sleep. I won’t succeed, but I’ll lie here and close my eyes anyway. Any kind of rest will be good, since I have a big job tomorrow. It seems like I should write some sort of grand farewell—my final words of wisdom in case the worst happens. But I’m not wise and who would those words be for?

My best dream for the future of my journal is that it should end up in some enterprising post-Telo farmer’s compost. My thoughts won’t help anyone living in the future, but the idea that they might nourish potatoes, quince, or snap peas, gives me comfort. When all this is over, I’m going to find my family’s retreat, whether I’m cured of Telo or not. Asphalt and turf wars aren’t for me. I want to spend the rest of my life, whether it’s measured in days or decades, watching green leaves unfurling in the sun.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: PART ONE

2009-01-26T00:01:00.005-06:00

PART ONE

Cassie and Julilla walked the campsite, talking of strategy. They were within sight of the Obit bunker, which was part of a cluster of labs and offices that sprawled across a flat rise, artfully landscaped with dips and hills that had once been carefully manicured but were now shaggy with weeds. Walkways wound through fallow flower gardens, and the alliance’s tents and tarps filled every space that might have once been green and decorative. “I don’t like that the facility is on a hill,” Julilla said. “It’s going to be a problem.”

“It’s not a very big hill,” Cassie offered. “I wouldn’t have even noticed if you hadn’t said something.”

“They’re noticing it as they try to position the Fresnels. I hope our scaffolding is high enough to get the right angles, or whatever it is Sid says we need.” She glanced at the late afternoon sky. “Too bad we didn’t get here a few hours earlier. I’d have given the order to attack and been done with it.”

“Without our ordinance in place?”

“Surprise is our best weapon, not Thespian spotlight beams. I just hope….”

Cassie nodded. According to their scouts, the Pharms had broken past the alliance’s skirmish units and barricades. They were now on pace to flank them by morning if they forced a march through the night. In the meantime, the alliance was camping in plain view of any Obit who might choose to look out the window of one of the office buildings, which were surely connected by tunnel to the underground facility. That they hadn’t been attacked was a source of puzzlement and everyone hoped it was because the Obits were too few in number to risk it. But if the Pharms reinforced them by morning….

Cassie and Julilla followed a path to a man-made pond of the sort that might have once had ducks or turtles for workers to toss crumbs to on their lunch break. The water was opaque and coated with algae, but a group of camp supporters were working with buckets and filters, scooping out water and pouring it through cloth and sand in the hope of making it potable or at least good for washing.

“I hope they remember to use the chlorine tablets,” Julilla said. “If everyone gets diarrhea, we might as well shoot ourselves and save the Pharms the trouble.”

“Speaking of shooting,” Cassie glanced at her, then looked away. “If you don’t want to talk about it, just tell me to shut up. But some of us were wondering if you and Alex…?”

Julilla hesitated before answering. “We had an understanding. Actually, we had several. One was that we each wouldn’t let the other suffer from Telo.”

“I see.” Cassie didn’t ask the next question because it hung in the air between them, as obvious as a banner.

“He was also a sometimes-boyfriend. Nothing serious. He was nearly twenty and we knew there wasn’t much time.”

“But you loved him anyway.”

Julilla nodded and seized on the first distraction she could find. “That looks like the twins over there, under that willow.”

Cassie looked in the direction indicated. “Are you sure? They aren’t having sex.”

Julilla gave her a playful shove and they strolled to where Danny sat holding a book while Danica lay in the grass with her head in his lap. Danny’s voice carried softly on the summer breeze as he read aloud:

And I would rather have my sweet
though rose leaves die of grieving;
than do high deeds in Hungary
to pass all men’s believing.

Danica smiled up at him with sleepy eyes. “Why Hungary?”

“Because that’s what it says in the book.”

“That’s a silly reason. How about Callahan Road?”

Danny coiled a lock of her hair around a finger. “It doesn’t sound as good, love. But if you want—”

Julilla cleared her throat and the twins looked at her, but made no move to get up. “We need to discuss your assignments, lovebirds.”

“We don’t have any,” Danny said.

“Exactly.”

Danica sat up, frowning. “We’re just here for the Telo cure. We’re not part of your army. You can’t tell us what to do.”

“If there’s a cure and you want first crack at it,” Julilla said, “You’ll join my army and accept an assignment.”

“What kind of assignment?” Danny asked. “We haven’t trained to be part of a phalanx or whatever it is you’re planning on doing.”

Julilla moved closer so she was standing over them. “Actually, I want you to run messages between the unit commanders tomorrow. You’re perfect for the job, since it requires speed and smarts, but also the ability to defend yourself. What do you think?”

The twins looked at each other. “Can we talk it over?” Danny asked.

“You’ve got ten minutes.” Julilla jerked her chin at Cassie and they walked a little distance away and sat on a small stone bench.

“That was a good idea,” Cassie said.

“I hope so. You think they’ll accept?”

“No telling.”

They turned their conversation to other matters and were deep in discussion of their hopes and concerns when Danny and Danica sauntered over like a pair of lazy felines. Danny glanced at his twin for confirmation, then said, “We accept. We’ll run battlefield messages for you. And in return, we get the cure, even if there’s only two doses and everyone else is waiting in line.”

Although it wasn’t for Julilla to decide how a cure would be distributed, she stood and held out her hand. “Done.”

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

2009-01-23T00:01:00.005-06:00

Rochelle shook Cassie’s shoulder. When she didn’t respond fast enough, she did it again. “Wake up!”

Cassie sat up with a frown. In the gray light of early morning, she could make out other members of her guard unit still asleep in the dusty schoolroom. There was nothing alarming to see, nor were there any sounds to suggest danger.

Rochelle jerked on her arm with surprising strength. “Hurry.”

Concerned that something might be happening after all, Cassie scrambled to her feet. But when she reached for a weapon, Rochelle shook her head.

“Just come.”

Curious and a little frightened, she followed Rochelle out of the kindergarten room with its faded finger paintings and construction paper flowers, down the hall to the nurse’s office. At the sight of Alex lying on one of the vinyl beds, her heart sank. He was pale and sweating, his lips cracked and eyes bloodshot. Faint bruises were spreading beneath his skin. Telo.

Julilla sat at his side, listening while he mumbled of tactics and weaponry. In another room Cassie could make out the sound of arguing.

“Don’t be stupid.” Elissa’s haughty tones carried through the walls. “You’ve done it before. Where were your ethics then?”

“I’m trying to do better now,” Doc said.

Mundo’s calmer tones followed. “This is the ethical choice. Lives are at stake. Maybe even the future of the human race.”

“You think the Obits are worried about a few dead kids?” Elissa said. “We can’t be, either.”

“I’ll get David or some other ex-Kevork to handle the killing part. Then you—”

“No.”

“It’s an order.”

“Take my pituitary, then,” Doc said. “I volunteer it.”

“That’s ridiculous and you know it.”

The conversation shifted to lower tones that Cassie couldn’t make out, and she looked at Julilla. “Doc does have a point.”

“If he can get a volunteer, sure. But no one’s going to offer up their brain,” Julilla said. “Not really.”

“I don’t want somebody’s brain juice,” Alex said, clutching at Julilla’s hand. “You promised me.”

“They won’t do it,” she assured him.

“They did it to Zach.”

“They won’t do it to you. I’ll kill them first.”

Rochelle had been standing with her ear pressed against the door, but now she moved away. “He’s still saying no. And he’s the only one besides May who knows how.”

Alex was reassured, but only for a moment. “Kill me,” he told Julilla. “That way we can be sure.”

“But we are sure. No one’s going to inject you with brain hormone.”

“Then do it so I won’t be left behind.”

All three girls stared, not comprehending.

“Our army has to make the next camp tomorrow. We’ve got allied units skirmishing to keep the road clear, but they can’t hold off the Pharms forever, and you can’t hole up here and wait for me die. Shoot me like you promised you would.”

Julilla’s lips turned ashen, as if she might faint. “No. We’ll keep you here under guard while the rest of us move forward. That way if we find a cure in the Obit bunker—”

Cassie counted on her fingers. “If we get there tomorrow and the battle is the next day, and if they do have a cure—”

“Three days at the outside,” Julilla agreed. “You can hold on that long.”

“If you get there tomorrow and if you’re ready to engage the enemy the following day, and if the battle doesn’t turn into a siege, and if you win, and then if they even have a cure…” Alex frowned and a rivulet of blood escaped a tear duct. “That’s too many ifs. Meanwhile I’m back here behind enemy lines.”

“They might capture and torture him,” Cassie reminded Julilla.

“It’s a chance we have to take. We might have a cure in a few days.” She gave Alex a stern look. “You’re a fighter. Fight.”

“Julilla, love—”

The door of the other room opened and Mundo and Elissa sullenly filed out, with Doc following in an attitude of self-righteous victory. While Elissa stormed out the door of the clinic, Mundo approached Alex’s bedside. “I’m trying to get you some help. Doc won’t do it, but we’ll find someone else, and then after we get the cure—”

Alex sank deeper into his pillow. “I don’t want some dead person’s brain bits in me. Can’t you respect that?”

“Not when the future of humanity is at stake.”

“Julilla can command the troops.”

“Ours, yes. They know and respect her.” Mundo looked Julilla up and down. “But the whole allied army? It would have to be put to a vote and no way would they elect a girl.”

While Julilla bristled, Alex shook his head, more blood running out of his eyes, which Rochelle dabbed with a clean piece of gauze. “They’ll vote for her because I trained her.”

“The Thespians would vote for me,” Julilla agreed. “Who do you think kept those chickenshits from running away when we went after the Christian Soldiers?”

“Elissa wants her man Jason in charge, if we can’t have Alex,” Mundo said. “He’s got a totally different plan for this fight.”

“And it’s a dumb one.”

“Exactly.” Mundo looked down at Alex. “So we’re going to get you well for the battle and that’s the end of it. If you want to off yourself afterwards, that’s your business.”

Mundo stomped out of the room, leaving Cassie, Julilla and Doc staring at each other while Rochelle took advantage of the clinic’s ample supplies to start giving Alex an alcohol rub-down for his fever.

“We can’t let him do it,” Julilla said. “It’s not what he wants.”

“I doubt he’ll find anyone else in the alliance who can perform the procedure.” Doc assured her.

“I wonder if we should take that chance.” Cassie darted a glance toward Alex who appeared worn out by the conversation.

“There’s only one thing he wants,” Julilla said, staring at her hands in resignation. “Growth hormone treatment doesn’t work once you’re dead.”

“I could ask David to do it,” Doc offered. “It wouldn’t be a big deal to a Kevork.”

“No,” Julilla sighed. “We had an agreement. If you could just keep everyone out of the area so Mundo won’t know for sure who did it….”

Cassie and Doc made their goodbyes to Alex, and Rochelle capped the bottle of alcohol and put it away. As the three walked into the hall looking for places to station themselves, Doc wondered aloud why Julilla had insisted on performing the execution herself.

“Didn’t you hear?” Rochelle said. “He called her ‘love.’”

“You don’t think—?” Cassie began.

The sound of the gunshot silenced her.

EXCERPT FROM CASSIE’S JOURNAL:

Julilla is our new commander, but it wasn’t without a fight. The alliance leaders and senior officers gathered in the school cafeteria and argued for hours. Mundo supported Julilla, but I suspect it was only because he had no one else trained for the job and naturally we want one of our own in the top position. He didn’t dare offer his own services because of all the infighting. There are some tribal leaders who think he has too much personal influence.

Other candidates for the command were Jason from the Thespians, whose only qualification is his status as an Eagle Scout, and Neal from the City Hall group, who was even worse. He cited having read One Hundred Years of Sea Power as a qualification. Julilla suggested he be put in charge of the navy, and got a lot of laughs.

In the end, Julilla was given the supreme command and her first act was to announce that all plans would move forward as previously agreed, with one exception. She put me in charge of the flank she would’ve led under Alex. Mundo was pissed but kept a neutral attitude while we were all together. Meanwhile, I was in a panic. What do I know about leading people? Will they even listen to me?

Mundo said as much after we went to our rooms. “Just say the word and I’ll make sure someone else gets put in charge of the back lines,” Mundo said. “There’s no shame in refusing the command. It’s your first battle.”

“And she’ll do fine,” Julilla snapped. She looked at me. “Do you want it or not?”

With both of them staring at me, I couldn’t make my thoughts quit spinning. Back at the hotel I had longed to fight. I was angry and wanted to prove myself. But out here, facing the real threat of pain, death, and failure, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to fight at all, let alone hold the back lines where it would be my job to keep people from running. I understood my duties, but would I be able to keep my head in a fight and not run off, myself?

“We haven’t got all night,” Julilla reminded me.

In a voice I hardly recognized as my own, I told her I would do it.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: PART TWO

2009-01-21T00:01:00.004-06:00

PART TWO

Although she was hot and out of sorts after sparring with David, Cassie stopped at the clinic to check on how things were going. She found Doc making the ward rounds alone. “What’s the matter?” she said. “Did you scare all your nurses off today?”

“Rochelle is here.” He motioned Cassie nearer and lowered his voice. “She seems to have gotten through to May. I took over ward duty so she can keep doing whatever it is she’s doing in there.”

Cassie glanced toward the door. “Can I go in?”

Doc shrugged. “It’s been an hour, so it’s worth a try, I guess.”

“I’ll pretend like I’m looking for aspirin.”

The air in the treatment room was stultifying, and smelled vaguely of old urine overlaid with alcohol and herbs. It was a confusing odor, not pleasant but not so distasteful that Cassie wanted to bolt. She pretended to look for something in the cabinet, glancing occasionally toward the back wall where May lay propped against a stack of pillows with Rochelle beside her nursing the baby. To Cassie’s relief, both girls returned her smile. Rochelle’s was broad and welcoming, and May’s was strained, but it was all the encouragement she needed to join them.

Wisely, Cassie didn’t comment on May’s change in behavior and instead offered her opinion on the weather, the state of the potato garden, and the general stuffiness of the hotel. Conversation drifted aimlessly, centered on light, inoffensive topics.

Finally the baby grew fussy and Rochelle gathered him close. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to take him to the patio where it’s cooler.” She looked at May, a question in her eyes.

“Go ahead. I’m fine.”

After Rochelle was gone, Cassie asked if she should leave.

May shook her head. “I hear they’re making plans. Tell me.”

Cassie told what she knew of the attack strategy, apologizing that it was so vague. “We’re going to try to get the alliance leaders together tonight to agree on the final plan. I think we’ll move pretty fast after that. We might be mobilizing as soon as tomorrow.”

“Good. Don’t give the bastards a chance to get stronger.”

“I wish you were able to go with us.” Cassie held her breath, waiting to see how May would answer the implied question about her health.

“I’ll do what I can around here while you’re gone,” she said. “I’ve been sorry for myself long enough.” Her expression turned grim. “Rochelle told me about Eleven. I need to get well so I can kick his ass.”

“So you’re going to be okay?”

“I guess. I can’t let a kid like Rochelle down. She thinks I’m brave and she says she wants to be like me.” May made a gesture dismissing the absurd notion.

“But you are brave.”

“Bullshit. I’m the biggest coward there is, but we need to set an example for the younger ones, since they’ll be on their own soon.”

“Maybe not. We’re going to attack the bunker and see if there’s a Telo cure, remember?”

“Yes, the Telo cure.” May sank deeper into the pillows and closed her eyes. “I have a feeling when you get there, it won’t be what you think.”

“What do you mean? Is there something you didn’t tell us?”

“Just a feeling I have.”

“Well, there must be something there, or why all the mystery? Why the kidnappings? Why do the Pharms—”

May jerked her face away at the mention of Pharms. “You’re right we have to try,” she said. “I just hope this doesn’t turn out to be all ego and wishful thinking.”

EXCERPT FROM CASSIE’S JOURNAL:

The plans are made, my gear is packed, and I’m ready to deploy.

Our advance unit from St. Xavier’s found a roadblock on the first route they tried and they were scared to take the posted detour, for fear it was a trap. The twins scouted us a different route, so that’s the way we’ll head out of the city. It’ll add another five miles to the journey, but it can’t be helped, since the other roads are being monitored. The twins identified safe houses for us, so we’ll have shelter, at least.

Many of us are nervous about getting ambushed. Julilla says we shouldn’t worry because there’s no good place for a battle until we’re almost within sight of the office park where the labs and bunkers are. When we ask Alex if he agrees, he just looks tired and walks away. He’s been working too hard and not sleeping enough, because there are shadows under his eyes and he seems distracted. All the responsibility must be hard on him, since he’s the general for the entire alliance and his only experience is a year of ROTC. But that’s more than any of our other leaders have, which makes him an expert, even though I think Julilla is just as capable. She certainly isn’t running herself into the ground like he is, even though I never see her sleep and she seems to be everywhere at once, giving orders and checking that all is ready.

May is getting around a little, hobbling like an old woman because she’s still in pain. I think the Pharms did things to her that she’s not talking about. But she’s determined to be brave for the sake of Rochelle and all the younger girls being taken advantage of by the boys. She says their lives shouldn’t be defined by sex and violence. She says they need to see that being victimized doesn’t make one a victim.

She’s going to care for the baby so Rochelle can come with us. Poor Rochelle! She can’t bear to be parted from either Doc or the baby, and the confusion on her face was terrible to see. But Doc has been assigned to come with us to handle battlefield injuries, and in the end puppy love won out over baby love and Rochelle is on our medical team. Doc is happier than seems reasonable, which makes me wonder if he really does love her and is finally figuring it out. May said she was going to plant a few ideas in his head, so maybe she made him see what’s been obvious to the rest of us for a long time.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: PART ONE

2009-01-19T00:01:00.006-06:00

PART ONE

Alex stepped up preparations for the attack, sending messengers to the allied groups throughout the day and night. He gave the twins the address to the rural lab where the children were being taken, allotting them some of their precious gasoline so they could ride their stolen motorcycles. Their investigation resulted in detailed information about the facility, its layout and the number of guards. Even better, Danny produced a series of maps and diagrams from memory, with Danica confirming their accuracy. These they turned over to Alex and Julilla, who pored over them, debating the merits of pincer movements vs. frontal assault. They discussed how the Fresnels could best be deployed, or if they should be used at all. They analyzed the skills and supplies of their soldiers and allies until their heads hurt and they begged Rochelle for something stronger than willow drops.

But their best pain-killers were going to May, now that they had acquired a few from the Thespians. Although May’s blisters were deflating and her bleeding had slowed to a spotting, a sullen listlessness had taken hold. She spoke only when spoken to, murmuring no more than a word or two when she chose to answer at all. She refused to eat until pestered, even though they gave her the best food they had. Instead, she spent most of her time staring at the wall, pretending to sleep when anyone came near.

Cassie and Julilla were flummoxed. They sat with May when they could and tried to draw her into conversation, to no avail. They enlisted Alaina’s help, thinking maybe they could talk fashion and jewelry together. But although May listened patiently, she answered in monosyllables and showed no interest in anything related to art. Frustrated, Alaina assigned her students to practice their reading on her, bringing the first sign of emotion anyone had seen when May cursed the little boy stuttering through Green Eggs and Ham and told Alaina she’d rather go back to the Pharms than endure any more “kiddie bedtime stories.” Insulted, Alaina quit sending children to read to her and May got a little of the peace she craved.

Finally there came a day when decisions had to be made. Mundo called a meeting on the patio and this time David was included so the issue of battlefield supply could be addressed. Cassie tried to ignore the way he stared at her and wondered, as she often did, why he had told her about Trina. Marsha the Thespian had planted suspicions in her mind, but confronting David was out of the question, since every time she tried to have a few words with him, he turned it into an attempt to get her into bed. Cassie had too much else going on to need that hassle as well. She would have to let some mysteries remain mysteries, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

“If the bunker is forty miles away,” David told Alex, “No way can we supply you from here. We’ve got just the one shuttle and not nearly enough gas.”

“It’s too dangerous, anyway,” Julilla said. “Bring war material with you from home, but forage on the enemy.”

“I wish you’d quit quoting that damn book,” Alex said.

“You’re the one who recommended it.”

“Not so you could memorize it and go around quoting it all the time.”

Mundo silenced them. “No fighting. If you can’t save it for the enemy, one of you needs to resign. I won’t have my co-commanders arguing.”

Julilla and Alex exchanged sullen looks and returned to examining the maps. This time David leaned forward as well and traced a few paths with a finger. “Acrefield Mall looks like it’s about fifteen miles away. Did the twins get a sense of what condition it was in?”

“Burnt,” Alex said.

“Any schools that maybe still have cafeteria supplies?”

Julilla shrugged. “Who knows?”

“So even if we tried to supply you locally, we wouldn’t know until we got there if it could be done.”

“How is that different from now?” Kayleen looked up from doodling on her notepad with a purple felt tip.

David glared, but Mundo seized on her point. “There’s some truth to that. Supplies are getting harder to find in the city, so it’s not like you’d be working any harder out the sticks. We’ll lay in stock here and then your team can go with us and work the vicinity.”

“Look,” David said, sitting up straight. “I don’t mind dying, as long as it’s fast and not from the Telo. Getting blown up in an Obit ambush would suit me fine. But where does that leave you guys? Any form of supply that depends on driving in plain sight on known roads, is going to be a problem.”

“Supply chain is an army’s weak point,” Alex agreed. “It’s what got Napoleon.”

“I thought winter got Napoleon,” Kayleen said.

“That too, but it was really—”

“Enough.” Mundo held out his hand for the map. “I know it’s rural, but there’s got to be a way to make this work.”

“Attack fast and get the Obits’ food,” Julilla said, to Alex’s nod of agreement. “It’s the only way.”

“Unless there’s a grain elevator still full somewhere nearby,” Cassie pointed out. “Or livestock still alive—cows or goats or something.”

A slow smile broke over Mundo’s face. “That’s right. You’re the eco-girl with the wilderness skills. How’d we manage to forget that?”

“I don’t have farm skills. I know wild plants and animals, and a little about vegetable gardening. Not food crops and chickens.”

“But plants are plants, right?” Julilla said.

“I guess.” Cassie frowned in thought. “In the garden, seeds often get left behind and grow on their own the next season, so I bet it’s the same with big fields of crops. They’re probably hybrids, but the second generation usually sprouts okay. It’s the third generation that’s the problem.” Getting blank stares from the group, she added, “In other words, there may be some wild crops growing, like corn and tomatoes. And then there’s the farm houses and barns. Barns would’ve had oats and corn before the Telo, if the mice didn’t get it all by now.”

Mundo nodded enthusiastically. “So it’s not crazy that we could forage out there.” He turned to David. “We’ll vet this plan with our allies, but I propose that all allied non-combatants stay here with a guard and as much as we can lay by for them in the way of supplies. You’ll come with us and lead the allied foragers in local scavenging.”

David rubbed his face in frustration. “I’m telling you, man, I wouldn’t know an edible plant from poison ivy.”

“There’s also grain elevators, animals, and farmhouses, like Cassie said.”

“And if there’s not?” A wicked grin spread across his face. “Maybe Cassie should be on my forage team.”

“No,” Cassie said, before Mundo had a chance to speak. She fumbled for an answer to his inquisitive look, but could only shake her head.

Julilla came to her rescue. “She’s my lieutenant and I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to train her. Anyone can tell corn from dandelions. Ask around the alliance for an outdoorsy sort to partner with David.”

“But I want her.”

Cassie felt David’s gaze boring into her. “Forget it.”

She said it with such firm contempt that Mundo motioned for David to let the matter drop. “We’ll find someone to accompany the foragers as a subject matter expert. In the meantime, we need to call the alliance together and finalize our plans.” He looked at Kayleen, who appeared to be more interested in applying sunscreen than writing anything down. “Have you been taking notes, babe?”

Kayleen set the Coppertone aside and picked up her notepad. “Farmhouses, barns, grain elevators, and tomatoes. I pay attention.”

“Good. I need you to write the schedule for the final pre-battle meeting of the alliance. Plans to be voted on include the following….”

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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: PART TWO

2009-01-16T00:01:00.005-06:00

PART TWO

It was nearly dawn before Sid and Griffin decided they had done enough with the Fresnels and needed some rest. Wordlessly, Cassie guarded Sid’s return through the gray stillness of early morning. The streets were quiet, with only a few early-rising urchins watching from doorways or pausing in the work of setting up for their daily hustle. A girl rattled a tambourine ominously as they passed and the smell of toxic smoke stung their noses as they walked past an enterprising teen burning treated scrap lumber for cooking. When they got to the hotel, they found it quiet too, although the vibe felt off somehow, like something wasn’t right.

“You’re wanted in the conference suite,” a guard told Cassie.

She shoved back the hood of her cloak. “What for? That’s a weird place to meet when it’s this hot out.”

“It’s an important discussion. Mundo wants total privacy.”

“Why would he want that?” Cassie murmured, more to herself than with any expectation of an answer. They had discussed everything up to and including battle strategy in the outdoor office by the pool. Why this sudden need for closed doors?

Treating the question as if a response was required, the guard said, “May is back. She escaped.”

Cassie hurried to Conference Suite A, where she was let in right away. She found Doc, Mundo, Kayleen, Alex and Julilla huddled in front of the window. They moved aside so she could squeeze in, and she stifled a gasp of shock at the wan form on the sofa.

May was almost unrecognizable. Her hair was chopped in a ragged fringe close to her scalp, and in one spot someone had gotten too enthusiastic with the shears and left a gash, which wasn’t healing as it should and oozed a pale yellow fluid. What Cassie found truly alarming, though, were the red, puffy blotches all over May’s face, neck and hands.

“It’s mostly second-degree,” Doc explained. “But some of it’s from chemicals and might as well be third-degree, in terms of health risk.”

“What happened?”

May said nothing and closed her eyes.

“She created a lab explosion in order to escape,” Mundo said. “They were making her run experiments for them.”

“When they weren’t experimenting on her,” Julilla muttered. “We need to clear those fuckers out.”

“Glad you finally agree with me,” Alex said.

“Enough.” Mundo glared at each of them. “We don’t do ‘I told you so’ around here, and anyone who doesn’t like that rule can join another group. Besides, until now Julilla’s point was valid. We had no details of location, numbers, or alliances, but now we do.” He bent to take May’s hand, but it was so badly blistered that he simply thanked her instead. “You’ve done brave work and we won’t forget it. You’ll get the best medical care we can offer, and after that, anything you want. A new shop, a new lab…just tell us and we’ll make it happen.”

May nodded, but didn’t open her eyes.

“I’d like to move her to the clinic now,” Doc said. “She needs fluids and rest. You can quiz her again later.”

Alex and Julilla improvised a stretcher and carried May to the clinic. They gave her a private corner of the treatment room rather than put her on the ward, so she wouldn’t become an object of curiosity.

Once May was resting as comfortably as could be expected, Doc and Cassie went through his manuals in search of useful information about burn treatments. “We have no aloe, no calendula, and we sure as hell don’t have any drugs.” Doc threw up his hands in frustration.

“Vitamin C and aspirin?” Cassie suggested.

“Maybe a band-aid, too. One with Mickey Mouse on it, to represent the ridiculous level of care we’re providing.”

“Well, we can’t do magic. We need proper drugs. But if we try to barter with the Pharms, they’ll know why we’re doing it.” Cassie sighed and closed the book. “We’ll be lucky if they don’t come looking for her. But maybe another group in the alliance can make a trade for us. We could give them a list of what we need.”

“Maybe someone has some drugs from an earlier trade,” Doc said thoughtfully. “I’ve heard the St. Catherine’s girls are pretty aggressive about storing antibiotics.”

“And the Thespians would probably have pain-killers.”

“They always seem to be high on something.”

“Actually, I think for a lot of them that’s their natural state.”

“Scary thought.”

“So make me a list and I’ll take it to Mundo so he can send someone to make inquiries.”

Doc fumbled among his papers for a pen, then sat down and began writing.

EXCERPT FROM CASSIE’S JOURNAL:

May is back and she’s pretty bad off. At first we thought the burns were her biggest problem and we sent people to try and collect medicine without alerting the Pharms. But when Doc and I undressed her to rinse the burns with cold water, we found something else. At first Doc thought it was menstrual blood and got embarrassed. But something Julilla said earlier made me suspicious and I made him give me a flashlight.

You’d think after helping birth a baby, it wouldn’t be so embarrassing to go examining up there, but it is. I’m glad I did, though, because something’s very wrong. I don’t know if we can fix it. Without pain killers there’s no way we can stitch her up, and there appears to be deeper bleeding from inside that we have no idea what to do about. In the end, all we could do was clean her up and pad her with rags in the hope that the bleeding would stop on its own.

I almost didn’t tell Julilla, since I knew how she would react. She didn’t disappoint me. She stomped around the penthouse, ranting about misogynists and rape as a terror tactic, then she attacked the punching bag like she was going to put a fist through it. When she had finally worked off some of her anger, she said, “She’s going to need counseling.”

“We’ll sit and talk with her,” I said. “We’ll make sure she knows she’s loved and safe. What else can we do? Hire a Thespian to play Sigmund Freud?”

“They’d like that.” Julilla paced the room, tapping her boxing gloves together. “Actually, I was wondering if we could bring her up here. It’s pretty and quiet, and away from all the bullshit that goes on downstairs.”

“True,” I said, “But then we’d need to let Doc up here to treat her, and Mundo and Alex to debrief her, and next thing you know it’s not our place any more. And once it’s everyone’s place, they’ll trash it like everything else.”

Julilla stopped pacing. “I guess you’re right. It would do no good to get her up here only to have it turn into more of what’s down there.”

“Besides,” I said, “After what I’ve seen, it doesn’t look like she’s up for climbing all those stairs. I’m surprised she made it here at all.”

“Adrenaline. Fear is an amazing motivator.”

Julilla went on to tell me some of Alex’s ROTC stories about the heroics of wounded soldiers under survival conditions. I guess this is why neither of them was surprised that May walked nearly five miles to get to us after she blew up her lab and escaped. It took her nearly twenty-four hours of hiding in buildings and sneaking through side streets, but she did it.

She says the Pharms know all about our Telo research. They’re firmly in alliance with the Obits, but are hedging their bets by trying to find the cure on their own, since the Obits cannot or will not give it to them. Of course, a few questions remain. Is Jay still with the Obits, and if so, whose side is he on? If we fight the Obits, will we have to fight the Pharms, too? And finally, how many grownups are left alive?

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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: PART ONE

2009-01-14T00:01:00.005-06:00

PART ONE

Cassie looked Sid up and down. He had wrapped himself in a navy blue curtain that hooded his face and made him look like a child tripped up in his mother’s curtains. He was so sensitive, though, that it didn’t seem wise to say anything, so Cassie pulled her black cloak tight, hooking and tying it according to the alterations the Thespian costume girl had made for her. “Stick close,” she said. “If we get separated, meow like a cat, three times.”

“That’s a dumb signal.”

“You got a better one? Come on.”

By now Cassie was used to navigating the damp and reeking streets by night. She kept to the shadows, moving around known hazards with ease, her ears alert to familiar noises so that she might pick out the unfamiliar. This was Sid’s first night trip to the theater, and he stumbled after her, whispering the occasional curse as he tripped over trash and turned his ankles in potholes.

Tonight the stage door was guarded by a girl who looked like the Swiss Miss mascot, had the cocoa icon been inclined to sport leather bandoliers across her chest and a tattoo of the number eight between her eyebrows. Cassie gave the night’s password and added, “We’re here to talk to Griffin about the Fresnels.”

The girl let them in and bolted the door behind them. She tugged a drooping knee sock, then settled herself on a high stool and smoothed her dirndl. “He’s been playing with those damn things all week. I heard they’re powerful enough to set the whole place on fire.” She fixed Sid with a look. “Is that true?”

Sid pulled off his curtain cloak and attempted to fold it. “They’re dangerous, yeah. But that’s the whole point.”

“Well, you better not burn this place. This is the best home I’ve had since the Telo.”

“We know what we’re doing. And we can’t test them properly without sunlight, anyway.”

The Swiss Miss nodded in satisfaction and Cassie led Sid down the claustrophobic hallway to the stage, which had been set to resemble a beach. A few Thespians lounged on towels and beach chairs by lantern light, fanning themselves and drinking something green and murky out of tall glasses. Off to one side, two spotlights had been disassembled, their parts arranged in orderly fashion in front of a giant foam clamshell. Griffin quit polishing a lens and came to greet them. “Glad you could make it tonight.” He shook Sid’s hand with more enthusiasm than seemed necessary. “Let me show you what I’m doing. I think this latest adjustment will increase our range by at least two hundred feet.”

While Sid went to discuss the light refraction capacity of the Fresnel lenses, Cassie looked for something to do. She had no desire to join the phony sunbathers, who were now lazily tossing a beach ball back and forth. Normally she would’ve hung out with whatever Thespian guards were around, but she saw no one in the vicinity and didn’t want to go back to the stage door and chat with the Swiss Miss.

She sat down on the lumpy backstage sofa and picked up a script from a stack lying on the floor. She didn’t find it interesting, though—just two people talking and waiting for something to happen. It was so much like her own life that she tossed it aside in annoyance. She was fumbling for a different one and hoping it wasn’t another Samuel Beckett, when a sturdy girl, all muscle and attitude, walked past carrying a box. She spotted Cassie and stopped.

“It’s okay,” Cassie said. “I’m Cassie Thompson, Regents. I brought our engineer to talk Fresnels with Griffin.”

The girl set down her box and it made a jingling sound. “I’ve heard of you. You’re Jay Gallard’s girl.”

Cassie shifted position and got poked by a broken spring. “No.”

“Really? I can think of a few girls who’d be glad to hear that.” She came forward and stuck out her hand. “I’m Marsha, by the way. I’m new around here.”

Cassie shook her hand and murmured appropriate greetings. “Where do you know Jay from?”

“Kevorks.” She motioned to a spot on the sofa. “Mind if I join you? I’ve been moving scenery all day and my back is killing me.”

Cassie edged over and Marsha sat down, rubbing a bruise on her arm. “That foam clamshell is heavier than it looks. The way the weight is distributed is all wrong.”

“I see,” Cassie said, but she really wanted to know about Galahad. “So how’d you end up here after being with the Kevorks?”

“Me and some of the other KDS gals had our own group for awhile, but they’ve mostly all Teloed now. We called ourselves the Blue Ladies. East side. Ever hear of us?”

Cassie shook her head. “I lived on the other side of Callahan until I joined the Regents. West side.”

“What made you move central? At least in the ‘burbs you can grow a garden and dig a hole so your shit won’t stink.”

“The Regents were foraging in my area. Me and my friend were looking for food and Galahad—er, Jay—said if we joined the Regents, we’d get to eat.”

Marsha nodded wisely. “That’s Gallows for you. Always trying to do someone a favor.”

“I don’t know how big a favor it was. I mean, yeah, I haven’t starved, but his cousin killed my friend, and Jay…well, he talks a good game.” Cassie sighed and looked away.

“It’s all right.” Marsha patted Cassie’s arm. “I doubt he really went turncoat. Banquo dropped a few hints that make me think there’s more to it, and besides, it’s not Gallows’ way. They’re either holding him prisoner or he’s got something up his sleeve. No one is more loyal than he is.”

Cassie fixed her with a withering look. “Did anyone tell that to Trina?”

“Oh.” Marsha sat up straight. “So someone told you that old rumor.”

“It’s no rumor. He admitted it.”

“Admitted what? That he killed her?”

“That he might have, but he doesn’t remember.”

“That sounds about right.” At the look on Cassie’s face, she added, “I’ve never believed he did it. He was always helping girls out. It’s why they were all in love with him, those that liked guys, of course. Not me.”

“He says he was on drugs that night.”

Marsha looked at her askance. “Don’t tell me you believe that Reefer Madness bullshit. I’m telling you, Gallows would never hurt a girl, not even if she did something to him first.”

“Then how’d Trina end up dead, with him holding the knife?”

Marsha shrugged. “I have my theories, based on who was around that night. But I could be wrong. It could’ve been a random attack and he was too fucked up to defend her. God knows there was enough killing going on at the time. Or maybe they separated and he found her that way later.”

Cassie hadn’t considered these possibilities, but why should she believe anything a Kevork said? “I know what I need to know.”

“That he’s willing to take responsibility for a murder none of his friends think he committed?”

“David believes it.”

Marsha raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that? And are you sure he’s really a friend?”

Cassie fell silent and Marsha stood and stretched her arms overhead. “Time to get back to work. I’m still on probation and don’t want anyone to think I spend all my time gabbing.”

“I see Thespians talking all the time.”

“Those are the ones who can act.” Marsha grinned. “It’s all work when you’re crew instead of cast.” She picked up her box, which jingled again as she shifted its weight in her arms. “It was nice talking to you. Say hi next time you’re around. I don’t have a lot of friends here yet, and since you’re Jay’s girl, you’re practically family.”

Cassie returned Marsha’s little wave and watched her disappear into the shadows, the sound of her footsteps and the jingling box dying into the darkness. In the distance something fell to the stage floor with a crash, and Sid cursed amid giggles from the group pretending to sunbathe on the phony beach with its fabric and spangle waves.

Was Marsha right and she had driven Jay away for something he didn’t do? Cassie drew her knees to her chest and hugged herself. What an idiot she was! She said she loved him, but what kind of love had no faith?

Out of the darkness, a flicker of candle flame bobbed toward her. A pale face appeared, dusted with powder, and big eyes searched Cassie’s own. “Hi,” the girl said. She was short and thin, her lace-trimmed taffeta gown dragging the floor. She fumbled in a pocket and took out a deck of cards. “Want to play?”

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: PART TWO

2009-01-12T00:01:00.008-06:00

PART TWO

The story was simple enough. They successfully worked their way into the Obits, first as an affiliated minor gang, then as junior members. With Cuervo as their go-between, they sent information to the alliance about the Obits’ numbers, supplies and range. The Obits were a layered group, with access to information tightly controlled by the level of trust each member earned. “I never got very deep,” Banquo explained. “But the food was good and so was the medical care. We got vitamins every day and you could always get a pain-killer or antibiotic if you needed one. A good thing, since Galahad had that infected arm.”

“It got infected?” Cassie blurted, ignoring the way Julilla looked at her.

Banquo quit twisting his hat. “They took him to medical the very first day. He must’ve made a good impression on someone, because he was able to get in deeper than the rest of us.”

“Then why were his reports the least informative?” Mundo wanted to know.

“He was under the closest observation,” Banquo said, as if it were obvious. “A lot of what I reported, like the sighting of grownups, was what he told me, not what I saw for myself.”

“Then how do you know it was true?” Elissa said. “Your instructions were clear. You were to report hearsay as such and not as personal observation.”

Banquo ducked his head and resumed plucking at his hat.

“This sheds a whole new light on things,” Mundo said darkly. Since Cassie and Julilla had no way of knowing what he was talking about, he added, “Galahad is the only member of our embedded team who didn’t make it out in some fashion. Before you arrived, we were discussing the possibility he was being held prisoner. But now it sounds like he could’ve turned double agent, since we know nothing about what he was doing that close in.” He gave Banquo a stern look. “Isn’t that so?”

Banquo made a motion with chin and shoulders that could’ve meant anything.

“What do you mean, ‘didn’t make it out in some fashion?’” Julilla asked.

Mundo looked at the Thespian. “Would you like to tell it yourself?”

Banquo shook his head and shrank smaller in his chair.

“Jesse from St. Xavier’s and Isabel from the Operatics were apprehended by the Obits’ internal police.”

“I hid when they came for us,” Banquo explained.

“Coward,” Elissa said.

“How else was I supposed to save them, Your Excellency?”

“Good question, since you only saved yourself.”

Banquo bowed his head. “Maybe if they hadn’t done it so fast.”

“Done what?” Cassie asked.

“Executed them. I found them hanging from lamp posts as a warning to others.” At Cassie’s look of dismay, he added, “But Galahad got in good with their upper command. I think he’s still alive.”

“And probably working for them,” Mundo said bitterly. “Hanging was his specialty with the KDS.”

“What do you mean?” Cassie demanded.

“He never told you the Kevorks called him Gallows?”

Cassie shook her head and fell silent, not wanting to hear any more. As other members of their team showed up, she wondered if she could leave without attracting attention. She could say she felt ill—that wouldn’t be a lie. Over the last two months she had almost convinced herself she didn’t care what Jay Gallard had or hadn’t done, but now she realized she had been secretly forgiving his faults, preparing for some unlikely future in which she would see him again and he would explain himself in such a way that she could trust him. They would have a happy ending, living out a long and peaceful life together, no matter how improbable the odds. But now—

“This has been a failure from beginning to end.” Elissa slumped in her chair, then remembered she was supposed to be an empress and sat up straight. “We should collect our alliance into one grand army and attack.”

“Attack where?” Julilla said, speaking out of turn and earning a scowl from Mundo.

“There’s a building being guarded by high-level Obits,” Elissa explained. “It’s part of a lab complex where they take the children. We’ll attack there.”

Banquo jumped to his feet. “I’ve told you I don’t know where it is!”

“You say you know which road it’s on. Surely we can find it, if that’s the case.”

“It’s off County Road 223,” he said. “But I don’t know if it’s visible from the road, or down another road off that. And they probably have ambush points.”

Mundo gave him an intense look. “So are you saying it’s impossible?”

“Think carefully,” Elissa added.

Banquo stared at the floor. “Of course not, Your Excellency. I’m only advising caution.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “May I be excused, Madame?”

Elissa dismissed him with a wave of her hand and turned her attention to Mundo. Neither leader noticed the way Banquo caught Cassie’s eye as he backed out of the Imperial Presence. A few minutes later, Cassie excused herself, claiming she needed to use the toilet. She found Banquo waiting for her in the tunnel of velvet drapes, and followed him to a dark corner beside an iron ladder that reached into a great dark space overhead.

“What is it?” Cassie asked as he fumbled in a pocket.

Banquo withdrew a small box and pressed it into her hand. “He said to tell you he loves you.”

She shook her head. “If he’s staying of his own free will, he doesn’t love me, and I can’t love him after the things he’s done.”

“Cassie.” He grabbed her hand and held it tight, no longer the nervous weakling of a few minutes ago. “I know you don’t know me, but trust me that nothing is how it looks. We need to have faith. Everything depends on it.”

He dropped her hand and slipped into the shadows, leaving her alone with her flashlight, the gift, and her conflicted feelings. She sat on the floor with her back to the wall, and opened the box. Inside, glittering like a private star, was a diamond ring.

EXCERPT FROM CASSIE’S JOURNAL:

Battle preparations have begun and everyone is being mobilized. Those who can fight, train. Everyone else is being taught to spy, run messages, or do first aid. Meetings take place all day and often late into the night. Sometimes the meetings are here on the patio deck, other times Mundo and some of his guards and advisors sneak out in disguise to meet at the other groups’ locations.

I went along when we formally added the Zoo Tribe to our alliance. I wish I hadn’t been picked for that assignment because Zoo is a dirty, barbaric group. It appears they lived in the aquarium and small animal buildings during the winter, but now that it’s summer, they’re camping under the trees in the tigers’ fake savannah and the jaguars’ phony jungle. The animals themselves are dead, of course, and the Zoo kids wear the hides and make things with the bones. To seal our friendship, they burned scrap in a metal trash can and made music by beating bones together and chanting nonsense words. I was offered some oily meat, which I refused because it stank. I was offered a necklace made from a fang on a leather sinew, which I accepted. Then a tall boy in a headdress made of feathers and zebra tails led us in a crazy procession through the grounds that ended at the scummy sea lion pool, where those who dared jumped in to cool off from the summer heat.

As preparations continue, Julilla gets angrier and angrier. She says we don’t know enough about what we’re up against—will we be fighting just the Obits, or the Pharms, too? No one is sure. Worse than that, we’re not even certain how many Obits there are. Banquo is vague and not even the twins have been able to find out.

We’ve been eating, at least. After three days of roadblocks, the Pharms took the blockades down and went back to selling drugs and kidnapping children, as if we no longer interested them. It’s been a week since they last came to the hotel, and then it was just to stomp around and act all fierce and important while demanding to know why we hadn’t bought antibiotics recently.

There’s been no word about May. The twins have made a few attempts to find her, but they haven’t succeeded, mainly because we have no clues to indicate what part of the city she’s in, let alone what building. We don’t even know for sure she’s alive, although most of us suppose that if she were dead she would’ve been hung in a public place like our embedded team or thrown on our driveway like Cuervo. We’re divided over whether to pursue the matter. It’s one of the things we argue about when we’ve got nothing better to do.

And in spite of all that’s going on, we seem to spend a lot of time not doing much. Julilla said most of a soldier’s time is spent waiting. She was right.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: PART ONE

2009-01-09T00:01:00.005-06:00

PART ONE

“Hold still.” Danica dipped the rag back into the cup of charcoal. “Close your eyes and tip your face up, like you’re pointing at something with your chin.”

Cassie tried to do as instructed, but the smell of charcoal irritated her nose and she struggled not to sneeze. “How do you stand this?”

“One gets used to it.” She dabbed at a missed spot of bare flesh. “There. Now let’s do your hands.”

The hands were easier but Cassie had a question. “Won’t this all come off when I sweat?”

“It’ll get smeared around. But if you don’t have to run or fight, you should be okay now that the sun has gone down and it’s cooler.”

When she was finished, Danica motioned Cassie to her feet and appraised her critically. “I wish you’d let me do your hair.”

Cassie picked up the length of black cloth she would be using as a cloak. “That’s what this is for.” She draped it over herself. “What do you think?”

“You look like the Grim Reaper.” At Cassie’s scowl of irritation, she added, “But no one will see you out there, that’s for sure.” She sighed. “I wish I was going. No offense, but this place kind of sucks. Not the medical care, which Danny and I appreciate, but everything else, you know.”

“Well, usually the food isn’t so completely awful,” Cassie said. “The Pharms had our foragers blocked in, so Sandra mixed together whatever she could find.”

“I was thinking more of how stuffy this place is.”

At that moment, Danny walked in, returning from a trip to the toilet. “This place could use some proper windows,” he agreed, picking up the thread of conversation. “That’s why we like our loft. It was built before people had air conditioning. All the windows are in the right places to let the breeze blow through and cool things off.”

“Let’s go home tonight,” Danica said. “I’ll get better faster with fresh air.”

Danny kissed her forehead. “Be patient, love. We need to follow the doctor’s orders.”

While the twins nuzzled each other in amicable disagreement, Cassie went to meet Julilla in the lobby where a group was assembling to pay a visit to the Thespians. Cassie tried not to smirk at the sight of Mundo, dressed in black and with his face painted like the rest of them.

Alex watched the gathering delegation, obviously annoyed. Being put in charge of the hotel appeared to be an honor, but everyone knew it was Mundo’s way of keeping him from taking an unauthorized group to attack the north side Obit hangouts.

“Are we all here?” Mundo looked around. Satisfied that everyone was accounted for, he gave Alex his final instructions. Then he reiterated the plan everyone had already committed to memory, and by pairs they slipped into the darkness.

In spite of the hot stillness of the summer night, Cassie kept her cloak pulled over her head and wrapped around her body. She tried to make no noise as she followed Julilla through the shadows, but in the dim light of moon and stars, it was easy to overlook wires, trash, and fallen power lines. Each time she stumbled, she cringed at the sound of her shoes skidding on dirt and small stones. She wished she could turn on her flashlight so she could see properly, but Mundo’s instructions had been clear: no lights unless absolutely necessary. And so Cassie made her way cautiously and tried not to think of what she might be stepping on as she splashed through puddles, slipped on slimy objects, and trod soft, squishy things underfoot.

Sometimes she thought she heard footsteps following, but the sounds stopped whenever she did, resuming later in maddening fashion, while never drawing any closer. The nails of stray dogs clattered on concrete and somewhere a cat hissed. Voices whispered from doorways, soft curses from children too drunk or too lazy to follow up with a threat, and weak pleas for food. “Got some bread, sister? I’ll do anything.”

It was with relief that she and Julilla arrived at the stage door and gave the coded knock. The privilege of using the private entrance was a recent one granted by Elissa to her closest allies, and no one knew quite what to expect. The door opened a crack, spilling dim yellow light into the darkness. An eye peered out. So did the muzzle of a gun.

Julilla took a breath and repeated the quote they had been given. “’Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, grapple unto thy soul with hoops of steel.’”

The gun lowered and the door opened wider. “Who is it?”

“Julilla Walker and Cassie Thompson. Regents.”

A flashlight played across both girls’ faces. Satisfied, the guard motioned them inside. “Your leader is already here. Damn, it’s been a weird night.”

Cassie gazed at him skeptically. Given that he was dressed like Harlequin, but with bright green lipstick, dreadlocks, and a top hat, it was hard to imagine what level of oddity would constitute “weird” in his world.

Julilla was even less impressed. “Where’s our group?”

The guard waved a yellow-gloved hand in the direction of a hallway full of trash. “All the way to the end, then turn left at the eye.”

“At the what?” Cassie asked.

Julilla rested a hand on the gun at her hip. “You better not be bullshitting us, freak.”

The guard sneered. “You see somewhere else they might be? Go on, if you’ve got a better idea.”

“He’s right.” Cassie tugged at Julilla’s sleeve. “There’s not anywhere else.”

“You listen to death-girl,” the guard told Julilla. “She knows.” He smiled at Cassie. “Nice costume, by the way.”

Cassie thanked him, but as soon as she and Julilla were in the claustrophobic hallway, she removed her cloak and attempted to wipe the charcoal off her face.

Julilla played her flashlight over the graffitied walls, damp with water damage from leaking pipes in the upper reaches of the building. Stacks of broken furniture and equipment amplified the sense that they were boxed in with nowhere to go but forward. As the dim light of the guard station receded behind them with no answering light ahead, the girls grew nervous. Then Julilla’s light flashed off a red glowing object at the end of the hall, enormous and glittering in the darkness. As they drew nearer, they saw it was an eye, made from shattered red and yellow traffic reflectors, embedded in a wall hung with black curtains. The eye’s giant pupil stared out, eliciting a small shiver from Cassie and an annoyed jerk of Julilla’s chin. “He said left, right?”

“Right. Left.”

“Make up your mind.”

Cassie pointed. “That way.”

The next hall was shorter and led to a broad open room full of stage scenery, props, and a half-destroyed sofa where two girls in gray dresses and white face paint looked up from playing cards by the light of a single candle. The taller one pointed wordlessly to a maze of plush red curtains, behind which were the dim echoes of voices.

Julilla and Cassie pushed their way through the curtains and emerged as if by magic into a clear area that called to mind a pre-Telo living room. A fake Persian rug held pride of place, with chintz sofas and wing chairs arranged for visiting. Plywood walls covered in striped wallpaper held haphazardly-painted portraits of haughty ancestors, and a mirror reflected the flames of candles arranged on the mantel of the phony fireplace. In the center of the coffee table was a silver tea service, and a girl in a French maid outfit was pouring amber liquid into cups.

Mundo looked up from the sofa at the girls’ approach, and Elissa, clad for summer comfort in the light linen dress of an Egyptian queen, waved for her two attendants to quit fanning her. In one of the wing chairs, a young man in tights and velvet picked at a plumed hat, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

Cassie remembered her manners and curtsied to Elissa, murmuring the appropriate “Your Excellencies.” She jerked Julilla’s arm to make her do the same.

Elissa motioned for them to rise and indicated they could sit wherever they liked. “We are pleased to see you again, Cassandra and Julilla. We trust you had no difficulties?” She glanced at the maid. “Offer our guests refreshment, Fiona.”

The maid curtsied to Cassie and Julilla and handed them each a cup. Cassie took a sip of hers and found it contained straight whiskey.

“Mundo was just telling us the distressing news about May,” Elissa went on. “We offer our condolence and complete support.”

“Uh, thanks, Your Excellency,” Julilla said, “But what exactly does that support entail?”

Mundo glared, but before he could say anything, Elissa smiled primly and answered as if the question had been expected. “Your leader and I were negotiating when you arrived and we hope to hear your valuable insight.”

Julilla made as if to speak, but Elissa cut her off. “Before you offer your suggestions, we have news of our own.” She turned to the young man, now shredding his hat as if it were a matter of urgency. “Banquo, please tell our guests what happened on your mission to the Obits.”

Banquo looked at the girls, his eyes dark and haunted. “Something went wrong,” he said. “We were betrayed.”

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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: PART THREE

2009-01-07T00:01:00.005-06:00

PART THREE

The emergency meeting was held in Conference Suite A. The room was sweltering but they kept the door closed for privacy and huddled around battery-powered lanterns, their faces glistening with sweat.

“It’s a challenge,” Alex said. “They brought the body here to provoke us.”

“But it’s also a message,” Mundo pointed out. “They took May, they trashed her shop, and now they’ve killed our middleman. They know something’s up and want to make sure we know that they know. The question is how much information they really have.”

“If they’re not suspicious of the embedded team already, they will be soon,” Julilla said. “Unless it’s a bluff and they’re hoping we’ll freak out and do something dumb.”

Cassie nodded agreement and tried to act like the mission was her only reason for concern. One of Cuervo’s jobs had been to recommend the services of the embedded team to the Obits, claiming they were a renegade band passing through the area, willing to work for food. It wouldn’t take much for someone to trace Cuervo back to the group, if it hadn’t happened already. “We need to get a message to our people. Tell them to come back.”

“We can do it,” Alex agreed. “We know where they are.”

“We know where they were last week,” Mundo corrected him.

“And depending how long the Pharms were on to Cuervo, even that could’ve been a lie,” Julilla pointed out. “I agree we should pull them out, but how do we make sure we’re not being led into a trap? What if they don’t really have anything on us and they’re hoping we’ll act too fast and lead them there?”

They talked for over an hour, the heat in the room rising with their tempers as they went around in circles, unable to come up with a plan. Finally they agreed they weren’t getting anywhere and could do with some fresh air and rest. Mundo dismissed them to their rooms with instructions to sleep on their balconies where the air was cool and meet him at the pool deck in the morning. “We can’t not respond,” he said. “I’ll expect all of you to be ready to agree on a course of action.”

But in the morning, they still disagreed, only this time everyone was red-eyed and irritable after a restless night in the hot summer air. Worse, there were bugs in the morning oatmeal and the coffee was so weak it resembled tea. Everyone sniped at each other, unable agree whether they should send a team to the north-side suburb that was the last known location of their embedded team, or try to work with a new contact and hope the embedded allies would take instructions from a stranger. The fact that the team might not even be alive was enough to give Mundo pause. “I had hoped we could come up with a plan on our own,” he said in annoyance. “But it looks like we’ll need to call the alliance together.”

“And hope the Pharms don’t show up,” Alex said. “I guarantee they’re watching. We’ll be putting our allies in danger.”

“Then what’s your idea?”

“Hit the north side hard and send a message that we’re strong enough to do what needs doing.”

“’Pretend that you are weak, that your enemy grow arrogant,’” Julilla said, quoting from The Art of War. “We aren’t big enough, even with our allies, to let the Pharms draw us into a trap. It’s better to wait and see if we can make them overplay their hand.”

“But we can’t let them get away with this,” Alex reminded her.

“And what about our people?” Cassie said, blushing at Julilla’s knowing look.

Before Julilla could speak, there was a scuffle at the patio door. They had told Truong to keep everyone out, but Doc was arguing with him.

“They’ll want to know,” he said, trying to push past. “Quit being a literalist.”

“I haven’t read a book since the Telo,” Truong said irritably. “Literature’s got nothing to do with it.”

Mundo called for Truong to let him through, and when Doc was finally standing, rumpled and sweating in front of them, he said, “The twins are in the clinic. They got in a fight of some sort. They say they have news for you.”

* * *

They found the twins lying together on a bed in the treatment room. Based on a bandage count, Danica seemed the worse off. Danny lay stretched out beside her, tracing a bruise on her face. “This is a nice clinic you’ve got,” he said. “Even if it does need air conditioning.”

“Thank you,” Mundo said. “It’s all Doc’s work. The rest of us just run interference.”

Doc flushed slightly, although it could’ve been from the heat. “Bruises, abrasions, a couple cuts that needed stitches, a contusion and a concussion,” he said. “I’ve recommended an overnight stay for observation.”

“Better put them in a private room,” Julilla muttered. “Or you’ll be doing some observing, all right.”

Danny frowned, offended. “Doc said she’d get better faster if we weren’t having sex. Her health comes first.” He kissed Danica in an unusually chaste manner to punctuate his point.

“So what happened?” Mundo said. He motioned for Doc to bring him a chair. “We understand you got in a fight. Pharms?”

“None other.” Danny pressed a finger on Danica’s lips, preventing her from adding to his comment. “We waited until night to sneak into May’s shop. There were too many people around and it was easier to do it after dark. We got in and it was pretty trashed. Even the art stuff, which hasn’t happened before.”

Julilla frowned and whispered to herself, “’Begin by seizing something your opponent holds dear; then he will be amenable to your will.’”

Cassie nudged her, indicating with a gesture that she should quit quoting.

“It looked like they took a lot of stuff out of the lab,” Danny went on. “It was hard to know exactly what, since it’s not like we go in there and do inventory.”

“But there was no paper,” Danica said, resisting her twin’s efforts to make her lie still. “She had notebooks when we infiltrated her place before, and she had some when she was here with you taking information off the laptop. Other than a few science books, there isn’t any paper anywhere in that lab any more. Not even a gum wrapper.”

“She had tons of notes about the growth hormone research,” Doc reminded the group.

Everyone looked at each other, letting this information sink in.

“So the Pharms now know as much as we do,” Mundo concluded.

“If they didn’t already,” Alex said.

“I don’t think they had much of a clue until now.” Mundo rested his elbows on his knees. “They took the equipment instead of destroying it and they took May instead of killing her. If there was nothing new to be gained, they wouldn’t have gone to that kind of trouble. It would’ve been May they dumped on our driveway instead of Cuervo.”

“So what else did you find out?” Alex asked.

“Not much,” Danny said. “We thought since they had all the lab stuff, maybe they were taking her to Dr. Brody’s office, so we went there.”

“Too obvious,” Julilla muttered.

Danica tried to sit up. “If you don’t like how we conduct a mission, quit hiring us.”

Danny pushed her back against the pillows. “It’s okay, babe. Rest and get better. Then we’ll kick her ass.” While Danica and Julilla sputtered in indignation, he went on. “That’s where we went and we didn’t get to look around because we got jumped. It was weird because they’ve never had a watch on the east side of their perimeter, but they do now and the guy who heads it up is a vicious little fuck.”

“So May could be there,” Alex said. “Otherwise why step up security?”

“The two events aren’t necessarily related,” Julilla pointed out.

“Correlation doesn’t equal causation,” Mundo agreed. “So is there anything else we should know? Anything odd that you might not have mentioned?”

Danny and Danica exchanged glances.

“Sleep on it. We’ll talk again in the evening.” Mundo motioned to Doc. “Be sure there’s paper and pens by the bed so if they think of something they can write it down.”

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a haze of heat and irritation. The children whined and refused Alaina’s efforts at instruction. The goat brayed and kicked in its pen behind the concierge desk, and in the stifling air its smell made the lobby stink of goat. The guards, divided on whether they approved of Alex’s or Julilla’s course of action, bickered and cast surly looks at one another. The baby wailed from heat rash, Mella went into convulsions as she entered end-stage Telo, and Doc threw his PDR into the hallway and kicked it in frustration.

Everyone thought the final straw had come when the foraging team came back empty-handed, complaining of road blocks and heavily armed Pharms. Sandra hauled David into the kitchen, threw a few pots around and demanded to know what she was supposed to cook for supper. David suggested they cook her fat behind, and Eleven had to call for backup to get things quieted down.

Cassie was thrilled to see David get a little comeuppance. Too bad it was from Eleven, who she suspected was even more annoyed by the supply shortage, since it meant he had nothing with which to bargain for sex. Just as it seemed things were settling down again, there was a howl of sirens and squeal of tires outside the hotel entrance. This time the Pharms didn’t even bother stopping. They simply slowed down and tossed something out the window. Cassie got to the door too late to see it happen, but she recognized the cellophane-decorated object a guard held up for the group’s inspection.

It was May’s hair.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: PART TWO

2009-01-05T00:01:00.007-06:00

PART TWO

Cassie had no idea what information might be helpful. She answered Mundo’s questions about who and what she had seen on each of her trips to the jewelry shop, but none of it was information she hadn’t given at earlier debriefings. She struggled to keep her mind on topic. Without May, how would they get Galahad’s messages? Would the Pharm turncoat who was acting as middleman try to make contact in some other way?

“You’re sure you never saw anyone who looked suspicious?” Mundo asked for the third time. “Any spy would’ve likely been a girl, you know. Someone pretending to buy jewelry like you were.”

“There was the time I ran into those Zoo girls trading ostrich plumes for zebra pendants,” Cassie said. “But we followed up on that at the time it happened.”

Alex nodded and shoved a piece of sweat-damp hair off his forehead. “I remember that. They were just what they appeared to be—ordinary monkey-eaters.”

“That’s not a nice thing to call them,” Kayleen said, lounging in a bikini at Mundo’s side and occasionally taking meeting notes. They were settled underneath a hinged flap Sid had attached to the deck awning and she motioned for one of the children to pull the rope harder so the fan would move more air across her body.

“They are monkey-eaters,” Julilla said. “And they also eat cheetahs, bats, and toucans. Might as well call it like it is.”

Mundo took a sip of his drink. “Let’s not have any name-calling. If nothing we did tipped off the Pharms and Obits, then it was something someone else did. That might be good, since it means no one in the alliance is working against us.”

“Unless May herself was,” Julilla pointed out. “Maybe they knew all along she was feeding us information and got tired of not knowing who she was really working for.”

Everyone fell silent, pondering this possibility. If May was unreliable, the entire mission was compromised. Their embedded team might not be alive and their messages could have been fakes, composed by May herself with the intention to deceive. The idea was so troubling that Cassie reached for her glass of tequila in warm lemonade mix. There was a dead bug floating in her glass but she picked it out and took a long swallow, feeling the alcohol burn all the way to her stomach.

“No,” Alex said. “I think she was what she said she was. We had the twins monitoring her and—”

“And they’re about as reliable as a weather forecast,” Julilla said. “They do good work when they’re not otherwise engaged, but….”

Heads nodded. Everyone knew what the twins were like.

“We can speculate all day,” Mundo said. “And at the end of it all, we’ll still need a plan. So let’s cut to the chase.” He looked at Kayleen. “Read off the key issues, babe.”

Kayleen sat up and squinted at her notes. “In no particular order, we must re-establish contact with our embedded team, create redundant lines of communication, whatever that means, and we need to find May and either rescue her or kill her.”

Alex nodded. “Sounds about right.”

“So what’s the plan?” Mundo said.

“The problem,” Cassie said, embarrassed to feel all eyes upon her, “is that we don’t have enough information.” She glanced at Julilla for confirmation. “We don’t know for sure who picked May up and we don’t know where she was taken. We don’t know how to reach her middleman, so we don’t know where to find our embedded people. How can we make a plan without information?”

“I’ve got the twins waiting for an opportunity to go through May’s shop,” Alex offered. “They ought to turn up something within the next twenty-four hours.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Mundo said. “But since it’s all we have to go on, we’ll break for now.” He tossed back the last of his drink and ran a hand down Kayleen’s back to the tie of her bikini top. “You can all go. And tell Truong to keep the kids off the patio for the next thirty minutes or so.”

* * *

After supper and evening chores, Cassie and Julilla escaped to the penthouse. They selected pretzels and mustard from their diminishing supply of snacks and sat in patio chairs to talk. As the high evening breeze cooled their bodies, Cassie felt some of her worries cool as well. “You didn’t really mean that about May, did you? That she might’ve been a Pharm double agent instead of ours?”

Julilla crunched a pretzel. “I’d be surprised if she was, but I thought we needed to have that possibility on the table. If you’re prepared for the worst, anything else that happens is no big deal.”

“But if the Pharms were on to the whole thing, wouldn’t they have come here first?”

“They have. Over and over.”

“You know what I mean.”

Julilla sighed and got to her feet. “Yes, it does seem like if they were using May to get information about us, they would’ve attacked by now. But a smart leader doesn’t do the obvious for the precise reason that it is so obvious.”

“So we know nothing, and have to wait.”

Julilla looked at her. “Yes. Most of what soldiers do is wait. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”

They spent the next hour in lazy gossip. Julilla read aloud from The Art of War, and Cassie countered with a few pages from On the Origin of Species. They were relaxing on chaise lounges, cool and comfortable for the first time all day and wondering if they could get away with sleeping on the patio for the night when a distant sound made them sit up, frowning.

The sound grew louder, a steady rhythmic wail.

“Sirens?” Cassie said in disbelief.

Both girls rushed to the edge of the patio and leaned against the railing, watching the tiny flashing lights grow brighter while the bleat of the sirens grew into a scream.

“Pharms,” Julilla said needlessly. “The fuckers are coming straight at us, too.”

There was no time for discussion. They grabbed their weapons, locked the penthouse, and ran down the stairs. They arrived at the ground floor breathless, shoved through a crowd of sleepy children, and stopped under the entranceway awning.

The flashing lights of the squad cars strobed over the group while Alex argued with the driver of the lead vehicle. Two Pharms got out of the second car and several Regents guards reached for their weapons. The Pharms made no move on Alex or the rest of the group, though, and removed something long and heavy from the trunk. They tossed it to the ground where it landed with a sickening thud. Laughing, they jumped back into their cars and the procession drove off, sirens blaring and lights flashing into the night.

Her mind on fire and her heart rising into her throat, Cassie rushed forward. Alex was already crouched over the shrouded form, tugging at the blood-stained sheets. Finally he ripped down a corner that was obscuring the face. Cassie and the others crowded closer and Julilla held her flashlight aloft so they could get a better look.

It was Cuervo, May’s Pharm turncoat.

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