The Tribes, Chap. 27

After nearly a month on the Queen Mary, Keith was beginning to feel at home on the luxury liner. The Shiprats had welcomed him with open arms, starting with another celebration of his joining with Sasha. They had decorated the main dining room with banners, ribbons, sprays of flowers, and table after table laden with food. After that celebratory meal, even Sasha was surprised to find that the Tribe had moved his room from the single that he had occupied to one of the magnificent suites.

Wandering through the suite in awe, the couple found a bucket filled with ice containing a magnum of champagne in the bathroom by the deep sunken tub. Tier after tier of votive candles burned all around the spacious bathroom casting a warm glow over the room. A large open container of scented bath salts sat on the side of the tub. Giggling self-consciously, Sasha suggested they it would be a shame not to take advantage of slipping into a tub filled with hot water and sip ice cold champagne.

Leaning back in the tub, the water lapping against his chin as the aroma of the bath salts filled the room, Keith decided that Sasha was right – it would have been a shame not to take advantage of the aromatic bath and iced champagne. Sipping at the cold champagne, Keith reached out under the water with his foot and gently rubbed it against Sasha’s groin, smiling as he felt his lover grow hard. Minutes later, the two of them were entwined on the satin sheets Amber and Selene had so thoughtfully provided.

Neither Sasha nor Keith showed up in the dining room for any meals the next day.

Pride found Jack sitting on the bank of the stream, a notebook filled with calculations and equations in his lap. He squatted next to the diminutive inventor. “You shouldn’t be out here all alone,” Pride said softly, looking around warily.

“I’m all right,” Jack answered, finishing the equation he was working on.

“What’s that that you’re working on?”

“Oh, just some calculations,” Jack replied. “If the figures are right, there’s enough of a current here to turn the wheel of a mill.”

“Uh huh, what kind of a mill do you have in mind?”

“With just a few modifications – a dual purpose mill,” Jack said. “The Farm Tribe could grind their wheat into flour and still be able to generate electricity.”

“What about the windmill?”

“It’s pretty efficient,” Jack admitted. “But, it’s not powerful enough to grind the wheat and power the farm. They’d have to switch the electricity from the farm to a grinding wheel. That would risk spoiling everything in the freezer. They don’t really need this mill this year, and maybe not next year. But, after that, the Tribe should start producing a surplus of wheat and by then, they’ll need this mill.”

Pride shook his head in amazement – Jack seemed to think several steps ahead of everyone else. Unlike everyone else, Jack seemed confident that there was reason to believe that a future really was possible. “I came to find you to ask about Sparrow,” he said.

“He can go with you at the end of the week,” Jack said. “He’s finally started eating full meals and his weight is beginning to pick up again. I want to make sure he’s got as much of his strength back as possible. He’s been through a lot – an still has a lot farther to go.”

“Look – I don’t think Sparrow’s likely to thank you for everything you’ve done,” Pride said. “But, I want you to know that everyone in the Eco Tribe appreciates everything you’ve done. We know how much you did to save him.”

“Thanks,” Jack said, his cheeks turning several shades of red. “But, the only thing that really matters to me is that he’s going to be okay physically. I think he’ll be okay mentally – but, I’m going to have to leave that part of his healing up to your people.”

“We’ll take care of him,” Pride promised. “You can be sure of that.”

“Speaking of healing,” Jack said. “You people need some kind of first aid supply.” He held up his hand to silence Pride. “I know that under normal circumstances you’d much rather rely only on natural stuff. But, I’ve been looking at you lot and quite honestly, I’ve got to wonder how you’ve managed to survive out there so far.”

“We do pretty well, I’ll have you know,” Pride said, his sense of pride slightly wounded.

Jack’s hand shot out and grabbed Pride’s. The Eco Tribe co-leader was shocked at the strength in Jack’s grip. Jack traced his finger along a wide, jagged scar that ran across the back of Pride’s hand. “This was a pretty bad cut and it probably had a pretty bad infection before it finally healed.” He released Pride’s hand and looked at him expectantly.

“Yeah, it was pretty bad,” Pride admitted.

“Edges of the cut swollen, red and puffy, leaking a lot of pus, I’ll bet,” Jack said.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what it was like,” Pride said.

Jack pointed at the scar again. “If it had been taken care of properly, you’d still have a scar, but it wouldn’t be nearly as bad. You probably don’t realize it, but you came close to losing your hand – or your life,” he said.

“Well, when this happened, we didn’t even know you existed,” Pride said, feeling his face grow hot. “And, it wasn’t like I could just run over to the nearest emergency room. Besides, it’s one of the risks we all accepted in moving back to Nature.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Jack said. “You’re surrounded by things you could have used to care for that wound.” He took a deep breath. “Look, I accept your personal beliefs – I don’t have to share them, but I do accept them. Do you realize that honey will prevent infection? A spider web makes an excellent wound covering, and certain mosses have antiseptic properties.” He smiled. “I sent for some research books on natural healing from The City and have been putting together a first aid pamphlet for you. You can take the books as well, but it’s nice to have the basic stuff all in once place.”

“You went to all that trouble for us?” Pride was taken aback.

“Helping good people out isn’t trouble,” Jack said, standing up abruptly. “It’s what we should all be doing.” He gave Pride a sad lopsided grin and started on his way back to the farmhouse.

*****

Growing more confident that he could find his way around the giant liner without getting seriously lost, Keith began exploring more and more of the various decks. Although the electricity worked on every deck, most of the decks remained dark for the simple reason that they were almost never used. The Queen Mary had been built for thousands of people and the Shiprats Tribe had about 70 members. Keith carried a large, lantern-style flashlight as he explored the ship – that way, he didn’t have to retrace his steps to turn out any corridor lights he turned on.

Rounding a corner, Keith suddenly gasped in amazement and came to a complete stop. He shined his light over the plastic plaque again to be sure he’d read it correctly. White letters on a maroon plaque spelled out PHOTO LAB on the door directly in front of Keith. His fingers trembled with anticipation as he reached out and turned the knob. To his delight and surprise, the door opened.

Keith shone his light around the room until he found the light switch and turned it on. The room was instantly bathed in light. Dust covered everything in the room – otherwise, everything was in perfect order. It looked as if the lab techs had just stepped out and just never returned. Keith shook his head – that’s probably exactly what had happened. Afraid to get his hopes up, Keith took his time exploring the rooms in the lab. He couldn’t believe his luck. The shelves were filled with the chemicals needed to process film – a supply closet looked as if it had been stocked just before the End Days and then forgotten. Keith’s heart was thumping excitedly as he entered the dark room and tried the revolving black out door. Not a single crack of light showed.

Delighted by his find, Keith hurried from the Photo Lab, making sure to turn off the lights and dashed back the way he had come, in search of Sasha. He took the stairs two and three at a time as he made his way back to the Main Deck. Reaching the Purser’s Deck, Keith slammed right into Bray.

“Whoa, hold up there,” Bray asked, grabbing Keith by the biceps. He studied the puppeteer’s face and didn’t see any signs of panic. “Where’s the fire?”

Keith took several deep gulps of air, trying to catch his breath. “I – I – I found a photo lab,” he wheezed. “It’s like totally stocked and waiting for someone to use it.”

“That’s great, I guess,” Bray laughed.

“Is there a photo studio on board?” Keith asked, looking around. “There must be because there’s a photo lab. It stands to reason that there’s a photo studio – or at least a photographer’s office.”

Bray rubbed his lower lip, thinking furiously. “Yeah, yeah there is,” he said slowly. “It’s up on the Promenade – um, I think it’s just past the shops.”

“Thanks,” Keith shouted, breaking away and dashing back towards the stairs. Intrigued, Bray followed close on Keith’s heels. He reached the Promenade just in time to see Keith disappear around the corner. Almost as soon as the puppeteer disappeared from view, Bray heard a surprised yell followed by a crash. Speeding up, Bray rounded the corner to find that Keith had slipped on the marble tile floor, slid about a dozen feet and crashed into a rack that had once held information pamphlets. Trying hard not to laugh, Bray helped Keith to his feet.

“Now, let’s just take it easy and find the photo studio together,” Bray said. “I don’t want you breaking your leg or neck and then have to explain to Sasha how I let that happen.” He brushed Keith off and insisted on checking that the puppeteer wasn’t seriously hurt. “So, do you mind telling me what the big deal with the photo studio is?”

“If the cameras are still there, we can photograph the ship and Market, and all of us,” Keith explained. “Don’t you see? We can have a photographic record of the rebuilding of society. We’ll have an historical record.”

Bray was stunned that none of them had thought about that before. “Do you know how to develop the film and make prints?”

“That was a hobby of mine back … back….” Keith’s voice trailed off.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Bray interrupted. “C’mon, I think the studio is just down here around the next corner.”

They didn’t have any trouble finding the studio, but getting into it was another matter. The door was locked. Keith started looking around for something to use to break into the studio. Smiling, Bray stopped him and led him back down the corridor until he found a ship’s intercom phone. Opening the box, Bray called up to the radio room and asked Peter to have Dal bring the ship’s master keys down to the Promenade Deck. It took nearly half an hour before Dal showed up, the large key ring jangling as he walked.

Once in the photo studio, Keith found it hard to contain his joy. Not only was the studio equipped with the necessary lights and cameras for taking portraits, it had several well stocked 35mm camera bags complete with lenses and camera bodies.

“There’s a lot more film in one of the shops back along the Promenade,” Dal offered, which only added to Keith’s growing excitement. Dal shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re getting so excited about – pictures are no big deal.”

“But don’t you see how wrong you are?” Keith asked excitedly. “Pictures are everything – they’re proof to the future that we were here and did the things we’ve done. Pictures don’t just show our history – THEY are our legacy to history.” Bray and Dal stared blankly at the puppeteer. “Don’t you get it? In like one hundred years or so when a whole new society is looking back at our time, pictures will show them who we were and show them just how bad things really were and what we had to overcome. It’ll mean that none of us are ever forgotten.”

Dal suddenly became as animated as Keith as his words began to sink in. Keith was right – photographs were the way to preserve their history for the future. Visions of Matthew Brady’s Civil War photographs suddenly flashed through his head. He remembered how vivid those black and white photographs were -- they really were pieces of time captured forever. Ol’ Brady had photographed just about everything that didn’t run fast enough from his camera. He had photographed important guys like Lincoln and Grant – were they still important, Dal wondered. He shot picture plates of common soldiers sitting around campfires before the battles and soldier dead and dying after the battles. Brady’s photographs had preserved for history just what those people who were long dead had gone through to preserve the nation.

Dal grabbed Bray’s arm. “Keith’s right – some day everything will be back to normal. I mean like things were before the Bad Times – people will have regular jobs and families and schools again. They’ll watch TV and go to the movies. And, they’ll want to know what it was like during our time. They’ll wonder who we were and what we looked like. Keith’s right – pictures will preserve all of that.”

“Then let’s not waste any time,” Bray said, becoming infected with the excitement in the air as well. He turned to Keith; “What will it take for you to get started taking pictures and getting them developed?”

Keith frowned as he thought the matter over. “Well,” he drawled as he looked around, “we’ve got cameras and film – and the film should still be okay, so there’s no reason we can’t start taking pictures right away.”

“Well what are we waiting for?” Dal asked excitedly. “Let’s get started taking pictures of the ship and market.”

“Whoa, there’s more to it than just taking pictures,” Keith said. “I mean, pictures have to be developed. If the developing machine down in the lab isn’t working, then we’re pretty much just wasting our time.” He scratched his head. “We could develop the pictures the old fashioned way – but there’s a lot more things that could go wrong that way.” He shook his head. “No, no the thing to do is to see if we can get the developing machine back up and running.”

“Okay,” Bray said slowly, trying to get Keith calm enough to think clearly. “What needs to be done to get that machine working again?”

“Well – at the very least,” Keith said slowly. “The chemicals need to be drained and all the rollers and things cleaned. After sitting for so long, they’re probably all gummed up.”

“Can you do all of that yourself?”

“I guess so,” Keith said. “I mean, I pretty much know my way around developing machines – they’re all pretty much similar. I know I can change the chemicals and I think I can figure out the mechanical stuff…”

“And if you need help on that end,” Bray said with a smile, “I’m sure Dal here can give you a hand. He’s one of the best mechanical minds around. If he can’t figure it out…”

“Jack can,” Dal interrupted with a laugh.

“I was going to say that nobody could,” Bray countered.

“Thanks for the compliment,” Dal said. “But, we both know it’s true – if I can’t figure it out, then Jack probably can. If not, then the two of us will just have to invent a new and better machine.”

*****

Gull sat in the deep shadows of The Leader’s office suite, his eyes never leaving The Leader. He studied the slight tic in The Leader’s left eyelid – a sure sign that The Leader was long past the boiling point. That episodic twitch meant that The Leader was on the verge of blood rage. Gull knew that he was safe from that rage – he had made sure to insulate himself well enough for that. He would be the instrument of The Leader’s wrath – but far and safely removed from the heat of that wrath.

“You should have put a stop to what Prometheus was doing, Gull,” The Leader said moodily.

“I did consider it, Leader,” Gull said. “But, I didn’t want to undermine your noble experiment.”

“Yes, yes – that’s true,” The Leader agreed. “Let’s have the little bastard in here.”

Gull rose from the chair and bowed, before crossing the suite and throwing open the doors. Prometheus sat on a small padded bench in the corridor seemingly calm and composed. Gull gave a jerk of his head to indicate that Prometheus should enter. Standing, Prometheus smoothed his black tunic and ran a hand over his shaven head as if checking for stubble before squaring his shoulders and striding into The Leader’s office.

Resuming his seat in the shadows, Gull watched the scene unfold in front of him. The composure of The Leader and Prometheus as they faced each other was amazing – The Leader managed to keep from launching into a mouth-foaming rage and Prometheus managed to keep from falling to his knees in terror.

“We understand that you’ve been recruiting for your squad,” The Leader finally said, his voice quavering with barely suppressed rage.

“Yes, I have, my Lord,” Prometheus answered calmly.

“And, your recruiting has been among the ranks of the soldiers as well as among the slaves,” The Leader noted. From his vantage point, Gull noticed that the twitch was beginning to occur more often.

“Yes, it has, my Lord.”

“Did you discuss that with Gull?” The Leader asked.

“No sir, I did not.” Prometheus remained calm. Gull was puzzled that the former slave didn’t even exhibit signs of nervous sweat.

“And why not?” The Leader asked. “Perhaps you knew that he would prevent you from doing the things you’ve done?” The Leader’s rage suddenly exploded volcanically. He leapt to his feet, spit flecking his lips as he pounded the desk with both fists. “You knew that we personally named the new terror squad The Fire Eaters and that we decreed that it would be comprised of eunuch slaves!”

“I –“ Prometheus began.

The Leader beat against the desk, his face coloring deep red with rage as he interrupted the former slave. “Say nothing!” He screamed. “Don’t say a fucking word! Who do you think you are to change my orders? You were nothing, nothing at all and I gave you an opportunity few ever get….”

The Leader’s voice trailed off as his rage washed over him. Gull waited for the order to drag Prometheus away to the torture chambers. He had lost track of how many times he’d watched this scenario play out – but one thing was different. Prometheus wasn’t cowering the way all the others had been. He didn’t beg for his life or blubber about how it had all been an innocent mistake while pleading for another chance.

“If I may explain, my Lord,” Prometheus said calmly.

“Explain? Explain what?” The Leader shrieked. He grew suddenly calm as he resumed his seat. “Explain away – explain why you think you can subvert our orders.”

“The truth is that I didn’t think that I was subverting your orders, my Lord,” Prometheus said. “Certainly not the intent of your orders. As I understood it, your desire was to create a terror squad that could infiltrate the lines of unbelievers and spread fear among them.”

The Leader nodded. “Precisely our plan,” he murmured.

“And, I did initially seek recruits among the slave ranks,” Prometheus continued. “However, I was faced with several problems, my Lord. Many of those who might have been potential recruits had been mentally broken too far to make effective terror soldiers. Others were too physically broken.”

“Surely there were others?” The Leader asked his voice ominously low.

“There were and I did recruit from among that last group, my Lord,” Prometheus answered. “But, only a few of them had all of the properties necessary to make a good candidate.”

“Which are?”

“They must be capable of engaging in acts of violence beyond what is considered normal,” Prometheus replied. “Most fell short of that ability. And then, there were the ones who were untrustworthy.”

“Untrustworthy?” The Leader asked.

“They would have joined the group, just in order to get out of slavery,” Prometheus explained. “And, for another more sinister reason…”

“What would that be?” The Leader interrupted.

“So they could get close enough to you to make an assassination attempt,” Prometheus said. “Some of those slaves would do anything to make an attempt on your life or on Lord Gull’s. They’d gladly die in an attempt if they thought they could kill you.”

The Leader slowly sat down, his face blank. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm and emotionless. “You’re sure of this?”

Prometheus nodded. “I am – I lived among them and was able to overhear some of them talking about what they’d sacrifice if they could just get one chance to kill you.”

“They hate me that much?” The Leader’s voice was a strange mixture of wonder and – to Gull’s amazement – satisfaction. “They hate us enough to dream of the chance to kill us?”

“I’m afraid so, Leader,” Prometheus said.

“Do they also fear us?”

“Even more than they hate you, Leader,” Prometheus said matter-of-factly.

Gull watched as a broad smile spread across The Leader’s face. “Excellent, excellent,” he said tapping his fingertips together. “Let them hate us so long as they fear us, too,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “Their fear will keep them in line, and their hate will fuel their desire to survive. We can use the two to drive the slaves even harder when we need to.” He fell silent as he considered the possibilities the knowledge opened to him. He seemed to have forgotten all about Prometheus. Finally, he looked up as if seeing the former slave for the first time.

“Werewolves, eh?” The Leader repeated the word several times, slowly nodding his head. “Yes, I can see where it would strike a chord of primal fear into people.” A slow smile spread across his face. “I like the name.” He fixed a steady gaze on Prometheus. “You should have come to us first and asked to change the name of the Terror Squad. You were wrong to take that responsibility on yourself.”

Prometheus bowed his head. “I understand, my Lord. You’re correct, I presumed too much.” He slowly drew the heavy-bladed survival knife from the scabbard strapped to his thigh. Gull quickly drew his own blade and prepared to spring across the room. He relaxed slightly when Prometheus quickly reversed the weapon and placed it on The Leader’s desk with the hilt facing The Leader. “I bow to your judgement, my Lord,” he said, bowing his head and sinking to his knees.

The Leader fingered the knife speculatively before picking it up. He rose and went around the desk to stand over Prometheus and placed the tip of the blade under the former slave’s chin, forcing him to look up. “We could kill you now,” The Leader said softly.

Prometheus didn’t say a word. He simply stared up into The Leader’s eyes.

“So, you really do accept our judgement willingly.”

“I do, my Lord,” Prometheus said calmly. “I live only to serve you.”

Suddenly, The Leader laughed. “Do you see that Gull? We were right to choose this one,” he said. “We could tell he was a True Believer.” He laid a gentle hand on the top of the former slave’s shaven scalp. “Stand up – we forgive you. You made some errors in judgement – but we can see that they were simply done in your zeal to serve us. No harm was done.”

Prometheus stood and accepted his knife from The Leader. Gull noticed that Prometheus’ hand was slightly trembling as he took the blade and returned it to its scabbard.

The Leader placed his hand on Prometheus’ cheek as if in benediction. “Go on, return to training your squad. We want them ready to unleash on our enemies as soon as possible.” Prometheus took a couple of steps back, bowed and left the room. “Did you see that, Gull? He was willing to accept a sentence of death if that had been our will.” He stared at the closed door in admiration. “With more soldiers like him, there’s no one who could oppose us. We’ll rule the world.”

*****

The more he thought about it that night, the more Keith realized that overhauling an abandoned photo lab was going to be a two person job. It wasn’t the fact that he didn’t have the things that he needed. On the contrary, the lab of the Queen Mary was very well stocked; much better stocked than the small lab he’d had a part-time job in for several summers and school breaks when he wasn’t helping with the family puppet business. The machines, however, had sat idle for so long that the working mixes were bound to be bad. They’d have to be dumped, recycled and purified, and re-mixed with fresh chemicals.

Keith returned to the photo lab the following morning and started to get the lab in order. The first thing he did was to open the developing machines. It took him a few minutes to reorient himself to the equipment. But, as he stared at the inside of the machine, he began to notice familiar landmarks and he began to remember what was what and what went where. Keith reached into the guts of the machine and pulled his hand back with a startled curse. He’d barked his knuckles against something. He sat back on his haunches, sucking on his bleeding knuckle.

He’d never had any problems reaching into the developers before and couldn’t understand why the inside of the machine suddenly seemed so cramped. At first, he thought it was perhaps a different model or make of developer. But, that wasn’t it at all. Checking the make and model number, Keith found that the machine in front of him was exactly the same as the one back at the old lab. So what was different?

And then, it came to him. The machine was the same, but HE was different. His hands – along with everything else about him – were bigger than before. Suddenly, he remembered Mr. Dexter – the owner of the lab – complaining about the cramped spaces inside the developer machines. Back then, Keith had been much smaller and his small hands had easily fit in the tight spaces. Keith shook his head and pushed his shaggy hair out of his eyes. Since that time back in The Old Days, puberty had hit and Keith had experienced some pretty impressive growth spurts.

Grinning to himself, Keith crouched back down and peered into the interior of the machine again. He carefully reached inside and felt around – he found the attachments for the drain hoses. It was going to be a tight fit, but Keith figured that he could get the hoses attached and the chemical reservoirs drained – eventually. But, the job was going to take a lot longer than he had originally figured.

BUT it would go a lot faster with help – some help with small hands to reach up inside the machines to attach the drain hoses. Small hands that could better grip the tiny little bottles of chemicals and peel the safety seals off. He was just heading back to the cabin that he shared with Sasha; deep in thought about developer starter ratios, when the solution to his problem literally crashed into him as he rounded a corner.

Keith was taken unawares as a small bald projectile, dressed in a loose fitting martial arts uniform, struck him at the waist and sent them both tumbling to the floor with a great “OOOFF!”

Normally, Keith wouldn’t have thought a thing about someone so small crashing into him. Recent events, however, had altered his reactions a bit. He’d no sooner hit the carpeted floor of the hallway with someone small falling on top of him, when his hands had grabbed his “attacker” and thrown him off. Keith rolled, came to his feet, and in one swift movement had what resembled a small white Tasmanian devil whirling furiously in the air as he held him out at arm’s length. He grinned, for once happy about the rough and stumbling trip through puberty that had left him with longer than average arms.

He studied the boy for a bit, taking in the hard-to-miss shaven head, the glittering earring, and the white clothes. As he held him out, safe from the savage punches and kicks that couldn’t quite make it the length of his arm, Keith grinned.

“I seem to have you at a disadvantage, boy,” he commented.

“Put me down!” Jordy roared.

“And will you attack me if I do?”

Jordy didn’t answer. He went limp in Keith’s grip, his bare feet dangling well off the floor. He glanced at Keith’s face once, and then looked down.

“No,” he replied sullenly.

“I guess I’ll have to trust you on that one,” Keith replied with a friendly grin, setting the boy back down and watching as he straightened his clothes. “Now, would you mind explaining why you are out stalking about the corridors, waiting for unsuspecting prey to pounce on?”

“Nobody believes me,” Jordy mumbled, still looking at his feet. “Not even Lars. All he cares about is this move that I can’t get right.”

Keith’s eyebrows shot up. “Nobody believes me,” Jordy had said, and a chill began to spread down his spine. Very suddenly, at the boy’s words, a vision flashed in front of Keith’s eyes. He adjusted his round glasses and gasped. No one had believed his little cousin Bradley either … no one had, until the abandoned bike had been found not half a mile from his rural home. By then, of course, it had been too late. Bradley’s best friend Zack was gone, taken by the man that Bradley had claimed to have seen stalking about the neighborhood for weeks. He’d been apprehended later of course, but the images on the evidence film that the local police had brought to his lab were still vividly stored in his mind.

“Tell me what nobody believes,” Keith encouraged the boy, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Without warning, Jordy burst into tears and flung himself at Keith, almost knocking him over again. He held him tight, one hand on the back of his bald little head and the other rubbing his back, until the boy had regained his composure. He bit his own lip the whole time, forcing back his own emotions. Jordy was about the same size as Bradley had been … and it had been so long since he’d held Bradley. He and his cousin had been close – very close.

But Bradley hadn’t survived The Bad Time. In fact, he’d not even made it TO The Bad Time. One day he’d had the sniffles. The next day he’d had a fever and was achy all over. The next day, his fever had gone out of control. Two days later, he’d died.

And he’d only been the first. As Keith stared down at Jordy’s intense face, his earnest little eyes bloodshot from crying, a parade of all of his family and friends marched across his mind. They were all pointing at him and staring, all of them sick and miserable.

“I didn’t even so much as sneeze once,” Keith mumbled.

“What?” Jordy asked, puzzled by the odd look on his would-be victim’s face.

“They all died,” Keith whispered, “One by one, the flu took them. Everyone I ever knew, everyone I cared about, all dead. All but me.”

“Yea,” Jordy agreed, tentatively slipping his hand into Keith’s.

Keith shook his head and forced a grip on himself. As he usually did, he concentrated and turned his rampant emotions to anger instead. The side of his nose twitched and he flexed his free hand, staring down at the large silver ring with a blood-red garnet stone mounted in it. Jordy yelped as Keith’s fist lashed out, knocking a cabin door almost completely from its hinges as his hand went through it.

“You should talk to Lars,” Jordy suggested in an odd tone.

“Yes,” Keith said distantly, “I’ve heard of Lars.” Then he stared down at Jordy again and ran his aching hand over the boy’s bald scalp. Finally, he smiled; Jordy breathed a sigh of relief. “He would be your Master, correct?”

“I guess,” Jordy replied.

“Is Lars the one who doesn’t believe you?” Keith asked, pointing down the hallway as Jordy nodded. They set off at a slow walk.

“No one believes me. All Lars cares about is how I don’t do this one kick move right. I tell him I’m too short for it to work for me, to teach me somethin’ else, but he’s stuck on this one move. I try an’ tell him about what … what I been dreamin’ about … what I keep seein’, sometimes, when I’m awake even,” Jordy explained.

Keith thought for a moment, still clutching the warm little hand in his own. His other hand that had redecorated the cabin door ached, but he put it out of his mind. He’d had some pretty bad dreams lately, too. Hadn’t everyone? Watching most of humanity drop dead all around you tended to do that. Still, something nagged at him as he stopped and bent down in front of Jordy, biting his lower lip and wondering if he were going to sound totally insane.

“You had bad dreams, Jordy, right?”

Very slowly he nodded. “There’s these guys dressed all in black – real bad guys,” Jordy explained. “They come out of nowhere and do things – real bad things to the Tribes in The City.” He sniffed. “I tried to tell Lars and all he says is that if I learn my lessons, the bad guys can’t hurt me. Jordan says he believes me, but he really doesn’t. He just holds me and tells me that everything will be okay and that he’ll protect me.”

Keith nodded to himself. He figured that Lars and Jordan thought that they were doing the right thing by humoring Jordy, but he wasn’t sure that they were doing the right thing. Abruptly, he changed the subject. “Tell me about this move you can’t seem to make work,” he said in a smooth voice.

Jordy snorted. “It’s like this,” he said, stepping back to demonstrate.

The boy flexed his entire body, sized up Keith, and raised his arms in a defensive posture. He faked a jab with one hand, while his right foot left the floor in a sweeping movement that soon swept his entire leg up and around. His left foot then left the floor, and he was airborne, spinning fast, as his right foot came around at almost chin level with Keith and swept just past his face. Had it connected, Keith was certain that it probably would have taken his head off. He thought for a moment, astonished at the young boy’s nimbleness and speed of move.

“You’re too short,” Keith commented, “Next time, stand on something – unless you use that move on another ten-year-old. Now let’s go find Lars and see if we can’t get him to understand how you feel.”

*****

As Gull approached the high school building that Prometheus had turned into the final training center for the Werewolves, he saw Shad Jenkins come staggering out of the building retching. Shad was on one of the better Seeker teams and had been trying to get Gull to take him on as one of the Enforcers. He managed to stagger to the overgrown grass by the sidewalk before dropping to his knees and vomiting.

“Problem?” Gull asked coming to a stop a few feet from Shad.

Shad shook his head in disbelief and pointed back towards the school. “It’s a fucking abattoir in there,” he croaked before spewing up more of his stomach contents. “There’s blood and body parts all over the place.”

Gull stared at the school as if seeing it for the first time. “Really? All over the place, you say?”

Shad pawed at his mouth as if trying to claw the taste of bile from his mouth. “I just delivered five more prisoners … one of those Werewolf guys met me and took guided me and the prisoners to the gym.” He looked up at Gull; his eyes filled with disgust at what he’d seen. “Everywhere you turn, there’s blood and bits of skin and the screams,” his stomach roiled again and he fell to his hands and knees with dry heaves. When the spasm had passed, he looked up apologetically. “I have to tell you – those Werewolf guys are fucking whacked, man.”

“They’ve gone over the top, you think?” Gull asked.

“Over the top? Man … they’re so far gone they couldn’t even find the top,” Shad almost shrieked.

Gull stroked Shad’s green hair comfortingly. “It’s best to try not to dwell on things like this,” He said. “Try to clear your mind,” he helped Shad to his feet. “You know the Enforcers see a lot of terrible things … it strikes me that you might not be quite the material needed to become an Enforcer.”

“I – I guess…”

“Still, I think that you’ll be able to provide a valuable service for us,” Gull said, his hand tightening around Shad’s upper arm and pulling him towards the school.

“Wha … what’re you doing?” Shad shrieked.

“Training the Werewolves is a costly process,” Gull said coldly. “They run through a lot of slaves and prisoners – they could always use another subject to practice on. You’ll do perfectly.” Gull dragged the struggling Seeker into the building, ignoring his pleas and cries.

The Enforcer Chief pulled Shad along the corridors, seemingly oblivious to the odors of blood, feces, and fear. He didn’t even look twice at the pools and splatters of blood that covered the walls and floors. He headed straight for the gymnasium, periodically calling out for Prometheus. The cavernous gym was empty when Gull reached it with Shad in tow. He strode to center court and waited in the dimly lit room. After several long moments, Gull heard a scrape from the running track above the gym floor. He looked up in time to see a dark shape slip over the rail and seemingly float to the gym floor.

“Adding rappelling to your bag of tricks, Prometheus?” Gull asked calmly as the Werewolf leader approached. Prometheus was as usual, dressed entirely in black – black, red, and orange stripes obscured every inch of skin on his head and face.

“Have to find ways to stay one step ahead of the prey,” Prometheus grinned. He eyed Shad. “Whatja got here?”

“Fresh prey for you,” Gull said, throwing Shad to his knees in front of the Werewolf. “He disapproves of your training methods. I think he should experience first-hand just how necessary and effective your methods are.”

Prometheus cocked his head from side to side as he studied the frightened Seeker. Suddenly, he leapt to Shad’s side and ran his hands over Shad’s head, stroking it. Then, Prometheus slowly, erotically licked Shad’s face from chin to forehead like he was tasting the Seeker who stood petrified in front of the Werewolf. Prometheus ran his tongue up the side of Shad’s head, nibbling on the Seeker’s ear before running his tongue up into Shad’s cropped green hair.

“I’m going to have fun with you,” Prometheus finally said, grabbing Shad’s face in both of his hands. “I’m going to eat your balls before we’re through – if you’re lucky, you’ll be dead already.” He leaned back and grinned evilly at his victim. “But, I wouldn’t count on it.” Prometheus threw his head back and gave a series of animalistic yips that grew into a long drawn out howl.

To Gull’s surprise, the Werewolf’s howl was answered from various locations around the high school building. Within moments, he could hear the sounds of feet stealthily making their way into the gym. Glancing around, but not looking directly in their direction, Gull was able to see the movements of the ten Werewolves in this phase of training. They approached from all directions, staying to the deeper shadows as he had trained them.

“We have a new one for the hunt,” Prometheus called, shoving Shad to the floor. “He’s free game for the hunt – any of you can play with him, but this kill belongs to me. I want that clear – go too far and kill him and I’ll kill the one who kills him.” He turned to Gull. “Want to join the hunt?”

Gull grinned. “No, I have other business requiring my attention.” He looked around. “Although it does look like it’s going to be interesting. I just came over to see how things are going and if you needed anything.”

“I’d like permission to take the pack on a real hunt,” Prometheus said. “I understand that there’s a Tribe less than a half day away. We could use the practice in real conditions.”

“That’s a good idea,” Gull said. He looked around again. “I suppose the hunt is getting too easy here now.”

“It’s almost not a challenge anymore,” Prometheus assured him.

“I’ll have a Seeker recon team and a squad of Enforcers accompany your team,” Gull said, his voice making it clear that there was no room for argument. “You can go tomorrow. Let me know how much time you plan to spend on the hunt.”

Prometheus’ eyes glittered in his grease paint darkened face. “It’ll be a blast,” he said hungrily. “But,” he turned and stared down at Shad, ‘for now we have a hunt.”

“Good hunting,” Gull grunted. He didn’t bother to glance down at Shad when he turned on his heel and left the gym.

*****

Keith glanced over at Jordy who sat sullenly at the far end of the gym. Jordy had insisted on keeping his distance as Keith spoke to Lars about how the boy was feeling. To his surprise, Lars calmly listened to him as he talked about Jordy’s nightmares.

“Of course I am concerned about his nightmares,” Lars said calmly. “But, my task is not to calm his fears…”

“Just what is your task, then?” Keith interrupted.

“To give him the tools and ability to face his nightmares,” Lars said calmly. “One soothes a little boy – because of what Jordy has gone through, he is no longer just a little boy. And, I do believe that his nightmares just might have substance to them.”

Keith was stunned – this wasn’t at all what he had expected. “You think he might actually be seeing into the future?”

Lars smiled benignly. “I didn’t say that – no, rather I think that Jordy through his dreams may have somehow tuned into the chi that is a part of us all. If that is the case, then it becomes even more important that he learn his lessons.”

“Why?”

“Imagine for a moment that Jordy is right,” Lars explained gently. “These figures in black are real – they do exist and intend us harm. That means that there is a high likelihood that at some point in the future – perhaps in the near future and perhaps in the distant future that Jordy will come face to face with these black figures. In such a case, Jordy must face his fears with instinctual action. He can face the physical manifestation of his nightmares only if he knows here and here,” Lars tapped his head and heart, “that he has mastered the skills I am teaching him. If he cannot do that, he will die.”

“But, he’s still just a little boy,” Keith protested.

Lars smiled gently and shook his bald head. “You look at him and see only what he would have been in the Old World. But, that world has passed and will never return for him. He has faced trials and seen things that have stolen the luxury of being just a little boy from him.”

“But that’s…”

“Unfair?” Lars interrupted. He smiled sadly and nodded. “Yes, yes it is. Life has always been unfair – but life in this world is especially unfair. Do you think that I am not tempted to take him in my arms to comfort him? That right and luxury has been robbed from me – I cannot do that and do him justice. It is my job to train him to face his fears confidant in nothing more than his own abilities. Jordan, who loves him as a son, cannot believe in that Jordy’s nightmares might have substance.”

“Why not?”

“Because then, he could not take Jordy in his arms and promise in all truth to protect him from all harm,” Lars said. “If he were to admit the possibility that Jordy’s dreams might have substance, then he could not provide Jordy the opportunity to be the small boy afraid in the dark who needs physical reassurance.”

“But, you said that Jordy isn’t a little boy,” Keith protested.

“And so he isn’t because of his, and our, circumstances,” Lars admitted. “But, that doesn’t mean that he still doesn’t need the opportunity to behave like one at times. It is Jordan’s task to allow Jordy the luxury of being a little boy afraid in the dark who turns to an adult for reassurance.”

“Okay,” Keith said. “But, the kid still needs to have someone to talk to about his fears.”

Lars nodded. “Of course he does,” he said serenely. “But, that task belongs to another.

“Yeah? Who?”

Lars laid a gentle hand on Keith’s cheek. “I’d say that he needs someone who has energy that needs to be channeled constructively instead of violently.”

Keith started. “What are you, some kind of psychic?”

Lars laughed and took Keith’s bruised hand in his own. “No, just observant. No one gets a bruise like that unless he slams his fist into a wall or similar object.”

Keith looked ruefully down at his hand. “Yeah, I guess I do have some temperamental outbursts,” he admitted.

“As does Jordy,” Lars said. “It would seem that two travelers with similar needs have come to a crossroads – they can continue on different paths, or they can help each other along the same path.” Lars stood.

“So what do I do?”

Lars smiled and shrugged. “I cannot tell you that,” he said. “That choice is yours.”

Keith sat staring up at Lars for a long time. “Well, I certainly feel like an ass,” he finally said.

“Why? For being concerned about the well-being of another?” Lars asked. “There’s no harm to anyone in that.”

“Yeah, but I should have known you weren’t just ignoring him for the shits and giggles of it,” Keith said.

“You found someone in pain and acted to ease that pain,” Lars said calmly. “Now, you have a better idea of the situation and so are in a better position to help a new friend. Didn’t I hear something about you trying to get the photo lab up and running again?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Perhaps you could use some assistance, and I know that Jordy certainly has free time that needs filling,” Lars said. “It’s an idea. But, as I said – the decision is yours.”

Keith had a long talk with Jordan about Jordy’s nightmares, and about having Jordy give him a hand in getting the photo lab set back up. Jordy’s small hands would certainly be an asset in getting the reservoirs drained and refilled with fresh chemicals. Jordan immediately agreed that Jordy would be a great help in that area and gave the project his blessing.

*****

Keith flipped a switch on the wall as they entered the long-abandoned photo lab of the Queen Mary. Lights came on, revealing gray walls and a gray carpet. To his left sat an Agfa 200 series C-41 film machine. Just beyond it sat an Agfa MSC 200-photo printer with a computer system attached to it. The word PIXTASY was etched on the computer desk, and Keith smiled. Jordy sniffed.

“What’s that smell?” The boy asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Bleach,” Keith replied, “One of the chemicals.”

“You really think you can make it all work again?” Jordy asked.

Keith nodded a grin on his face. He hadn’t smiled in a long time. He also hadn’t cold started a chemical in a long time, either. “I’ve got all I need. All we have to do is drain the tanks, refill them with good mix, and wait for them to come up to temperature. The on-board computers in the machines will do the rest of the work for us, IF they were taken care of, that is. At least I don’t have to set up film channels with gray test negatives, thanks to the film scanners.”

“What do we do first?” Jordy inquired, still sniffing.

Keith handed him an oblong jug. “We drain the old stuff and pour it in that large barrel type thing in the back room, for silver recovery,” he said.

“Why?” Jordy asked.

Keith smiled. Little boys, he knew, always asked ‘why’.

“Part of the process of developing film and making prints involves silver halide mixtures. We can’t just dump it, or we’d be dumping heavy metal into the water supply. We have to cycle the silver out, neutralize the mixture, and then dump it. By then, it’s just dirty water and totally safe.”

They emptied all of the tanks of both machines and poured them into the silver recovery barrel. Keith motioned for Jordy to stand back, inspected the collector magnets, replaced the lid, and threw the switch. A red light came on, and a motor whirred to life as the pumps kicked on. Keith smiled again. “In a couple of days, they’ll be enough silver flakes on that take up collector to make a silver dollar with.”

“Cool!” Jordy grinned back. “Now what do we do?”

Keith handed him another large jug. “Fill that with warm water, bath water temperature, and bring it over to the film processor,” he replied, opening a bottle of stabilizer. “We work backwards. You fill the stabilizer, then the bleach, then the developer. You don’t want to splash any chemical backwards, or you’ll contaminate the mix.” Jordy nodded and returned shortly with the jug full.

He began to fill another as Keith poured it in, adding the stabilizer. Then he poured the water into the second tank, mixed in the bleach starter, and sniffed. “About right,” he commented, as Jordy brought him another jug of warm water. He poured about half of it in, and added a PART A bottle. Nothing.

He then added water and poured in PART B. It fizzed a bit.

Then he poured in the rest of the warm water as Jordy chewed at his lower lip. “Is it workin’?” Keith nodded.

Then he poured in PART C, and a small cloud of smoke rolled up out of the working tank with a loud HISS!

“That’s what I wanna see!” Keith cried triumphantly, throwing the power switch as he replaced the guides in the top of the machine and closed the lid. “Now we refill the print maker while it heats up,” he said.

Jordy sighed. “More water?”

Keith nodded, handing him a jug. “How about that hose I saw in there?”

Keith’s eyes went wide. “Hose?”

Jordy nodded, and ran to the back room. He returned with a garden hose kinked in his hand. Keith took it, spraying water all over both of them. “You didn’t tell me it was on!” He cried, but still smiling as he filled the printer’s long neglected tanks. As with the film machine, he added the chemicals as fast the boy could open the bottles and hand them to him. When he was satisfied that the mix was right, he threw the breaker that sent power into the MSC 200 printer.

About then, the film machine began to beep loudly and a red light flashed on top of the lid. Jordy jumped. “It’s ready to process film,” Keith breathed, “OK, run over to the counter there and get me some rolls of film. We’re gonna have to sacrifice a few to see if it’s really working or not.”

Jordy fetched him two 4-packs of Fuji film, and Keith showed him how to cut and mount them on a leader card, two rolls to a card. Very patiently, they fed them into the film processor as the printer slowly came to life and began to heat up. Keith looked up as it beeped. “It’s loading software,” he breathed, “That’s a good sign.”

They watched as the printer’s display screen indicated the temperatures of the mixtures. Keith stared as them as a child looking through a store window at something that he wanted desperately to have. 35C…36C…37C…finally, 38C and the MSC 200 beeped. The screen changed, indicating that it was ready for a balancing cycle.

“YES!” Keith cried out, “It’s up and running!”

“Look!” Jordy called out, pointing at the exit end of the film machine. The first card had just come out of the dryer, trailing clear, brown film behind it. “Is that good?”

Keith stared in awe, taking the film in his hands as if it were a newborn baby. “It’s perfect,” he breathed, turning to watch as the printer cycled its up paper with a loud hum. “Push the button next to the words TEST PRINT on the screen, Jordy,” he said softly.

Jordy raised his hand to the buttons and touched the one that he’d been told to. He flinched back as the filter pack came violently to life; the light shifting from red to green to blue and back again and again as the film scanner calibrated itself. It whined and whirred, and then the drive motors kicked on.

“We’ll know in four minutes,” Keith told him, walking over to the counter and picking up a single-use camera. “Why don’t you smile for me and strike some poses?” He asked, grinning as if it were Christmas Day. “After all, we’ll need something to print to see if it works RIGHT.”

Jordy dashed back to the counter where he had retrieved the film and returned with some envelopes of film that had been waiting for processing. “Can you print these?”

Keith took the envelopes and opened one of them and shook a roll of exposed Kodak film into his palm. He stared at the canister for a moment, realizing that whatever pictures remained on that film had to have been taken Back Then – back before the Bad Times.

“No, I don’t think we want to develop these just yet,” Keith said slowly. “We need to find out if the unexposed film is still good. I mean, what use is getting this equipment back up and working if the film’s gone bad?” He held up the single use camera again. “Come on, strike some poses – let’s see if you have what it takes to be a super model.”

Jordy nodded and posed both of them laughing while Keith shot picture after picture of the boy punching and kicking.

By the time Keith had finished shooting pictures of Jordy making Martial Arts moves, the test films had all come through the film processor unscathed. They all looked a lovely shade of brown. Much to Keith’s dismay, though, the printer was still running gray balance cycles, unable to make up its mind on tuning. He showed Jordy how to open the throwaway camera and load the film while he thought. The machine seemed to be playing Roulette with its gray tests.

Then it came to him.

“Of course!” He shouted in exasperation, “I should have known! There’s got to be dust on the sensor that reads the tests!” He ran to the back of the printer, opened a door, and picked up a can of compressed air. He fired it into the back of the machine, and small cloud of dust rolled out. Closing the door, he waited for the next test cycle. When it came out, it was perfect. The machine settled down, indicating that it still had over 400 feet of paper to print on in one bay, and 200 in the other. 4-inch glossy and 8-inch professional.

“They must have just reloaded it before…before…” his voice trailed off, deep in thought. “Before the world went all to hell,” he thought.

“Keith, look, is that me on there?” Jordy called, holding up the film that had just rolled out of the film processor.

“Already?” Keith asked.

“You were quiet for a long time,” Jordy explained. “Lars always says not to disturb someone who’s meditating.”

Keith laughed and took the boy in his arms, staring at the negative strip with him. He hadn’t held a boy in a very long time, and his heart ached as he thought of Bradley. Still, looking at the negatives of Jordy, he couldn’t help but smile. He’d just resurrected yet another part of civilization thought lost forever. He began to get an idea of how Jack must feel.

“Yes, that’s you,” he said, cutting the film from the card and feeding it into the machine. “Let’s see, the light in here, white clothes, bald head, white boy … I think yellow –1 and density –1 should do it,” he thought aloud, laying in the corrections and inserting the film. The MSC 200 sucked it in, read it, and thought about it for a moment. Then it began to cycle paper and expose the negatives. The lights in the filter pack shifted and spun, motors came on, gears turned, and the film advanced with a loud SNAP SNAP SNAP sound. One by one, the images of Jordy were shot to paper. Four minutes later, the first ones began to roll out of the dryer. They were 8x10’s.

“Oops,” Keith commented, “forgot to check the print size! Oh well, it’s not like we have to pay for it!” He laughed, handing the first print to Jordy.

The boy took it with trembling hands, holding it by the edges as if it were made of fragile glass. His mouth dropped open as he stared at it, finally touching the smiling boy on the paper with his fingertip.

“It’s me,” he breathed, his eyes wide. “I remember … I remember going to some place, a store … I was really little…with my parents an’ they took … took pictures of me and…”

But Jordy dropped the 8x10 print as his eyes filled. He backed away with a low whine, pointing a trembling hand at the picture as if it were a live snake. Keith caught him as he tried to run off, holding him tightly and trying to convince him that it was all right. The boy struggled for a bit, then relaxed.

Jordy tried to tell Keith what he remembered, staring as the prints of him rolled out of the MSC 200. His voice failed him, though, and Keith took him in his arms again, pulling out the office chair from the nearby computer station. He sat down and held the boy on his lap while he cried; watching over his shoulder as the digital imaging program called INOVA came to life and asked for input.

“Yes, it’s YOU, Jordy,” Keith said to him in a reassuring tone, rubbing his back and pausing to kiss his forehead as he stared into his eyes. “It’s YOU, it’s US. Think of how everyone is going to feel when they find out that we can make pictures again! We can bring back anything that was ever photographed, negative or digital, now.”

“I jus’ wish…I wish…” Jordy choked, wiping at his eyes and clinging to Keith as if he were afraid of falling, “…wish it could bring back real people, too.”

Keith went silent for a while. Suddenly he heard his Grandpa’s voice – he heard it as clearly as if the old man were still alive and in the same room with them. But, that couldn’t be – the old man had died of natural causes long before the virus even appeared. Then Keith remembered – it was shortly before his Grandpa had died. Keith had somehow known that the old man’s time was running out and had started crying about it even though the old man hadn’t even been ill at the time.

“There’s something you need to understand, boy,” the old man had said, carefully filling his pipe from the battered old leather tobacco pouch and carefully tamping it down. “Nobody ever really dies – not so long as there’s somebody who cares enough to remember them. As long as a body is remembered, he can’t die – really. He just goes to another place and waits to be remembered again.”

Keith looked around as if he was really expecting to see the old man standing in the room, blue smoke curling up from his pipe. He could even smell the aroma of the tobacco – it was cherry, sweet and smoky. For the first time, he truly understood what the old man had been telling him.

“We can bring back the real people, Jordy,” Keith said, rubbing the boy’s shaven head. “All we have to do is remember them and they’ll come back to us from where they’ve been waiting. Pictures can help us remember them.” He playfully patted Jordy’s head. “So – you gonna help me out or not?”

Jordy managed a big smile. “Yeah, I guess so.”

*****

Shad crouched in the darkness, trying to keep his teeth from chattering when he trembled in fear – and he was more afraid than he’d ever been in his life. The Werewolves had given him a fifteen-minute head start before starting the hunt. He’d wasted precious time that he couldn’t afford to loose by trying to find a way out of Prometheus’ house of horrors. He’d tried to make his way back to the front doors, only to find a gate pulled across the corridor blocking his escape that way. He quickly found out that in addition to the windows being painted black, that they had been festooned with razor wire to prevent escape.

Panic had set in and Shad had lost precious time just running wildly around the dark corridors just trying to keep distance between him and the Werewolves. Eventually, he got some of his wits back around him. Every member of The Brotherhood endured rigorous combat training and he decided that his only salvation lay in finding a way to fight his stalkers. If he could do that, then maybe he could escape the Werewolf slaughterhouse – and, if he could do that, he’d put as much distance between him and The Brotherhood as possible before he stopped running. Shad shook his head to clear it of daydreams and began gently groping around for something he could use as a weapon. So far, he’d been unsuccessful in his search. All of the fire extinguishers had been removed already; pointers and yardsticks had been removed from the few classrooms that he’d dared to enter. He tried to avoid sneaking into any room – he didn’t want to end up trapped with no place to run.

Shad knew that he needed to move towards the outside corridors where there was enough light for him to see. He risked being seen in doing that, but the almost absolute darkness of the interior corridors was as much a danger as a protection. Suddenly, Shad paused – there had been pools of light in the gym. In the darkness, a smile of relief spread across Shad's face for the first time since being thrown to the Werewolves. The gym had skylights – all he needed to do was climb up to one of the skylights and he’d be able to escape the building. Shad backtracked and moved stealthily towards the last staircase he had passed. He’d gain access to the running track above the gym floor and find an emergency ladder or use one of the gym ropes to climb to the girdered ceiling. Once he made it to the girders, he’d have it made.

Shad used every stalking skill he’d learned as a Seeker to move up the stairs and along the upstairs corridor towards the gym. There was slightly more light as he neared the gym and Shad stayed in the shadows as much as possible as he moved nearer and nearer to his goal. He stopped and froze a couple of times when he thought he heard the scrape of a boot against the debris littering the floors, barely breathing until he was sure the coast was clear enough for him to move again. Eventually, he reached the corridor that ran outside of the gym. The doors directly opposite of him were closed. Scanning the corridor, he noticed a faint shaft of light from one of the other doors at the lower end of the running track. A door had been left open. Moving as quietly as possible, Shad made his way down to the open door.

Easing through the open door, Shad almost sighed aloud as he made it onto the track without attracting the attention of the Werewolves. Staring up at the ceiling, Shad almost cried with joy – he had been right about the skylights. All he had to do was find a way to reach the girders about twenty feet above his head. Keeping close to the wall, Shad began making a slow, surreptitious circuit of the track in search of a ladder or another way to climb up to the girders. Shad had made it about halfway around the track when he saw a sight that brought tears of joy to his eyes. About ten yards further ahead were the ropes that had been the bane of so many of the weaker students’ back in the Old Days. The ropes were looped around the inside rail of the track and hung directly from the girders.

Shad quickly stripped out of his green robes. It would be too hard to climb the ropes in the bulky robes. He’d make his escape clad only in his jockey shorts, T-shirt, and boots. He could always find a new set of clothes anywhere – the important thing was to get away from Prometheus’ house of horrors. He reached the ropes, which were about ten feet apart and quickly went to work silently unloosing them from the rail. He’d climb one rope and pull it and the other one up to the girders behind him to make it more difficult for the Werewolves to follow him.

Shad had the first rope free and was creeping to the other when he froze. He thought that he’d heard a guttural growl just ahead of him. He scanned the area and didn’t see anything, and decided that it had just been his imagination. He began to loosen the second rope when he heard the sound again from above him. He looked up and found that Prometheus was dangling from a black nylon rope attached to the girders just above him. Shad leapt to his feet and began running when he heard an unearthly howl from behind him.

Shad actually got about halfway to the exit when Prometheus bowled into him from behind and sent him sprawling. The Seeker threw his arms out in front of him in a desperate effort to break his fall. Instead, he ended up breaking his forearm just above the wrist. He screamed in pain as he heard the snap of bone. Summoning all his strength, Shad managed to get to his feet before Prometheus could attack again. Cradling his injured arm to his chest, Shad aimed a forward kick to the Werewolf’s groin. He lashed out with a kick that would easily have ruined the Werewolf’s genitals, but Prometheus seemed ready for it. He shifted his body slightly and took the kick in the meaty part of his thigh. Even so, the blow should have sent him to the floor in pain – but it didn’t. He grunted in pain and grabbed Shad’s injured arm, twisting it savagely.

Screaming, Shad tried to pull away, but found that he was unable to break Prometheus’ vice-like grip. The Werewolf pulled Shad close and sank his teeth into the Seeker’s shoulder bringing another scream of pain from his prey. In a desperate move, Shad pulled his head back as far as he could and brought it smashing down on the Werewolf’s forehead. Shad knew that he had to have stunned Prometheus, because he saw stars himself. Feeling the stunned Werewolf’s grip loosen slightly, Shad tried to twist away again. This time, he succeeded, losing his balance as he gained his freedom and staggered backwards. He flailed his good arm in an attempt to regain his balance and had almost succeeded when he felt his buttocks strike the rail around the running track. His good arm was still flailing as he went backwards over the rail and fell to the hardwood floor below.

Shad didn’t remember hitting the floor – he figured that he must have blacked out for a moment. He hurt – he hurt more than he’d ever hurt in his life. But, the pain disappeared about halfway down his torso – below that, he couldn’t feel anything. He tried to sit up and found that he couldn’t make his muscles obey. Shad turned his head to the side and found himself staring at a pair of heavy-soled boots. Looking up, Shad saw Prometheus crouching patiently just a few feet away.

Prometheus grinned, his teeth showing starkly white against his black-painted face. “Aw did the Seeker fall down and go boom?” Prometheus asked mockingly. He looked up and down Shad’s body splayed on the floor. “Looks like you really did serious damage, too.”

Shad heard sniggers from the other side of him and turned his head to find all of the other Werewolves ranged in a loose semicircle around him just a few feet away. Some stood, others crouched on their haunches, and the rest sat sprawled carelessly on the floor.

Prometheus hooked an index finger inside of Shad’s right nostril and pulled the injured Seeker’s head back around to face him. “Remember what I said I was going to do when I caught you?” Prometheus asked.

Shad could feel his head growing light and realized that he must be bleeding internally. He tried to stall for time and fluttered his eyelids as if he was about to faint. He hoped that if he could stall long enough, he’d bleed to death before Prometheus could torture him. But, his feint didn’t work.

Giggling sadistically, Prometheus drew his knife and twisted the point against Shad’s cheekbone, making the Seeker open his eyes wide as he screamed in pain. “You’ve got to be kidding,” the Werewolf said contemptuously. “That’s the most pathetic fucking act I’ve ever seen – don’t waste my time.” Prometheus wagged the knife blade just over Shad’s right eye. “Remember, I told you that when I caught you, I’d eat your balls.” His grin turned feral. “Guess what? I’m hungry.”

“Ah shit man,” Shad gasped. “You can’t fucking mean it.”

“You’ll see if I’m bluffing or not,” Prometheus spat. He raised his head and pointed his knife towards a tall Werewolf whose face and head were painted black, purple, and orange. “You, get his underpants off. And you,” he jabbed his knife in the direction of a Werewolf with black and brown facial painting. “Lift up this asshole’s head – I want him to see just how fucking serious I am.”

The two terror soldiers moved quickly to follow their leader’s orders. The one forced Shad into a reclining position and pointed his head so that he couldn’t avoid staring at his groin. The other roughly ripped Shad’s underpants off, only Shad didn’t feel a thing as they were ripped to shreds. Tears ran down Shad’s face as Prometheus casually placed his knife against the Seeker’s ball sac and sliced it open. He began sobbing as he watched the Werewolf just as casually slice off his right testicle and hold it up. Shad began screaming when Prometheus sliced the testicle into thin slices and began to eat each slice one by one. Shad screamed louder and longer than he’d ever screamed before in his life. In fact, Shad’s screaming lasted for the rest of his life.

*****

“I guess I have to thank you for saving my life,” Sparrow said coldly as Jack finished examining Sparrow’s incision one last time.

“That’s not really necessary,” Jack said non-committally. “I just did the best I could to keep you alive.”

“Well, II guess I am glad to still be alive,” Sparrow said. “But, you’ll have to forgive me if I think that your best isn’t really all that good.”

“Sparrow!” Eagle exclaimed. “That’s not very polite.”

“It’s the way I feel,” Sparrow replied defensively.

“It’s okay,” Jack said, his eyes glistening. “He’s got every right to say how he feels – I’d probably feel the same way.”

“It’s not okay,” Eagle snapped at both of them. “You did everything possible to save Sparrow’s life. You don’t deserve to carry the blame for what happened. There’s nothing noble in taking the blame for what happened before you even knew Sparrow existed. That’s just stupid!” She spun to face Sparrow. “You better get it through that thick skull of yours that you have more to offer our Tribe than just a few dangly parts between your legs! You were so out of it, you don’t even have any idea of just how miraculous it is that Jack was even able to save you.”

“Jack, you have every right to feel proud of what you accomplished – nobody else could have done it,” Eagle said. She raised her hand in warning when Jack opened his mouth to protest. “Don’t even think about saying a word. I don’t want to hear it.” She turned back to Sparrow. “And you – you have every right to feel angry – but be angry for the right reason.” She turned from one to the other in exasperation. “Oh – the two of you have me so pissed off…” Eagle threw her hands up in frustration and stomped from the RV slamming the door behind her so hard the whole vehicle shook.

Both Jack and Sparrow stared at the door in silence for a long time, neither speaking. Finally, Sparrow turned to Jack. “Maybe Eagle is right,” he said in a tiny voice. “I guess I have been kind of an asshole towards you.”

“No, no – you were just upset is all,” Jack stammered, unsure of what to say or do.

Sparrow managed a little chuckle at Jack’s response. “She’s right about you, you know. You do act like everything is your fault.” Jack opened and closed his mouth several times as if trying to say something, but words failed him. “Look … I admit that what happened wasn’t your fault, so why don’t you admit it, too?”

“I know it wasn’t my fault,” Jack stammered. “But…”

“But nothing,” Sparrow said. “You did everything you could to save me and … and my stuff, right?”

“Yeah, I did,” Jack said earnestly. “But, if maybe if I was better I could have done more.”

“When did you graduate medical school?”

“Huh?” Jack looked stunned. “I never went to medical school.”

“So, everything you’ve learned you’ve learned the hard way,” Sparrow said slowly, understanding dawning on him as he spoke. “Eagle’s right – you should be proud of what you did.” He extended his hand towards Jack. “Look, we might not have had such a good relationship so far … but, I am glad to be alive and I know you’re going to be leaving soon … I’d rather you don’t leave here thinking I’m an ungrateful asshole.”

Jack extended his hand toward Sparrow’s in a daze. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. As far as he was concerned, Sparrow had every right to be angry – angry at The Brotherhood for causing his injuries and angry that Jack wasn’t better skilled. When they made contact, Jack’s emotional dam gave way and he collapsed by the side of the bed in tears, sobbing and apologizing for not being better skilled than he was.

Sparrow stroked Jack’s hair soothingly, letting the diminutive Shiprat cry. He was at a loss for what to say. For the first time Sparrow realized just how intensely Jack felt – not just about helping other people, but about making things exactly right. To him, it was all personal and Sparrow began to feel a grudging admiration for the little Shiprat.

*****

Sasha smiled as Keith showed the photographs he’d made of Jordy. The puppeteer explained that with the photo lab working, the Shiprat Tribe could begin making a hard photographic record of what they’d all been through, what they had already achieved, and the great things they’d achieve in the future. In addition to all of that, Keith pointed out that they could do portraits of everybody so that people in future generations would know how the virus survivors looked.

An excited buzz filled the room – some of the Tribe members were rattling on about needing to get their hair fixed, which outfits should be worn and so on. Amber stood and the room went silent.

“Before we all get too excited and rush down to the photo studio for a portrait,” Amber said looking around, “I think Jack should be the first person to have his portrait taken – after all, none of this would be possible if it weren’t for him.”

None of the Tribe had an objection to her suggestion. In fact, everyone quickly became excited about being able to surprise Jack on his return to the ship with a party. With the photo lab up and running, the Tribe had an excuse to expand the party into a huge gala celebration.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Heather called. “Since Jack’s – uh, accident, his head was shaved and his hair has grown back in brown.”

“What’s your point?” Amber asked.

“Well – it’s just that Jack isn’t really Jack with brown hair anymore,” Heather said. “It’s hard to explain but his hair needs to be bright red again.”

Dal nodded. “She’s right,” he agreed. “Jack’s not really Jack without the bright hair. He can’t have his official portrait made with his hair the color it is now.”

“Exactly,” Heather said excitedly. She turned to Bray, who had so far kept out of the discussion. “What do you think Bray?”

The question surprised Bray – but, as he thought about it, he realized that Heather, Dal, and the others were right. He knew that Jack didn’t have bright orange-red hair until long after the two of them had met. But, somehow every time Bray thought about his lover that bright orange-red hair was one of the first things that came to mind. Bray realized that there were certain givens about Jack – Jack was a genius. Jack had a heart as big as the sky. Jack stammered and stuttered when he got excited. Jack was short. Jack was slightly built. And, Jack had orange-red hair. Jack was all of that and more. Bray slowly nodded his head – Jack, the Shiprat Jack had brilliant orange-red hair.

“I think everyone is right,” Bray said. “Our Jack does have brilliant red hair – and it’s about time we got our Jack back, and I don’t just mean from The Farm either. In fact, I’m leaving in the morning to pick Jack up at The Farm and bring him home – but someone else’ll have to take care of changing his hair color.”

Selene laughed. “Don’t worry – we’ll take care of that. As soon as he gets back to the ship, we’ll highjack him straight to the salon and make him look like our Jack again.”

*****

Prometheus bristled inwardly at having Seekers and Enforcers accompany him and his Werewolves on their first raid. Gull himself was representing the Enforcers, along with a dangerous-looking young man with the equally dangerous name of Blade. The Werewolf leader did his best to hide his feelings of resentment – he knew why the Enforcers were along on this raid. Gull’s presence meant that The Leader himself was taking a personal interest in this project. The success or failure of the raid would be relayed to the big guy within minutes of their return to town. Prometheus pretty much wrote off the presence of the Seekers – with Gull in the party, only his report to The Leader mattered.

The Werewolf leader intended to make sure that Gull had nothing but good to report. He would personally see to it that Gull was brought to each kill and attack so that he could see the results of the attack first-hand. He had already privately briefed each of the Werewolves and impressed upon them the importance of making each attack as gruesome and frightening as possible. He also impressed upon them that not all of their prey was to be killed – some were to be maimed only. He wanted survivors to tell the tale of the attacks to their Tribe mates and help spread the fear.

The group had arrived at their gathering point in the hills above the small town of Poplar. From his own recon visits, Prometheus knew that the small town was home to three moderate-sized Tribes and about a dozen smaller loose groups of unaffiliated kids. He had gone over the plan of attack with his Werewolves so many times that they each knew every part of the plan so well that it was almost coded into their very DNA now. Nine of his Werewolves would divide into three teams of three and choose two victims from each of the Tribes. He and the remaining Werewolf would form a fourth attack team. They were free roaming – their primary job was to spread terror through the various unaffiliated groups. Each team was required to make at least one kill and leave one victim alive. Each kill would be signaled by the three Werewolves in the group giving voice to a special coded howl consisting of five short yips followed by a long baying howl.

Prometheus studied the night sky – moderate clouds scudded across the sky, sometimes obscuring the full moon and sometimes letting it shine brightly. The Werewolf leader liked seeing the full moon in the sky – its presence would only add to the legend that was about to be born in blood. He turned his attention from the sky and the moon to his team.

It was time to go.

Gull watched as Prometheus silently dispatched the three terror teams. He pointed to the first team leader, then to a point somewhere far below them. The team leader nodded. Prometheus held up ten fingers and then immediately balled his fingers into fists and crossed his arms at the wrists. Again the team leader nodded. Not a single word had been spoken and yet, Gull sensed that Prometheus had passed along very detailed instructions. He watched as the scene was repeated with the other two teams. There were minor variations in some of the gestures. Each of the three teams disappeared silently into the night before Prometheus and his companion disappeared.

Trekker, one of the senior Seeker scouts moved up beside Gull and studied the hill below them, looking for signs of where the Werewolves had gone. Even his trained eyes couldn’t follow their trail.

“Well, what do you think?” Gull whispered without turning his head as he, too, studied the hill.

“I think it’s just weird the way he and his men can just disappear without a trace,” Trekker said. “They’re good at moving silently and without leaving traces of their passage. I’ll give them that.” He stared into the darkness. “If they’re only half as good at spreading terror, then I’d say they’re a powerful weapon for The Leader.”

“That’s what we’re here to see,” Gull said softly.

“Well, this is just a trial run,” Trekker said. “If they don’t do well, they’ll at least knew where they made their mistakes and be able to fix them for the next time.”

“There is no next time,” Gull said. He turned and bobbed his head once in Blade’s direction. Blade backed up and pulled a flashlight from beneath his robes. Shielding it with his fingers, Blade flashed three long and two short flashes, followed by another set of three long flashes. Within minutes, two dozen of Gull’s enforcers appeared from the trees behind them. Trekker stared in shocked silence. One minute the clearing had been empty and the next it was filled with twenty-four of the best killers in The Brotherhood.

Trekker stared at the Enforcers and then at Gull and understood instantly. If the Werewolves couldn’t perform as Prometheus promised, then The Leader didn’t want them. To Trekker, who was a true believer, it all made sense. Only the Brothers who demonstrated their value were kept – the others needed to be winnowed out and removed as quickly as possible.

About ten minutes had passed when a howl, then another and another broke the stillness of the night from the same location. The three individual howls soon blended into one howl that carried over the still night air. Trekker felt chills run down his spine at the unearthly sounds. An answering howl went up from the far end of the town. It started the same way as the first one had. First one voice, then another joined it and then another until all three voices blended into one unearthly howl. That was answered by a third howling from a different location. Finally, a fourth howl went up from the very center of town – it went on for a long time before falling silent.

Gull snapped his fingers and one of his Enforcers hurried up with a thermos of hot coffee. He silently shared it with Trekker, keeping his eyes on the small town below them. Suddenly, the night air was rent by a high-pitched ululating scream of pain and fear. Gull stiffened and listened. The scream was fairly close – he figured the first team had made its first strike. He strained his ears to hear other screams – sounds tended to carry on the night air, but he suspected that Prometheus and the other teams were too far away for him to hear the results of their work.

Below him, pinpricks of light began appearing – some were the concentrated beams of heavy-duty flashlights and camp lanterns; others were the flickering yellows of blazing torches. Gull watched as the lights converged on an area, milled about and then hastily retreated. He smiled – the unbelievers had clearly found the Werewolf victims. As he watched, more lights appeared in another part of Poplar. The same pattern was repeated – the spots of lights converged on an area, milled about and hurried away.

He was satisfied.

The Werewolves were a success.

Gull stood and marched over to where the Enforcer execution team waited. “Dismissed,” he grunted. “Make your way back to our headquarters, speak to no one. I’ll bring the news of tonight’s success to The Leader.” The Enforcers melted back into the darkness and in moments it was like they had never been there at all.

“As stealthily as they move, they’d make great Seekers,” Trekker said in admiration.

Gull snorted out a laugh. “You’ve got it the wrong way around,” he said with slight amusement in his voice. “And Seeker who can move as silently as my boys might – MIGHT – make a good Enforcer. Stealth is the first ability they must develop and maintain.”

Trekker raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean any offense.”

“None taken,” Gull grunted. He turned his head to the side. “You can come out of the woods now.”

Prometheus stepped into the clearing. “I was wondering when you were going to send those others away,” he said, his white teeth flashing in the night. “I suppose they were here to kill us if we failed.”

Gull faced his protégé and shrugged carelessly. “Why else do you think they were here?”

“So, I take it we passed the test,” Prometheus said moving closer to Gull.

“You wouldn’t still be breathing if you hadn’t,” Gull said evenly. “Where’s you assistant?”

“He’ll be along – after we finished with our part of the attack, I sent him over to help another team. But, you didn’t see the results of our efforts,” Prometheus pointed out. “How do you know for sure that we were effective?”

Gull jerked his head towards the valley. “Look down there,” he said. “Before your attack there weren’t any bonfires – just a few pinpricks of light here and there. After your attacks, lights appeared all over the place down there converging on central points. The lights milled around and then beat hasty retreats away.” He pointed down the hill. “Now look down there.”

Prometheus walked to where Gull stood and stared down the hillside. Huge bonfires blazed from about a half-dozen locations.

“They’re scared,” Gull said. “Scared so bad that if they’re not careful, they’ll burn down the town if those bonfires get much bigger and out of control.”

“How can you tell that they’re scared?” Trekker asked.

“If they weren’t, they’d be searching the area and we’d see their lights,” Gull said calmly. “Not a single torch, lantern, or flashlight beam has moved away from the bonfires. They’re scared shitless down there. You did a good job.” He clasped Prometheus’ shoulder. “How long before your teams return?”

“Team one should be here any minute now,” Prometheus said with a sly grin. “The others should be coming in after that.”

They didn’t have long to wait before the team arrived, dragging a struggling teen with them. One of their captive’s eyes was swollen nearly closed and his T-shirt had three evenly spaced tears through it that looked almost like claw marks. Gull could see torn skin and blood through the tears.

“What’d you use to do that?”

Prometheus dug into the black canvas bag that was slung from his shoulder and came up with a hand-held garden fork. Gull took it from him and examined it – the three tines had been sharpened to almost razor sharpness. “I’ve got to figure out a way to attach that to my arm,” Prometheus said thoughtfully. He shrugged. “But, even if I can’t, it’s still effective.” He turned to the team holding the frightened teen and pointed to the nearby trees. “Over there – get him spread-eagled and naked.”

Gull watched as the team quickly hauled the captive to the trees and produced black nylon ropes from their utility bags. They worked well together as a team – almost as good as Gull’s Enforcers – and quickly had the skinny teen spread-eagled and naked.

“You won’t accomplish anything by killing me,” the teen gasped, doing a good job of hiding his fear.

“Kill you?” Prometheus feigned amazement. “Who ever said a thing about killing you?” He went over to the captive and lovingly stroked his face. The Werewolf leader dropped his hand to the captive’s chest and began tenderly caressing the nipples on the hairless chest. “I wouldn’t dream of killing you – in fact, I guarantee that no one here will kill you.”

“Then what do you want with me?”

“We just want to talk a bit,” Prometheus said pleasantly. He bent forward and licked the captive’s face. “I’m Prometheus, by the way … and you are?”

“Toby … I’m Toby,” the confused captive replied.

Prometheus smiled – his teeth gleaming whitely in his painted face. “See? Now we know each other – we can talk like friends.”

“Friends don’t attack each other and tie each other up,” Toby retorted bravely.

“Some do,” Prometheus joked. “Especially if they’re a little kinky.” He backed away from Toby pretending to be hurt by the lack of a smile on his captive’s face. “Didn’t you find that even a little bit funny? No? Well, I admit that our methods are a bit peculiar, but you have my personal guarantee that when we leave here tonight, you will be alive and able to return to your Tribe.”

“How – how do you know I’m part of a Tribe?” Toby asked.

Prometheus reached out and grabbed a handful of Toby’s unevenly cropped blue and white striped hair. “Oh, come one – that’s a Tribal mark if ever I saw one. Come on, admit it – you’re part of a Tribe.”

“Okay, okay – so I am part of a Tribe.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Prometheus said. “I’m not even going to ask which Tribe – that way you won’t feel like you’re betraying any secrets.” He stroked Toby’s arm. “Oh, I bet you’re cold. I’ll fix that.” He turned to his men. “Get a fire going – the least we can do is take some of the chill off our new friend.”

Prometheus waited silently as his Werewolves built a blazing fire that actually did take the chill from the clearing.

“Aren’t you worried about the others down there seeing your fire?” Gull asked casually.

Prometheus shrugged. “Not really. If they do manage to find the balls to venture out tonight, we’ll see them long before they get up here. Besides, we have one last little piece of business here tonight.” He turned to the Werewolves and jerked his head towards Toby. “Get everything ready – and get him prepared.”

Gull watched with interest as the Werewolves went to work. One of them dug in his equipment bags and produced a roll of surgical tape. He went to Toby and quickly and efficiently taped the captive’s dick to his belly. He used the whole roll of tape, winding the tape around and around Toby’s waist several times. When he was finished, he quickly moved out of the way to allow Prometheus to move in.

“Wh-what are you doing to me?” Toby stammered, his voice breaking.

“I’m preparing you for the message we’re sending back to all the Tribes down there,” Prometheus said conversationally as he began tightly binding the top of Toby’s scrotum with wire. He pulled each wrap of the wire tightly, causing the captive to hiss and gasp in pain. He finished his work and stood up. “I want you to let all your friends down there know that this whole area is now part of the Werewolves hunting range. When any of you hear our howls, we expect you to have your tributes ready for us to harvest.”

“Tributes? What tributes?” Toby demanded. “What harvest?”

Prometheus drew his long bladed knife and lowered it to Toby’s groin. “The tribute is one set of balls from each Tribe,” Prometheus said matter-of-factly. “And, this is what the harvest is.” Without any other warning, he sliced off his captive’s scrotum and deftly removed the testicles while ignoring the frenzied screaming from Toby.

Without being told, one of the other Werewolves removed a glowing branch from the fire and cauterized the slightly bleeding stump where Toby’s scrotum had been cut off. Prometheus knelt, laid the testicles on a flat rock and quickly sliced them both into even slices that he skewered on sharpened sticks one of his team produced as if from nowhere. The skewered slices were then held over the fire and roasted.

Prometheus approached Gull, a skewer in each hand. He held one out to the Chief Enforcer and took a bite from the one in his other hand. “Wanna try it?” Prometheus asked as he chewed. “It’s a little chewy, but has a good taste. I think it’d taste better with some salt, though – gotta remember to bring some salt next time.”

To his surprise, Gull took the offered skewer and popped the whole slice in his mouth. He chewed it slowly and deliberately. “It’s pretty good,” Gull said evenly. “You’re right – it needs some salt and pepper, too.”

“Nothing fazes you,” Prometheus said in wonder. “That’s why you’re the best, isn’t it?”

“And don’t forget that,” Gull grinned as he patted Prometheus’ face.

It took nearly another half-hour before all the Werewolf teams returned and everyone was ready to leave the clearing. As promised, Prometheus had Toby released from his bonds. The captive lay curled on the ground, his hands held protectively over his groin

*****

The Leader’s eyes shone with excitement as Gull relayed the night’s events to him. Gull had risked waking The Leader as soon as he returned to the town. The Leader’s initial anger at being awakened quickly dissipated as he heard that the Werewolves had been successful in their raids. When Gull began telling him about Toby, The Leader became visibly aroused and even slipped his hand under his robes to rub himself.

“And, you ate a slice of his balls, too?” The Leader asked, his voice husky.

“Of course.”

“What was it like? The Leader wanted to know.

“Kind of tasty,” Gull admitted. “It needed some spices to make it really tasty, but aside from being a bit chewy, it wasn’t bad.”

“We’ll have to bear that in mind should we ever decide to partake of that particular delicacy,” The Leader said thoughtfully. “Would you say that the Werewolves are really an effective tool?”

“Without a doubt, Leader,” Gull said confidently. “They will sow terror wherever they are sent.”

“Good, good,” The Leader said, leaning back in his chair. “Have them rest a couple of days and then provision them for a long-range mission.”

“Where are you sending them?”

“To The City,” The Leader said. “It’s time to shake them from their complacency and return terror to their lives. It’s time to soften them up for our arrival.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Gull, when you leave – have a slave brought to me. Make sure he’s cute – small and cute. You know what I like.”

*****

Selene, Amber, and Heather had enlisted Ryan, Lars, and Sasha to help them whisk Jack from the RV as soon as it returned from The Farm. Bray had left early in the morning on a dirt bike to bring one of the RVs back to the ship. The other one would be returned later. After making sure that the food preparation was well underway, the girls went to the salon to make sure that they had everything they needed for Jack’s makeover. Bray had left them a change of clothes for Jack for when they were finished with him.

Keith was in the photo studio with Jordy getting set up for his first formal portrait. He wondered if everyone else was feeling as nervous as he did – his heart was beating rapidly as he set up a stool and went through the various backdrops. He finally chose a tasteful blue background and checked to make sure the lights worked properly. After that, he found that he didn’t have much more to do to keep him busy until it was time to take Jack’s picture.

He was staring at a Nikon camera when an idea suddenly came to him – he didn’t have to settle just for taking a formal portrait of Jack. He could document the whole makeover. He hurriedly dug out a couple of rolls of film, a light meter and the equipment bag for the Nikon and with Jordy’s help made his way down to the salon where the others were waiting. He didn’t have long to wait before Dal stuck his head in the door.

“Bray just called in on the CB,” he said excitedly. “They’re about ten minutes away.”

“Okay you guys,” Selene said to the guys. “You know your job, right?”

“Just leave it to us,” Ryan said with an easy grin. “The minute he gets out of the RV, we’ll grab him and deliver him right here to you. After that, we make sure he doesn’t escape. No sweat.”

Jack felt his heart beat faster and faster as they got nearer to the Queen Mary. He hadn’t realized just how much he had missed being on the ship and around the other Shiprats. He felt a silly grin spread over his face when he saw the ship off in the distance and wished that Bray would speed the RV up – it wasn’t like he had to worry about running red lights or anything, but Bray refused to go any faster. He reminded Jack that some of the kids in The City had grown used to just wandering out into the street without paying attention for traffic anymore.

Jack breathed a sigh of relief when the big RV made the turn into the parking lot and slowly passed the outer edges of the Market Place which had grown a surprising amount since Jack had gone out to The Farm. He waved excitedly when he saw all his friends gathered by the gangway. Bray had hardly stopped when Jack was out of his seat and making for the door. Bray lowered his head, grinning. If Jack only knew what was waiting for him out there, he was sure that his little lover would have locked himself in the RVs bathroom.

Jack had hardly stepped from the RV when Ryan grabbed him and lifted him right off his feet and onto the farm boy’s broad shoulder. “Hey! What’s going on?” Jack shouted.

“Just relax, Jack,” Ryan called back. “Believe me, it’s going to be a whole lot easier on you if you don’t resist.”

“Resist what?” Jack cried. “What’s happening?”

Ryan only answer was a chuckle as he carried the diminutive inventor to his destination. Eventually, Jack gave up his struggles. He knew that short of extreme violence on his part that there was no way for him to break away from Ryan, and he certainly wasn’t about to hurt his friend. He had no clue about what was going on, but he knew that Ryan wouldn’t willingly harm him so he figured he’d just ride events out and everything would be revealed in time. As he bounced along the ship’s corridors, Jack became aware of a clicking sound from somewhere and mentally noted that it sounded like a mechanical clicking. He’d have to check the corridor to find out what was making the strange sound.

Reaching the salon, Ryan lowered Jack to his feet and spun him around to face the three girls. Amber placed a warning finger on Jack’s lips before he could even say a word to protest.

“Don’t even say a word,” Amber warned. “Between the time you spent recovering from your injuries and then going out to The Farm to help that Eco guy, the Shiprats have been deprived of your company.”

“Well, I’m back now,” Jack sputtered.

“Not quite,” Selene said. “We want OUR Jack back.” She gave a lock of his brown hair a tug. “OUR Jack doesn’t have mousy brown hair – not anymore.”

“Oh, come on,” Jack protested.

“No arguments,” Heather piped up from her position by the shampoo chair. “Now, do you get in this chair all by yourself or do I tell Ryan to plant your butt in it?”

Grinning sheepishly, Jack slowly nodded his head in submission. “Okay, okay – I know when I’m outnumbered,” he said. “I give up … I surrender … I submit.” As soon as he was in the chair, Heather had a nylon salon cape pulled tightly around his neck and Selene produced a plastic bowl of a foul smelling paste. Jack wrinkled his nose at the odor. “Oh man, I forgot how terrible that stuff smells.”

“Just breathe through your mouth,” Selene said as she and Amber began working the bleaching paste thoroughly through Jack’s hair. Jack grimaced as the cold, smelly paste was slathered through his hair. He became aware of the clicking and then there was a pop of light. Looking up, he saw that Keith had a camera to his face.

“Don’t tell me,” Jack cried excitedly, “you got the photo lab working again!”

“I think so,” Keith said with a grin from behind the camera.

“Oh man, tell me about it,” Jack said, forgetting for a moment the smell of the bleaching paste.

“Just relax young man,” Selene said firmly. “You are not leaving this chair until we say you are done. There’s time enough for you to go down there and talk machines and chemicals later.”

Bray arrived in the salon just as Amber and Selene finished applying the bleach. He grinned down at his lover.

“Were you a part of all this?” Jack asked.

“I can’t take credit for the idea,” Bray replied. “But, I gotta admit that I agree with it. This Tribe has gone without our Jack long enough.”

“What about you?” Jack asked, his eyes twinkling impishly.

Bray’s heart leapt to see that impish look come over Jack’s face. That mischievous look had been missing since the attack that almost cost Jack his life. Seeing that impish look brought tears of joy to Bray’s eyes. “Damn, that gunk really makes your nose itch and eyes water,” Bray lied, rubbing at his eyes.

The girls kept Jack facing away from the mirror as they worked. Once Jack’s hair had been bleached almost totally white, Selene mixed the dye and worked it through Jack’s hair. Jack again crinkled his nose – the dye didn’t smell much better than the bleach did. He waited patiently as the dye soaked into his hair, and was eventually rewarded when Amber lowered the back of the chair to lower his head to the shampoo sink. He closed his eyes as the warm water washed out the excess dye and Amber slathered conditioner into his hair. If Jack thought he was finished once the conditioner was rinsed from his hair, he quickly learned that he was wrong. All three girls surrounded him, armed with brushes and blow dryers and went to work styling his hair. Eventually, after Selene had carefully trimmed his hair, blow dried it once again on a low heat setting, and then carefully finger-styled his hair, Jack was allowed to see his reflection.

Jack blinked in amazement at just how different he looked, but at the same time there was a comfortable familiarity and he realized that he, too, had missed the Jack with orange-red hair. He smiled at the reflection in the mirror as if welcoming a long lost friend back.

“Okay, can I go now?” Jack asked, starting to rise from the chair.

“Not so fast,” Amber said. “You’ve got to get changed.”

“Changed?

Heather brought out Jack’s favorite khaki shirt with epaulettes and olive trousers. “You can go in the back and get changed,” she announced in a voice that convinced Jack that it was useless to argue. Normally, he wore that outfit only for special occasions or formal meetings, but he was ready to do anything to earn his freedom from the friendly tyranny of the girls in the salon. He quickly retreated into the back, slipped into one of the small booths and changed his clothes.

A cheer went up in the waiting room when Jack finally appeared freshly barbered and dressed in his finest. Jack’s face turned almost as bright as his hair as everyone tried to hug him at the same time. Eventually, the crowd thinned and Jack found himself facing Ryan once again.

“Okay, I’m supposed to escort you to the photo studio,” Ryan announced. “You can walk there with me, or I can carry you again.” Ryan grinned and shrugged. “It’s all the same to me – so, you gonna walk or do I carry you?”

“I’ll walk,” Jack said quickly. He looked around for Bray and found that his lover had disappeared. Jack immediately felt a pang in his chest – he’d rather have Bray with him, but knew that Bray was responsible for making sure things around the ship ran smoothly.

Jack found Bray waiting for him in the photo studio. Like Jack, Bray had changed and was wearing a silk banded collar shirt, vest, and charcoal slacks. His medium long chestnut hair had been brushed to a high sheen.

“What’s going on?” Jack asked.

“The whole Tribe decided that you should be the first one to sit for a formal portrait,” Bray explained. “And, Amber and a few others decided that the two of us should also have some pictures made while you were here in the studio.”

Keith quickly overcame Jack’s reluctance to have a formal portrait made and even managed to get Jack to relax. He took three rolls of pictures of Jack in various poses before getting Bray into the pictures as well. With Bray by his side, Jack became totally relaxed and Keith was able to get a series of pictures of the two holding hands, arm in arm, and even the two of them kissing.

“You guys were great,” Keith said, unloading the camera. He gathered up the rolls of film. “I’ll have proof sheets of the pictures developed in just a couple of hours.”

“It can wait,” Bray said.

“No, no – it’s no problem,” Keith said eagerly.

“Look – the celebration isn’t just to welcome Jack back,” Bray said. “It’s also to inaugurate the photo studio. You’re going to be there, too.”

“Yeah, but I can get these pictures developed…”

“Ryan, do your stuff,” Bray said tilting his head in Keith’s direction.

Ryan’s face split into a broad grin. “With pleasure.”

“Look Keith, you’d better just give in and come with us,” Jack said earnestly. “Ryan’ll sling you over his shoulder in a heartbeat.”

Keith eyed the big farm boy. “Yeah, I guess he would at that,” he decided. He shrugged. “Okay, I give in – the pictures can wait until tomorrow.”

Hostesses Amber, Selene, and Heather had recruited most of the Tribe to help decorate the Main Dining Room – festive, brightly colored streamers hung in garlands from the ceiling. Sprays of bright artificial flowers decorated every table and the side tables almost groaned under the weight of fresh desserts. The whole Tribe turned and cheered when Bray entered with jack, Ryan, and Keith entered the room.

Amber took Jack by the hands and led him to the main table amid cries of ‘Speech! Speech!” Jack’s face colored to the roots of his brightly dyed hair as he stood facing his Tribe family. And then it struck him – they were a family. A very big, extended non-blood-related family to be sure. But, they were a family nonetheless.

“I know that this is supposed to be some kind of homecoming for me,” Jack said. “And it is – a homecoming, I mean – I’ve come back home and our family is whole again. And, I’ve gotta tell you, it feels good to be back home. The whole time I was at The Farm, I felt like something – some important part of me – was missing.” He grinned suddenly and looked around. “And no, it wasn’t just that I was missing Bray – although I did miss him something terrible. But, it just struck me when I came in here that what was really missing was the closeness of my family.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Well, that’s all I wanted to say,” he added lamely, trying to stop the tears welling up in his eyes. He really was happy to be home and was afraid the unexpected emotions were about to overwhelm him in front of everyone.

Keith was astounded when Amber stood and asked him to stand, identifying him to the entire Tribe as the wizard who got the photo lab back up and running again. Her announcement was greeted with applause and whistles. When she added that Keith’s feat was important because it preserved their combined history so future generations could see who they were and what they had to endure to survive in the New World that faced them. Jack was among the first to leap to his feet leading a thundering standing ovation that had Keith choking back tears. As the applause washed over him, Keith understood what Jack had meant. For the first time since The Bad Times, Keith felt like he was a part of a family unit again. It was the best feeling in the world he decided.

*****

The Leader stalked slowly along the rail of the running track in the high school that the Werewolves had turned into their headquarters. He gazed down at the assembled Werewolves in their black uniforms and black striped heads. It was the first time he had seen them all assembled in one place and the view was impressive. He stopped his pacing and planting his hands on the brass rail of the running track.

“We are pleased with the results of your raid the other night,” The Leader called, his voice echoing in the cavernous room. “It is a shame to waste your formidable talents on such a pathetic little town. Therefore, we have decided that the time has come to unleash you on The City. Your instructions are simple – visit as much terror and havoc on the Tribes of The City as possible in the space of fourteen days.”

The Werewolves forgot themselves and excitedly babbled back and forth among each other. Prometheus was forced to bark out and order to bring them back to order. The Leader smiled benignly down at them – their eagerness and excitement pleased him.

“There is one other charge we are giving you today,” The Leader called. “And, we cannot stress strongly enough how important this charge is. If possible, we want you to find and capture – UNHARMED – the one called Jack. We want this Jack alive and well. We have only the briefest of descriptions of Jack. He is short with fiery red hair.” The Leader leaned over the railing. “We are aware that the description is sketchy at best. But, we also stress that we want this person named Jack brought back to us alive and unharmed.”

“We hear you and will obey, my Lord,” Prometheus promised. “If we can bring this person called Jack to you, we will do it. And, he will be unharmed. You have our lives as guarantee on that.”

The Leader smiled wickedly. “Of course, we thought it was understood that your collective lives are forfeit if Jack is harmed or killed,” he said. “Remember that – whoever harms Jack, brings death to all of you.”

“We will bring him to you unharmed or not at all, my Lord,” Prometheus promised.

“Good, good,” The Leader said contentedly. “With the exception of Jack – for two weeks you are free to visit terror on The City as you will.”

After The Leader left, Prometheus met with Gull and Trekker of the Seekers to go over the routes to The City. Trekker had several maps spread out on a ping pong table in Gull’s headquarters at the Y.

“There are several good routes to The City,” Trekker said, waving vaguely at the map.

“Which would you recommend?” Gull asked.

“Normally, I’d suggest this one,” Trekker said, pulling down an acetate overlay showing a route marked in green. “This route – Green – takes you across the river to a two lane road through farm country. It will add at least a day and probably two to the march.”

“What about this one?” Gull asked pointing to a wide four-lane highway.

“Ah! Yes – on the map that looks like a good choice,” Trekker said pulling down another overlay with the highway marked in red. “Unfortunately, it’s choked with stalled cars and trucks for about twenty miles. The ground is broken and marshy.” He tapped the Green Route. “As I said, normally I would recommend this route because although it’s longer, the entire Brotherhood – including our wagons – could move easily.” He looked up at Prometheus. “However, since you’re not taking a large number of soldiers and no wagons, I think the Red Route would suit your needs best. I’ve taken it almost to the edges of The City and a small band or group could easily maneuver that traffic jam and not lose much time.”

“That’s the route for us then, I think,” Prometheus said. “I don’t see that the traffic jam should slow us up that much – we won’t be marching in formation.”

“Okay, that should give you a four or five day march to The City,” Trekker said.

“We could probably cut that down to three days,” Prometheus said.

“You might, but I doubt it,” Trekker said. “Four days is pushing it.”

“It’s not worth pushing needlessly to get there sooner exhausted,” Gull said. “Figure on four each way – that’s eight days and you have a two week hunt so that makes your mission last about three weeks.”

Prometheus nodded. “About that,” he agreed.

“Trekker will take you to this point,” Gull said pointing to the map. “Just about where the jam begins.” He looked sternly at Prometheus. “Those are The Leader’s wishes, so it’s no use arguing. Beginning eighteen days after you leave, I’ll have an Enforcer team waiting for you here. I’ll be there myself if I can get away. With any luck, you’ll have a prisoner to deliver. At any rate, I’ll have a wagon and team of slaves to carry you the rest of the way back. You’ll all have earned a rest by then.”

“I appreciate that,” Prometheus said honestly.

“Remember, it’s better not to make an attempt on this Jack person unless you’re absolutely sure you can take him unharmed,” Gull said seriously. “The Leader wants him healthy, alive, and without a scratch on him.”

“What’s so special about this guy?”

“The few reports we have make Jack out to be a genius of some kind,” Gull explained. “Supposedly he has discovered a way to make electricity and all sorts of other things from the Old Days running again. He’s important to The Leader’s plans.”

“It’s really unlikely that we’ll run across this guy on our first mission into The City,” Prometheus said. “It’s a big place, after all. But, I will make sure every Werewolf understands his importance.”

“Good,” Gull nodded. “It’s just a suggestion, but it might be a good idea not to attack anybody with fiery red hair.”

“Good point,” Prometheus agreed. “We’ll take tomorrow to get provisioned and leave the day after that.” A feral grin spread across his face that sent chills down Trekker’s spine. “And then, The City will get its first taste of the Werewolves.”

To be continued…