The Tribes

The evacuation camps had been a desperate attempt to protect the children of the world from the new killer flu strain that had sprung on an unprepared world. Nothing seemed to be able to stop it and so, the camps were created. Children between the ages of five and eighteen were shipped off to remote locations where they could continue attending the camp schools and hopefully be isolated from the new flu. Bray had been fourteen when his parents packed him off on the white bus with the red stripe down its side. Now, three years later, all the adults and most of the children were dead. The adults had either died from the flu or the terrible side effects of the vaccine that was supposed to kill the flu virus. Bray figured the scientists were either too rushed to carefully test the vaccine, or maybe they were just too careless by that time. In the end, he guessed it didn’t matter too much – dead was dead. Some of the children had probably died from the flu when the evacuation camps collapsed, but most died from accidents, starvation, or had fallen victim to the Tribes.

Some hadn’t waited as long as Bray did before leaving the camps – Godfrey Nance Jefferson had been one of the first to leave when he saw things beginning to breakdown. He had never wanted to be in the camps anyway – it had simply been the best way to get out from underneath the domineering thumb of his father. Howard Jefferson, his father, had been a radically fundamental Christian lay preacher who believed in beating the lessons of the Book into his son and his small congregation – he browbeat the congregation and physically beat his son. Instead of beating the Word into his son’s hide, all Howard Jefferson succeeded in doing was to beat any vestiges of humanity from his son. By the time he left for the evacuation camp, Godfrey Nance Jefferson had discovered the pleasure of causing pain and suffering in others.

Unlike most of the others already drifting away from the camps, Godfrey had plans for whatever future left to him and others who survived. The first thing he needed to do was find a supply of food and build his strength – meals had been growing progressively smaller over the last month or so. Once he had his strength back, he’d start to search for followers. He knew what he wanted in the early followers, too. He wanted them strong and just smart enough to realize that they weren’t smart enough to survive on their own. Once he had a cadre of dedicated followers, he could set about building an army strong enough to take whatever he wanted. Godfrey knew one thing for sure – in this new, post-flu world none of the old rules would apply anymore. The only rule that was going to matter now was the rule of strength.

At first, Bray had struck out on his own. Like most of the others, he had no idea where he was going – he just wanted to get as far away from the camp as possible. He’d spent a week on his own when he ran into his first gang. One moment he was walking down a small town street, and the next he had been surrounded by about twelve gangers on skateboards. All were dressed in baggy jeans and tank tops, their faces painted like skulls in stark black and white. Bray quickly discovered that the boards weren’t just a means of transportation, or a gang symbol. They also made excellent weapons. The gangers had kicked the boards into their hands and fell on Bray, screaming loudly and swinging the boards savagely. At the first blow, he had fallen to the ground and curled into a ball, wrapping his hands over his head as the gang rained blows on his back and legs. His backpack offered some protection, but Bray knew it was only a matter of time before the gang managed to beat him to death. Then, Bray heard another sound – the sound of smashing glass all around him – once, twice, three times. An acrid smell assaulted him, making his eyes water and stinging his throat – the gangers scattered, choking on the growing cloud of fumes. Hands were tugging at his backpack, trying to pull him to his feet.

“C’mon, c’mon, you gotta get a move on,” a muffled voice screamed at him. “Hurry!”

Bray staggered to his feet and allowed himself to be guided away, his eyes burning so badly he could hardly see. He didn’t know how far they’d gone when his savior finally stopped and made him crouch down. Warm water washed over his face, clearing his eyes. He blinked a few more times to clear his eyes and then looked up to his savior. Bray couldn’t believe his own eyes. He had somehow expected his rescuer to be large – or, at least his size. What he could see of his rescuer surprised him. Bray couldn’t tell how old his savior was – his face was hidden behind a paintball mask. A black resin protective paintball vest, knee and elbow pads and an empty canvas bag slung carelessly over his shoulder completed his rescuer’s outfit. About the only thing Bray could tell for sure was that his rescuer had a mop of shaggy light brown hair. Standing, Bray discovered he was a good head taller than his rescuer.

“Thanks,” Bray said, his throat sore. Before he could say anything else, his rescuer motioned for Bray to follow him and led the way down an alley. Bray followed, figuring his savior hadn’t saved him from the gang only to harm him later. The smaller boy led Bray to a heavy padlocked door, produced a key and pulled the door wide. Once inside with the door shut and padlocked from the inside, Bray found himself in pitch blackness. He began to feel nervous – maybe this guy did intend to harm him, and just wanted to get him alone. Suddenly, a bright electric light filled the room. They were in the back room of what looked like an electronics shop. Work benches lined the walls, piled high with parts, computer boards, cases, and even a television. Another table was littered with glass jars of different sizes.

“We’re safe here,” his rescuer said, pulling his goggles and face mask off. “I’m Jack,” he said, holding out a thin, long fingered hand. Without the muffling effect of the respirator, it was evident that Jack’s voice hadn’t changed yet – his voice cracked as he spoke. Bray stared in amazement at Jack’s smooth, baby face – this kid couldn’t be much older than thirteen, at most.

“Shit, you’re just a kid,” Bray said, without thinking.

“You’re not much older than me,” Jack said, hurt evident in his voice. “I’m fifteen! And, I was old enough to save you from those gangers.”

“I didn’t mean anything,” Bray apologized. “I mean, I had this mental image that you were like way older than me and about as big as King Kong the way you went up against those gangers.” Hearing that, Jack’s face split into a wide grin. “By the way, what was that stuff you used on them?”

“Oh, nothing special,” Jack said proudly. “Just some tear gas.”

“Tear gas – where’d you get tear gas?”

“I made it,” Jack answered, shrugging. “Nothing to it, really,” he eagerly pulled Bray to the far side of the room where there was a crowded workbench. He took a small jam jar from a box, then pulled a large pickle jar from another box. “You fill the small jar with bleach, put the lid on tight and then put it in the big jar. Then, you fill the bigger jar with ammonia and screw that lid on tight. When you break the two jars, the bleach and ammonia mix and you get homemade tear gas.”

“Way cool,” Bray grinned. “And you have electric lights – how’d you manage that?”

Grinning broadly, Jack crossed the crowded workshop and opened a storage room door. Peering inside, Bray saw two banks of car batteries joined together. Between the battery banks was an exercise bike with cables running to a generator. “I collected these from the auto parts place a couple streets over.”

“And the bike contraption?”

“Well, you can’t just drain the batteries without recharging them,” Jack explained. “And since I can’t just plug in a battery charger, I had to make a generator.”

“You must have to pedal that thing for hours to charge all those batteries.”

“Yeah, but it’s the only way to keep them charged,” Jack admitted.

Bray didn’t think anything could surprise him now, but Jack had even more surprises in store for him. Jack produced a propane camp cook stove and opened a closet crammed with canned foods. Jack had canned meats, tuna fish, canned fruits and vegetables and even boxes of pizza mix. In no time at all Jack had a large tin of SPAM opened, sliced and frying in a pan on the camp stove. He had Bray open two cans of sliced potatoes and had them frying up alongside the SPAM. By pre-flu standards, the meal was pretty plain, but the truth was that Bray hadn't eaten so well since before the collapse of the camp. While Bray washed the dishes in the bathroom sink following the meal, he could hear Jack shifting things around and muttering to himself.

Stepping back into the storeroom, Bray got his next big surprise – Jack had set up a small television/VCR combo and had a stack of movies set out on the counter. The two of them spent the night watching action movies and raiding the stash of candy Jack produced.

Bray spent the next three days hiding out with Jack, resting and gaining his strength as the bruises from the skateboard gang slowly faded. Jack insisted on giving Bray a small stockpile of canned food to take on the road with him. As he was fitting the cans in his backpack, Bray decided to invite Jack along with him. He quickly outlined his plan to head farther south, maybe to Los Angeles or even eventually San Diego – he figured there would be more opportunities to scavenge food and things in bigger cities. Jack’s eyes lit up hearing that – looking around, Bray could tell that scrounging for things was one of Jack’s favorite pastimes. Bray explained how he figured to find a secure building that would offer protection from the dangerous gangs and tribes.

At first, Jack looked forlorn at the idea of giving up the safe haven he had created for himself. Bray couldn’t blame him – he doubted if many others had their own electricity to provide light and entertainment. Suddenly, Jack shrugged and began packing a backpack of his own. An hour later, Jack was back in his paintball gear and they were headed south.

At about the same time that Jack was making the decision to move on, Godfrey Nance Jefferson had been dead for almost nine months – as dead as those who had physically died from the flu. One of the first things Godfrey had done on fleeing the camp was to shed his old self – he had always hated the name his abusive father stuck him with, so Godfrey just abandoned it. At first, he remained nameless – but that really didn’t matter because he was alone and didn’t have anyone asking his name or calling his name to get his attention. Besides putting as much distance between himself and the camp and foraging for food, the young man with no name began the task of reinventing himself. Actually, he had begun that task as soon as he arrived at the camp. Free from his father’s domination, the first thing Godfrey had done was let his hair grow out from the brush cut his father inflicted on him every two weeks. After a year-and-a-half, his auburn hair flowed down to his shoulders and parted neatly in the middle.

As he walked, he tried to think of a suitable name – a name that demanded respect from the beginning. He had considered things like Raptor or Rex – but they sounded too much like dinosaurs, extinct curiosities and he certainly didn’t want those associations. The name had to convey strength and leadership. Then, his mouth began to turn up at the ends – the answer was there all along and he just hadn’t seen it. He’d been thinking conventionally and that had been his mistake – what better name for a leader than Leader? And so, right there on the road he became The Leader and the last vestige of Godfrey Nance Jefferson was gone.

The next question was what was he the leader of?

That answer came that evening as he bedded down in the remains of a barn – the farm house had recently burned to the ground and was still smoldering. He sat outside the barn watching the smoke rise from the foundation of the gutted farm house and thought back to a story he’d heard about some ancient bird that jumped into blazing fires and then was reborn from the ashes of the old one. He racked his brain to remember what the damn thing had been called. Oh yes – the phoenix. That seemed appropriate – he was going to build a new life on the ashes of the old one. He’d be The Leader of the Brotherhood of the Phoenix. He retired into the barn, the evil smile on his face growing broader – things were beginning to fall into place quickly now.

The next morning the newly born Leader went about looking for a suitable place as his starting place. It took another three days before he found just the right location. He had just entered a small town and had been foraging for food when he saw the mission buildings. There were three adobe buildings grouped around a stone courtyard – a medium sized chapel and two other buildings. Exploring the buildings, The Leader discovered the smaller of the two had been a food kitchen for the needy and the larger one had been a kind of dormitory for the monks who ran the mission. The Leader found the food bank was still well stocked with rack after rack of canned foods. He nodded to himself contentedly – food would bring him potential recruits. It wouldn’t be long at all before he had power of an army of followers.

It took The Leader another forty-eight hours before he was ready to search out his first followers. He knew he needed to set the stage properly to impress those he would make his followers. The first thing he did was to replace his jeans and flannel shirt for a hooded monk’s robe. He decided he’s eventually have to design a new robe – something in dazzling white that would set him apart from the other followers, something impressive. Next, he went through the mission and removed all the old religious symbols – he couldn’t have any vestiges of the old order competing with his new one. Finally, he found some cans of red paint that he used to paint large stylized eagles over the doors of the chapel. The bird’s wings were spread wide rising from a fire, its feathers tongues of flame.

While he was high on the ladder, The Leader saw the three gangers coming into the courtyard. All three had stripes of red, yellow, and blue paint diagonally crossing their cheeks. Their long hair was pulled into a tight braid that hung down between their shoulder blades. Two of the gangers were of average height and build, the third was slightly shorter and squatter. Like all gangers, they were dressed alike – their uniform consisted of tight jeans and denim vests over bare chests. Glancing down, The Leader noticed they all wore tennis shoes on their feet. Big mistake, he thought, they’d have been better off wearing heavy boots. He replaced the lid on the quart of paint, climbed down off the later and walked out to greet them.

“You must be new here,” the short, squat ganger sneered. “So, we’re gonna give you a break this one time. You wanna stay here, you got to pay tribute to the Taggers.”

The Leader didn’t say a word, he just looked from one to the other of them. The short, squat ganger was obviously in charge. He had some muscle on him, but most of his bulk was flab. Of the others, one was rat-faced and growing uneasy over The Leader’s lack of fear. The other one was pug-nosed with a face full of freckles under his war paint. None of them were the type he sought. Therefore, he decided, all were expendable – he’d make examples of them.

“No,” The Leader said softly.

“Wadda you mean,” the squat ganger wanted to know.

“I mean – No. No, I won’t pay tribute,” The Leader said evenly. The short ganger opened his mouth for the inevitable threat, but The Leader continued. “What I will do is accept your loyalty to the Brotherhood of the Phoenix. You bow down and offer your loyalty, and I won’t make you all suffer.” He turned his attention to the others, ignoring the ganger leader. “Shorty here has a big mouth – he makes threats his balls can’t back up. So, I’m going to cut his balls off to teach him a lesson.” The Leader was as surprised by the words as the other two gangers were – the idea just popped into his head, but he liked it as soon as he heard the words come from his mouth. “You pledge your loyalty to me and I’ll let you keep your balls, otherwise, you suffer the same fate as him.”

The short ganger snarled and leapt forward, his right hand swinging wildly. The Leader dropped the paint can, reached out and grabbed the hand in a vise-like grip in one smooth, fluid motion, his booted foot kicking out and catching the ganger just under the kneecap. The ganger howled in pain as his kneecap was dislocated. The Leader knew the ganger was out of the show already, but he brought the ganger’s right arm down over his thigh, the arm snapping at the elbow with a sickening – and to The Leader, a satisfying – crack.

Spinning on the other two, The Leader discovered Freckle Face had passed out from fright. Rat Face charged him wildly, with a piercing scream. The Leader was so surprised by the lack of discipline in fighting that he almost forgot to sidestep Rat Face. Coming to his senses in time, he deftly slipped to one side and came in at Rat Face with a choke hold from behind. Tightening his hold around Rat Face’s neck, The Leader had to fight the temptation to snap the ganger’s neck. Resisting the urge, he maintained his choke hold until Rat Face passed out and went limp. The Leader worked quickly stripping the laces from Rat Face’s sneakers and binding his hands and feet with the laces. He ignored Shorty who had passed out from the pain of his broken arm and dislocated kneecap.

Turning to Freckle Face, The Leader slapped the ganger’s face until his eyelids fluttered. Opening his eyes, the ganger saw the situation and immediately began blubbering, begging for forgiveness.

“Forgiveness?” The Leader spat. “You’re thinking of the old ways – those ways are dead and buried. There’s a new order now – you have one last chance to pledge your loyalty to me and the Brotherhood of the Phoenix, or you can join your two friends.”

Freckle Face had a hard time getting the words pledging his loyalty to the Brotherhood of the Phoenix out, he was blubbering so hard. Nodding grimly, The Leader grabbed Freckle Face by his braided tail and marched him into the mission workshop. Pointing to a stack of wooden landscaping ties, The Leader ordered Freckle Face to begin taking the ties out into the courtyard. He turned his attention to the work bench and quickly found what he was seeking – a roll of duct tape and a roll of strong twine. As he turned to leave, two other objects caught his eye. Lifting the old-fashioned soldering iron and the propane torch, he grinned. The soldering iron was the kind that was heated to white hot in a furnace or by a hand held torch. It was perfect for cauterizing the wounds he was about to make. Behind him, Freckle Face was already making his fourth trip out into the courtyard with the heavy wooden beams. Each one was at least twelve inches by twelve inches and about six feet long. The Leader was a little surprised Freckle Face hadn’t tried running away by now. Moving over to another work bench, The Leader emptied a wooden tool box of its contents and put his items in it. Then, he began examining the tools – he quickly found what he wanted, a utility knife, a wooden mallet and a small, sharp hand axe. Adding them to the tool box, he grabbed the box and headed out to the courtyard.

Reaching the courtyard, he found Freckle Face had six of the heavy landscaping ties waiting on him already. He ordered the ganger to bring two more out and sat on the edge of a planter to wait. The ganger was puffing heavily by the time he finished his task. The Leader then ordered Freckle Face to strip his former companions. The ganger moved quickly to do as he was ordered. The Leader was beginning to have second thoughts about this one – he took orders well, and seemed eager to please. He might make a good lieutenant – for the time being, least. Once both of the gangers had been stripped naked, The Leader instructed Freckle Face to place two of the landscape ties under the thighs of each of the victims to be punished. The other two were placed a few feet farther away. Taking the duct tape, The Leader showed Freckle Face how to make two wraps around Rat Face’s right ankle and then to make another two wraps around the end of the landscaping tie, spreading Rat Face’s right leg wide apart. He watched as Freckle Face repeated the moves with Rat Face’s left leg. When they were finished, both of Rat Face’s legs were spread as wide apart as they would go.

The Leader had Freckle Face take his former companion’s limp dick and duct tape it to his belly keep it out of the way. When they were finished with Rat Face, The Leader watched as Freckle Face repeated the process on his former gang leader. He nodded approvingly as he watched the ganger work – as scared as he was, it was clear from the impressive bulge in his jeans that he was excited, too. That was good, he thought. A follower who enjoyed the infliction of pain and humiliation of another could be a valuable tool.

Taking the twine and utility knife from the tool box, The Leader had Freckle Face kneel next to Rat Face and explained what was to come next. Growing up on a farm, he had helped castrate piglets and calves – back on the farm, they had used an Elastrator, but the twine would serve just as well to tie the sac of each victim off.

“Make a loop with the twine so you can form a noose to slip over the sac,” The Leader explained. “Once you have it in place, pull it as tight as you can and give it two or three good wraps to keep the noose nice and tight. Then, you do the same thing about an inch or two further down.”

The Leader watched as Freckle Face repeated the process flawlessly on his unconscious former leader, smiling that his new protégé was such a quick study. He sent Freckle Face to the well to fetch a bucket of water to bring the two victims back around to consciousness. He suspected they would both pass out again, but he wanted them to see what was going to happen to them. The squat ganger’s injuries kept his mind fogged and he couldn’t really comprehend what was going on around him. Rat Face, on the other hand, understood perfectly. His first conscious reaction was to beg and pledge his loyalty to the Brotherhood of the Phoenix. His first unconscious decision was to pee all over himself. The Leader retrieved the axe and mallet, ignoring Rat Face’s pleas.

“Now, place the blade of the axe right against the scrotum,” The Leader explained to Freckle Face, setting the axe in place. “Then, bring the mallet down sharply against the axe – that will give you a good, clean cut.” He raised the mallet over his head and brought it down sharply. The blow sent the blade of the axe cleanly through the ganger’s scrotum, severing it from his body. Looking up, The Leader noticed that although Freckle Face looked a little ill, his eyes shone with excitement and the bulge in his jeans was noticeably twitching. Standing, The Leader held out the axe and offered to allow Freckle Face the honor of castrating his former leader. He wasn’t surprised when Freckle Face jumped at the chance. Opening the valve on the propane torch, The Leader lit it and began heating the old soldering iron to a glowing white hot to cauterize the wounds on the two new eunuchs.

Since hooking up with Jack, Heather, Paul, Jordy, and little Kit had joined them. Heather was Bray’s age, and had been looking after the three younger kids since they left the camp they had been in. Jack had proved to be a natural at scouting the road ahead of them and guiding the little group around gang and tribe activity. They had finally made it to Los Angeles and now, Bray was trying to figure a way to get the group across the open ground to the culvert. Then he needed to get them from the culvert across the empty highway to the strip mall where several stores seemed to offer a promising place to spend the night. Bray even harbored a little hope that they might be able to salvage something from the big SuperCenter store in the center of the strip mall. The problem was all that open space to cover – he didn’t like the idea of Kit having to cover that much ground. At seven-years-old, she couldn’t run as fast as the others.

The faintest of rustles in the bushes announced Jack’s approach. Dressed in his paintball armor, he slithered up next to Bray, that elfin grin plastered all over his sharp face. “You look like a man with a problem,” Jack whispered.

“It’s about time you got back,” Bray hissed. “I sent you out to scout for signs of gangs or Tribes.”

“No, you sent me out to check for gang and Tribe activity,” Jack corrected. “Lots of gang and Tribe signs – almost everything is tagged by one or the other. But, there’s no sign of any activity around here right now.” He followed Bray’s gaze, examining the open ground. “You’re worried about exposing the others for all that distance.”

“Well, duh!”

“What would you say if said I could get everyone across that open ground without anyone ever seeing us cross?”

“I’d say you were crazy,” Bray retorted. “There’s no way to do that.”

“Not going your way, Bray,” Jack said smugly. “Look across to the parking lot over by the record store.”

Bray followed the finger Jack carefully poked through the bushes. At first he didn’t see anything, and then, he saw it. The grate over a storm drain. He should have known – if there was a way to cover potentially dangerous ground without being seen, Jack would find it. Winking happily, Jack started to back away to where the others were hidden.

Moving from cover to cover, it took nearly ten minutes to get the little band to the storm drain access manhole hidden behind a clump of bushes. It took another ten minutes for Jack to saw through the padlock the city utility workers had placed on the cover to keep people out of the storm drains. Bray was a little apprehensive that the younger kids might be scared by going down into the dark tunnel. He needn’t have been – all of them thought it was a great adventure. From his backpack, Jack produced some chemical glow sticks and showed the little ones how to activate them. Bray had stopped being surprised by the things Jack produced from his pack. Jack had proved to be an excellent scrounger – he was able to ferret out things that other scavengers had overlooked. Other than being dank and musty, their passage through the drain took almost no time at all and before he knew it, Bray was lifting the grate up by their destination.

Up close, it was clear that all of the shops that didn’t have security gates had already been picked clean. Shattered glass was everywhere. More to be thorough than anything else, Bray scouted the SuperCenter and was amazed to find it hadn’t been looted yet. Heavy security gates blocked the doors. The glass had been smashed out and someone had tried to cut through the metal security gate, but had given up. He could imagine the precious treasures still housed in the SuperCenter, their band could easily hole up here for a long time and live in relative luxury. Whistling for the others, Bray led them around the building, searching for a possible entry.

It took them nearly a half hour to work their way around the SuperCenter looking for a way in. There was plenty of evidence that others had tried to gain entrance before them. Someone had tried to drive a pickup truck through the Auto Service Center bay doors, but besides being made of heavy metal, they also had security gates behind them. Bray was about to give up like the others here before them obviously had done when Jack started dancing around in excitement and letting out little cries. His reedy voice was cracking worse than normal as he tried to stammer out his discovery.

“Chill out, Jack,” Bray told the small teen.

“Look, I need you to give me a boost,” Jack stuttered out. “If I can reach that drain pipe, I’m pretty sure I can climb up to the roof.”

“So you can get on the roof,” Heather said, exasperated. “What good does that do us?”

“All these places have skylights,” Jack explained. “If I can get one open, or break one out, I can get into the store.”

“And what about the rest of us?” Heather demanded.

“Once I’m inside, I can get one of the doors open and let everyone else in,” Jack said. “All those security gates and locks are supposed to keep people out, but there’s bound to be a way to open at least one of them from the inside.”

No more explanations were necessary – Heather dragged Bray over to below the drain pipe and all but lifted Jack up to Bray’s shoulders. Gritting his teeth, Bray stayed as still as he could as Jack balanced on his shoulders for a moment. Suddenly, Jack’s weight was gone. Stepping away from the wall, Bray looked up to see Jack scrambling like a little monkey up the drain pipe and disappear over the top of the wall onto the roof. His grinning face appeared once over the edge of the roof and then Jack was gone.

Bray and the others waited, straining their ears to hear the sound of breaking glass – or some sign that Jack had found a way into the building. Daylight was beginning to fade, the blue of the sky was deepening to indigo already. Bray began to wonder what they should do – find another place to take refuge for the night, or try to get up to the roof and see what had happened to Jack. Bray had just gotten Heather and the kids rounded up when Jack came dashing around the corner, breathless, waving for the group to follow him. Without waiting for a reply, Jack dashed off towards the front of the building again. Sending Heather and the little ones dashing after Jack, Bray paused only long enough to snatch up Jack’s backpack.

Rounding the front of the building, Bray discovered the cause for Jack’s apparent concern – the sound of raucous shouts filled the air in the distance. One of the front security gates had been raised about three feet and Jack was waving for everyone to duck under as quickly as possible. Once everyone was safely inside, Jack began turning a manual crank frantically to lower the gate, while breathlessly gasping for the others to get around the corner and out of sight.

The first thing that greeted the group was the stench of things gone terribly rotten from the grocery side of the SuperCenter.

“Sorry it took so long,” Jack said as he came around the corner, carrying the hand crank over his shoulder like a fishing pole. “It took me a while to find this crank.” He noticed the faces everyone was making. “I did a quick look around over there – the meat, dairy products, and fresh veggies and stuff went bad after the power went off. I think most of the canned things are okay, though.” Jack led them away from the grocery area and the stench lessened considerably. “Things aren’t too bad over this way. This place is a treasure trove!”

Bray decided the best thing to do was find someplace to set up a camp in the store that was well clear of the two sets of main doors. Jack’s smile broadened as he led the way to the little portrait studio located at the front of the store.

“No outside windows, no skylight and best of all, we can cover over the open doorway with dark tarps and hide any light coming from here,” Jack said. The group examined the portrait studio – it was by far nicer than anyplace they’d slept in the last few weeks. Heather announced she was going to take Kit and scrounge up some food for an evening meal. Once she was gone, Bray took Paul and Jordy to hunt up a folding table and chairs and some other things to make the meal special. He didn’t know about the others, but he was tired of eating straight from a can while huddled under a bush or in a culvert. Jack headed off to the Sporting Goods section to round up camp stoves and propane bottles.

When Heather returned, she found a long table covered with a table cloth and set with real dishes – something none of them had eaten from in months. Jack returned pushing a shopping cart loaded down his haul. He had two large camp stoves, an old fashioned coffee pot, and a small battery operated TV/VCR combo and a variety of movies. Two hours later the remnants of the meal had been cleared away, the dishes cleaned, and Jack had finished hooking up the television. The band settled down with bags of candy, watching the videos. For the first time in a long time Bray began to think of the possibility of a long term future fir himself and his friends.

Sitting there in the bluish glow of the television, Bray wondered if they could find a mall that could be secured like the SuperCenter. A mall had more room for one thing. Their little band would have room to grow, there was the possibility of more material goods to salvage. He yawned, he’d have to talk about the idea in depth with Jack and Heather in the morning.

To be continued ….