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 Title : After the Fall

   Author : MeatBot

   Keywords : Sci-Fi, Mf, fb

   Date : 20141110

   Mail : meatbot777 at gmail dot com

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   Synopsis : After civilization collapses, a wanderer trying to survive
meets a teenaged girl living in the forest.  ( EXCRUCIATINGLY LONG, 345K )

   Disclaimer : Copyright by the author.  Permission is granted to archive,
repost, or publish in no-cost or low-cost archives, periodicals,
anthologies of this type of material if unaltered and attributed to the
author.  This is a work of fiction.  The author does not condone any sexual
activity among persons under 16 in real life.

   These are just words, people.  Just words.  If you have a problem with
words see a competent shrink or an English teacher.  All this shit is made
up.  This is sci-fi crap, or really "futuristic fiction" or "alternative
fiction".  The emphasis in this story is more about the story than sex, so
you might find it boring for the reasons you cruise this newsgroup for.



   --==+==-

   Chapter I

   Clipper had known for some time he needed to get out of town.  The signs
were the same, the same as in other towns he'd been in...  bad signs... 
shipments of food were late...  the Peacekeepers were nervous, and had hair
triggers...  he knew it was time to leave.  And he still almost got caught
in the chaos, the madness, when it began.  He could hear the dull roar of
the crowd downtown, as he ran back to his flat, and yanked his pack from
under the bed.  He'd been packed for several days, waiting for the right
moment, and this was it.  At least no later than this.  He got the hell out
of there.  On the edge of town he looked back, and saw the yellow glow as
buildings began to burn.  Shit.  He walked away, into the night.

   He slept in a ditch and the next morning, to his amazement, a long haul
trucker picked him up.  He was surprised, so few trucks were on the roads
now, and he could imagine how few would actually stop for a hitcher.  The
man just wanted somebody to keep him awake, but it got him a good two
hundred miles down the road, and right near the mountains.  The mountains,
where I should have headed long ago, Clipper thought.  I can make a living,
in the mountains.  I can forage and hunt.  I can survive.  He wasn't sure
if simple survival was even worth it at this stage.  But he didn't know how
to do anything else.

   The trucker dropped him outside of a little community called Brighton,
and he walked through, feeling eyes upon him.  The locals didn't seem
friendly to strangers and he didn't even try to talk to anyone.  He just
passed through.  The hills loomed before him.  He stayed on the road for
another dozen miles, that day and the next.  Out here, he thought, the
damage doesn't look that bad.  Just a few wrecks, here and there.  More
vehicles had just simply been abandoned when they ran out of fuel.  When
the fuel dried up.  Every great once in a while he saw houses off to the
sides of the road.  Every time, he was aware of being watched and he was
sure more often than not, that he was being watched from behind crosshairs.
He was used to it.

   He went off-road and plunged into the forest.  It was springtime here in
the Smokies, and he loved it.  The woods were lush and green and
undergrowth carpeted the ground beneath the cover.  The air actually had a
smell, fresh and clean, nothing like city air.  He had grown up just a
hundred miles from this spot.  He'd been up north when the Fall had begun
and had spent months just getting back in the country.  He had to finally
sneak in, down from Canada which was an epic journey in itself.  He didn't
want to remember most of it.  He felt better and better the closer he got
to home.  Home, though, was an illusion, he didn't have a home any more. 
And he was sure that he'd be treated no different than any other tramp,
should he actually make it back to Falls Creek.  The people there wouldn't
know him any more.  Or care to.

   He stopped for a while, and unpacked and re-assembled his bow.  He felt
better with it in his hands.  He felt like he was ready for anything, even
though he just had a handful of arrows.  He knew his bow wasn't a perfect
weapon, but it was close.  Silent and deadly.  Range and reloading speed
maybe lacked a little, but all in all, it was close to perfect to him.  He
loved it.  He put it on his back, the string running under his arm.  It fit
like a glove.

   He climbed and climbed, using his hatchet to make a walking stick.  That
made hiking easier, and also gave him another weapon, albeit crude and
simple.  He wasn't anxious to advertise the .45 caliber automatic beneath
his belt, it represented a hell of a lot of wealth in today's economy. 
Illegal wealth, but wealth.  People died for things like that.  He didn't
want to die for a stupid thing like a gun.  He wanted to die for another
reason, like old age.  He laughed.  Old age was a luxury now, a luxury most
people couldn't afford.

   He spent the night in a deserted cabin he found at the end of an
overgrown dirt road.  He thought about building a fire but it wasn't that
cold of a night, and sometimes smoke brought trouble.  He knew he wasn't
the only person out in these woods.  He slept with one eye open and his
hand wrapped around the automatic beneath his jacket.  The birds woke him
early and he hit the road again.  The cabin would have been a good
fixer-upper but it was too close to the road for him.

   He climbed higher and higher.  He could feel the elevation in the sharp
crispness of the air.  He crossed a gurgling creek and filled his canteens
with cold clean water.  He passed within shouting distance of a small town
but saw no one.  Barbed wire surrounded it and he didn't even bother
looking for the gate.  He just went on into the woods.

   At one point in the valley between two mountains a boy scared the shit
out of him.  From behind a bush maybe twenty feet away the boy burst,
running away from him and wailing wordlessly.  He got the hell out of
there, thinking maybe the kid was calling family or townspeople.  He didn't
want to get caught in the middle of anything.  He had a pretty good idea
what people around here this far up in the hills would do to strangers.  It
wouldn't be good.

   At last he saw the bare stony ramparts of Candletop, poking through the
clouds in the distance.  Another four or five days probably.  That was his
goal.  He knew of a cabin far up, almost past the treeline.  He hoped it
was unoccupied.  He'd hunted there many times long ago, and he knew the
game and the watering holes.  He thought he could survive there for a
while, at least.  He was fifty-five years old, and he knew that he wouldn't
last another ten years, if that.  Nobody did, any more.

   Chapter II

   His watch woke him up at three in the morning, and he carefully quietly
hiked the last two miles to the cabin.  He hid himself in a tangle of
brush, and watched the place until the sun came up.  It seemed to be
deserted, no smoke from the chimney, and no signs of life.  He knew that
anyone, if they lived here, would have dogs and he saw no obvious signs of
dogs.  Good.

   He watched until noon and finally stood, his back cracking and his
joints stiff.  He fitted a broad-head arrow into his bow, made sure that
his automatic was easily accessible, and slowly walked to the cabin, every
sense on high alert.  Nothing.  He turned the knob slowly, pushed it open
suddenly and quickly jumped to the side.  Still nothing.  He darted in, the
gun in his hand, and stood to the right side of the entryway, waiting for
his eyes to adjust.  The place was still in pretty good shape, and he was
pleasantly surprised at how deserted it seemed to be.  He'd halfway figured
that someone at least used it off and on, if not lived here.  It looked
like it was his, now.  He searched for anything edible or useable, finding
silverware and pots and pans and a few packets of ancient popcorn in the
cabinet.  He remembered popcorn.  He wasn't sure if his teeth could have
handled it, though, even if it was any good.  Survival mode living wasn't
really right for taking good care of your teeth.

   He spent the rest of the day cleaning.  He even found a cache of
blankets in the loft and aired them out and beat the dust out of them.  He
cleaned the fireplace and then lay on his back and looked up it to make
sure it wasn't blocked by bird's nests or anything.  The pump in the
kitchen coughed up some muddy water, and he pumped until his arm almost
gave out, until the water looked fairly drinkable.  That was a big plus
about this place, fresh drinking water without having to leave the house.
He could survive a siege in this place, if not for those damn windows, he
thought.  Have to work on that.  And, of course it was wood.  He could
always be burned out.  Nothing was perfect.

   To his great pleasure, in the closet he found half a dozen fly fishing
rods and a box of tackle.  He had fished the nearby creeks with these very
rods and reels, years ago.  He knew where the good holes were.  He knew
that he would eat well, just from this discovery.

   Chapter III

   The first time he saw the girl he thought he was dreaming or imagining
her.  He was outside chopping wood with his hatchet.  She stood, maybe a
hundred feet down the hill, where the thicker treeline started.  Her dark
hair, even from this distance, looked tangled and matted.  Her clothes were
ragged, but serviceable.  She was carrying a cudgel, a stick with a heavy
knot of wood on one end.  She had thick waterproof looking boots on and she
stood loosely on her toes, it seemed to him.  He opened his mouth to say
something to her, and she was gone, just like that.  Damn.  He wondered
where she had came from, and where she lived.  She had looked young to him,
early teens, maybe.  He hadn't seen her good enough to be sure.

   He wondered if he had neighbors, and what they would think about him
taking up residence here.  If they would care.  They would know now that
the girl had seen him.  She would spread the word, among her social circle.
He wished that she hadn't found him so quickly.  He'd liked to have had a
chance to strengthen the cabin against attack.  And most of all to dig an
escape tunnel out of it.  That had saved his life at Yankton, and he'd
vowed never again stay inside any length of time unless he had a sneaky way
to exit.

   Well, what was done was done.  He kept his bow and .45 close, and spent
the afternoon chopping firewood.  If people knew he was here now, he might
as well have a fire.  When the sun set, he started a fire in the fireplace,
and worked on some snares in the dim light.  He barred the door and hid
himself in the loft as well as he could, his .45 at the ready.

   The next morning he rose and bathed himself, heating some water in a
metal bucket in the fireplace.  No one had disturbed him.  No one had shown
up.  He cautiously left the cabin, taking his bow, and went hunting.  Two
rabbits later the girl surprised him, and almost got herself shot.  He
yanked the bow up, holding the arrow back as she ran down the hill,
zigzagging crazily among the trees.  That told him a little about her, that
she knew some self defense.  He went to where she'd ran from, and found a
crude lean-to, with a few empty tin cans, and a ragged blanket.  Her
running footsteps had long since died away into the quiet solitude of the
forest.  She was probably a mile or two away by now.  He examined the nest
carefully, and then turned and walked back to his cabin.  He left her stuff
alone.

   He speculated the rest of the day about her.  Had she gone feral?  Was
she a wild thing now?  How long had she been out here in the woods?  Was
she really alone?  How could a child, and a female at that, survive?  It
was spring, had she survived the winter out here?  By herself?  Why hadn't
she moved into the cabin?  There were a thousand questions and no answers.

   He skinned and quartered the rabbits and roasted them, building up the
fire.  He looked outside.  Still an hour until sunset.  On impulse he took
half the meat and wrapped it in a fairly clean piece of tinfoil he had
found in the kitchen.  He grabbed his bow and left the cabin.

   His unerring sense of direction took him right back to where he'd seen
the girl that morning.  He approached slowly, making as much noise as he
could.  He hummed loudly and stomped and kicked a few downed branches to
let her know he was coming, if she was there.  He arrived.  She wasn't
there.  He lay the meat on her blanket and left.

   That evening he sat before his fire and thought of her, alone, if she
was alone, out in the woods.  He couldn't imagine most of all, why she
hadn't moved into this cabin.  He was surprised that no one had, actually.
Why did folk stay in the cities, starving, killing each other, and dying in
the millions, when there were places like this within a few days journey,
even by foot?  Crazy.  People just didn't know how to survive in the wild
anymore, he thought.  They didn't seem to know it could be done.

   He remembered the first big convulsion, after the fall.  New York City.
Over a million people had died in that one.  The army had been called back
into the country by then, to try and keep the peace, but to no avail.  A
million people had died, in what was later called a "minor" convulsion. 
The first big gun grab had started right after that, after ten thousand
soldiers had been shot by angry, hungry citizens.  Now it was an instant
death sentence to possess a firearm, at least in the cities and urban
areas.

   He spent the next morning stripping the bark from branches and cutting
them to length to set them into the window wells of the cabin.  He made
small peepholes, but the windows bothered him, the large expanses of easily
breakable glass.  He felt safer behind wooden walls.  Concrete, of course,
would be better.  Concrete didn't burn.

   When he thought of the girl again it was noon.  He took his bow and
within an hour he had killed a wild dog, a large one.  He field-dressed it
and dragged it home.  He roasted the haunches and began the process to turn
the rest of it into jerky.  Dogs made good jerky.

   Clipper hadn't really been an outdoors-man, before the Fall.  He was
just a regular guy, working in the oilfield.  He hunted a little and was
familiar with guns at least.  When he'd snuck back into the country he'd
picked up a lot of skills, much of it from a friend he'd made on the road,
a true mountain man.  Born on a mountain, raised in a cave, Dan Deemer had
often bragged, and Clipper believed him.  Deemer had took a bullet outside
of Sturgis, though, and finally died on the road.  Clipper thought how good
it would be to have him here, to let him do his thing in these mountains.
They would survive, and thrive.  He hoped to do so himself, even without
his friend.

   He'd met Deemer halfway through Canada, before he had snuck back across
the border into North Dakota.  They'd paired up and traveled a few hundred
miles of hard wilderness, in the fall, no less, with a harsh winter looming
on the horizon.  It was nothing to Deemer.  He could build a fire, boil
some water from melted snow, and whip up a tasty trail meal from wood chips
and pine cones, almost.  Clipper saw him kill a rabbit once with a throwing
knife...  the man was that good.  Life on the trail with Deemer had been
enjoyable.  Clipper had never been a big one for the whole male bonding
thing, but it was different with the man.  He was jovial, and good-natured,
unless you threatened him.  You could cross him, disagree with him all you
wanted.  If he was wrong, he'd admit it, except for the fact that he was
hardly ever wrong.  But, if you threatened him, you were a dead man.  It
was that simple.

   Deemer had saved his life more than once.  He remembered the man with a
burst of warmth.  A true friend.  Once, they had been attacked by a nest of
bandits, up near Rapid City, and Deemer had fought like a berserker.  Three
men had fallen just to his machete alone, and a few more to his throwing
knives.  Clipper had just stood by helplessly, his bow at the ready, afraid
to shoot for fear of hitting his friend.  The guy was in three or four
places at once, literally crushing one man's throat with his fist, and
snapping another's back over his knee.  He was awesome.  Clipper hardly
ever used that word, but that was the one word that described Dan Deemer.
Awesome.  Clipper had held him and bawled like a baby when the man died. 
He still got a tear in he corner of his eye, thinking about his passing.

   Deemer had died for a woman.  A young girl they'd ran into on the road
was being chased by a gang of slavers out of the Black Hills Forest.  It
had been a hell of a fight, and they'd won, but Deemer had taken a bullet
in the gut, from the very gun that Clipper had in his belt, held by a bad
guy at the time.  The girl had died a few weeks later of Cholera, about the
time Deemer died of sepsis.  Clipper had told himself at the time to
remember that, and don't do that.  Don't die for a woman.  It had been many
years, though, since he'd met one he'd die for.  Deemer didn't die for
that, not really.  He didn't die for a woman.  He died because he was a
nice guy, and he believed in doing the right thing.

   Chapter IV

   An hour before sunset, he took a haunch of roasted dog meat and set out
for the girl's nest.  She was there this time, he caught a glimpse of her
running figure as she disappeared into the trees.  He tossed the meat on
her blanket and left.

   The next day he did the same, and the next.  He was leaving fresh dog
jerky by then.  The next day he killed a rabbit and he left her the whole
portion.  He thought each time she stayed a little longer before running
away, and by the seventh day he saw her stop, and watch him from a few
hundred feet away.  He tossed the meat into her nest and waved to her
before going back to his cabin.

   The day after that he spent a few hours down the mountain a ways,
calf-deep in freezing water.  He re-learned how to cast, and to his
surprise the fish were biting eagerly that day.  He caught two nice-sized
trout and tossed a few small ones back in.  He had a fine meal of fried
fish that evening and took the girl what he now thought of as her share.

   Two weeks later he was still feeding the girl and he had no idea why. 
She seemed comfortable with their distance by now.  He'd tried to bribe her
by leaving a blanket at her place, but he wasn't sure what he'd hoped to
get out of her.  The cabin was finally in the shape that he wanted, and
he'd even carved out his emergency exit, and started the tunnel, made
difficult by his lack of a shovel.  He was eating well, his snares were
working, and he had located wild berries and even some apples.  The game in
this area was just unreal.  Fearless.  It was almost a crime to shoot or
snare the rabbits even.

   One day he was out, exploring the surrounding area, when he happened
onto another deserted cabin less than two miles away.  He watched it for a
day or two and then broke into it.  He was pleasantly surprised, he found
tools, including a shovel and a full sized ax, and even some canned fruit
that wasn't too rusted.  Everything was covered with an inch of dust so he
didn't feel too bad about looting the place.  He had to make two trips just
to carry everything back to his place.  He even found a few bricks of .22
ammo, but sadly, no gun.  He wanted a .22 bad, to hunt with.  It didn't
destroy the meat, and it was fairly quiet, and wouldn't attract attention
like a big bore would.  He took the bullets, anyway.

   He returned to the cabin, just to see if anything salvageable was left.
Behind it, he got another pleasant surprise.  Someone, long ago, had
planted a garden.  He found wild potatoes, last years crop, and several
other vegetables.  He harvested what he could, and gathered some of the
plants to transplant at his place to start a garden of his own.

   He returned, fried some rabbit in a skillet and took the girl her
dinner. To his surprise, he found her home.  If her little lean-to could be
called a home.

   He approached, slowly.  She lay wrapped in her blanket, and he could see
her shivering from twenty feet away.  He drew closer, holding the meat out
for her to see.  He was just going to drop it and leave, but when he was
ten feet away, he could see that her face was deep red and feverish.  She
shivered violently beneath the blanket.  She regarded him at close range
with what he thought was pure terror, but she didn't run.  He realized she
was just too sick to run.  She finally just closed her eyes as if she were
giving up.  It was like she was saying, go ahead.  Do whatever.

   He set the meat down, and knelt beside her.

   "What's the matter, girl," he said, surprised at how rough his voice
was. He was out of practice.  Those were the first words he'd spoken out
loud in a month at least.

   She opened her eyes, and then closed them again.  She didn't move.  He
carefully reached down and tried to pull the blanket back from her a
little.

   No one, he thought later, no one had ever taken him by surprise as well
as she did.  When everything stopped, he was frozen, extremely conscious of
the knife at his throat.  She was sitting on top of him, holding a butcher
knife on him.  And she was still sick, her breathing labored, pain written
all over her face.  But she was ready to kill him.  He didn't move.

   She moved slightly, and winced.  He looked down, carefully, slowly, and
saw the torn, bloody leg of her jeans.  At least no bone showed through he
thought.  She couldn't have moved that quickly with a broken bone.  She
seemed to have all the symptoms of a massive infection.  He could feel her
hand on the side of his neck and even it felt hot.  Burning hot.  Something
was wrong with her, that was certain.

   He didn't really know what to do, from there.  She didn't seem to,
either.  At least she hadn't slit his throat immediately.  He hoped that
his gifts of the last month had convinced her he meant no harm.  He
realized with surprise that he wanted to be her friend, he wanted to help
her.  And not just because she was cute and female, he wanted company.  He
wanted someone to help him, and someone he could help.

   "I can fix that," he said, nodding slowly at her leg.  "If you let me, I
can make you better."

   She just stared at him from the side, holding the knife at his throat in
her trembling hand.

   "You are sick," he said, trying again.  "I have medicine.  I can make
you better.  Let me help you."

   "Laaaugh..." she said, a wordless moan.  He wondered if she was touched,
or retarded.  He had never heard a sound like that from another person. 
She stopped, and tried again.

   "Lee..." she said.  She stopped.  Again.  "Leave me alone," she finally
said, firmly and distinctly.  Good, he thought.  She can talk.

   "I can help you," he said again, wondering how to convince her.  She
shook her head fiercely.  She opened her mouth to speak and then her eyes
rolled back in her head, and she collapsed onto him.  The knife tumbled
away.  He stood slowly, and looked down at her.  She was out cold but still
breathing, at least.  He wondered if the violent head shake had jarred her
fevered brain and she'd knocked herself out.  He tucked the knife in his
belt, put the rabbit in his shirt and stooped, picking her up into a
fireman's carry.  Lord, I'm out of shape, he thought.  She was heavy.  He
figured she weighed one hundred pounds, at least.  She was a fairly large
girl, within a head of his height.  He set off for his cabin.

   He was exhausted by the time he got her home.  He started to do his
usual survey for enemy activity but finally just went on in, hoping for the
best.  No one was there.  He lay her on one of the downstairs beds close to
the fire.  He put some water on to boil and took his knife and slit her
jeans from hip to heel.  Something had bitten her it looked like, something
had chewed her up pretty good.  That was not good, animals usually had
dirty mouths.  He went through his backpack and fished out a bottle of
antibiotics for when she woke up.

   When she woke up ...  that might not be good ...  she might go berserk,
being indoors, in what she saw as captivity ...  he wished he could tie her
up, but that would just make it worse.  He made sure that all sharp objects
were hidden away and he even pulled the .45 out of his waistband and hid it
atop a cabinet.  The water boiled, he let it cool, and then began to clean
her up.  Time passed.

   The first time she woke, her eyes were unfocused, and she just seemed to
draw further and further back into the blankets.  She seemed more like a
little girl to him than a big girl.  She wasn't that big, he figured, he
guessed her age to be fourteen to seventeen, maybe, judging by what he had
seen of her body when he had undressed her and cleaned her.  How on earth
had she survived, out here, by herself?  he wondered.  How had she done it?

   The second time she woke up, in late afternoon, she was very aware.  Her
body tensed, and she suddenly threw the blanket off.  She seemed ready to
run, but then she suddenly seemed to realize that she was naked, and she
grabbed the blanket and burrowed back beneath it.  He wanted to laugh at
the expression on her face but he also felt a great tenderness for her and
didn't want to offend her or make her mad.

   "Listen," he said.  He just stared at her and she finally met his eyes.
"Listen.  When you are well, you can go back.  But you need to stay here
and recover.  I will not touch you.  I am an old man.  I am no danger to
you.  Please let me take care of you, and then you can go back. 
Understand?"

   She just stared at him.  I heard her speak English once, he thought.  I
know she understands me.  She couldn't have forgotten the language that
quickly.  He wondered how long she'd been out here living off the land,
living on her own.  He was amazed that a child could survive.  She had
shown signs to him, signs that she had been on her own away from
civilization for a while.

   When he'd first stripped her down, her ass had been filthy.  She'd just
had on a pair of jeans, and no panties.  Panties were a luxury item
nowadays, as was toilet paper.  Anyway, her bottom was filthy, and he'd
spent a fairly enjoyable fifteen minutes cleaning her up with a rag and
warm water.  He had thought long ago that he was done with sex, but he felt
a definite stirring from his nether regions as he scrubbed her cute little
bottom.  At my age, he thought, any bottom would look cute.  But this one
was pretty cool, pretty goddam cool.  Tight, young and firm.  He had spread
her cheeks and cleaned her asshole, glad that she was conked out.  He'd
even turned her over and scrubbed her pussy clean, pausing for a moment to
lean down and sniff it.  It smelled pretty good for a feral pussy, he
thought.  Pleasant.  Like he remembered pussy smelling, in the good old
days.  Nobody had told the pussy that civilization has died, he thought. 
It's still going on, just being pussy.  Good thing, that.

   All that notwithstanding, she was beautiful, he realized.  Even if he'd
just been allowed a single glimpse of her face, he'd have thought she was
beautiful.  Her skin was dark and smooth, and positively glowed, in spite
of or possibly due to her living outdoors in the elements.  Her eyelashes
were long and would have cost hundreds, if you could buy them made that
well.  He remembered her eyes were brown, and he had hungered to see them
open again.  Black pupils and brown eyes, a good combination, he thought.
It just looked like a dark ocean, to lose yourself in.  He knew that most
girls didn't like their brown eyes but he hoped this one did.  Brown eyes
were beautiful, to him.

   Anyway.  His mind returned to the present.  She was still looking at him
like she was afraid of him.  Like she'd stab him if she had her knife.  He
wondered if she was mad at being naked, at it being so obvious that he had
stripped her down.

   "Girl," he said, thinking.  "I didn't touch you, when you were out cold.
I could have, but I didn't.  Like I said, I'm an old man.  I'm over that,
now.  You just lay there until you recover.  Are you hungry?"

   That was true, he hadn't touched any more than necessary to clean her.
He'd sniffed her, true, but he hadn't touched her.  And he wasn't that over
it, not really.  Seeing her naked and examining her as closely as he did
when he washed her had awoken his libido.  But, she didn't have to know
that.  He wasn't going to slobber over her...  at least not when she was
awake.

   He had carefully cut up a ragged blanket he had found, and made bandages
for her leg.  The bite marks no longer looked that bad after he washed
them. Still...  infection, he thought.  In the old days infection was
fairly easily controlled.  These days, infection killed people.

   "Girl," he said, leaning down towards her, and speaking slowly, "are you
hungry?"

   She drew back her arm as if she was going to claw his face then seemed
to relax.  She lay her hands in her lap almost meekly.  She looked at him
for a long time and he searched her face for some kind of a message in her
eyes.

   "Yes," she spoke plainly and clearly.  She just said yes.  So much time
had passed that he had to think for a moment to remember the question she'd
replied to.  Ah yes, he'd asked her if she was hungry.

   He went to the fireplace, and pulled some of the wild potatoes from the
flames.  Sadly, he had no butter, but he did have salt.  He put some dog
jerky and some rabbit meat on the plate with the potato and presented it to
her.  She took it with trembling hands and wolfed it down, even eating the
potato skins.  Her eyes never left him.  He got up again and fetched her a
plastic cup with some fresh water in it.  She had devoured all the food by
then, and she handed the plate back to him.  He handed her two of the
antibiotics and she just stared at them.

   "Medicine," he said, "antibiotics, for your leg."

   He motioned for her to put them in her mouth and she did.

   "Swallow them whole, don't chew," he said.  She nodded, taking a drink.

   An hour passed.  They sat in silence by the fire.  The next word she
spoke was simple and to the point.

   "Toilet."

   He took a burning stick from the fire and led her outside into the
blackness of the night, his hand on the automatic.  All was peaceful.  He
took her around the house to the privy, and used the flame from the burning
stick to check for critters and light a candle before he stepped aside and
let her enter.  He showed her the water bucket and the rags he'd collected
and stepped out.  He waited for her to finish, and she finally emerged. 
She was clutching a mostly toothless hairbrush she'd found.  He led her
back to the house.  They resumed their quiet communion, before the
fireplace.  She began to brush her hair.

   "Girl," he said, "what's your name?  What do I call you?"

   She was silent.  He waited her out, but that one she didn't answer. 
Well, he thought, Girl it is, then.  They sat in the dimness of the
fireplace and he realized at last that she was asleep, halfway sitting up
in the recliner she had moved to.  He found another blanket and spread it
over her, checked the door and went up to the loft.

   Chapter V

   Her fever had broke by the next day, but she didn't seem to want to stir
that morning, still exhausted.  He cautiously checked her leg, beneath the
bandages, and was pleased to see it was healing up nicely.  He left her and
checked his snares, bringing back two squirrels and a rabbit.  He was proud
of the squirrels, squirrels were damn hard to catch, they were so clever.
He skinned them outside, and went inside to cook them.  She was gone.  He
was disappointed, wishing she would have stayed longer, at least until she
had recovered a little better.  And she was good company.  Plus he had a
million questions to ask her.  He put the squirrels on to fry and sat,
building the fire back up.  He planned on digging on his tunnel some today,
now that he had a shovel.

   The door creaked, and he jumped, yanking the .45 out from his belt.  She
stared at it, and at him, and he put the gun back, embarrassed.  She had
two cans in her hand, and, of all things, a can opener.

   "You shouldn't be up," he told her.  "You are still sick." She shook her
head, slowly and carefully this time.  She put the cans on the counter-top,
and climbed back into the recliner.  She had his spare pair of pants on, he
noticed.  And a cord she'd found somewhere for a belt.  She was
resourceful. And she'd obviously been through his stuff, if she'd gone up
into the loft and found his pants.  He didn't mind, her pair was just rags,
now.  He wished he had a pair that fit her better.  She had put her shirt
back on, as filthy as it was.  He climbed into the loft, and picked out a
nice flannel shirt from his supply of four.  He returned.

   "Put this on and I'll wash your shirt," he told her and left, going back
outside.  When he returned a few minutes later she mutely handed him her
shirt and he built the fire up under the hot water bucket.

   After he had washed her shirt he took it outside and spread it out to
dry.  There was still plenty of sun left.  He puttered around a while and
spent two hours digging on his tunnel.  The tunnel was coming along nicely,
but it was going to be a hell of a lot of digging.  At this stage it was
just a trench, but when he got it done, got it dug out into the trees
somewhere, he'd put a wooden roof on it, and then cover it with dirt.  To
provide for a roof, a few inches of dirt, and still be able to crawl
through it meant he had to dig it pretty deep, though.  He grew tired and
went back into the house.  He realized he was anxious to see her and to
talk to her.  He was anxious for her company.  You idiot, he told himself.
Don't get used to her.  She's probably only here until she gets well, if
that long.  Don't make something of this that it's not.

   She sat before the fire, wide-awake, bright-eyed.  She dressed out
nicely, he thought.  And her hair looked much better since she'd brushed
all the sticks and twigs out of it.  Her hair floated in the still air of
the room, standing up and out because of static electricity.  Her whole
body, to him, seemed to crackle and sizzle.  She's hot, he thought.  To
him, she was.  She watched him in silence as he bustled around, putting
more water on to boil, and pumping water to fill the pitcher.

   "Murder some," she said, and he looked at her, puzzled.

   "What?" he said, and she looked at him like he was an idiot.

   "Medicine," she said it better the second time, though.

   "Ah yes," he said, and fetched the pill bottle.  He counted out two and
gave them to her and got her a cup of water.

   "Where?" she said.

   "Where what?" he said, when it became apparent that was all she was
going to say.  "Where did I get the pills?"

   She nodded her head.

   "I found them long ago in a burned-out drugstore, shortly after the
convulsion."

   She nodded again.  He wondered if she had any idea what he was talking
about.  She was young enough that she probably didn't remember any life
before the Fall.  Maybe she remembered the chaos of the convulsions, but
not life before.

   They sat in silence before the fire.  The sun set and darkness fell. 
Clipper got up and barred the door and made sure the plugs were in the
peepholes in the newly blocked windows.  The darkness was enemy as well as
friend.  When he was outdoors, creeping around and sneaking up on game or
enemies, it was friend.  When he was inside, trying to hold onto some
semblance of a normal life, it was enemy.

   He returned to the fire and sat beside her.  She was within an arms
reach of him, but the look on her face put her a million miles away.  He
wondered what she was thinking of.  He wondered what had happened to her
family.  He wondered if she missed them.

   "Girl," he said, and she slowly turned from the fire and regarded him.
He didn't really know what to ask her.  Well, he knew what, he didn't know
how, though.  He realized that she had only said about five words to him in
the two days that she'd been there.

   "Girl.  Where are your people?" he asked.  She just stared at him
silently.

   The minutes stretched.  He opened his mouth to tell her, forget it, it
doesn't matter, when she spoke at last.

   "Dead," she said.  That was it.  Word count equals six, he thought.

   "Sorry to hear," he said, and they sat in silence a while longer.

   "How long have you been out here?  Did you spend the winter out here?"
he asked, one of his big curiosities about her.

   The minutes stretched, again.  He waited her out now that he knew her
style.

   She spoke, and he was gratified.  She doubled her word count.

   "Just a while.  Stayed with...  people."

   "Your family?"

   "No."

   "What happened to them?" he asked.

   "Dead."

   Shit.  Death seemed to follow her...  or lead her.  He hoped she
wouldn't be telling someone else about him someday with that same quick
terse word.

   "Girl.  Stay here until you get better.  Until your leg heals.  You can
stay as long as you like.  I won't bother you, I promise.  Just stay here
until you get better."

   She just stared at him.  He wondered if she was seriously considering
what he said.  He was surprised at himself, at how badly he wanted her to
stay.  He would miss her company if she left.  He'd miss her one-word
sentences, and her solemn gaze.

   He got up and began fixing dinner.  He opened one of the label-less cans
she'd brought.  Sweet potatoes.  He warmed them up and fixed her a plate
and one for himself.  They sat before the fire and ate.  Two hours later he
crawled up into the loft.  He'd shown her the hot water in the bucket and
the rag he used to bathe with.  She hadn't spoken another word the whole
evening, and she just nodded then at the bath demo.  After that she just
sat and stared into the fire.  She's good company, though, he thought. 
She's good for me.

   That night after he'd climbed into the loft he heard her moving around
downstairs.  He fought with his conscience and finally peeked down out of
the loft to see her bathing herself.  She took his breath away.  In the
pale glow of the fireplace, she slowly scrubbed her naked body as he spied
on her.  How sad, he thought, that she's in shadow to me.  He wished the
fire was underneath him so he could see the illuminated side of her.  She
was still incredibly beautiful to him.  She was the most beautiful thing
he'd seen since...  hell, since the Fall.  Maybe before.  Maybe ever. 
Maybe, hell.  Most definitely.  Her beauty was staggering to him,
stupendous.  And she didn't seem to realize she was beautiful either.

   He realized he felt alive again, he felt a purpose again.  He felt like
he had a reason to live, again.  Even if it was just to catch a glimpse of
this every now and then, his life now had meaning.



   --==+==-

   The next day she put her huge boots on and followed him as he hunted. 
She was good in the woods, quiet and quick.  She carried the rabbit he'd
shot.  How will I ever go back to being alone?  he wondered sadly.  I
cannot allow this girl to grow on me.  I might only have her a few more
days, if that.

   They were following some tracks beside a creek, when he heard something
growl.  He froze, as she did also close behind him.  He pulled his bow back
until the pull let off.  He was ready to shoot.  It sounded like a dog to
him.  He saw the dog beneath a large bush.  It growled again at him and he
aimed carefully for its heart.

   Girl spoke from behind him, loudly, startling him.  "Don't.  Puppies."

   Shit.  She probably didn't realize how tender puppy meat was, he
thought. But, she was right.  He couldn't kill a mother with puppies.  He
looked closer at the dog and decided it was some kind of German Shepherd
mix.  How I'd like to have a dog like that, he thought.  A nice big scary
looking dog.

   He reached for the rabbit and she gave it to him.  He tossed it to the
dog and they turned and left, to hunt more rabbits.

   Chapter VI

   The next day they were close to where they'd seen the dog.  Girl was
carrying two squirrels by then, and Clipper took one from her and they
searched for the dog.  They finally found her in a hollow under a log with
a handful of puppies squirming around and clustering under her for safety.
Clipper tossed the dog the squirrel and they left her alone.  As they
walked away he wondered if the girl saw any similarity between this
situation and how he had gotten friendly with her.

   On the fourth day, when they fed her, the dog picked up her squirrel and
followed them.  When it became apparent she was going home with them,
Clipper and Girl slowed and the three of them, followed by six or seven
tumbling, squealing puppies, made their way through the woods back to the
cabin.  Girl played with puppies while Clipper chopped a hole in a large
wooden packing crate, and made the dogs a house.  He placed the doghouse in
front of the cabin, so the dog could greet visitors.  Greet them, or bite
them.  Whatever.  He was pleased to now have a dog.  A whole pack of them.
He got them a pan for a water bowl, and filled it.  The dog didn't want to
be touched but he figured after a few days she'd get more comfortable
around them both.  Clipper was pleased with the days work.

   That night he sat before the fire with Girl in the recliner.  She stared
into the fire and he also watched the fire, and her.  Mostly her.  She met
his eye on occasion, finally raising an eyebrow at him.  He laughed.

   "Girl.  What do you wanna name your dog?"

   She turned back to the fire.  The minutes stretched.  She does this
every time, he thought.  For the hundredth time he wondered if she was a
little slow ...  or if she was just really thoughtful.  Just when he
thought she wasn't going to answer, she said one word.  "Fang."

   So.  Fang it was.  The puppies would be harder to name and keep
straight, there were seven of them.



   --==+==-

   The dog paid for itself within a week.  That evening, just minutes
before sunset, Clipper and Girl were relaxing in front of the fire, as they
always did.  As we've done for almost two weeks now, Clipper mused. 
Suddenly, outside, he heard Fang growl loudly and begin to bark.  He knew
the sounds dogs made and he knew that this was no ordinary bark.  He knew
that someone or something was out there.

   "Girl," he said, picking the automatic up from the table, where he
usually left it on evenings.  "Have you ever shot one of these before?"

   "No," she said instantly, gratifying him with her speed.  Shit, though.
She was defenseless.  He stuck the .45 into his belt and ran to the
counter-top and handed her back her original butcher knife.  He grabbed his
bow, with a ten broad-heads in the clips, all the arrows that he had.

   "Stay here," he told her.  She looked frightened.  He wanted to grab her
and hold her, but he went to the door and cracked it open.  The dog was
standing before it, growling, her hair bristling.  The puppies were nowhere
to be seen.

   Clipper slid out the door, careful of his bow.  The dog moved slightly
to allow him out.  She didn't even look at him.  She was watching something
in the woods, something to the north slightly, as she growled.  He made out
a shape that he thought to be a person.  He had already picked an arrow
from the clips, and fitted it, and he drew the bow, aiming off to the side,
wanting the person to see it, to see that he was ready.  He just hoped to
hell that they didn't have a gun.

   "You need to move on," he said loudly, "I can't control this dog much
longer."

   "We got a baby," a man said, plaintively.  "Help us.  We ain't got no
food."

   What the hell were they doing this far off the road with a baby?  Jesus,
he thought.  Why me?  Why us?  Why now?

   "We are pretty poor," he replied.  "We don't really have nothing."

   "You got more than us, you got a place to stay," said the man.  He came
out from beneath the trees.  A woman in a long dress followed him carrying
a bundle up at her chest.  Damn, thought Clipper.  How can I shoot, now,
with a baby in the mix?

   The man approached, and stopped maybe fifty feet away.  The dog was
quivering, growling deep in her throat.  Clipper knew he'd just have to say
one word, and the dog would charge the man and attack.  He just didn't know
what that word was, unfortunately.

   The man approached a little closer.  Maybe thirty feet away he stopped.
Some kind of wailing sound came from the woman or the baby.  The dog took a
few steps towards the man.

   "I don't wanna get bit," the man said.  "I just want some food for the
baby.  You got any milk?"

   The dog barked, a long screaming bark, unlike anything Clipper had ever
heard.  The dog charged at the man, and the man drew his arm back like he
was going to throw something.  Clipper remembered Dan Deemer doing that,
right before he put a knife in a man's throat from twenty feet away.  He
threw himself violently to the side, and the knife thunked into the door,
just inches from his side.  The man had another knife out by then, and drew
back to throw at Fang, who was at his feet, barking wildly.  Clipper shot
the man with a broad-head, putting it right into his chest.  The man
stumbled backwards and fell.  Clipper knew he was as good as dead.

   Clipper turned to the woman, already formulating an apology for shooting
her man.  Without conscious thought and purely out of habit he had nocked a
new arrow and was drawing the bow when he looked the woman in the face.  He
was shocked to see the woman throw the baby to the ground and draw her arm
back to throw.  Woman?  It was a man too, the cloth over his head had
fallen away.  It was a goddam man, wearing a blanket to look like a skirt.
The man's knife flew harmlessly off to the side as Clipper's arrow slammed
home in his chest.  He stood, breathing in gasps as the dog turned and
trotted back to her house to check on her puppies.  He walked towards the
two bodies, relieved that he wasn't going to have to take care of a baby.
Sure enough, the baby was just a bundle of clothes.  Damn.  The bastards.
The goddam knife-throwing fake-baby bastards.  He hated them all the more
for making him kill them.

   He looked back at the cabin.  Girl was peeking out the door, fear plain
on her face.  He waved at her, and waved her back inside.  No telling if
these guys have friends, he thought, though he realized the dog would have
stayed on guard if others were around.  He retrieved his arrows, pushing
them through, unscrewing the points, and then pulling the shafts back out.
It was hard work, and gory.  Pushing an arrow through skin and gristle and
muscle is hard, almost impossible, at times.  He had to use the case of his
knife to push on the arrows with.  Bows are not for the squeamish, he
reminded himself.  He picked up the knives and searched the bodies for more
weapons, finding over a dozen more knives.  He gathered up the pack of
clothes, and went back inside to Girl, and the safety of the cabin.  The
woods felt dangerous to him that night.

   They were up late just in case the men had friends in the area.  Nobody
bothered them and Clipper finally locked the place down and they went to
bed.  Girl climbed the ladder after him and went to the bed at the back end
of the loft.  He went back down and got her blankets and covered her.  She
nodded her thanks to him in the dim light and he went to his own bed.



   --==+==-

   The next morning Clipper spent a few hours digging in the hard soil a
few hundred yards behind the cabin.  He dragged the two corpses back and
dumped them into the hole.  He didn't even bother to put up a cross or
anything.  Someday he'd dig one of them back up, and retrieve a skull to
hang over the door, to ward off troublemakers.  Nothing says "keep away"
like a skull over the door.

   Girl seemed troubled and she had a hard time leaving the safety of the
cabin.  She finally came out and played with the puppies.  Clipper took her
into the woods and collected a brace of squirrels from his snares to feed
the dog.  He felt like he owed the dog, big time.  The dog had worked out
perfectly, he thought.  If they hadn't had the dog, the men would have been
at the door before they knew they had company.  Bad company.



   --==+==-

   "Darlin'," that night, he felt like he just had to talk to Girl about
what had happened.  About what she might face, out there.  If she went back
out there by herself.

   She regarded him with a puzzled, almost petulant took on her face. 
Darling was probably a poor choice of words with her, he thought, after all
my promises about leaving her alone and how sexless I am.  He told himself
to remember that, and call her things that sounded a little less sexually
charged.

   "Girl.  I'm sorry." He started again.  She nodded.  "That's the world,
Girl.  That's what's gonna happen, more often than not, when people show
up. I don't know what experiences you've had, what you're used to, but I've
seen a lot of that.  People are bad, now.  Life is rough and hard.  Some
people can survive like we do, but some people kill to survive.  Kill, and
take.  That's what those guys were here for.  To take."

   She nodded, staring into his face somberly.  He gazed into her fabulous
brown eyes, and just totally lost focus.  He brought himself back with a
start.

   "I just want you to realize that, and realize you can stay with me as
long as you want to.  I like having you here.h Life is easier with two. 
The more the merrier, in fact.  I don't want you to get out there, and have
something happen to you.  Girls have a hard time in this world.  They have
to make choices, and often the options are not ...  good, not friendly ...
know what I mean?"

   She regarded him for a while, and then solemnly nodded her head again.
He wondered if she really did.  He wondered for the millionth time how her
life had gone up until a few months ago.  If her people had been able to
protect her from the chaos.  Sometimes she adapted so well he thought that
maybe she'd had a hard life so far, that she'd had to learn how to adapt to
change.  Someday, maybe she would tell him.  Someday, if he could just hold
onto her.  If she would just talk, dammit.

   That night she followed him into the loft again.  Good, he thought to
himself, good.  He felt better with her behind him.  They'll have to go
through me first, he thought.



   --==+==-

   The next day, he nailed a board to a tree, and began teaching her how to
throw knives.  It was made difficult by the fact that he didn't really know
how to do it very well himself, but by afternoon he felt that they'd made
pretty good progress.  She could stick a knife in the board more often than
not, and now she just needed to work on her aim.  Most of the knives he'd
taken from the men were throwing knives, and some of them were well
balanced and looked expensive.

   Also, there was the pack of clothes the men had involuntarily donated to
the cause.  Two pairs of jeans were in it, and they fit Girl better than
his pair had.  The man pretending to be a woman had had a small build. 
When he had unwrapped the bundle and showed Girl the jeans, she had just
instantly slid her pants, well his pants, actually, she'd just slid the
pants she'd had on down her legs and stood there bottomless for a moment
while she tried them on.  He was surprised and shocked at how uninhibited
she was, as gun-shy as she'd seemed to be earlier.  She just didn't seem to
think anything about it now.  He felt that familiar twinge from long ago in
his pants when she picked up one leg and then the other to put on the jeans
and he glimpsed her cute fuzzy little pussy.  Oh, he thought, don't do this
to me, don't give me hope.  He had to turn away and let her try on the
other pair.

   The men also had some money, the new money, Chinese gold stuff.  It was
useless, out here in the wild, of course, and Clipper gave it to Girl.  She
regarded it with interest, and put the tiny coins in her pocket.  He
laughed at her silently.  We're rich, he thought.  Whoopee.



   --==+==-

   Two days later, he watched her throw.  She was damn good by now, way
better than him.  He'd drawn a circle on the board, and she could get the
knife in it, or on the line every time.  He gave her the belt that the
first man had worn, and punched a new hole in it so it fit her.  It had
holsters on it for four knives, and she picked out her four favorites and
hid it beneath her shirt.  Well, his shirt, she was still wearing his
flannel shirt.  He didn't mind.

   They ranged further and further on their hunts.  He didn't want to hunt
and fish the land out and he knew winter was less than five months away. 
Winter came early, at this altitude.  He was getting more and more anxious
for some bigger game, a deer or a pig or something.  They would need lots
of jerky to make it through the winter.  And ham would just be too cool, he
thought.  A nice fat wild pig.  Yeah.  They descended further and further
down the mountain now, when they hunted.

   Clipper finally got his deer, one sunny morning.  It was a stag, a huge
one, and he put an arrow into its side from thirty feet away.  They chased
it halfway down the mountain before it fell, and he field dressed it, and
built a travois to haul it home.  Girl helped, and held his bow for him as
he pulled.

   He thought again that he needed to teach her the bow.  The bow, and the
gun.  She hadn't been around guns, he guessed, since she had told him that
time she didn't know how to use the pistol, that day the men showed up.  He
wished he had more than one box of bullets.  He let her dry fire it a few
times, conscious of firing pin damage, but she still needed to actually
shoot it to understand it.  And, he thought, we need to be far away from
home when she shoots it.  No sense in attracting attention.

   They got the deer home, and spent the next two days working the meat. 
He began an industrial-scale jerky operation.  He wanted another deer or
two.  But this was a good start.

   Chapter VII

   One day, they were far down the mountain, hunting.  Suddenly they came
out into a clearing, and there, right before them, was a small town. 
Clipper froze, and Girl copied him perfectly.  They backed up a bit into
the brush, and just watched for a while.  Finally a person appeared, and
walked down the paved street to what looked like a general store.  It even
said "General Store" on it.  Damn, he thought.  Damn.

   "Girl," he said.  "You still got that money in your pants?"

   She nodded, and dug for it.  He motioned her to leave it there for now.

   "Girl.  We're going shopping.  Be very careful and follow me close. 
Watch my back and I'll watch yours, okay?"

   She nodded again.  They stood and casually walked the quarter of a mile
into the town.  Nobody seemed to be stirring.  Nobody noticed them or
seemed to care if they did.

   They stepped up onto the boardwalk and went into the store.  A bell on
the door rang.  A child, a young boy was playing in the corner, and he just
stared at them.  A middle aged man came out from a door and spoke.

   "Kin I halp yew?" the man said in mountainese.  Clipper nodded.

   "Just looking for some staples," he said.  "Salt, lots of salt, cheese,
butter, cooking oil, or maybe some shortening.  And some candles."

   "I got all that," said the man, motioning here and there in the store.

   They went up and down the aisles and Girl helped Clipper pick out stuff.
The prices were incomprehensible to him, he'd never used the new money
before, and he didn't understand it.  He'd always just bartered, whether
goods or labor.  Girl pointed to a price on a jar, shook her head and put
it back.  Damn, he thought, she understands the new money?  Interesting.

   He had no idea if they had enough to pay for even one thing, but Girl
assured him they were fine.  He bravely took his choices to the register.
The man rang it up, and said a number.  Girl dug in her pants, and
presented the man with a single coin, one of the larger ones.  He placed it
on the register, while he made change.  Damn, thought Clipper, we even get
money back?  How cool.  The man placed their purchases in a crumpled paper
sack and stood back, folding his arms.

   "Whar yew folks frum?" the man said, now deciding to be friendly. 
Clipper remembered he probably looked a bit fearsome with a few months of
beard and a bow on his back.

   "We live on the other side of the mountain," he said, carefully lying.
"The old Ramstead place."

   The man nodded like he knew.  Like the place even existed.

   "We never been here before," Clipper said.  "Is there a restaurant in
town?  A diner?"

   "Hell yeah," the man said.  "Pete Sinclair's place, just down the
street."

   "Thank you.  Thank you greatly," Clipper said, bowing slightly, and they
left the store.  They found the diner and sat, amid a gaggle of
townspeople, and ordered a nice home-style dinner.  Clipper showed Girl the
menu first, to be sure they still had enough to pay.  She seemed satisfied
that they could order anything on the menu and pay for it.  Damn, thought
Clipper, those bad guys did us a favor.  They gave us a pretty good stash
of dough.

   The food arrived.  They ate, and Clipper laughed at Girl, telling her to
slow down.  It was good stuff.  They had pie, even, when they were done. 
Clipper stretched and started to stand.  A shadow fell over the table and
he looked up.  Two men stood before him.  Shit, he thought.  Now what?

   "Nice bow you got there," the older man said, "that a Crafty?"

   "Yeah," said Clipper, picking it up and letting the man examine it.

   "Wanna sell it?" the man asked.

   "Sorry, I have to have it.  You understand.  It's our life, out there,"
said Clipper.

   "Yes, I understand.  Keep me in mind."

   "Sure, sure, I will."

   "Where you folks from?  Never seen you 'round here before."

   "The old Ramstead place, on the other side of the mountain." Clipper was
glad he could remember what he'd told the shopkeeper.  He knew that it
would be discussed by the whole town, before long.  For his credibility, he
knew his stories needed to match up.  Strangers were news, and they were
strangers.

   "What's the name of this town?" Clipper asked the man.

   "Devonsville," the man replied.  Clipper nodded.  He remembered the name
from long ago.

   The other man spoke.  "You ever see the law on your side?"

   "Peacekeepers?" Clipper asked, and the man nodded.  "No, haven't seen
one...  hell, since I went down to Skipps.  Months ago."

   "Good, good," the man nodded.  "We got a county sheriff a few miles
down, we don't need no steenkin' Peacekeepers 'round here."

   "Yeah," said Clipper.  They all seemed to run out of things to talk
about and he motioned for Girl to stand and prepare to leave.

   The older man turned back.  "This your daughter?" he asked.

   "Yeah," said Clipper, "that's my girl."



   --==+==-

   They left the paved street, and headed into the woods.  He went to the
West, this time, not wanting to give anybody any idea where they were from.
His last glimpse of the town showed him the two men, standing outside the
diner and watching them depart.  He knew the people would be curious about
them.  Like he'd said, strangers were news.  Anything in a little town like
that was news.  He knew, he'd lived in small towns before.  He guessed
three or four hundred people lived here, judging by the number of houses he
saw.  And the people must have felt pretty safe, he didn't see any high
fences or barbed wire.  Well, this was the mountains, far from so-called
civilization.  Good.

   They made it back home at last and Clipper put away the stuff they'd
bought.  Life would be much easier with a store in reach, although he
didn't know what they would do when the money ran out.  They still had a
pretty good amount of money, though.

   That night, they talked.  He was pleased that Girl was loosening up
somewhat, coming out of her shell.  Most of her answers were still just one
word but they carried out a reasonable conversation without those
ten-minute gaps while she stared into the crackling fire.

   She had finally gotten all the puppies named, a major undertaking.  She
told him a little about her life before, about going to school even.  He
was impressed, and asked her if she could read.  She just stared at him
like he was an idiot and said, "'course."

   "Girl.  Not everyone gets to learn to read.  It's a dying art, in this
area, I'm sure." He wondered if the town had a school.  He'd seen kids, the
kid in the store, and at the diner.  He wondered if he should try to get
Girl back in school.

   Oh, Jeezus, he thought.  Look what you're doing here.  Yes, quite a
little scene of domestic tranquility.  You are treating her just like your
daughter.  You said she was your daughter today, and now you're acting just
like it.  Jeezus.  Do not let this girl grow on you, any more.  You have no
idea what she's going to do, tomorrow or a year from now.  A year from now
she might just be a fuzzy memory.  A week from now, she might be.  She is
not yours.  She does not belong to you.  Do not let her into your head like
this.

   He almost cried, though, thinking of her leaving.  He was, once again,
shocked at how badly he wanted her to stay.  He wanted her to stay forever.
He wanted her to be safe with him.  He knew he could protect her as well as
anybody.  He wondered if he could even give her some semblance of
happiness, of a normal life.  Whatever that was, nowadays.

   "Girl," he said, turning to her.  She looked at him.  "Did you hear me
tell that man today that you are my daughter?  Does that bother you, to
think of it like that?"

   She nodded immediately, without having to think about it.  Shit.  It
bothered her?  Why?

   He laughed.  "Why does that bother you?"

   She did it again, she just sat there for the longest time.  He wondered
if she'd ever speak.  He waited her out, though.

   She turned back from the fire, and looked at him.  The one word she said
shocked him to his core, to the deepest parts of his being.

   "Wife."

   He just sat there, stunned.  What did she mean?  Did she want him to
just tell the man she was his wife?  Did she just want them to believe
that? Or is that what she really wanted?  He wanted badly to ask her, but
he felt like he was on shaky ground.  Thin ice.  He wanted to know, but he
didn't want to know.

   They sat there for another hour, and then went to bed.

   Chapter VIII

   She came to him, that night.  In the smoky, dusty, almost smothering
warmth of the attic loft, she left her bed, and climbed in with him, waking
him from a deep slumber.  He froze, realizing instantly what was happening.
She curled up and nestled beneath his arm, settling in, finally quiet.  His
every sense was attuned to her, he was painfully aware of her every move,
every noise...  every smell.  At last he heard her gentle, even breathing,
and realized that she was asleep.  That was it?  He was both disappointed
and relieved.  Sure, he thought, crawl right in.  You can sleep with me
anytime.  He carefully put his arm around her warm, soft body, and hugged
her to him.  He loved her more in that instant than he'd ever loved anybody
or anything, before the Fall or after.  Shit, he thought, don't let me lose
this.  Don't let her leave, or let anything happen to her.  If you are
there, if you exist, oh great gaseous invertebrate, give me this, this last
grasp of life, of youth.  Let me hold onto her, let me hold her in my arms
every night until I die.  Give me this, sweet jesus, just give me this.

   The next morning, it was just like nothing had happened.  They had a
nice jerky breakfast, and Clipper dug on his tunnel for an hour.  They went
hunting, passing time until early afternoon.  Clipper, to his great
pleasure, shot another deer, a doe this time.  They dragged it back home.
Clipper felt they were fixed up for the winter now.  He'd always be able to
get rabbits and squirrels, too, of course.  He still wanted that pig,
though.

   A week later found them exploring up a bit higher, near the tree line.
They did have neighbors, he realized.  Maybe three miles to the East and
half a mile higher up a large stone house stood.  Smoke was pouring from
the chimney.  They spied on it from a half a mile away and didn't get any
closer.  He didn't want to get shot.  A house like that, he figured, had
guns.  And dogs.  The house and the neighboring barns and out buildings
made it look like wealthy people lived there.  Nowadays, wealth was
possessions, food and livestock.  These people even had cows, for god's
sake.  He hungered for a taste of fresh milk.  If they had all this, they
had the means of protecting it, though.  He pulled Girl back into the
woods, and they went on.  He fixed the location of the place on the mental
map of the mountain he was making in his head.



   --==+==-

   Clipper kicked himself later, at the ease with which they were ambushed.
He was ten feet in front of Girl, headed along a ridge, when, maybe twenty
feet in front of him a man stepped out from behind a tree and pointed a
rifle at him.  A gaunt, bony motherfucker.  But he had a gun.  Clipper had
his bow down, but he had an arrow nocked.  As he let himself fall to the
side he yanked it back and fired from the hip, and to his satisfaction saw
the arrow suddenly sprout from the man's waist.  The man screamed a long
high scream.  Clipper turned to figure out where Girl was, and saw her
already huddled on the ground.  And, shit.  Behind her were two more men,
close behind, coming fast and hard.  One was swinging a machete, and the
other was brandishing an ax.  Shit, he thought, fumbling for another arrow
as he sat on the ground.  Shit.

   He knew he couldn't shoot from the ground, the bow was too long.  He
wasted a valuable second or two scissoring himself to his feet, feeling
muscles and joints scream in protest.  He knew he would never make it.  The
men were less than fifteen feet away, running hard.

   Girl was just about back to her feet by now, also.  She had seen him see
th men behind her, and turned to face them.  He saw her arm swing out in a
long arc, and a man screamed and tumbled as her knife buried itself in his
eye socket.  Holy shit!  Thought Clipper, impressed.  The girl picks up
quick!  Jeezus!

   The third man froze, after that.  He knew it was over.  He could have
taken one of them out, but the other would get him.  He opened his fingers,
and the ax dropped to the ground.  He slowly raised his hands up into the
air, the universal symbol of surrender.  Clipper had his second arrow
ready, and his bow pulled back by then.  All he had to do was relax his
fingers slightly, and the man would die.  The man knew it.

   Clipper was pissed off.  Why did these dumb fucks try this shit?  Why
were so many people forcing him to kill them?  Should he let this man live?
To come back later and cause trouble, maybe set their cabin on fire as they
slept?  Shit, shit.

   "You stupid motherfucker," he said.  The man didn't move or reply.

   "Turn around and run," Clipper said.  "I'm going to count to five, and
shoot.  If you're lucky and fast you'll live.  One."

   The man wheeled and took off down the mountain.  Clipper looked at Girl,
standing ten feet from him, still panting.  She nodded her head.  He took
that to mean that she was okay with it, whatever he did.

   The man was a pretty good distance away by five.  Clipper aimed well
above him, taking his time, figuring it was six or maybe even seven by
then, and released the arrow.  It flew high, and curved back down to earth,
and to his great surprise slammed into the middle of the man's back.  The
man tumbled head over heels a few times, and crumpled to the ground.  Shit.
The fates had spoken.  He wasn't even that good of a shot.  Not at that
distance anyway.  Damn.

   Clipper turned to the first man, who was writhing in agony on the
ground, his gun forgotten.  The arrow had gone completely through his
waist, coming out on the far side.  Clipper approached, with another arrow
nocked.  He didn't want to just kill the man in cold blood, looking him in
the face.  He was already feeling bad about the running man, shooting him
in the back.  He looked at the man on the ground.  He'd already lost a lot
of blood.  Those broad-heads cut pretty severely, on the way in.  He
figured the man would be dead soon, just from blood loss.  The gun was on
the ground, a dozen feet away, and he recovered it, his eyes never leaving
the man.  The man grimaced at him, but he didn't beg.  He just lay there,
waiting for the killing stroke.

   "You're a dead man," he told the guy on the ground.  "Good luck in hell,
fucker."

   The gun was a .22, a Remington pump, with a scope attached.  A goddam
.22.  They were gonna rob me, maybe kill me, with a .22?  Of course a .22
could kill a man, but it wouldn't really be my weapon of choice, he
thought. Shit.  He looked the man over, as he lay, panting on the ground.
He didn't look like he had anything else worth taking.  He'd come back
tomorrow, and search his body for bullets.  But he didn't want to touch
him, now, while the man was still alive.  On impulse, he jacked the rifle.
It wasn't loaded.  The dumb fucks hadn't even had bullets, he thought in
disgust.  Jeezus.  No sense in coming back tomorrow, then.  He'd come back
in a day or two and get his arrows, though.

   He searched the other two men, and came away with a few more knives, the
ax, and the machete.  He put his foot on the second man's face, and pulled
Girl's knife out, while she stood far away and looked off into space.  It
was gruesome work.  She had thrown hard.  They somberly tramped back home,
backtracking a few times, checking to see if they were being followed. 
Nothing.  Good.

   That evening they sat in front of the fire, in silence.  Girl seemed
distraught, or upset, and he figured it was because she'd killed a man. 
His first had bothered him, too, he remembered stumbling outside and
vomiting later, seeing the frightened look on the dying man's face over and
over in his mind.  He felt for her.  But he wanted her to know that he was
proud of her, too, and how well she'd handled herself.

   "Girl," he finally said.  She eventually looked at him.  "Girl, you did
good today.  You saved my life.  There's no way I'd have gotten another
arrow off, before those guys were on us.  You saved my life, and your own.
Thank you." He knew those guys wouldn't have actually killed her...  not
right away.  They might have fucked her to death, though.  Or probably just
fucked her and slit her throat and walked away.

   Two tears streaked down her cheek, and she just stared at him.  He
opened his arms, and she flew to him and crashed into his body.  He hugged
her as she cried.  She didn't cry for long.  She hiccuped a few times, and
then she was done.  He held her on his lap, in front of the fire.  She was
soft and warm and smelled good.  He was happy.



   --==+==-

   The next day he stripped the rifle down, and cleaned it as best he could
with boiling water.  It was filthy, and would not have fired in the
condition it was in.  Pumps were bad about having to be clean; shotguns
were bad but rifles were worse.  And he had no way to clean the bore,
unfortunately.  He idly wondered if the general store in Devonsville might
have a cleaning kit, for a .22.  A highly illegal .22.  He'd never have the
nerve to ask.  He needed to go back, at least, for some machine oil for the
gun.  He could use cooking oil, but it would gum up pretty quickly.  He was
glad to get the gun, though.  It would make surviving the winter much
easier.  He had removed the fragile scope, since it looked like a cheap
one, anyway.  He much preferred iron sights, especially since a .22 was a
fairly short range weapon.

   They passed the next month simply surviving.  Clipper finally got his
pig, way way down the mountain, and it was a two-day chore just getting it
home.  It was a huge son-of-a-bitch, and he figured it would feed them the
next two winters, if he could get all the meat cured, smoked, and put away.
He was through with deer until next year.  He still hunted rabbits and
squirrels to feed the dogs with and that required a lot of meat since the
puppies were now weaned.

   Chapter IX

   The dogs.  There was a problem.  They actually had too many dogs. 
Eight, counting the mother.  Clipper had an idea one night, and the next
day he had a long talk with Girl about the dogs.  He still considered them
her dogs since she had spoken to spare their lives.

   That morning they made four leashes and Girl picked out four of the
puppies.  That was chaos, four dogs on the leash for the first time.  She
got them into some kind of order, Clipper grabbed his bow, and they sat off
for Devonsville.

   They arrived shortly after noon and walked to the general store. 
Clipper went inside while Girl waited outside with the dogs.  The man was
certainly interested and bought one of the puppies within moments of seeing
them.  Clipper took his money, pleased.  Girl had told him what she thought
the dogs were worth, and the guy gave him that price immediately.  The man
sent them down to the diner, with instructions to look for a man named Tom
Shire.  They walked down the street.

   The guy at the counter pointed out Tom Shire to Clipper, and he waited
for the man to finish eating before disturbing him.  Shire was young and
strong-looking, maybe in his late twenties.  The two of them went outside
where Girl was waiting with the dogs.  Tom bought all three of them and
seemed to be pleased with them.

   "I've got over a hundred dogs in my barn," Mr.  Shire told them, "if you
ever need a dog, come see me."

   Clipper nodded.  He expected to be running his own dog factory here in a
little while.  They'd saved three females and one male.  He asked Mr. 
Shire about breeding his puppies, in a few months, and received assurances
that it would be no problem.  Good, good.

   They had lunch at the diner, and spent some money at the store.  Clipper
got his machine oil, and he bought three welding rods that he could break
the flux off of and then use to push a rag down the bore of the rifle.  On
impulse, he dragged Girl over to the clothing department and finally got
her a pair of jeans that fit and a couple of shirts.  And, best of all, a
pair of nice hiking boots, so she could get out of those heavy wader things
she was wearing.  She was pleased and he was, also.

   They departed for home, carrying all their loot.  Clipper remembered
they'd headed West last time, and he followed that path again, still not
wanting to give anyone clues about where they lived.  That night he
scrambled up some of the eggs he'd bought with potatoes and they had a
dinner as fine as the lunch they'd had at the diner.

   They settled in front of the fire after the sun had set and spent the
rest of the evening in silent repose.  His mind wandered.  Girl was still
sleeping with him every night, to his great pleasure.  He loved wrapping
his arms around her slender body and falling asleep with her breath in his
face.  He hadn't touched her other than that, and that seemed to be the way
she wanted it.  It was good enough for him, oh, heavens, it was more than
good enough for him, just feeling her warmth up against his body was almost
more than he could stand at times.

   He loved her by now with a desperation, a yearning, something so strong
that he couldn't describe it or quantify it.  He loved her so much
sometimes he almost felt like he wanted to be her.  He wanted to melt with
her, he wanted their minds and bodies to join and be one.  He felt like
they were as one at times, as they sat together during the long silent
evening, he imagined what she might be thinking.  He remembered, every
time...  he thought, I am going to crawl in bed with her tonight, with this
beautiful creature, and wrap my arms around her.  I am going to hold her
all night.  He hungered, at all times, for the feel of her body, and the
smell of her.

   He wondered, at times, if he could have stood it, if they had sex.  If
she let him make love to her.  He didn't know if he could.  It would almost
be too much.  He wanted this for a while longer, this ...  chasteness, this
simple togetherness.  He felt his relationship with her, at the moment, was
mostly cerebral, mostly communion with her.  Right now, he thought, he
didn't want to sully it with base, gross sex.  Not yet.  Maybe later he'd
feel differently, but not right now.  And, he admitted to himself, he was
fifty-five years old.  He wasn't sure if he could...  perform.  He sure
didn't want that embarrassment.  It was just better this way, he thought.
He was happy just holding her.  He was happier than he'd ever been in his
whole life, just holding her.  She was his life.  That quickly, she was his
life.

   Chapter X

   He trained her with the .45, as well he could without actually letting
her fire it.  He was planning that, though.  He tried to get her used to
the feel of it, the heft of it, and the feel of it inside her clothes.  He
let her sight it and he tried to train her to yank it out of her belt,
sight it instinctively on something, and he even let her dry fire it again
a few times.

   One day he took her, the pistol and rifle, and Bear, her favorite puppy,
far, far up the mountain, until he figured they were five miles at least
from the cabin.  He set up some tin cans he'd brought and took her back ten
yards.  He went over the things he'd told her again.  He made her load and
unload the .45 clip, then with her weak hand, even behind her back.  He
felt like she was ready.  She loaded the pistol and stuck it in her belt,
and faced the can like a gunfighter.  She yanked the gun out, sighted and
fired in one smooth motion, and the can flew into the air.  He was stunned,
just absolutely shocked.  He just stared at her with his mouth open.  She
blew the smoke from the end of the barrel and just looked at him, laughing.

   "Girl," he said, finally.  "Are you sure you've never shot a gun
before?"

   She only waited a second or two.  She said, "rifle, yes.  Pistol, no."

   "Shit.  Do that again."

   She missed the next two times, though.  But the fourth shot sent the
next can flying downrange.  Shit, he thought.  That's not bad.

   He let her fire all seven rounds.  The noise and recoil didn't seem to
bother her in the slightest.  He had her reload the .45, and stick it in
her belt.  He brought out the .22.

   He wasn't sure of the ammo, it was old enough that the lead on some of
the rounds had corroded, but he had her fill the tube with the .22 longs.
She pumped the first round in, and sighted in on a tin can.  They were back
about fifty feet now, maybe more.  She hit the can again, first try.  She
got it about every other shot after that, with the misses kicking up dirt
nearby.  Damn, he thought.  She's good.  She's good at every thing she
tries.  Damn.  He was anxious to get her back to the cabin and try her out
on the bow.

   As they came down the mountain, Girl pointed, and Clipper spied a tiny
figure, far in the distance, coming up.  Then another.  And another.  They
crouched, and he took Girl off at a ninety degree angle to their path and
they lay low behind a brush pile.  Twenty minutes later the men crossed in
front of them, headed up the mountain.  All three of them were armed, with
what looked like deer rifles, at least.  Shit, thought Clipper, shit.  One
of them he thought he recognized as the man who had asked to buy his bow in
Devonsville, but he couldn't be sure from this distance.  He wondered if
they were investigating the shots Girl had fired or if they were just
hunting.  He wasn't going to follow them and find out.  Ten minutes later
they resumed their trek down the mountain and made it home.



   --==+==-

   Bow training, when it started, went as well as gun training had.  He
dropped the pull on the bow down for her, and she seemed to adjust very
quickly to the feel of it in her hands.  She seemed to have very good
hand-to-eye coordination.  Well, he told himself, she's young.  Hand-to-eye
is not that great when your hand shakes.  Within a week she was nailing the
center of the target every time and he began slowly moving her backwards,
increasing her range.  She was very good, he thought, and he was proud of
her.  He wished he could find a smaller bow for her and more arrows.  He
badly needed more arrows.

   After a month had gone by, they trekked to the general store in
Devonsville yet again.  Mr.  Peck didn't have any arrows, but he promised
to use his contacts down the mountain and ask around.  He had had other
folks ask for them, too.  Yes, he would do that.  Good.  They ate at the
diner, and went back home, with another dozen eggs.  Clipper wondered if he
could somehow incubate a few fertile eggs, and get some chickens.  Have to
look into that.  Fresh eggs from their own chickens would be nice.  And
chicken was much better than squirrel, or even rabbit.

   Chapter XI

   Summer was well underway.  Clipper couldn't remember a time in his life
when he'd been happier or more comfortable.  He knew things weren't that
great and he knew it was all because of Girl that it seemed like they were.
The last two months had been better than any other part of his life he
remembered.  Life before the Fall now seemed like a distant memory, a
former life or something.  Like it was in black and white.

   His chickens had been a success.  After an inquiry to Mr.  Peck, Clipper
and Girl had walked home with a dozen fertilized eggs.  From that they had
ended up with ten chicks, and a trip to Devonsville and two dozen more eggs
got them almost twenty more chicks.  The original ten chicks were now just
about fully-grown chickens and he knew before long they'd have fresh eggs,
plus his own chicken making factory.  He spent several days building a hen
house, nailing it to the back of the house.  Girl had to fuss at the dogs
to get them to leave the chickens alone but at last all was well.

   Every night it was the same.  Even in summer, even when it was warm
outside, they spent the evening in front of the fire.  Of course, this high
on the mountain, there was always a slight chill in the air.  The fire felt
good.  Just sitting in front of it felt good.  And when Girl sat on his
lap, she felt good.  Life was good.



   --==+==-

   One night, as they sat, Clipper spoke to Girl about life before the
Fall. He could tell by her expressions that she didn't believe a lot of the
crap he told her, about television, giant cities, interstate highways,
computers, cruise ships, and space stations and just the sheer number of
people in the world.  It was beyond her understanding, her belief
structure. And a lot of it seemed silly to him, looking back.

   He told her about his life, before the Fall, and then his life after. 
Some of it, at least.  He'd been up in Canada when the One-Day War hit. 
When Washington DC had melted in a nuclear fireball...  when it became
apparent that the Saudis were no longer our allies and the oil dried up. 
When foreign blood ran in the streets of every major and most minor US
cities.  The value of the dollar had begun a free-fall.  The borders had
closed.  The Fall had begun.

   He'd been up in the Northwest Territories, working on a rig just North
of the Arctic Circle.  It had taken him four months to hitch, walk and hop
trains to the Canada/US border, and another month to find a place to slip
across.  Canada watched the border very closely, although they were more
worried about people sneaking in than out.  It had still taken all the
stealth Clipper could muster, plus the just plain mountain-man smarts of
Deemer to make it back into the country.  Canada had seemed very
unfriendly, to Clipper.  He had learned several good fake accents, just to
keep from being branded an outsider.

   His life before the Fall seemed dim and distant, like a dream.  He
wondered constantly what had happened to his daughter.  He remembered his
last phone conversation with her, the night the Arabs had popped the nuke
in DC.  They both knew the future was now uncertain and grim.  When the
connection had finally died in mid-conversation, he took a deep breath, and
resigned himself to never seeing or hearing from her again.  And so far, he
hadn't.  He had loved his daughter.  She had grown up in a separate world
than him and chosen a separate path, but he had loved her.  His ex-wife,
now...  he didn't miss her, much.

   He had tried to find his daughter, he really had.  He had wasted days,
weeks looking for a hint of her.  She had lived in Raytown, a suburb of
Kansas City, which was almost a ghost town when he went through.  He had
visited the last address she'd stayed at, finding nothing but an empty
house.  He'd asked all the neighbors, what few were still there, and found
out nothing.  She'd just disappeared, with her kids and husband.  Gone. 
Into thin air.

   He stared at Girl, and thought of his daughter.  How much alike girls
were at this age.  His daughter, of course, was now much older than Girl.
But he had happy memories of having her for the summer, and the things they
did together.  He felt some of that, with Girl.  He had tried to give his
daughter a normal life, just like he wished he could do for this girl.  Of
course, for her, for Girl, a normal life would involve rifles, knives and
killing predators, both animal and human.  This girl is hard, though, he
thought, and will have to get harder if she survives.  He wondered if his
own daughter had survived this long.  It made him sad, but he thought... 
probably not.

   "Girl," he said, "when's your birthday?  What year were you born?"

   She stared into the fire, her face blank.  Finally she spoke, and just
damn near made a speech, he thought.

   "It's ...  it's the other girl...  the girl that was in this body before
me ...  her birthday.  Her birthday was April sixth.  Two thousand sixteen.
I don't have a birthday."

   "Ah.  I see," he said.  "You ...  she, I mean.  She was born a little
before the Fall started." The girl was sixteen, then.  Cool.

   "Girl.  That other girl, the one before ...  what was her name?  Do you
remember?" He was starting to think that this was all a game, a game that
her subconscious was playing with her, or a trick it was playing on her,
maybe.  Or some kind of mental thing to protect her or to keep her
sheltered or insulated from something horrible that had happened to her. 
The whole third person thing.  Her frequent distant stare frightened him
sometimes, when she seemed a million miles away.  He knew that she was
pretty level-headed, though, and he tended to question his own sanity much
more often than hers.  He still wondered all the time just what went
through that head of hers.

   She sighed, and spoke.  "Analisa," she said.  "Her name was ... 
Analisa."

   "Oh, Girl..." he was sure she could hear the tears in his voice. 
"That's a beautiful name."

   The silence stretched.  Finally he spoke.

   "Why did she change her name?  Why doesn't she have a name, now?"

   The minutes dragged.

   "It's a stupid name," said Girl.  "A weak name.  Clip ...  Clipper. 
Names have power.  You should know that.  And when people know your name
... they have power over you."

   He had no idea what she was talking about.  He was sad that she seemed
to hate her beautiful name.  But, he understood.  He understood the whole
thing meant something to her, and that magic, magic of her own making, was
involved.  He was like that about some things too, he thought.  Some things
that he knew no one else would ever understand.  Everyone has that stuff in
their life.

   He was interested to hear her speak his name.  That was the first time,
in his memory, that she'd said it.  She knows my name, he thought with
childish glee.  She knows my name.  He didn't remember ever telling it to
her, although he thought he might have said it in front of her to the
Devonsville residents.  She was sharp, he thought.  She has ways.  I'll
give her that.

   It was silent again.  He was willing to just let her be silent, now. 
She'd talked enough, for one evening.  He would leave her alone now.





   That night, in bed, she clung to him, and he clung back.  She cried and
cried, and he murmured things to her, and nuzzled her face with his, and
tried to comfort her.  Nothing seemed to work.  Finally, she drew a deep,
gasping breath, and crawled out of bed and stood beside it.  What now?  he
thought.  Is she going to go back down to the fireplace?  Is she going to
leave?  Is she going to move back out into the woods?  He held his breath.

   Finally, her whole body shook, like she had coughed or something.  She
reached down to her waist, and unbuttoned the first button of her shirt. 
Of his flannel shirt, she was still wearing.  She wore it night and day,
even to bed.  The only time she took it off was to wash it.  Anyway, she
unbuttoned the first button.  Then the second.  Then the third.  and at
last her fingers were at her throat, and there were no more buttons to
unbutton.  She paused a moment, and then shrugged her shoulders and slipped
out of the shirt.  It tumbled to the floor.  She was also wearing a strip
of cloth, something he'd never seen before, binding her breasts up like a
brassiere.  She unwound it slowly, and dropped it to the floor.

   He had seen her breasts before, that day when she'd first come to live
with him.  When he'd undressed her, and cleaned her.  He had no memory of
touching them, although he did remember sniffing her pussy.  He remembered
that very well.  If I sniffed her pussy, he thought, why didn't I at least
squeeze her boobs?  That's not like me.  Crazy.

   He lay in bed, and stared at her beautiful breasts, naked in the dim
flickering firelight.  He could see her puffy nipples clearly.  He hungered
for them, to touch his lips to them.  How many years has it been, he
thought, since I tasted a breast as beautiful as this?  He knew the answer
to that.  Zero.  He had never tasted a breast as beautiful as this one. 
All he could do was lay there and stare.  He was aware that he felt faint,
and he forced himself to start breathing again.

   She unsnapped her pants, and gravity did its thing.  The pants slid down
her long legs.  He could plainly see her little bush, her little patch of
pussy hair.  It was so cute he wanted to cry.  He knew he was on shaky
ground, now.  The emotions blasting through his mind were as strong as the
ones that she'd felt, the ones that made her cry.  He felt like crying,
now, at her sheer beauty, at the magnificence of her.  He was beyond love,
at this point.  What he felt for her was way past simple love.  Or
complicated love, for that matter.  He worshiped her, or something similar,
possibly deeper.  How sad, he thought.  Language failed him, at this point.
There is no word for what comes after love.  There is no word to describe
what I feel for her.

   She lowered herself and crawled back into the bed.  She cuddled back up
against him the way she liked to.  He cautiously wrapped his arms around
her, very aware of her nudity.  Her back was smooth and warm, where his
arms rested on her.  He wished his shirt was off, so he could feel her
breasts on his chest.  He just hugged her, and held her.  At last he could
tell she was asleep.  That's it?  He thought again.  That's it for the
night?  He was starting to want more, but he was okay with it.  Let it
progress at her speed, if it was going to progress any further than this.
If it didn't, so be it.  He could live with this.

   He relaxed, and tried to sleep, but sleep was not easy tonight.  Not
with a beautiful naked girl in his arms.  An hour later, when he was sure
she was deeply asleep, he ran his hands up and down her back softly so as
not to waken her, feeling her beauty through his fingertips.  He went lower
and lower, and gently caressed her beautiful ass.  She did have a fantastic
ass, he thought, sometimes just seeing her in her jeans made his balls
tingle.  He rubbed and squeezed, loving the firm tight feel of it.  She
wiggled in her sleep, and sighed.  He froze for a minute, and then resumed
his slow exploration of her body, beneath the sheets.

   He wanted very much to touch her pussy and asshole, but he didn't go
that far, he just rubbed her legs, as much as he could reach at the moment.
He grew brave, and rubbed up her stomach until he reached her breasts, and
slowly, cautiously he stroked them.  Her nipples were incredible, hard, as
they always seemed to be when she pressed up against him in bed at night.
Her breasts were full and firm.  Beautiful, just beautiful.  He salivated,
thinking of her breasts.

   She giggled in her sleep, and he stopped.  He hadn't thought he could
stop, but he did, somehow.  He wrapped her in his arms again, and felt her
gentle breath on his lips.  He loved her.  As hard as he could, with all
the power his mind could muster, he loved her.

   Chapter XII

   When he'd marked off thirty days on his calendar on the kitchen wall,
they walked back to Devonsville, and went to the store.  They used most of
the last of their cash to buy some butter and cooking oil that they really
needed, and another dozen fertile eggs.  He thought at some point maybe he
should get a rooster for fresh blood.  They saved enough for one last
dinner at the diner.  Clipper had some ideas about going up the mountain a
ways and panning for gold in the creeks and rivers that flowed down the
mountain.  Surely gold was still worth something in today's economy, he
thought, since the economy ran on gold now.  On the way back out of town he
stopped at the store and asked Mr.  Peck if anyone bought gold anymore. 
Yes, the man replied, the assayer stops by the last Saturday of each month.
More than a few people in the area mined or panned gold.  Good, thought
Clipper.  I know a few spots, here and a few peaks over.  We can try that.

   He had found a nice pan, in the stuff he'd taken from the other cabin.
One day he took the pan, fishing rods, Girl and Bear, and went way up the
mountain, higher than they'd ever been, until the earth was almost bare of
vegetation, and the breath burned in his throat.  He found the creek he was
looking for, and he stood for an hour in the freezing water, panning for
gold.  He got some, at least, enough dust that he thought the day might be
worth his time.

   "Clip." Girl spoke.  He turned to look at her, on the bank.  She
motioned down the mountain, and he saw three tiny figures approaching. 
Shit, he thought.  Surely they've already seen us.  No trees or even bushes
around here.  Shit.

   He didn't really know what to do other than just wait.  They looked like
the same three men that had been carrying high powered rifles the other
day, and he knew that Girl and he couldn't outrun a bullet.  If the men
meant bad business, there was really nowhere to hide.

   It was obvious the men had seen them.  They headed straight for the two
of them.  Clipper had dried his feet off and put his boots back on, and he
motioned to Girl.

   "Let's go meet them." They headed down the mountain, Clipper holding his
bow loosely in his hand, with his ten last arrows in the clips.  He knew
the bow was futile against the rifles, but he wanted them to know he wasn't
afraid of them.  And that he was prepared for trouble.  Girl followed close
behind.

   A hundred feet from the men, he spoke in a low voice to Girl.  "Watch my
back and I'll watch yours." She nodded, unbuttoning the bottom two buttons
of her shirt, so she could reach her knives quicker.  He didn't expect
trouble but he wanted to be ready.  This was just some hunters and gold
miners meeting somewhere out in the wilderness.  There should be no
problems.  He heard Bear growl softly and Girl shushing him.

   Sure enough, it was the man from the diner, and his buddy.  And another
man they'd never seen before, an older man.

   They all stopped, a few feet apart, and the man from the diner
approached Clipper and shook his hand.

   "Good to see you.  Hunting?" the man nodded at the bow.

   "No," Clipper laughed, self-consciously, "panning for gold, and
fishing."

   "Ah, a miner.  I see." The man said.

   "I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name the other day," Clipper said.

   "Ableard.  Ableard Wilson." The man said, reaching his hand out again.

   "Clipper.  Just Clipper.  Pleased to meet you.  Again." Clipper said. 
The man laughed.

   "Clipper, this is John Jerard, and Mr.  Simmons." He motioned to the
others, and hands were shaken all around.  Clipper was conscious of Girl
standing ten feet behind him with Bear.

   "My...  wife, Girl," he said motioning to her.  He felt crazy saying it,
but that's what he understood that she had wanted.  He felt crazy, and
proud.  What will they think of me now, he wondered.

   "Your...  wife?" Ableard acted puzzled.  "I thought she was your
daughter."

   "Yes, I did say that the other day..." Clipper laughed.  "But, you know
how it is.  People don't always understand."

   "I'll say.  Damn." Said Ableard, laughing.  He looked at Girl again,
then back at Clipper.  Clipper thought he saw admiration in the man's
glance.  "Damn," Ableard said again.

   "Ableard..." Clipper started, not sure how to ask this.  It might be
sensitive ground.  "Do you guys have trouble in this area with guns?  The
law, and guns?"

   "Not really, as you can see," said Ableard, holding his rifle up.  "For
one thing, we never see the law.  I think they're scared to come up here."

   His buddy John laughed evilly.  "They know there's a gun behind every
rock and tree," he said.

   "Believe it or not, up until a year ago, you could buy ammo at the
store. I think Peck's finally stopped selling it, though, at least over the
counter."

   Damn, thought Clipper.  Have to ask about that next time we're there.

   "You have any luck panning?" the man known as Mr.  Simmons asked
Clipper. Clipper shrugged.

   "A little.  But I think this area's panned out."

   Mr.  Simmons laughed.  "It is.  Up until the Fall, I had machines in
here.  I made a fortune off this mountain.  There might be some tailings
left, though."

   They talked a few more minutes until Clipper finally felt like it was
time to leave.  They departed amicably, retrieved their gear and headed
back down the mountain as the other men headed up.  Damn, thought Clipper,
I still don't know what they were hunting.



   --==+==-

   That night, as they sat before the fire, Girl came to him and sat on his
lap.  She did that quite often, now.  She was a big girl and he was a
creaky old man but he loved it, he loved the feel of her body on his.  He
wrapped his arms around her and she relaxed, leaning back into him.

   "Did you see," she said, and stopped.  He waited.  He knew how to play
the game by now.

   "Did you see the way that man looked at me?" she finally said.

   He hadn't noticed.  "Which man?"

   "Silver hair."

   Ah, the old fart.  Mr.  Simmons.

   "Girl.  You are a very beautiful girl...  woman.  That shit's gonna
happen.  Who knows, he might not have seen a girl in a year, up on top of
this damn mountain."

   "I guess," was all she said after that.  Then, a minute later, she said,
"he lives in the big house."

   "The big stone house?  Above us?"

   "Yes."

   "How do you know that?"

   "The other girl knew about him.  From before."

   Ah, interesting.  Her stories of her life before were so rare it was
always interesting when something clicked and she talked.  So she had heard
of Simmons.

   He had no fear of the men after he'd shaken hands with Ableard.  They
seemed like honest, dependable, righteous folk.  Sure, they had guns, and
there was three of them.  He might have gotten his .45 out and surprised
one of them, and maybe Girl could have poked another's eye out with her
knife, but they were outnumbered.  And these guys weren't just common,
hungry criminals.  Out there, in the wild, he'd rather not meet people
period, much less three of them.  But it had happened and it'd happen
again.

   Chapter XIII

   He didn't know what the date was, he couldn't even say for sure what
month it was.  But, that night, he knew he would remember, forever.  If
there was a forever.

   Nothing was out of the ordinary.  He took his shoes off and crawled into
bed, fully clothed, as he always did.  She stood before him, and slowly,
sensuously, he thought, she stripped.  Everything she did now, to him, was
sensuous.  He had gotten a partial erection that night, just watching her
wash the dishes under the pump.  She crawled in bed beside him and he
wrapped his arms around her, falling in love all over again.

   Tonight, though, she shoved him back.  He was surprised.  She giggled,
and reached down, finally finding the tail of his shirt beneath the
blanket. She unbuttoned the first button, and then the one above it.  He
wiggled and writhed around on the bed and pulled the shirt off when she was
done.  Shit, he thought, oh shit.  What is going on here?  Shit.

   She lay for a moment, then he felt her hands on the snaps of his jeans.
Oh shit, he told himself again.  He had to help her get them unsnapped and
his zipper unzipped.  He kicked his jeans down to the bottom of the bed,
and left them.  He was as naked as her.  He was trembling.

   "Girl," he whispered, taking her in his arms, "Girl, are you sure about
this."

   "About what?" she whispered back, her breath on his face.

   He didn't know what to say, then.  He didn't know what she intended.  He
knew what it seemed like, to him.  But he just didn't know.

   "Darling," he finally said.  "What do you want from me?"

   She stopped, and did her characteristic thinking thing for a while.  He
waited, patiently.

   "Clip," she said.  "You said I was your wife, today.  That makes it
true. That's all we needed.  Now, since I'm your wife, act like it."

   He realized that something had happened today that turned her world
sideways ninety degrees.  What a strange, strange child, he thought.  How
much power simple words seem to possess for her.

   He just held her for the longest time, getting ready, trying to
emotionally prepare himself for ...  whatever.  He wasn't sure if she
really wanted to go all the way, if she even knew there was an all the way
to go to.  He had no idea.  He knew he could do it, though, and judging by
the hardness of his dick, he knew that he would be capable of it.  Thank
you, he thought to his penis, thank you for not letting me down.  Keep up
the good work.  Keep up the hard work.

   Her mouth sought his, and they kissed, for the first time.  He was glad
he'd scraped his beard off a few days ago, with a rusted dull razor.  Have
to talk to Peck about some blades.  Back to the present.

   On the second kiss, he felt her little tongue on his.  He had to breathe
through his nose to keep from passing out.  He felt like he was going to
pass out, anyway.  How can this get any better, he thought.  How can this
get any better.

   It got better.  They had whiled away a good hour, just kissing.  Well,
not just, he was rubbing her ass, or squeezing her beautiful tits.  But
mainly kissing.  The focus seemed to be on kissing, at the moment.  He
wondered if she just didn't know where to go from here, or if she just
liked to kiss.

   He wanted to taste her so bad he almost couldn't stand it.  He slid down
to her breasts, and killed another ten minutes kissing, sucking and
licking. Her fantastic nipples were hard, stiff little nubbins of flesh. 
All the while she moaned quietly and her breathing became a little heavier.
He could feel goose bumps on them.  He would never get his fill of them, he
knew.  He'd just have to stop and go on.

   He slowly slid down, past her sexy little belly button, stopping there
for a while, just to make her giggle.  He arrived at his goal at long last,
sliding his tongue through her little patch of fuzz, stopping at the very
top of her sexy slit.  Oh, he thought, this is gonna be good.  This is
gonna be real good.

   It was good.  She tasted like heaven to him.  Heaven is pussy, he
thought, heaven tastes like pussy.  He didn't even remember dying, but he
was in heaven.  He licked down the sides of her pussy lips, and down the
crease of her legs.  She tasted salty from sweat, slightly pissy, and it
was the most wonderful taste he'd ever tasted.  She tasted like heaven,
there, too.  Her smells and tastes were wonderful to him, and almost
overloaded his senses.  He fastened his lips around her fat little clit,
and sucked.  She shuddered.

   That, too, he would never tire of.  He slid down the crack of her cunt,
running his tongue up and down it, tasting the juices that her body was
secreting.  The juices she was making, for him.  He spread her legs further
for her, and licked her perinium.  She shivered, and pushed her hips up. 
He licked her asshole, loving the harsh bitter taste of it.  Harsh and
bitter, just a hint of shit.  Just the right amount of shit, he thought. 
Assholes always taste a little bit like shit.  It's just the nature of the
beast.  He loved it.  He ate it up.

   They paused for a few moments.  He needed the rest.  He needed a minute
or two of recovery time.  She continued to make some kind of wordless noise
that sounded like a question, rising in frequency at the end like questions
do.  He took that to mean that she was ready.

   He wiggled around.  He was already pretty much on top of her.  He
wiggled and finally without any help from his hands it felt like his dick
was poised at the mouth of her pussy.  At the gates of her soul, he
thought. He gently pushed, and felt the tip of it entered her body, in the
slightest amount.  He pushed a little harder, the head was in and he felt
resistance.  He stopped pushing.

   "Girl," he said, leaning up and away from her a bit, so they could see
each other.  She opened her eyes, and looked up at him puzzled.  He thought
she was wondering why he'd stopped.

   "Girl, if I go any further, you won't be a virgin any longer.  Is that
what you really want?"

   She nodded mutely.

   "It'll probably hurt."

   She shrugged.  He felt a love for her, at that moment, that was more
powerful than any he'd felt so far.  How, he thought, how does it just keep
on coming, keep on growing?  Is there no end?

   He just stopped and hugged her for a few moments.  She closed her eyes
again, and smiled.

   He tried to be gentle.  He didn't want to hurt her.  But he saw the
moment, the very second that her hymen tore, her cherry popped.  The pain
crossed her face, and then a look of resolution, or resignation, or
something...  he knew it had hurt, but she was standing it.  She was
dealing with it.  He gently pushed on into her body, feeling her silky wet
softness on the cap of his cock and her tightness along the part of his
shaft that he had managed so far to get in her.  His hands were buried in
her firm ass, squeezing and kneading her.

   He felt his groin make contact with hers.  He knew he was all the way
in. I'm not John Holmes, he thought.  I didn't have that far to go.  He
hoped he was enough for her.  He hoped she'd remember this, her first time,
as something special.  He hoped he'd given her that much, at least.

   She sighed deeply, and opened her mouth, breathing hard.  He pulled out
a few inches, and then pushed back in.  Her eyes opened, surprised.  He
hoped it felt good.  He pumped again, and again.

   "Oh, do that.  Do that," she whispered, and he laughed softly.

   "Baby," he said.  "I love you.  I love you." He wanted to tell her that
a few trillion more times, but he didn't want to bore her.  He let it go at
that.

   She hiccuped a few times, and groaned.  She moaned, and then slammed her
forearms down on the mattress, grabbing handfuls of blanket.  Her legs
kicked, and her diaphragm jerked a breath into her body.  She came.  Her
pussy muscles rippled and she was so, so tight.

   He was surprised she came so quickly.  Amazingly, he felt like he could
go on for a while.  He did just that, feeling her settle down a little,
calm down.  He kept pumping, stroking slowly in and out hoping she would
have another.  Minutes passed, and she lay beneath him, seeming to be
asleep, except for the occasional moan, and convulsive breath.

   He thought, god, now what, I've started something that it looks like I
can't finish.  He felt the familiar contractions deep in his groin, and he
knew he was going to cum shortly.  He tried to hold it off, but he was
pretty close to the end.  He sped up a little, feeling her body respond,
her breath quicken, her legs tremble.  Goose flesh rippled up and down her
inner thighs.  He buried his face in her breasts, sucking her hard nipple.

   Finally, he realized, he couldn't hold it any longer.  He began to cum,
pumping his useless seed into her body.  About halfway through, she came,
hard and sharp, giving a little squealing moan.  He gasped and sighed,
seemingly filling her body, pumping his life into her.  Well, it was no
longer his life, he'd been snipped, but he managed to squirt her full of
semen.  Shooting blanks, he thought.  Shooting blanks.  It had been forever
since he'd even had a wet dream, so he felt like he was washing her away on
a wave of cum.  Or whatever you called it now.

   They lay, breathing hard, in each others arms.  He rolled off her,
conscious of his weight on her body, and took her gently in his arms.  He
rolled her on top of him, and just lay there, holding her.  He thought she
was asleep, until she half-way opened her eyes, and smiled shyly at him.

   "Thuh thuh that's all, folks!" he said, laughing up at her.  She didn't
get it, she'd never seen cartoons before, but she smiled gently, and lay
her head down on his chest.  He could feel her fingers on his upper arms.
He put his hands back on her ass, where they belonged.  For the next hour
she just lay there on top of him, snoozing.  He didn't care, he loved the
feeling of her body on top of him, and her flesh in his hands.  He gently
squeezed and kneaded her ass, tickling her asshole every now and then,
making her giggle.  Her breathing became still and even, and he knew she
was asleep.  He reached to the side, and pulled the blanket over her, and
just lay there.  He wasn't ready to sleep, yet.  He wasn't ready to go all
unconscious, and give this up.  She might fall off, anyway.  He just lay
there, deep into the night, loving her, touching her.  Feeling her.  Loving
her.



   --==+==-

   The next morning they made love again, after she woke him.  This time
she was slow, languid.  He slowly, gently pumped in and out of her, his
hands on her breasts, his mouth on hers.  He could feel it building up
within her, her toes curled, and her legs straightened out, and she began
to tremble beneath him.  She came, silently, just a few gasps for air, and
a long trembling sigh.  She smiled up at him, and then closed her eyes.  He
hoped she was happy.  He hoped she was enjoying herself.  She seemed to be.
He kissed her, happy.  He felt a great gratitude towards her, for the gifts
she had given him.  She had given him herself and he loved her for it.  For
that, and many other reasons.

   Chapter XIV

   He remembered when they went into town the next time, to ask for razor
blades.  He got them, and a few other things.  Sadly, no watch batteries.
The little jar of gold he'd panned had gotten them a lot of coins which had
bought many things at the store.  And they had more than enough for dinner.
Way more.  As they started to leave the store he remembered something.

   "Mr.  Peck," the man straightened, attentive.

   "Mr.  Peck.  I am not asking this to get you in trouble.  But a man I
know mentioned you might know ...  you might know where I could get some
.22 ammo ..."

   Mr.  Peck seemed nervous.  He hemmed and hawed a bit.  At last he looked
outside the window, as if he was seeing if someone were coming.  Or
listening.

   "Mister ..." he stopped.  He didn't know Clipper's name.  Clipper would
give him that, at least.

   "Clipper." Clipper said.  "No mister.  Just Clipper."

   "Ah, yes, ahem.  Clipper.  I am taking a risk, you understand.  The
legality of this item ...  is in question, at the moment.  To possess the
weapon itself is a death sentence, I'm sure you know, in the wrong area. 
Here, in the wilds, the law is a bit more ...  lenient.  But I'm still
taking a risk."

   Clipper nodded.

   "I know someone who might have a few boxes, back on a shelf somewhere,
stuff that he hasn't gotten around to turning in yet...  but you
understand, this item is pretty pricey."

   "How pricey would that be, if some hypothetical person were to want to
buy a box?"

   Mr.  Peck named a number.  It sounded pretty high to Clipper.  Dammit,
he still didn't understand the money.  And he'd always thought he was good
with money.  Jeezus.  He turned to Girl.  She nodded solemnly, and held up
a coin.  The biggest coin they had.

   "We can buy two boxes," she whispered, getting into the covert feel of
the conversation.  He nodded his thanks.

   "Mr.  Peck ...  I have a friend ...  who would like to purchase two
boxes.  If your source would place them on the counter, I'm sure my ... 
mysterious friend would leave the money, plus a tip for your trouble."

   Mr.  Peck laughed and nodded.  They wandered up the aisle, careful not
to look at the back of the store.  When they went back to the counter, two
boxes of .22 hollow-point long rifle lay on it.  Mr.  Peck was gone in the
back somewhere.  Clipper had a hurried conversation with Girl about what a
slightly more-than-reasonable tip would be, and they left two coins on the
counter.  Clipper put the boxes in his pocket and they left.

   The diner was buzzing.  Ableard was there, and he came right over to
Clipper and Girl as soon as they walked in.

   "Clipper.  You just come from your side?  You been home since last
night?"

   "No, we been here all night, on this side," he wondered if Ableard was
testing him.  He knew that it was a full days trip, if not more, to the far
side of the mountain.

   "Skipps burned last night.  Just wondered if you guys had heard
anything."

   "Damn.  No, first I heard of it.  That's bad news." said Clipper.

   "Refugees will be pouring in before long.  Good people, and bad." said
Ableard.

   It was never good when a major metropolitan area fell.  The people just
poured out, into the countryside, hungry and upset.  This just meant lots
of visitors.  Lots of hungry, angry, homeless visitors.  Shit.

   "Thanks for the warning.  You think they'll come this high?  Or go down
the mountain?" he said.  He felt a kinship with the man, for some reason.
He felt like he could trust him.  They hadn't eaten yet, and he motioned
Ableard outside.

   "The smart ones will go down.  We'll just get the idiots and the
crazies," Ableard said, snorting.

   "Ableard.  I know I can trust you.  The honest truth is we don't really
live on the far side.  We're about three miles northwest of here, up the
mountain in a cabin I used to hunt out of.  I want you to know the truth."

   Clipper felt like if he gave the man something, he might get something
back.  He did, but not something good.

   "Oh..." Ableard had nodded, and seemed deep in thought.  "Are you in the
old Kymes place?"

   "Yes!" Clipper remembered that name from what seemed like a thousand
years ago, when he used to hunt and fish out of the cabin.

   "I see ...  that's kind of what we thought, John and I ...  Clipper,
that's actually Mr.  Simmons property ...  I'm not sure what he might think
of you living there ..."

   Oh, shit.  Well, if it was his property he didn't monitor it too
closely.

   "Shit.  I hope he doesn't mind.  I guess I need to talk about it with
him someday." He wasn't sure if he wanted to do that or not, actually.  His
hold on the cabin suddenly seemed tenuous.

   "Mr.  Simmons is a ...  peculiar man.  He might mind, or he might not.
As far as I know, he doesn't know you're there, yet.  He said nothing about
it last week, when we hunted with him.  Don't worry, we won't tell."

   "Isn't land ownership, in large tracts, a little difficult any more?"
Clipper asked.

   "Unless you've got lots of money.  Clipper, some things never change. 
Society has gone to shit, but the rich still have privilege.  And the rich
still get richer."

   "Yeah.  True."

   "Well." Said Ableard.  "I didn't mean to rain on your parade.  But the
sooner you know something like that, the better.  And, thanks for telling
me where you actually are."

   "Yeah, thank you.  I needed to know.  Do you guys often have...  refugee
problems here?"

   "Not really, not since the last big convulsion.  But this thing in
Skipps, it means a lot of people will be on the road.  We'll get our share,
I'm sure."

   "Yeah, I guess."

   "The greatest fear is it might bring the law into town.  And that's one
thing that nobody wants, Peacekeepers on every corner.  People always die,
when that happens.  Good people, as well as bad."

   Yes, thought Clipper, and no more hunting rifles or target practice. 
Shit.

   "Clipper." Ableard turned, and faced away from Girl.  It was obvious he
didn't want her included in the conversation.  Hey, thought Clipper, we're
a team.  We're man and wife.  What I know, she knows.  He'd tell her later,
whatever it was, anyway.

   Ableard continued, speaking quietly.  "Be very careful with your ... 
wife.  Something happens in this town, this whole area ...  to pretty
girls. There have been over a dozen go missing, in the last few years
alone. And your ...  wife ...  is the prettiest we've seen, in a long time.
Maybe ever.  Just be careful with her."

   "Ableard.  Thanks.  We will be.  She's ...  surprisingly able to take
care of herself ..."

   "Clipper." his voice dropped even further.  "I don't mean to pry, but is
she ...  is she the wild one?"

   He laughed.  So he wasn't the only one that had ran into her, out there
in the woods.

   "Yes.  She was living in the woods when I came.  I fixed her leg, gave
her some medicine and a few rabbits and now we've ...  we've gotten pretty
attached to each other."

   "You're a lucky man, Clipper.  Take good care of her."

   "I will, Ableard.  And, thanks.  Hey.  Next time you guys are in the
area, stop by.  Just stand out front and yell so the dogs don't bother
you."

   "We'll do that.  Thank you.  Take care."

   The man departed.  Clipper and Girl went into the diner.  After they had
ordered, Clipper spoke to her.

   "Did you hear what he said?  About girls missing?"

   "Yes."

   "Know anything about that?"

   "Yes."

   Shit!  What?

   "Girl.  What do you know?" he leaned towards her, keeping his voice low.

   "Not here." she said.  "Later."

   Shit.  Later it was.  He wondered if it had anything to do with why she
was living out in the woods.  With why she was homeless and parent-less. 
Shit.  He was bursting with curiosity.  It was hard to just sit and eat,
after that but he managed.

   As they walked home he could barely wait until they got out of town to
ask her.

   "Girl.  Tell me what you know.  Please!"

   She looked all around like she feared lurking listeners.  She thought
for a while like she often still did.  At last she spoke.

   "It wasn't here.  Statesville.  Down the mountain."

   "Okay." he said, as silence loomed, again.

   "A girl that used to watch me.  Sit with me.  She disappeared."

   That was it?  This girl was one of the missing girls?  Why did she think
these things were connected?

   "Clip." She stopped, and turned to face him.  "It's that old man. 
Silver hair.  She watched for him, too.  For his kid.  In the big house. 
One day she went to his house, and never came back.  She just didn't have
anybody to miss her.  Nobody watched her back for her.  I think he did it.
I never saw him, until the other day.  But I remember his name.  And I saw
the way...  the way he looked at me."

   "Girl.  If it was that simple, somebody else would have noticed, too. 
You can't just grab a girl off the street, even if you're rich and
powerful. You can't just kidnap your kid's babysitter."

   "I'm not saying that's what he did.  But that's the last place she went
to.  And then she disappeared."

   "Girl.  Where is Statesville from here?"

   She pointed down the mountain, mutely.

   "It's probably, what?  Another three or four miles down?"

   She shrugged and nodded at the same time.  She didn't know.

   "That's a long way to go, for a babysitter."

   "She went up there and stayed.  For days.  He paid her good, I remember
that much.  And that was when they used the old money."

   "Shit.  Well, stay away from the bastard.  Remember, you didn't like the
way he looked at you?  Just stay away."

   "You watch my back and I'll watch yours." She said.  He nodded.  He
would.

   They walked a thousand yards.  He couldn't stop thinking, wondering.

   "Girl." He gave her an appropriate amount of time to think.

   "Girl.  Did you grow up in Statesville?"

   She took an equally long time to answer.

   "Yes." Then it was just one word.

   "You don't have any people left there?  No aunts, uncles, cousins? 
Nobody?"

   "Yes."

   "Your..." he hesitated.  He didn't want to make her mad, or make her
think he doubted what she'd told him earlier.  He continued.  "Your
parents?"

   "Dead.  The plague."

   Shit.  Shit, shit, shit.  Why was this just now coming up?  Did he want
it to come up?  Did he want to know?

   "Girl.  You ever thought about going back to see who's there that you
might know?"

   "Yes."

   "Why haven't you?"

   "I got you now.  I don't care about them.  They never cared about me."

   "Girl, Girl." he was frustrated.  "It doesn't always work like that.  I
mean, you're a minor.  Civilization, our civilization, has gone to crap,
but there's still laws, kind of.  Well, maybe not laws, but accepted
patterns of behaviour.  You're still a minor."

   Shit.  This was all he needed.  Statutory rape, on top of everything
else.  Did anybody care anymore?  Was there even a judicial system, around
here?  Would the sheriff care?  And he'd just started calling her his wife,
in front of these people.

   "Girl.  You're makin' me think that we need to find a preacher quick,
and get married for real." Actually, he thought, you're making me think I
need to stop screwing you, and deny it ever happened.  But, for her sake,
he didn't know if he could do that.  She seemed to enjoy it as much as he
did.  And, hell.  He did enjoy it.

   He just shut up and they walked home.  He spent the rest of the day
digging in his trench and thinking.

   Chapter XV

   She was wild, that night.  Sometimes she was slow and soft and gentle
and tame and some nights she was wild.  This was one of those nights.  They
had barely started kissing when she grabbed him by the hair and dragged his
head down to her pussy.  He got the message, and sucked her fabulous fat
clit into his mouth, sucking it until it became a hard little stub.  She
moaned and groaned and even squealed a time or two and he laughed softly to
himself.  He upended her, and stuck his tongue into her wonderful asshole.
God, he loved her ass, he loved the taste of her and the smell of her... 
he loved her holographically, every little bit of his love had the whole
image, the whole picture inside it, the whole love.

   He knew love was a mental thing, that it could never be measured or
cataloged, but he knew that his love for her was off the charts, way off
the scale.  He had always thought that obsession came after love, but he
realized that what he felt for her was way more than even obsession.  He
tried to think of a new word to describe what he felt for her, but
everything he thought up was too ridiculous to say out loud, so he gave up.
He thought, simply, I love you.  How weak, how quick, how puny that is.  I
love you.  That sentence should be a thousand words long, and long words,
too, not simple three and four letter ones.  He forgot all that, usually,
and whispered in her ear, I love you, I love you.  I love you.

   He could feel her cute little asshole puckering under his tongue.  He
could taste the harsh, bitter, slightly shitty taste of her ass.  He loved
it.  He loved everything about her, especially her ass.  Her pussy was a
close second.  Tits were three.  Anyway, he loved her ass.  He remembered
the first time he'd seen her ass, when she lay, unconscious before him on
his couch.  The poor girl had been reduced to using leaves to wipe herself
with.  Her ass had been a stinky, brown-streaked mess.  A sexy mess.  I
know, I know, he thought, I'm a perv.  But I loved that shit.  I loved
cleaning up that shit.  I love her, and I love her shit.  I admit it.  He'd
never actually admit it, other than to himself, though.  He had certainly
not admitted it to her.  He didn't want her to think he was a weirdo.  He
curled his tongue into a tube shape, and drove it deep into her anus.  She
has to know I'm a little strange, though, he thought, if I'll do that.  She
wiggled and squirmed beneath him, and he sawed his finger in and out of her
cunt, feeling her body twitch and writhe.  He loved her.  He loved the
strong smell of her ass in his nose.  He loved the taste of her slightly
shitty sphincter on his tongue.  He loved the feeling of her hard ass cheek
in his left hand, and the feeling of her soft wet slippery cunt on his
right index finger.  He loved the whole her.  He loved every atom of her
being, ever cell of her body.

   She grabbed his dick, and yanked it unmercifully as she crawled down his
body.  She took him into her mouth, growling.  He relaxed, and tried to
keep from cumming as hard as he could.  Jeezus.  She was very skillful, for
someone self-taught, he thought.  Then again, it's not rocket surgery. 
Even a crappy blow job feels pretty good.  Hers were not crappy, though. 
They were fine, and elegant.  To the point.  Serious, and funny.  He loved
her tongue.  He loved to feel it on his tongue, and on his dick.  She had a
fine tongue, a talented tongue.  A young, firm, talented tongue.  He
sighed, and melted, trying to keep control of his balls.  He was ready to
cum.  He knew he would still be expected to fuck the shit out of her, here
in a few minutes.  It's just the way she operated.  Licky, licky, fucky. 
He knew the routine, by now.  He knew the way she worked and he was a real
believer.



   --==+==-

   The next trauma seemed to waste no time being upon them.  One day they
were fairly far afield, hunting squirrels and rabbits for the dogs, just
killing time, really.  Girl saw the man first, and touched Clipper on the
arm.  She was already hunkering down, holding Bear so he didn't give them
away.  They hid, and watched as the man approached from a tangent, headed
off up the mountain from them.  Bear, of course, had to growl, but he
growled softly, low enough that the man couldn't hear it.  Clipper had
recognized him immediately, it was Mr.  Simmons, from the big house.  Mr.
Simmons, my landlord, he thought.  Shit.  Might as well get this over with.
He looked at Girl, and nodded.  They stood, he and shouted "Hallooo!"

   Mr.  Simmons was very cool.  He stopped, froze, and then turned.  He was
less than a hundred feet away.  He was armed, but Clipper wasn't afraid of
him.  They closed, and finally stood together, shaking hands.  Bear gave
him a sniff, and then went off guard duty.

   "Clipper, is it?" Mr.  Simmons said.  Clipper nodded.

   "Mr.  Simmons, sir," he wasn't sure if this was a mistake or not, but he
felt like it had to be done.  And the sooner the better.

   "Mr.  Simmons, I have a confession to make.  I understand you own the
old Kymes place, right northwest of Devonsville."

   The man nodded.  "It's on my tract, yes."

   "Well, we are living there, at the moment.  I didn't know anyone owned
it.  I thought it was up for grabs.  I used to hunt and fish out of there,
years ago ..."

   "I see," said Mr.  Simmons.  "Yes, the other day Dean told me that it
looked like someone was living there ...  well, that is a problem ..."

   "I would be glad to reimburse you, somehow, if you could see letting us
stay there.  Whether in labor or meat...  I can give you eggs, even...  or
if you could come up with a number, I do have some income..." Shit, not
much, though, he thought.  He was already making plans in his head to build
his own cabin, somewhere on up the mountain, On public land.  If this guy
throws us out, he thought.

   "Well, let me talk that over with my tax guy." Mr.  Simmons said,
jarring Clipper's mind.  Tax guy?  People around here still paid taxes? 
Jeezus.  "I had thought that someday maybe my son might move in there.  It
is a nice place."

   "Yes, sir.  I understand.  Just let me know." Shit, shit.

   "There are other...  services that I occasionally require." Mr.  Simmons
looked squarely at Girl.  "My daughter is just turning three.  We sometimes
require a sitter for her, a nanny, call it what you will.  You, young lady,
would be just perfect for that."

   Girl nodded somberly, her eyes never leaving the man.  Clipper felt left
out, he could easily tell where the focus had shifted to.

   "Well," he finally said.  "Just let us know.  I wanted to be square with
you, once I found out you owned the place."

   "Yes, I appreciate it." said Mr.  Simmons, still staring at Girl.  "I'll
let you know.  I know where you live now."

   Shit, thought Clipper.  You do that.  You do that.  They said their
goodbyes, and the man turned and headed away.  Clipper and Girl headed down
the mountain.  Scarcely three hundred yards had passed when Girl said, "The
fuck I will."

   Clipper stopped and turned and regarded her with bemusement.  He'd never
even heard her say gosh or golly before, much less fuck.  He was
scandalized, but he had to admit, he was kind of turned on, too.  He liked
it when girls talked dirty.

   "You, young lady, have a potty mouth." he said, laughing, and grabbed
her by the shoulder, leaning her down over his knee and kissing her.  He
pulled her back up, and hugged her to his body.

   "I will never go to that house.  Ever." she said.

   "I will never ask you too.  Ever." he said.  She nodded.

   "Thank you."

   They trudged on home, and had ham and eggs for dinner.  He said
something about Sam I am and green eggs and ham, and she just stared at him
blankly.  What we have lost, he thought, feeling a great sadness.  What we
have lost.

   Chapter XVI

   The Skipps problem affected them instantly.  Within a few days, the
woods were full of people.  Just like Ableard had said, hungry, angry,
worried people.  People that didn't know how to live off the land.  People
that needed help.

   The dogs, at least, let them know when anyone approached the cabin. 
Even if someone was simply in sight, moving through the forest.  The first
few were men, and they avoided the dogs and moved on.  One day Clipper and
Girl were out back, and they heard he dogs start up.  They went around to
the front, Clipper nocking an arrow in his bow, just in case.  A woman
stood, two hundred feet away, and called to the house.  A woman, and seven
or eight kids.  Jeezus, thought Clipper.  How is she ever going to get
anywhere with that crew.  Jeezus.

   He sent Girl in the house for beef jerky, and let her carry it out to
them.  He didn't want the dogs to bite any kids.  He wasn't that worried
about letting Girl approach them, not with seven kids.  And he knew Girl
was fairly capable of taking care of herself by now.  Even so he kept
maneuvering so that Girl was never between him and the group, blocking a
shot.  He just wanted to make sure that the kids were all really kids.  The
woman accepted the jerky, thanked them, and moved on.  Clipper felt for
her, but he didn't know what he could do other than that.  She needed to
get on down the mountain, and find a place with some kind of social
services.  Not on a mountain, jeezus.  The kids hadn't even all been hers,
some were different colors.  That was generous of her, but jeezus.  It was
depressing to him, and sobering to Girl.

   Over the next few days more and more folks passed thru.  Clipper pretty
much sent the men packing, but helped the women or people with children. 
He was never brave enough to allow anyone to spend the night or anything,
though.  He knew he couldn't afford to get attached to any of these people.
As he aged, it would be all he could do to keep up with looking after Girl.
He didn't need any more.

   Only once did they have a real problem.  Only once did Clipper, once
again, have to kill a man.  Night had fallen and Girl had needed to make
her final trip to the privy.  He'd accompanied her, as he always did,
taking his bow out of habit.  He stood maybe ten feet away, and when she'd
opened the door she screamed.  Out of the privy a man jumped wildly,
grabbing her momentarily by the sleeve.  She screamed again, short and
hard, and pulled away from him, stumbling backwards.  The man screamed
wildly, a long Tarzan-like yell, and headed for her again.  Clipper had his
bow drawn by then, but was afraid to shoot, for fear of hitting Girl.  The
ground boiled with dogs by then, coming around from the front of the house.
Girl had fallen, tripping over something, but, with the speed of youth, she
leapt to her feet and disappeared into the night.  The man was still going
after her.  He acted like he'd never even seen Clipper.  Clipper was far
enough to the side now to not worry about hitting girl, and he nailed the
man with a broad-head in the lower left side, right below his ribcage, just
as Fang seized his leg.  The man fell, his fingers still scrabbling on the
hard ground like he didn't want to give up the chase.  Girl crept back, a
knife in each hand, and her and Clipper stared at each other, panting.

   The next morning he was digging another grave.  The man had had nothing,
no possessions, nothing but the clothes on his back.  And they had been
nice clothes, at one time.  Clipper wondered why the guy acted so crazy,
why he basically forced them to kill him.  No idea.  And that probably
wasn't the only crazy thing they'd see, from here on out.

   After he'd buried the man, he started on another doghouse.  At least
half the dogs needed to be behind the house.  Half and half sounded good to
him.  He did not want this to happen again.  He wanted Girl to feel safe,
in her own home, at least.

   Clipper also decided then and there to follow through with an idea he'd
had for an indoor privy, a real bathroom.  Water from the pump could flush,
and he could just run the pipe down the hill aways, a few hundred yards or
so.  Just a matter of finding three or four inch pipe somewhere.  He didn't
want Girl to have to go outside, where it was dark and dangerous.  That
might be a good winter project.

   Girl couldn't make herself go to the privy, the next night.  Luckily,
she was a morning person when it came to moving her bowels.  Clipper let
her use his gold panning pan to pee in, and then he poured her urine down
the drain and pumped a few times.  It surprised him that she was that
scared, although he understood, it had been frightening.  He was surprised
that she hadn't managed to nail the guy with a knife.  She was probably too
close, though.  Maybe next time, he thought.  The guy must have been pretty
sneaky to get to the back of the house without making noises the dogs could
hear.  Anyway, he vowed to never let her go outside after dark
unaccompanied.  He doubted that she would, after this.

   The bad thing is, Clipper thought ...  either one of us ...  all we have
to do is fail one time, and we die.  One of us dies, or both.  That was the
bad thing about living like this.  You could never be wrong or slow.  And
it wasn't a matter of simply being quick, you had to be the quickest, every
time.  Or you died.

   Chapter XVII

   Clipper was out back, digging on his trench, when he heard a "halloo"
from the front of the house.  He grabbed his bow out of habit, even though
he knew that somebody warning of their approach probably meant little
danger.  He hoped, at least.  He went around the cabin, and saw Ableard
Wilson and his friend John standing well out of the dog danger zone.  He
went forward and greeted them and invited them in.  The dogs behaved fairly
well since Clipper escorted the men, and they went into the cabin and
seated themselves before the fire, although it wasn't even a cool day.  It
still felt good.

   They caught him up on the gossip around town, and he told them about the
crazy guy in the privy the other night.

   "We have had our share of that in town," said Ableard.  "We had a crazy
man climb the water tower the other day and both preach to and cuss at
people on the ground."

   The two of them laughed.  Ableard shook his head.  "John was gonna
simply shoot him down but two of our former firemen climbed the tower and
corralled him."

   "What do you guys do then, with people?"

   "Just take them to the edge of town, and run them on out, basically. 
There aren't any real social services left to deal with stuff like that."

   "I saw that you guys had a water tower," said Clipper.  "Does it work?
Do you have water in town?"

   "A generator runs a pump once a day and puts a little water in it.  We
try to limit usage, usually unsuccessfully.  It's an honor system, since no
infrastructure is in place for billing."

   "I see.  Are there a lot of empty houses in town?"

   "Yes, a hell of a lot.  The town is maybe a quarter filled up.  I don't
know exactly."

   "Are the empty house just up for grabs, then?"

   "Pretty much.  The county doesn't keep records anymore.  I mean,
somebody might claim to own it, just because they owned it before..."

   "I see.  You said firemen.  Is there still a firefighting service, at
all?"

   "Just volunteer.  We keep a truck in running order, and water in it.  We
can't let the town burn, no matter what, even if society has gone to shit."

   "I guess.  Ableard."

   "What?"

   "Do you think...  do you think it'll ever get better?  Do you think the
country will somehow get a grip, and rise again?  I don't mean be a
superpower again, I mean just be able to take care of the people."

   "I don't know, Clipper," Ableard sighed.  "I've given a lot of thought
to that.  All of us, who knew life before the Fall, have, I'm sure. 
Washington ...  Washington is a dream of the past, now that China runs the
world.  Old-style local governments still seem to exist, in some places ...
but the central authority is gone.  I have no idea who pays the
Peacekeepers, maybe they just run themselves.  Now, it seems to me, local
government exists solely on the strength of the personalities who run it.
No authority exists except what people take on themselves.  Take on, and
are able to exert through force, basically.  Just like the property tax
guy. He comes around every now and then, to collect.  But most everybody
just laughs at him, since he has no authority or force behind him.  And I
wonder sometimes if he's just putting the money in his pocket if he gets
anything.  No idea."

   The man was silent.

   "What about China?" said Clipper.  "Do you think things will change for
the better or worse once they are completely in charge?  Do you even think
they'll eventually be in charge?"

   "I dunno, Clip." Ableard looked deep in thought.  "We are deeply in
their debt, in many ways, not just monetarily.  They cleaned the mess in
Middle East up for us, I think to everyone's surprise, and they did a good
job of hosing the bad guys out.  A bit brutal, at times, but very decisive.
On a national scale, they have helped us greatly.  What little influence in
the world that we have left is pretty much due to them.  If not for China,
we'd probably be having this conversation in Russian, right now.  Or worse,
Arabic.  But, in twenty years, we'll be speaking Mandarin.  Is that better?
I don't know.  No idea."

   Ableard's friend John spoke up for the first time.  "You wanna know who
pays the Peacekeeper's wages?  China, that's who.  That's a well-kept
secret, and a fact."

   Clipper nodded.  John was a bit intense, at times.  And highly paranoid.
Clipper had no idea if he was right, or not.

   "Do you guys ever hear anything from overseas?  How it's going in other
countries?"

   There was silence for a while.  Ableard said, "Well, we all know China
is prospering, of course.  Russia?  No idea.  Surviving, last I heard. 
Europe seems to be doing okay, surviving, with occasional ...  convulsions
...  like we have had.  The rest of the world?  No idea."

   "The last time I was in Skipps," Clipper said, not mentioning that it
had been close to twenty-five years ago, "There was a large Hispanic
population.  I wonder how Mexico is doing."

   "The last I heard, Mexico was doing okay," said Ableard.  "It's kind of
backwards.  The first world nations suffered the most, when the fuel ran
out.  The poor countries, the countries that never had much to start with,
just kept on going like they always had been.  Crazy.  Makes some sense,
though, I guess.  The more you have to lose, the worse it hurts."

   "Yeah."

   The silence stretched.  Clipper was happy just to sit there and commune
with them in silence.  Girl left her seat on the couch, and came and sat on
his lap, like she liked to do.  He held her and breathed her scent in,
loving her.

   "You doin' okay, girl?" Ableard asked her, smiling at her.  She smiled
shyly and nodded.

   "You are related to the St.  Cyrs, right?" Ableard asked her.  She
nodded cautiously.

   "I saw your grammaw the other day, down near Wellston.  Seems to be
doing okay.  Said one of your aunts has a baby on the way."

   Girl nodded again, even more cautiously Clipper thought.  This was very
interesting to him.  He wondered if he could ever talk to Ableard alone
about her.  It seemed like to him that Ableard knew some things about her.
Interesting.  He didn't want to appear to her to be prying in her business,
though.  He wouldn't ask her, he'd decided before.  He'd listen, if she
wanted to talk, but he wouldn't ask her any more questions.

   Chapter XVIII

   The two of them and Bear were far down the mountain, hunting rabbits or
squirrels or anything else the dogs would eat.  They stopped, and sat on a
hollow log, and had some jerky for lunch.  Clipper fed the dog and they
talked and laughed and argued, and Clipper teased her gently.

   "Girl.  You ever kissed a boy?  Other than me?"

   She just stared at him like she couldn't believe he'd just asked her
that.  She didn't turn red or anything, she just stared.  He felt stupid,
and wished he'd kept his mouth shut.  She is not a simple teen-age girl, he
told himself.  She is something much more complicated.  Be more careful
with her.  Then, she surprised him.

   "Hell, yeah," she said.

   Shit.  Now what, he thought.  Confession time?

   "Wait." she said.  "Did you say kissed, or kicked?"

   "Heh." he was relieved.  "You never kicked me, silly."

   "Not yet." she said, standing and turning, backing up a foot to a good
kicking distance.

   He had just opened his mouth to say something, to be a smart-ass, when
he saw the look on her face as she stared over his shoulder.  His guts
turned to ice.  He knew instantly they had been caught with their pants
down.

   Girl slowly raised her hands until they were even with her shoulders. 
Her face was whiter than he'd ever seen it before.  Her eyes were wide with
fear.  He slowly, carefully turned his head as far as he could.  Out of the
corner of his eye he could see the figure of a man standing behind him.  A
man, holding something.  Shit, he thought.  Oh shit.

   He slowly raised his arms too, without any idea of why, other than that
Girl had raised hers, and it seemed like a good idea because of that.  He
desperately wished the pistol in his belt was in his hands, but it was not,
and he didn't see how he could have drawn it without it being obvious.  He
knew either a bow or a gun was aimed at his back, just from the fact that
Girl had raised her arms.

   He slowly stood in a half-crouch, and turned, looking at the man.  You
goddam bastard, he breathed to himself, staring at the man.  You son of a
bitch.

   The man looked genuinely crazy.  He had a beard, a wild unkempt beard.
Shit.  More crazy folks.  The hills were full of them, lately.  The man's
hair, what of it he had, stuck out in every direction.  His clothes were
ragged, one leg torn completely off the jeans.  He was grinning widely and
somewhat insanely, and his teeth looked like a row of Corn-nuts.  He was
wearing an ancient, rotted pair of Nikes.  Before-the-Fall Nikes.  Jeezus.
Clipper hadn't seen Nikes in fifteen years.

   Clipper saw all that in an instant.  But that was not what really scared
him.  What really scared him was the Russian-made assault rifle in the
man's hands.  An AK47.  Sweet jeezus, he thought, an AK.  He'd actually
owned on of those, back somewhere in the mists of time.  Where did this
motherfucker get a goddam AK?  he wondered.  It even had a huge clip on it.
Shit, thought Clipper.  I am fifty-five years old, and this is the first
time I remember ever looking down the muzzle of a gun like this.  That guy
with the .22 that time, that little hole?  I didn't even notice it.  But
this?  Damn.  What a hole that thing has.  What a giant freakin' hole in
the end of it.  A cannon.  It looked like death to him.  Not as obviously
death as a double barreled shotgun might have, but death none the less. 
True death.

   The man still hadn't spoken.  He giggled, hysterically, though.  That is
not a good sign, Clipper thought.  Clipper slowly moved, trying to shield
Girl with his body.  The man did not like that.  Rage flooded his face, and
he shook the gun with his bony hands and leaned forward like he was fixing
to absorb some recoil from the weapon.  Oh shit, thought Clipper.  Is that
going to be my final thought?  Oh shit?

   Something exploded from the log beneath his feet, and was over the log
and into the air.  The man fired the weapon, but the dog already had his
arm in its mouth by then.  The shot went harmlessly into the air, the sound
echoing and rumbling down the mountain.  The man and the dog went over
backwards and by the time Clipper got over the log and retrieved the gun it
was pretty much over.  Bear stood over the man, panting, his sides heaving
and his muzzle bloody.  Clipper saw balls of dog hair floating away on the
breeze.

   A huge flap of skin was torn from the man's neck, and blood sprayed from
it as the man writhed on the ground.  Wordless noises and bubbling came
from the hole in his throat as he struggled less and less.  Girl smashed
into Clipper's body from behind, and he brought her around and hugged her
to his body, dropping the gun to the ground.  She looked at the man, and
then looked away.  He held her.  There was absolutely nothing he could do
for the man.

   Finally, after what seemed like forever the man no longer moved.  Blood
had ran down the sides of his neck and soaked the short grass beneath him.
It no longer pumped out, though.  The man was dead.

   "Son of a bitch!" said Clipper.  He just stood there dumbly, staring at
the man and the dog.

   "Girl," he said, "your dog just killed a man." He didn't figure the dog
weighed eighty pounds, even.  Shit.  What a beast, though.

   "I...  I'm sorry, I guess." said Girl, puzzled.

   "Girl." he laughed.  "I'm not getting on you.  He saved our lives. 
Shit. That fucker was getting ready to shoot me.  Your fucking dog saved
our lives.  Mine, at least." He didn't want to think about what probably
would have happened to her, after he'd been shot.

   She made a face, and then laughed nervously.  Clipper strode to the
fallen man, and turned him over.  He searched for more bullets, but found
none.  Just whatever was in the clip, he thought.  If any.  The poor fool
even had a billfold in his pocket.  He pulled it out, and read the man's
name from an ancient driver's license.

   "Albert Emerson, the third." He wondered if there was a fourth,
somewhere, or if this was the end of the line.

   "Poor Albert," said Girl.

   "Yes, poor dead Albert.  Girl, don't feel sorry for his stupid ass.  He
was just seconds away from killing me.  I could see it in his eyes."

   She nodded, and knelt, hugging Bear, being careful not to get blood on
her shirt.

   He laughed, pulling a thick handful of ancient, wrinkled bills from the
billfold.  He gave them to Girl.

   "That's the old money, Girl.  Hang onto that, those are hundreds..."

   She regarded it with bemusement.

   "Yes, I remember this stuff," she said.  "how can paper be worth
anything?"

   "In the end, it wasn't worth diddly, but they fooled everybody with that
shit for a long time." he said.  He didn't really want to get into
explaining the concepts behind currency here, out in the field.  Maybe
tonight.

   "We gotta give that dog something special tonight," said Clipper,
shaking his head.  He stared at the dead man.

   "What do we do with him?" Girl asked, also gazing at the body.

   "This one?  We walk away, and let him rot in peace."

   Clipper slid the gun's sling over his shoulder, and retrieved his bow.
He gave the dog the last of the beef jerky, and they turned back to the
cabin.  They had hunted enough for one day, he figured.  The dogs could eat
jerky tonight.  Except for Bear.  He'd give Bear a chicken, he'd already
decided.



   --==+==-

   When they got back to the cabin, he stripped the bullets out of the
clip, cleaned the gun as best he could and oiled it.  It was a MAK-90,
rather than an actual AK, which meant it was semi-automatic rather than
fully automatic.  That made it even better for what he'd use it for.  He
reloaded it and hid it away in the hiding place beneath a loose floor plank
along with the .22.  Almost thirty rounds of 7.62X39 FMJ had been in the
clip, and one was in the chamber.  This was a weapon he could hunt fairly
large game with, he thought, and for self-defense, it could not be beat. 
He realized again how close he'd come to being a dead man, if not for that
dog.  Jeezus.  He was glad all over again that the dogs had come to live
with them.  That the dogs had chosen them.



   He held her, that night.  He held her like he always did.  She cried a
little bit, like she did so often, for reasons he could not fathom.  She
seemed to shake it off, and her soft lips sought his.  They kissed for
hours, it seemed like to him, glorious hours, and he thought, I could die
now, except that I know what's going to come next.  I'll hang around, for
that.  He gently caressed her breasts, squeezing her nipples, the
combination of hardness and softness lending some hardness to himself.  She
was ready long before he was, he could have done just the foreplay stuff
all night.  He would have been happy, with just that.  She finally
literally crawled underneath his body, her legs spread.  He sought out her
warm wet soft center without using his hands, and pushed into her
tightness. Into the center of her soul.  She gasped and writhed beneath
him, like something in pain, but he knew there was no more pain for her,
just pleasure.  She was tight, jeezus she was tight...  almost painfully
tight.  He felt like he could feel every little ridge and ripple of her
pussy with the head of his dick.  He pumped, slowly, and let the pleasure
mount.  She gasped and moaned and smashed her mouth to his.  He tasted
blood.  Her tongue was in his mouth.  His dick was in her cunt.  He felt
like they were even.

   She began to moan a long, loud moan, with little hiccup things in it. 
He almost laughed sometimes at the noises she made, but he was glad she was
uninhibited enough not to worry about silly noises.  He was glad she was
having a good time and he was glad he was giving it to her.  When she came
she shrieked, and he smiled with satisfaction and let himself cum at last.
He pumped his impotent seed deep inside her body, feeling her jerk and
twitch beneath him, feeling her lips on his, and her ass beneath his hands.
For a moment he forget everything, even his own identity, and sunk into the
ocean of her body without a trace.  I am drowning, I am drowning, he
thought, dying with pleasure, dying with love.  I am drowning.





   Chapter XIX

   Sometimes Clipper got hungry for the open road.  He'd never consider
going, of course, with Girl and the stability the cabin gave him.  He'd
never expose her to that danger.  But he'd always loved to travel, loved to
see new things.  He realized that this was very nearly the longest he'd
stayed in one place since the Fall.  Of course he didn't mind, he was
happier than he'd ever been in his whole life, thanks to Girl.  All he
wanted was to stay here and finish his life out, holding her in his arms
every night.  But he still wished he could travel the area, at least.  See
what was over the next hill.  It was a habit, almost.

   One day, he was pawing through a drawer in the kitchen, looking for
something to sharpen knives with, when he realized what the paper lining
the drawer was made of.  He emptied the drawer, and carefully pulled out
the paper.  It was a map, an old worn, torn, tattered yellowed map.  And,
to his glee, it was a map of the whole state.  He was familiar with the
area, having grown up near here, but having a map was great.  Something he
could judge scale by.  He laid it out on the kitchen table, and spent the
rest of the evening poring over it.  Girl snorted at him, but he just
smiled and bent over the map.

   He found the mountain fairly accurately portrayed, and Devonsville was
right where it should be.  He found what he wanted to find, Wellston. 
Maybe three or four miles southeast of Devonsville.  Interesting.  He began
to plan a long journey, maybe an overnight one.



   --==+==-

   That evening he assembled some supplies, and found his old backpack.  He
packed two blankets in it, and a few days supply of beef jerky.  That
night, he told Girl of his plans to scout the area, without telling her of
his real intentions.  He felt slightly guilty about it, this was the first
time he'd consciously deceived her, but he felt like what he was trying to
do was important.  He just hoped and prayed that it wouldn't cause him to
lose her.  He didn't actually worry that it would, since the way she had
talked made it seem that she wasn't anxious to return to her people.  After
the things Ableard had said about the breakdowns in social services and
society in general he didn't think he could be forced to give her up by her
folk.  He was confident Girl had every intention of staying with him.  But
he felt like she needed to see her people again, to let them know she was
okay.  He just wasn't sure how she'd react when she realized what was going
on.

   The next morning, bright and early, he grabbed his bow, and they set
out. He wished he had a way to lock the cabin, but he just had to trust the
dogs would do well on guard duty.  They hadn't let him down yet.  They
headed off down the mountain, sometimes led or sometimes followed by Bear.

   Fall was just around the corner.  He could feel it in the air.  The
morning was brisk and cool.  He felt young, walking along beside her,
holding her hand.  Last night had been a wild one with her.  He was glad,
that meant it was short and sweet, along with wild.  He felt like he'd
gotten enough sleep for once.  Sleeping with her was hard on him at times,
because not a lot of sleeping got done.  It wasn't like they had sex the
whole time, often she slept, and he just lay there and held her, drinking
her in, loving her.  He realized sometimes that he was worshiping her.  He
did it for hours, just watching her breathe in and out.  That would be
enough for him, if that's all he had.  It had been for a long time, he
remembered.  But now...  now he had it all.  He never thought he'd be this
happy, before the Fall or after.  But he knew the dangers in happiness, he
knew how easy it was for it to be taken away.  He could not imagine living
with the desolation again, if she left him.  He knew he would not survive
it.  He couldn't, at this stage.

   He watched her as she walked.  He liked to let her get a few feet ahead
of him, so he could watch her butt as she walked.  She looked fine in
jeans. She had a fine butt.  This is why the bad guys get the drop on you
every time, he told himself, all you do is stare at her butt when you
should be paying attention to your surroundings.  It was a hard habit to
break, though.

   They quickly came to Devonsville, and walked down the main street to the
diner.  It was breakfast time, and pretty much the whole town was assembled
in the diner, as usual.  They left Bear outside to guard his backpack and
bow, and he found Ableard, who invited them to sit at his table.  They
ordered, and sat, and passed a pleasant hour talking and listening to the
local gossip.  Finally, he stood, and Girl followed, standing also.

   "Ableard.  It's been fun, but we're hitting the road.  We're going
exploring, on down the mountain, and to the East a bit.  We'll see you
around, okay?"

   His plan was to actually go East, for a while, and then go South and
back West.  He didn't know if he could fool her, but he was going to try.

   They all shook hands, and Clipper and Girl collected Bear and his gear
and departed.  They left town, still heading South, angling off to the East
as the day progressed.  Clipper didn't want to just march directly to
Wellston, that would be too obvious.  He wanted it to look like an
accident. Girl was no dummy, though.

   "Are you taking me to Wellston?" she said, conversationally, as they
walked through the tall grass of a meadow.

   Shit.  So much for the accident part, he thought.

   "Girl.  We'll be in the area.  I think it's only right to stop in, and
see your grammaw, at least.  Let her know you're alright.  It's the right
thing to do."

   Girl was silent.  They walked further and further down the mountain. 
Clipper wondered for the millionth time what was going through her head.

   She stopped, and turned to him.

   "I'll do this for you, just because you've done so much for me," she
said, staring into his eyes, her face set.

   "Thank you," he said, because he didn't know what else to say.

   "If I thought you were taking me back to stay, I'd gut you," she said,
and he had a hard time keeping a straight face, although he knew that she
was serious.

   "Girl." He said, stopping and hugging her against his body.  He felt
like crying.  "Girl, what did these people do to you?  Why have you turned
your back on them?"

   "It ...  it wasn't me ..." she said, "it was the other girl.  They
didn't treat her ...  right.  Sometimes she got beat on and shit.  They
didn't care about her much."

   "Girl.  The people that didn't treat her well...  were they the people
that died, of the plague?"

   That was good for another five minutes of walking and thinking.  Jeezus,
he thought.  I'm just ready to know this stuff, though.  I want to know
more about her.  And she needs to work this stuff out of her head, and if I
can help her, I should.

   "Yes, mostly." She said.  That was all?  That was the end result of five
minutes of deep thought?

   "Well, when they died, that died with them.  Girl, you need to forgive
and forget.  Well, don't forget, don't let it happen again, but don't let
it run or ruin your life.  You have to get over this stuff, or it just sits
in your brain and festers and bleeds.  Forgive them, and move on.  They've
moved on, right?"

   "Right." she said.  They walked another few minutes in silence.

   "Clipper."

   "What?"

   "You said they've moved on.  Where did they move too?"

   Oh, jeezus.  A philosophical discussion, now?  As they tramped through
the woods?  Now she suddenly wants to talk fast?  He had no idea what she
believed, if anything.  He'd never talked to her about church, or God, or
what he or she believed.  He wasn't sure if this was a good time, just
because probably not enough time would be available.  Wellston was only
three or four more miles down the mountain.  Good grief.

   "Girl.  I have to be honest with you.  I have no idea.  I have no idea
what's out there, what comes next."

   Amazingly, she came right back at him.  Shit, he thought, she smells
blood, like a shark.  She's already moving in for the kill.

   "Clipper.  You have strong ideas about stuff.  You don't have one about
this?"

   "Girl, I really don't.  I haven't spent a lot of time on it.  You know
that I'm not a deeply religious person.  You've spent enough time with me
to know that.  But I don't want to change what you believe.  I want you to
be comfortable with your...  ideas.  Your beliefs.  I don't want to spoil
anything for you."

   "I don't have any beliefs," she said, "the other girl did, but I don't."

   "Well, I hate to say it, but that kind of describes me.  I may not be
right, but I just don't know.  I'm..  what's the word?  Agnostic?  There's
something out there, but I don't think that any of the organized religions
have it right."

   She thought for another hundred footsteps.  Lord, he thought,
conversations with her can be wearying, at times.

   "You remember what it was like before you were born?" she finally said.
What a nonsensical question, he thought, but he treated it seriously.

   "No, Girl.  I don't."

   "That's what it's like after you die." She said.  She didn't say
anything else for the next mile.  He guessed the conversation was over.  He
understood what she was trying to say, but he felt a twinge of sympathy for
her, that she didn't have some special, faith-based belief to sustain her.
He knew she was strong, though, she'd proved that to him.  He felt like he
understood her just a little bit better.  He felt like that every day.



   --==+==-

   He let Girl guide them.  She took them, unerringly, straight to
Wellston. They came out of the trees, and stood before a road that curved
slightly, and led right into town.  Maybe a hundred assorted houses and
buildings.  He was surprised Wellston had showed on the old map, it was so
tiny.  Girl never slowed down, she just arrowed into town.

   They walked down a small main street.  Not a soul was in sight.  The
buildings were old, old...  from way before way before the Fall, not just
simply way before the Fall.  Jeezus, he thought.  Amazingly, a burned out
car even sat beside the road.  Nobody cared enough to even clean the messes
up.  Girl turned onto a side street, and headed for a battered, dilapidated
house.  She was marching like a soldier, now, he thought.  She was
resolute. She had a purpose.  He wondered if she was eager to see her
people, or if she just wanted to get it over to please him, and then move
on.

   He followed her right up the porch, and she went right into the house
without knocking.  Shit, he thought, hoping they didn't get shot.  He
followed her, of course, after dropping his pack and telling Bear to stay.

   "Grammaw!" It was the loudest noise he had ever heard her make, and it
made him jump.  She turned to him, holding her arms out like she was
saying, "See?  Nobody home ..." when they heard a shuffling noise from the
hallway, and out of the dimness a woman emerged.  She was old, tired and
worn, Clipper would have guessed her age to be anywhere between 50 and 80.
Mountain people just aged like that, you couldn't always tell.  The woman
looked like she'd been through a lot.  It showed on her face.

   There was dead silence for a while.  The woman just stared at them,
mostly at Girl.  She opened her trembling mouth, and said, "lawd ... 
mercy, lawd, chile ...  is it really you?  Analisa?  Is it really you?"

   Girl suddenly shrieked, and stumbled forward, wrapping her hands around
the little woman.  Clipper could hear her sobbing, and the woman sobbed
back.  Shit, thought Clipper, I am so out of here.  He slowly backed up and
went back out on the porch, sitting on a dangerous looking porch swing.  He
heard occasional wails and weeping through the screen beside him, but he
ignored it.  He felt tears in his eyes several times, but he wiped his
eyes, petted the dog and thought about other things.

   He figured a half hour had passed, when Girl opened the screen door. 
She was dry-eyed now at least.  She motioned brusquely, and he stood up and
went back in the house.  He followed her into the kitchen and sat in a
chair.  Girl somewhat possessively sat in his lap and they watched as the
old woman began to cut up a chicken.

   "Bill Maize ...  you remember him?  You remember his daughter Jessi? 
She is having a baby in October, I think ...  they moved into the Platt
place just the other day, to be ready for it ..."

   Girl nodded at the woman's stories.  The stories went on for quite a
while.  Finally the woman lapsed into silence.

   "Grammaw." Girl said quickly, to get some words in edgewise.  "This is
Clipper.  He saved my life, more than once.  I live with him now, like I
said."

   The old woman stopped, and regarded him for a moment.  He could tell she
was no simpleton, by now.  He knew she was survivor, and that she probably
thrived under conditions that would kill a flat-lander.  These mountain
folk were like that.  They were used to hardship.  This woman, he thought,
she is no stranger to hard times.  Civilization fell?  The country went to
hell?  No problem for her, no real difference, the way she lived.  The
woman was a survivor.

   "Pleased to meecha," the woman said, approaching.  Clipper shook her
bony little claw.  "Much obliged, you taking care of the girl."

   "It was ...  no problem.  My pleasure," he said, carefully.  He didn't
want to give too much away.  He wished Girl hadn't sat on his lap so
flagrantly.  He felt like she was daring the woman to notice.  Of course
the woman noticed.  Her sharp eyes probably noticed things he'd never see.

   "Ana.  Your room in the attic is just like you left it.  I don't let
folk go in there, without a reason."

   Girl nodded.  The woman continued.

   "Poor little Vessica asks about you almost every day.  I think it's
habit, mostly, she prolly don't remember much about you, it's been so long.
They will be over, in a few hours and you can see her."

   Girl turned slightly to look at Clipper.  He wondered if she was wanting
him to say, no, we have to leave.  He sure wasn't going to do that, not
after this.  He felt like he was finding more and more out about her.  He
was starting to wonder if her perceptions about being mistreated were
misperceptions.  He couldn't imagine her outright lying to him about it,
but he knew how kids were.  Sometimes their perceptions of reality weren't
very accurate.  He couldn't imagine this woman mistreating her.  That the
woman still loved her deeply was obvious to him.  But most of all, he
didn't want Girl to think that he doubted her.  He didn't want anything to
come between them.  He felt more confident, at least, that coming here
wasn't a mistake.

   They sat in the kitchen for another hour as Girl's grammaw fried chicken
and mashed potatoes.  The front door slammed, and Clipper tensed up.  Girl
slid off his lap and disappeared into the living room.  Squeals and cries
soon echoed into the kitchen as apparently more and more people entered the
house.  Clipper turned his head back, and jumped.  Girl's grammaw was
standing barely two feet away, holding a large cooking fork in his face.

   "Mister," she whispered fiercely.  "If that girl wan't so crazy about
you, I'd skin you alive.  Carry'n on with a young'n like that!"

   "Mrs. ...  Miss ...  grammaw ..." he said, unsure what to call her.  "I
treat that girl like my daughter.  She's the daughter I lost, in the Fall.
I've saved her life, like she said, but she's also saved mine, more than
once.  I owe her my life.  I would never hurt her or abuse her.  You must
believe me when I say that I love her more than life itself."

   The woman still glared at him, but he thought she had softened slightly.
She can't know, he thought, she can't really know the depths of our
relationship.  She might suspect, but she can't know.  He wished again he
hadn't let Girl sit on his lap.  That did look a bit suspect, he thought.
He wasn't sure what she really meant by "carryin' on."

   "Well, treat her nice.  That little girl has been through a lot.  Her
momma was not always nice to her, and her daddy was a drunkard.  You just
be nice to her, or you'll deal with me.  Hear?"

   "Yes, ma'am." he said.  "I promise you that.  I can promise you that. 
No one will be nicer to her than me."

   The woman brandished the fork one last time, and turned back to the
stove.  He breathed a sigh of relief.  Lord.  He hadn't planned on that,
although he wasn't sure what he'd thought people's reactions would be, when
Girl's relationship with him became apparent.

   Girl burst through the door, holding a child on one hip and smiling. 
She motioned to him, and disappeared back into the living room.  He got to
his feet, feeling old and weary, and went into the next room.

   The next two hours were a blur of introductions, hand shaking and even
some hugging.  Girl was treated like royalty returning from exile, and he
was treated pretty well.  He could see the frank, appraising glances from
the adults, though.  They all suspect, he thought, but they don't know for
sure.  Whew.  Good for him.  He still didn't really know how much law was
left in this little corner of the world, but he sure didn't want to try and
explain his relationship with Girl to a judge.  He fervently hoped he
wouldn't have to.

   They sat at the table and had the finest meal that Clipper could ever
remember, before or after the Fall.  He knew his heart was probably pumping
pure cholesterol but he didn't care.  It was good.  They all moved back
into the tiny living room and talked until the kids began nodding off.

   He talked shop with the menfolk, hunting and fishing and rifles and
such, guy stuff.  The menfolk didn't seem to have the reservations about
him the women did.  If anything, Clipper thought, they're probably jealous
of me.  He knew how attractive she was.  He could see their eyes on her,
when she was in the room.  She glowed, she positively glowed, and every now
and then she caught his eye and giggled.  Sometimes she was carrying a
baby, or maybe she was being led around by the younger kids.  She seemed to
be having a great time.  He was glad.

   At some point in the evening, Clipper stepped outside onto the porch,
halfway to check on Bear, and halfway just to get out of the chaos of the
living room.  He heard the screen door slam behind him, and turned.  One of
Girl's aunts, he remembered by the name of Rachel, stood at the door.  The
woman strode right up to him, either fearless or crazy, he thought.

   "Mister," she said, piercing him with her gaze.  "What exactly is your
relationship with my niece?"

   Shit.  Well, shit, he thought.  Do I wanna tell the truth?  Do I wanna
just out and out admit it?  Or do I wanna start lying about it?  What he
had with Girl was special and so powerful to him that he just didn't feel
like lying about it.  But, he didn't want to land both of them in hot
water, either.  Shit, shit.  Stupid snoopy women, always having to know
shit.  Sigh.

   "Mrs. ..." he waited, forcing her to tell him.

   "Chilton.  Rachel Chilton." She said.

   "Mrs.  Chilton, I love your niece very much, and have grown extremely
attached to her.  She is the daughter I lost, in the Fall.  She has saved
my life, and I owe that to her, that and many other reasons.  She has given
me a purpose, and reason to live again." He felt bad about some of what he
said, since most folks didn't have sex with their daughters.  But, he felt,
in so many ways, it was the truth.  It should never hurt to tell the truth.
Well, the whole truth could be painful, at times.  This was one of those
times.  He decided he sure wasn't gonna tell the truth about his
relationship with Girl to this woman.  Shit no.

   "Well, I hope that you can keep a clear head on your shoulders, and keep
your distance on those long winter nights." the woman said, still gazing at
him suspiciously.  Shit, he thought, what does she really want?  Me just to
come out and say it?

   "Mrs.  Chilton, the particulars and details of my relationship with ...
Analisa ...  are my business, and hers.  But I will admit we are very
close. I will gladly admit that I love her more than life itself.  I will
not harm a hair on her head.  I will not mistreat her.  That is not my
nature, anyway.  I can't, I just can't.  Your niece is the sweetest and
most precious girl in the world, and the time I spend with her I value more
than anything else in my life.  I love her dearly, and I hope that you can
accept that.  I love her, and I believe that she loves me."

   He didn't really know where to go after that.  The woman just stared at
him for a few moments longer, and then nodded.

   "I'll accept that.  I guess I have no choice, things being what they are
now." she said.  They stood for a few moments, and it seemed to Clipper
that she was sizing him up.

   "Mr..." she said, doing to him what he'd done to her.

   "Clipper.  Just Clipper."

   "Mr.  just Clipper." she said.  He didn't know if she was making a joke
or not.  He didn't laugh.  "This girl has had a hell of a life so far, what
with her mother and father loving the bottle so much.  She has suffered
much, for one so young.  It doesn't always leave marks.  Just be nice to
her, for god's sake.  Please be nice to her.  She has suffered.  I gotta
admit, she seems like she's come out of her shell now.  If you are the one
that's done that, good for you...  keep it up.  But, please.  Treat her
right.  Give her a chance, a chance to grow, and be something.  Let her
make something of herself.  She's been stepped on too many times, way too
many.  Do you understand?"

   To his embarrassment, Clipper felt two hot tears streak down his cheek.

   "Mrs.  Chilton." He said, struggled to keep his voice even.  "She is the
most perfect, most beautiful precious thing in my life.  I will never hurt
her, or let her be hurt willingly.  I love her more than life.  And, yes,
I'll give her space.  I'll give her the freedom and the chance to do
whatever she wants."

   "Clipper.  Mostly we wanna know...  did you bring her back to us, or are
you two just visiting?"

   He was silent for a while on that one.  At last he said, "that's for her
to decide, Rachel.  That's for her to decide."





   Everyone left at last.  Well, kind of, two children stayed, children who
apparently often spent the night with their great-grammaw.  Clipper and
Girl had a hurried intense conversation on the front porch.

   "Clipper." Girl said, burying herself in his arms.  He hugged her
tightly, just wanting to remind her a little bit how much he loved her. 
How much he could love her.

   "What?" they stole a quick kiss, hoping no one was watching.  Well, he
hoped that.  He didn't figure she was that concerned about it.  She still
has, he thought, for all my talk, no idea of the trouble that she could
probably get me in.  Even as sketchy as the law is in this area.  And
sloppy kisses on grammaw's front porch probably aren't a good idea, either.

   "Can we...  can we stay tonight?"

   "Girl.  We don't have much of a choice.  It's dark out there already. 
It's too late to make a camp.  Plus, it's the right thing to do.  Yes,
we'll stay here tonight."

   She nodded.

   "The couch in the living room will be fine for me." he said.  She had a
surprised, almost petulant look on her face.  He snorted.

   "Girl.  We are not going to sleep together here.  In fact, I'm not
touching you again until we leave town."

   She pouted, sticking her bottom lip out.  He knew she was just joking,
hamming it up.  He hoped she was, at least.  They had to break it up, the
two little girls came out on the porch about that time, looking for Girl.
Or Ana, as the whole family seemed to call her.  Clipper followed her back
inside.

   She helped him get Bear bedded down on an old blanket on the porch, and
then he bedded down on the couch, next to the wood-burning stove.  She
slept with the little girls in the back bedroom.  Girl's grammaw brought
him a blanket, and he wrapped up in it, and let the hissing and popping
stove carry him away.  When he woke up, it was morning.



   --==+==-

   When they left, sometime in the afternoon after two more great meals,
they turned back towards Devonsville.  There was really no reason to
pretend any longer, Clipper thought.  Without talking about it, they headed
home.  Good, he thought.  He was ready to go home.  He thought, though,
that the trip had been a success.  Now her family knew, at least, that she
was still alive and safe.  He fervently hoped they believed that she was in
good hands, with him.  He hoped that the trip had accomplished some things,
some good things.  It was right to let them know that she was alright.  It
was right to let her enjoy some time with her family, as she had seemed to.
The whole trip had more positives than negatives to him, even though he had
taken some heat from her people.  He knew that the age gap was the big
problem.  And, to most of them, she was still a child.  He wondered what
they would think if they had seen her slam her knife into that guy's eye
socket.  Or, if they could see her atop him, pounding away on him the way
she did.  Any more, kids didn't get to stay kids for long.  Only the lucky
ones.

   They had to promise Girl's grammaw and most of the others that they'd
return.  Clipper didn't mind that, and he hoped Girl didn't mind.  She'd
seemed to have a good time, and she seemed very comfortable around the
people.  Her people.  He was glad that he had given that to her, and to
them.  He was glad it had turned out so well.  Most of all he was glad she
was going back home with him.

   That morning she had taken him up into the attic, to her room.  It was
tiny and already hot, but he understood the magic and symbolism of it to
her.  She'd sat on the little bed and looked around, and said, "I was happy
here.  It was the only place, sometimes.  But I was happy here." That had
made the trip worthwhile to him, that had made the trouble worth it.  He
knew he'd done the right thing.  She stood and he hugged her to his body
and they just stood there in the little room.  She snuffled a few times but
she didn't cry, and then she pulled away and they went back downstairs.

   Girl never spoke, the whole trip home.  He hoped that she wasn't mad at
him for basically forcing the trip on her.  And he hoped she wasn't mad at
him for taking her back away from them.  She was damn hard to read, at
times...  all the time.

   When they got home, all was well.  Clipper fed the dogs while Girl
played with the big pretty-much-fully-grown puppies.  She looked up at him,
laughing, holding onto a wriggling dog by the neck, and he knew that she
was okay.  She was just fine.  Nothing was between them because of the
visit.  Nothing was changed.  He would hold her a little harder, tonight,
to make up for that night he missed.  He would stay awake just a little
longer, and hold her.

   Chapter XX

   A few days after the meeting with Girl's people, Clipper got the itch to
try some more panning.  They were running out of a lot of things, and their
cash supply was pretty low.  He gathered up his pan, some jerky, his bow,
fishing rods, and on impulse he strapped the AK on his back just in case
something worth shooting showed up.  They took off to the east along the
side of the mountain into country that Clipper had never seen before.  An
Indian summer was in full swing, and the weather was beautiful.  It felt
great to be outdoors.  Great to be alive, even.  Bear bounded far and wide,
investigating smells and noises as they tramped through the trees.

   They found a creek immediately with a nice sandy beach, and Clipper
spent an hour without turning up even a single flake of gold.  As she often
did when it was this warm, Girl stripped down and got full benefit from the
water to get clean and to splash with Bear.  It was distracting to no end
for Clipper because she was so damn good looking, and it was hard to pan
with a hard-on.  He eventually quit in disgust for lack of color in the
pan, and they moved on alongside the mountain.  By afternoon they had tried
two more creeks, with no success.  He was already thinking to head West the
next time.  They got hungry enough to stop for a quick lunch, and then
moved on, down the mountain a ways this time.  Finally, they found a fourth
creek, a river this time.

   Within a few minutes he knew that this was the spot.  Lots and lots of
dust was in his pan, on the first dip and swirl.  He worked it for several
hours, not wanting to leave, but not wanting to stay out after dark either,
especially this far from home.  He gathered up their stuff, which now
included half a leather pouch of dust and flakes and they set out for home.
It had been a very successful day, he thought, and he fixed the place in
his mind with every intention of coming back as early as he could.  Maybe
even tomorrow.

   Bear began to growl softly, and looked ahead of them.  Clipper looked,
and saw nothing but trees.  Silly dog, he thought.  Probably a rabbit or
something.  Maybe another dog.  Bear growled louder, and Clipper glanced at
Girl, who did her "I don't know" shoulder shrug.

   "Freeze!" a voice said, loudly and plainly, and they did.  Shit, did
they ever.  Just hearing a voice, out here, in the middle of nowhere, would
be enough.  But a voice, barking out a command like that ...

   Shit, he thought.  Caught again.  The bow was in his hand, but he didn't
have an arrow nocked.  The gun was on his back.  He caught Girl's eye, and
could see the fear on her face.  He was sure he had a little on his, too.
He carefully let the bow fall to the ground, and raised his arms high.  He
did not want to get shot on accident.  Well, he did not want to get shot on
purpose, either.  He just plain did not want to get shot.

   Twenty five feet in front of them, a man stepped from behind a tree,
holding a M4 on them.  Then another, a few feet away.  Then another.  Shit,
oh shit, he thought.  One was bad enough.  Within a few moments he guessed
six or seven men stood before them.  Heavily armed men in uniforms.  He
knew the uniform.  He knew that round red circle, on an olive green
background.  Peacekeepers.  They had been downwind until the last second
and in defilade from the trail so he couldn't have seen them, until Bear
barely got a whiff at the last minute.  Classic ambush.  Clipper was unused
to professionals this far out in the mountains.

   Bear went insane, but at least he didn't charge the men.  Girl spoke
sharply to him, telling him to shut up and sit.  He didn't sit but he
calmed down a little, still growling deep in his throat.  Girl motioned and
told him to go!  go!  and he went a ways away from them, and turned,
watching and still growling.  Clipper felt sick, afraid that the soldiers
would just shoot her dog, to keep from having to worry about him.  One
approaching soldier, he noticed, did keep his gun on the dog.

   Shit, he thought to himself.  Fucking Peacekeepers.  On this mountain?
Here, now?  What the hell were they doing way up here?  It was the single
most hopeless situation he had ever found himself in.  He knew that the AK
on his back was a death sentence in the wrong area.  In virtually any
populated area.  Technically, anywhere in the USA.  It wasn't a law, there
really weren't laws anymore, since there wasn't really a legal system
anymore.  But that's just the way it'd been the last ten years or so.  Cops
or Peacekeepers...  if they found a gun on you, they popped you.  It was
just the way it was done now.

   He looked at Girl desperately, and mouthed "I love you." to her.  She
replied the same way.  If I must die I must, he thought.  Just spare her.



   --==+==-

   A soldier approached him.  The other soldiers clustered around them in a
semi-circle, half their guns on him and Girl, the other half facing out
scanning the area around them.  A single man approached and motioned him to
step back a few paces.  He did.  The man knelt and retrieved his bow, his
eyes never leaving Clipper.  The man did a turn-around motion and Clipper
turned halfway, hoping he wouldn't get a bullet in the back.  The man
approached from the side, so he wasn't in the line of fire of his buddies
and carefully took the AK from Clipper's back, lifting the sling over
Clipper's upraised arm.  He patted Clipper down, finding his folding knife
and his two throwing knives.  Clipper knew that possession of the rifle was
bad, and he was glad that he hadn't brought the pistol today.  The man
searching him yelled "Clear," and another man approached keeping his weapon
on Clipper while the first man took clipper's arms by the wrist and brought
them down one at a time and placed a plastic tie wrap around his wrists.

   Clipper was praying the whole time that Girl didn't do anything stupid.
He wasn't too worried, she wasn't stupid.  But he kept thinking of those
knives beneath her shirt.  There were just too many soldiers, though.  And
he thought it was a good sign that the soldiers hadn't just gunned them
both down instantly.  He knew that's the way it was usually done.  He'd
seen it done, before.

   A man led him away, and stopped him a few dozen feet down the mountain.
He could see Girl out of the corner of her eye as the first soldier
approached her.  He heard her voice, and the man's reply, though he
couldn't understand them.  The man immediately lifted her shirt and took
the knives from her belt.  Clipper was relieved that she had apparently
told them about the knives and hoped that the men would be easy with her.
They seemed to be.  They did not tie her wrists, a man just led her with
his hand on her upper arm.  They joined Clipper and his escort and the
half-dozen or so of them set off across the mountain followed by Bear,
still growling.  No one talked, so Clipper kept his mouth shut, too.

   A mile later they passed through a picket line and then fifty yards past
that came to a little camp.  Five olive-green tents were laid out nice and
square, and a fire burned as a soldier tended a large pot.  It smelled like
soup.  The soldiers halted them in the clearing, and one of the men went
into a tent.  A minute later he emerged and motioned them inside.  Before
they went the man turned Clipper around and cut the tie from his wrist. 
Clipper hoped that meant something good.  They entered the tent, followed
by one soldier, who stood at the door.  Bear followed them into the tent,
and things stopped for a moment while Girl got him settled down in the
corner.  At least he had stopped growling.

   A man stood in the tent.  There was no furniture, just a cot.  The man
took a step, and shook Clipper's hand.  Clipper didn't understand military
insignias, but this guy had silver bars and other things that the other
guys didn't seem to have.  Obviously, he was the man in charge.  His
mannerisms gave that away, too.

   "I am lieutenant Grady.  And you are Mr. ...?" the man said.

   "Clipper.  Just Clipper," he said, and the man nodded.  He turned to
Girl.

   "This is my wife, Girl." Clipper said, and the man shook her hand, too.

   "I'd invite you to sit, but ..." the man said, laughing slightly.

   "I understand," said Clipper, feeling more and more at ease.  Maybe he
wasn't a dead man.  Maybe not yet.

   "Clipper, I'm not sure what you are doing here.  I would have just left
you alone, had I been with the patrol.  I think they just didn't know what
to do with you.  Sometimes that happens."

   "I understand," said Clipper.

   "We were stationed in Skipps, until a few weeks ago.  After Skipps fell
apart, they moved us to Beggs.  Nobody knows what to do with us, now. 
We'll probably end up out of state, eventually.  Right now we're doing an
overnight thing, to change the batteries in a repeater on top of the
mountain.  The guys were hunting rabbits and generally making sure the area
was secure when they ran into you.  I hope you were treated... 
professionally."

   "Oh, yes, yes, sir, no complaints," Clipper said, more and more
relieved. I might actually live through this, he thought.  The guy almost
seemed apologetic.

   "Clipper.  I know that we have a bad rep among citizens.  Times have
been hard for all of us.  But we're not the bad guys, I want you to know
that.  I want people to see that, and understand that we're here to help as
much as we can.  Resources are scarce and I know things have happened in
the past, on both sides.  If this country is ever gonna pull itself up by
the bootstraps, were gonna all have to get along and work together."

   "I agree, sir," said Clipper, when the man seemed to pause and wait for
a reaction from him.  He felt Girl's hand sneak into his, and he grabbed
her and pulled her against his body.

   "Hey, we're fixin' to have some soup.  You guys stay, and eat with us?
Yes?" Grady said.

   Clipper nodded, relieved.  They were going to live through this one, it
looked like.

   They sat on logs, with the soldiers, and had some really good,
weapons-grade vegetable-and-rabbit soup.  And crackers, even.  Clipper and
the Lieutenant chatted, and the guy complimented them on their well-behaved
dog.  Clipper was relieved that Bear was being so well-behaved.

   "That dog killed a man a few weeks back." he told the lieutenant.  The
man raised his eyebrow.

   "Seriously." said Clipper.  "Some crazy, wild-eyed maniac.  He snuck up
on us, in the woods.  He's where I picked up that AK.  He was fixing to
shoot me when the dog tore open his throat."

   "Damn." said the man, looking at the dog with new respect.

   "Lieutenant." said Clipper, curious.  "When that happens, is there
anyone I should tell?  Anyone I can tell?  Tell them there's a body out
there in the woods, for instance?"

   The lieutenant was silent for a while, thinking.  At last he said, "no,
not really.  Unless you have a local cop or something.  I mean, if we are
in the area, we can deal with it...  we'll bury the guy, at least, to keep
him from stinking up the mountainside.  Clipper.  Living here in the hills,
you don't really get the big picture.  But things have really gone to shit
in the cities.  Dead bodies are a dime a dozen, in the urban areas."

   "Yeah." said Clipper.  "I saw some of that.  I've only been up here in
the hills for five or six months."

   "I love it up here.  My guys love it up here.  So peaceful.  But that's
not what we're for.  That's not what we do.  I'm sure we'll get stuck in
some shithole, when we leave here.  Skipps ...  Skipps was nice.  I hated
to see it burn.  It was ...  such a waste.  So foolish."

   "What started it?"

   "No idea.  There were some rumors about disease or plague or something,
a few days before.  And we heard a truck had overturned, a few miles up,
and as you might guess, the only trucks that ran were usually carrying
groceries.  We figured maybe people were just getting hungry.  Joe citizen
does not handle hungry very well, unfortunately."

   "Yeah." said Clipper.  He'd seen that himself.  He'd actually felt it
himself, more than once.  Hunger.  He understood.

   "Lieutenant."

   "Yes?" the man could tell it was something serious.

   "Do I get my gun back?"

   The man sighed, and leaned back as best he could.

   "Yeah, I'll give it back.  I'm not supposed to, you understand.  I'm
supposed to confiscate it, and run you in on an illegal weapons charge. 
But out here, in the wild, it's different.  You know it, and I know it. 
Everybody carries out here, and usually carries responsibly.  It's not like
you're a gansta in the 'hood, with a little pearl-handled .25.  We realize
that.  Out here, your weapon is your life."

   "Once I saw a man outside Memphis get his ass shot for possession by the
local fuzz," Clipper said.

   "Yeah, that happens, more often than not.  But it's not the way it's
supposed to work.  Clipper.  This country is basically under martial law,
right now, when there actually is law.  To get back to where we were,
before the Fall, that's going to have to change, as well.  And I know that
the military has a bad rep right now, among the citizens.  We have to work
on that.  We got stuck with the bad shit, when the shit went down.  We have
to change, as well.  We all have to change."

   Clipper nodded.  "Well, you've changed my mind.  But I don't mind
telling you, your guys scared the shit out of me, at first."

   "Yeah.  We do that.  We don't mean to, but we do that."



   --==+==-

   When they walked away, it was way later than what he'd ever intended on
staying out.  His AK had been returned, as had all their knives.  They beat
it for home, hurrying, arriving an hour after sunset.  All was well. 
Clipper fed the dogs, locked down the chickens, and they barred the door
and dropped onto the couch in front of the fire.  Girl crawled on top of
him, and he nuzzled and loved on her, making her giggle.  He was glad to be
alive.  Glad, and relieved.  He understood what the lieutenant had been
trying to say, though.  He, like the man, hoped for a better future.  He
felt like the whole country was ready.  But it was going to take some time.
Time, and hard work.  That was for the young folks, though, he thought. 
I'm too tired.  It's all I can do just to keep up.  Girl sighed, and
stretched, her nice warm round bottom in his lap.  It's all I can do to
keep up with her, he thought.

   Chapter XXI

   One brisk late afternoon found them a ways down the mountain, to the
West.  Unexplored territory.  They hadn't really found much, not even wild
game.  They came out of a treeline into a wide clearing, and Girl grabbed
his sleeve and yanked him down into the tall grass before he knew what was
happening.  "People." She said, motioning ahead of them.  Shit.  The dogs,
Fang and Bear, even hunkered down, realizing something was up.  He slowly
raised up, and saw, sure enough, people.  A whole shitload of people. 
Maybe two hundred feet in front of them, headed away from them, at least.

   "Those guys are tied up," she whispered to him, and he raised again,
trying to see, wishing he had binoculars or something.  It was just too far
away.

   "What do you mean, tied?" he said, his voice low.

   "There are seven people," she explained patiently.  "The four in the
middle were tied together.  By the neck and hands, I think."

   Tied?  What the hell was that about?  He slowly stood.  The people were
out of sight by now, deeper into the woods.

   "Clipper," Girl grasped him by the arm.  She pulled him to face her. 
"Clip.  One of the boys.  I know one of the boys.  I'm related to him, kind
of ...  I'm sure it's him ..."

   She could see that far away?  She could recognize somebody from behind
as they walked away?  Jeezus, he didn't want to doubt her, but that was
pretty sketchy...

   "Girl.  What do you want to do?  Go home or follow them?" He actually
wanted to go home, but he would do what she wanted.  If this really was one
of her people he didn't want her to feel like he'd turned his back.  He
didn't really want to get involved in this, though.  Not outnumbered by one
bad guy.  He did have the AK, at least, with a full clip.  And Girl had the
.45, with six rounds in it.  It would have to do, if that's what she
decided.

   "Clipper," she whispered.  "We have to.  If it's really Dylan, we have
to."

   Shit.  They had to.  Okay.  He started out in the direction the crowd
had taken.  She followed.  He shouldered the bow, and checked that the AK
was ready for action.  He checked the automatic, and handed it back to
Girl. She slid it into her waistband, and tucked her shirt in behind it,
where it was exposed and easy to grab.  He saw her do the same with her
knives.  God, he thought, losing focus for a moment.  She looked sexier
than hell to him, with her shirt tucked into her knife belt, and her long
dark hair blowing back in the breeze.  The expression on her face was
serious.  She looked like a bad-ass, he thought.  She looked like someone
who should definitely not be fucked with.  He wanted to stop the chase for
a few hours and nail her ass to the ground, right then and there, but he
couldn't.  He made sure the ridge of his thumb was on the safety of the AK,
and they moved forward.

   They tried to be as silent as they could although they were hundreds of
feet back.  Clipper caught a glimpse of someone through the trees and they
pulled back even further.  After a few hours of trekking through the brush
the group of people stopped.  Clipper and Girl stopped immediately when
they realized things had stopped.  It was late evening, and pretty dark
already.  He wondered if the people had stopped for the night.  He badly
wanted to be back in his cabin, the door barred.

   They closed in a little, relying on trees and the dark for cover.  Girl
unnecessarily quietly shushed the dogs several times, but the dogs seemed
to implicitly understand that stealth was the order of the day.  Finally,
they could barely make out an occasional figure, moving around, doing
stuff. He smelled wood smoke and realized that someone had built a fire. 
They were settling in for the night it looked like.  He tried to see the
prisoners, if prisoners they were, but he just couldn't make out anything.
Girl, even with her superior eyesight, couldn't tell him anything.

   They pulled back a few hundred yards, and held a hurried conference. 
Clipper knew the folks were bedding down for the night.  He knew they'd be
here for a while.  About all he and Girl could do is wait out the night.  A
night attack would be crazy and full of chaos, he thought.  Gunfights in
the dark were not a good thing.  He'd be lucky not to shoot the prisoners
or Girl, if shooting started.

   He decided, now that it was good and dark, to spy on the captors a
little.  They crept forward, being as quiet and unobtrusive as they could.
Finally, maybe a hundred yards from the fire, Clipper dropped to his hands
and knees and motioned Girl to do the same.  They slowly painstakingly drew
closer.  It was hard for him, he had to carry the AK, and limp along on one
hand, with the AK in his other.  He didn't want it on his back, he wanted
to be able to use it in a hurry, if he had to.  Girl had the pistol, and
crawling with it was easier for her.  The dogs, at least, stayed behind
her.

   Clipper realized they were just ten or fifteen yards from the fire.  He
jumped slightly as a man spoke, and he could plainly hear and understand
what the guy said.

   "I don't care what Elvis says.  The law is on this mountain, too."

   Another man spoke.  "Big shit.  From here we just gotta go straight
downhill.  We got it made, when we hook back up with Darnell and his crew.
We got a few goobers for them.  They'll know we can pull it off, now."

   "Fuck you," the first man said.  "Fuck you with a stick.  We ain't off
this hill yet."

   There was silence for a few minutes.

   "That boy gonna make trouble tonight?" That was a new voice.  The third
one.

   "I don't think so.  I told him I'd poke an eye out if he fucked with us
again.  An' he knows we're serious, after that shit he tried last night."

   "Yeah."

   There was silence for twenty minutes.  The fire burned lower and lower.
Clipper wondered if they were going to simply go to sleep at some point. 
He figured they'd leave a guard awake, they had the manpower to stagger a
guard rotation.  He would do that, at least.

   He drew Girl back a few dozen yards, and they found a light brush pile
to hide in.  He slowly, carefully, over the space of five minutes,
whispered his plan to her.  It wasn't much of a plan.  She nodded, in the
dim light.  They lay back, in each others arms, and waited for morning. 
Clipper didn't worry too much about going to sleep, he was too keyed up to
sleep.  The dogs came in close, and kept them warm, at least.  And, the
dogs would let them know if anyone came close.

   The hours crept by slowly.  This would be horrible, he thought, if I
weren't holding a pretty girl in my arms.  He could tell at last that she
was sleeping from her even breathing, but he never went to sleep, he was
too keyed up.  The Eastern sky began to brighten.  He knew morning wasn't
far away.  He sat up, and then carefully stood, his joints creaking. 
Laying on the ground in cool weather was hard on an old man, he thought. 
Girl jumped up quickly and quietly, and seemed ready for anything.  He
envied her youth.

   They moved over a little, to put a few large trees in between themselves
and the camp.  They waited a little longer.  Clipper's plan was simple.  He
was just going to go in, put the guns on the bad guys, and walk away with
the prisoners.  He'd shoot the bad guys, if he had to.  He had no idea if
they were armed, or not.  He didn't know of any other way, the prisoners
had been right in the middle of the captors, last night.  If the prisoners
had been on the ground a few dozen feet or more away, he might have tried
to sneak up and free them.  But they hadn't been.  He hoped that superior
firepower and a couple of bad-ass dogs would tip the scales to their favor.
He knew that guns weren't that common anymore.  He hoped that all three of
the men were lightly armed.

   He seized Girl, and pressed his lips to hers.  They stood and kissed,
and kissed again.  "Stay behind me," he ordered her quietly, hoping to
shield her if things got out of hand.  He carefully slid the slide back
half an inch on the AK to make sure a round was in the chamber.  He'd only
ever fired the gun once, well, he'd let Girl fire it once, and he knew it
functioned.  He made sure that Girl had the .45 in her hand, pointing away
from him and cocked.  They turned towards the fire.  The dogs were at his
feet, as he moved slowly forwards.

   Shit.  When they came out into the clearing, only two men were standing.
Where the hell is the other motherfucker?  He thought.  Shit, shit. 
Something snapped under Girl's foot, and the two men turned, surprise
evident on their faces.  Clipper could see Girl's arm alongside his head,
holding the automatic on the men.  He had the AK on them.  The men wisely
froze, one of them opening his mouth like he wanted to say something. 
About that time, the prisoners figured out something was going on, and
three of the four of them began babbling and shouting.  Shit, it was chaos,
thought Clipper.  And he still didn't know where the other guy was.

   He said, "Shut up!" as loud as he could, and was rewarded with silence.
The two men seemed to be smarter than they looked, and they were slowly
lifting their arms into the air.

   "What the fuck was all ...  that ...  about ..." The third guy said,
suddenly appearing from behind his two buddies while zipping up his pants.
What a time to take a leak, thought Clipper.  What the hell.  It's morning.
Everybody pees in the morning.  He should have thought of that and scouted
more thoroughly.  The third guy just stood there, blinking and staring in
surprise.

   "Get your fucking hands up!" Clipper yelled at the man.  He plainly saw
a revolver in the man's belt, and the guy suddenly jerked his whole body
and made a grab for his gun.  Clipper squeezed the trigger of the AK,
flinching as Girl's .45 went off a thousandth of a second earlier just a
foot from his face.  Jeezus, I have to teach her better team shooting
skills he thought.  The guy had flipped over backwards as the two slugs
smashed into him.  The other two guys hunkered down, and there was a
shocked silence, and then the prisoners started up again.

   "Shut up!" yelled Clipper again.  Dead silence once more, except for his
ears which were ringing from the gunshot.  A dog growled at his feet.

   "Girl.  Cut them loose.  Your kin first."

   She slowly lowered her pistol and dropped the hammer.  She stuffed it
into her waistband and went off to the side out of his field of vision,
where the prisoners were.  Clipper still felt a little danger, he didn't
know if the prisoners represented any threat to her.  He crab-walked to the
side, and got behind the prisoners, his gun never leaving the two bad guys.
Well, who he thought of as bad guys at the moment.

   He heard Girl speak, and then the boy said something.  It sounded like
he said, "Okay." He heard a dog growling again softly from off to his left,
and he knew that one of the dogs was with Girl.  Good, he thought.

   "Wait." Clipper said.  "Girl.  Give me your gun." He didn't want anybody
grabbing it from her belt and using it on her.  She came back and handed it
to him without comment, a knife in her hand.  He hoped she could take care
of herself.  His eyes never left the former captors.  The two men looked
more and more nervous.  He realized that they would also get more and more
desperate as they realized their plight.  He tried to be ready for
anything.

   "Girl.  Send one of those kids to me.  The big guy." he said, and
immediately the boy moved into his field of view.

   "Yeah?" the kid said.  Clipper motioned to the two men.  "Go around
behind them, and search them.  Under their arms, and between their legs. 
Squeeze their balls, even.  Make sure they don't have no guns or knives on
them."

   "Okay, but I don't wanna get shot by you either." the kid said.  He was
no dummy.

   "I'll be careful." said Clipper.  The kid took a wide semi-circle around
his former captors, and came up behind them.  He did pretty much what
Clipper had asked, and Clipper saw the pain on each man's face as the kid
squeezed their balls.  He took that a little too literally, Clipper
thought. The kid was thorough, pulling three knives off one man, and two
off the other.  The kid tossed them on the ground at Clipper's feet and
then turned and went a few feet back to where the dead man lay.  When he
straightened back up he was holding the pistol the man had grabbed for. 
Clipper didn't panic yet because as far as he knew they were all still on
the same side.

   "Hey." he said.  "Let the girl have that pistol."

   "Nawww..." the kid said.  "I think I'll feel safer if I keep it."

   Shit.  Clipper trusted the dog at their feet to keep the two kidnappers
in line.  He turned the AK on the kid.

   "Drop it on the ground.  Now!" he tried to sound intimidating.  The kid
looked at him for a second, or probably actually stared down the bore of
the AK47.

   "Shit.  Don't freak, man." the kid said, casually.  He turned, facing
the kidnappers, and slowly raised the pistol, aiming at them.  One of the
captors waved his upraised hands, like somebody in a cartoon.  It would
have been funny, except for the reality of the situation.

   The kid reached up and pulled the hammer back.  Clipper held his breath.
It wasn't doing any good to point the AK at the kid, the kid wasn't even
looking his way.  He felt like he'd lost control of the situation.  The kid
carefully sighted on the captor waving his hands, and the gun was loud in
the still morning air.  The man looked vaguely surprised, and his hands
stopped waving.  He fell, slowly.  The other guy took off, wheeling and
heading down the hill.  The gun fired again, and the man kept running.  The
next shot nailed his ass, though, and he tumbled head over heels and lay on
the ground.

   "Shit.  Shit!" Clipper almost shouted, frustrated.  He was going to just
let the guys go, not kill them.  Shit, he thought, I'm too civilized for
this age.  I'm too old fashioned.

   "Don't pop a 'roid, gramps." the kid said, turning, and tossing the gun
at Clipper's feet.  "It had to be done.  You don't want them coming back
and looking for you, do you?  I don't.  I did you a favor, man."

   Clipper sighed, and nodded.  He took two steps forward, and held out his
hand, and the kid shook it.  The kid was right, he thought.  I don't want
two pissed off bad guys searching the hills for me either.  It probably was
better this way.  He bent over, and picked up the pistol, and stuffed it
into his waistband.

   Girl approached from the side, with the youngest boy in tow.  "Dylan,
Clipper.  Clipper, Dylan." she said, and Clipper nodded at the boy.  He
looked to be thirteen or fourteen or so.  He looked scared, but resolute.
He was holding Girl's hand.  The other three approached, including the boy
that had shot the bandits.  They all just stood and stared at each other
for a few moments.  The boy that had done the shooting looked the oldest,
probably eighteen or nineteen.  The other two were maybe sixteenish.

   "What town you kids from?" Clipper asked.

   "Hartshorne." said the oldest boy.  The other two boys were from Beggs,
and the kid, Dylan, was from Wellston.  Clipper wondered why he hadn't seen
the kid the other night, at Girl's grammaw's house.

   Well.  What to do, next.  Ableard came to mind.  Ableard would know, he
knew everything.  He'd know how to get these kids back to their people. 
Clipper turned them all around, and they set out for Devonsville in the
cool, damp morning air.

   As they walked, they talked, and Clipper asked each one his story.  The
oldest boy had been at a nightclub, when he'd met the men.  They'd taken
him out back with the promise of girls, stuck the pistol in his gut, tied
his arms, and led him away into the night.

   The next two been picked up as they walked along a road, after sunset.
It was just pure chance with them, apparently.  Dylan, the boy, had been in
a deserted house the men had chosen last night to overnight in.  Well,
true, it wasn't deserted if he was in it, but they had thought it was.  He
was easily picked up, he was just a kid.

   "But why?" Girl asked.  Clipper wondered the same thing.  Why had the
men been out, gathering up young men?  Boys?  What the hell for?

   "China, man." said the oldest kid, appropriately named Chance.  "I heard
them talk about China.  They were gonna get Chinese gold for us."

   Clipper wasn't sure about that.  All money now was Chinese gold.  Maybe
the kid was just confused.  Still, what the hell were the men going to do
with them all tied up?  And boys?  He wondered why a girl or two wasn't in
the mix.

   Chance laughed.  He answered Clipper's question without it being asked.
"Man, they were pissed that we weren't girls.  They wanted girls.  Girls
pay better, but they're harder to pick up."

   Shit, Clipper thought.  Things have gotten so bad there's a slave trade
going on around here?  He tried to remember what he'd heard one of the
captors say.  Something about Elvis?  He couldn't remember.  He knew they
weren't talking about Elvis the Pelvis, from before the Fall.



   --==+==-

   The crowd was just starting to gather at the Sinclair diner when
Clipper, Girl and the boys came out of the woods.  Ableard Wilson was
standing on the boardwalk, talking to some men, when they walked up.  He
motioned howdy to Clipper and Girl, raising his eyebrows at the crew of
boys with them.  He came over to them.

   "Ableard." Clipper shook his hand.  He pointed each boy out to the man.
"Chance.  Terry.  Willis.  Dylan." Ableard nodded to each of them.  He
shook Dylan's hand.

   "This one I know.  He's a local.  What's up, Clipper?"

   "We found these boys a few miles down the mountain.  Three men had ropes
around their necks and hands, and were taking them to somebody named Elvis.
I'm not sure if that name's right, but they were prisoners, nonetheless. 
We were lucky to free them."

   "Shit." Ableard just stared at the boys.  "Clipper," he said.  "man, you
come up with the strangest shit." He shook his head.

   His friend John was not so philosophical.

   "It's the fucking Chinese slavers.  They are moving through this area.
The fucking judge in Hartshorne is in their pocket, man.  Everybody in town
knows that.  He's a fucking crook, always has been.  Best justice money can
buy."

   Ableard laughed.

   "What's the judge's name?" Clipper asked, curious.

   John turned to him.  "Would you believe...  Elvis Jaronecek?  And I
don't mean Elvis the singer."

   Shit.  Well, that was interesting.

   "What happened to the men?" said Ableard.  It was a logical question.

   "Well...  Girl and I shot one of them, he was going for his gun." He
motioned to Chance.  "Chance, here, got the other two." Chance blew on his
knuckles like a gunfighter.

   "Had to be done, man." He said.  "Life's a bitch, and then you get shot
by one."

   "Ableard.  How can I get these kids back to their people?  Should we
just walk them there?"

   "Naw, we'll do it in the truck.  You been up all night, right?"

   Clipper nodded.

   "Get your asses home and go to bed.  John and I'll take care of them."



   --==+==-

   Clipper had Girl check her pockets, and she fished out a pretty good
collection of little gold coins.  The six of them, followed by Ableard and
John, went on in the diner and ordered breakfast.  The kids hadn't eaten in
two days, and were famished.

   "Girl." Clipper motioned her to his side.

   "What?"

   "What about this boy?  Should we just take him to your grammaw's?"

   "I guess we could...  but I kinda thought we might just take him home,"
she said.  She turned, and nodded reassuringly to the kid.

   "Who does he belong to?" Clipper asked.

   "He says he doesn't have anybody.  He lived with his mom, but she went
away with a soldier a few weeks ago.  That's why he was living in that
house where those guys found him."

   "Why didn't he live with your grammaw?"

   "He's from the other side of the family.  I mean, she'd take him, she'd
be glad to take him.  But, why couldn't he live with us?  You said the more
the merrier, right?"

   Shit.  He had said that once.  She had a way of remembering every little
thing he'd ever said, and bringing it back up.  You gotta watch that, he
told himself.

   He sighed.  He'd be willing to try it, at least.  The kid seemed well
behaved, and bright and Girl was definitely attached to him.  There's times
when he'd be a real help.  The only downside was a reduction in privacy. 
They'd deal with that, though.

   "Sure, Girl, whatever you think.  I don't mind." She smiled, and leaned
over to kiss him.

   "Girl.  Not here," he said, and she giggled.  She returned to the boy,
and they whispered to each other.  Clipper sighed again, and turned back to
Ableard.



   --==+==-

   The boy worked out well.  He acted like he was on probation, and was
determined to impress.  He helped with all the chores, virtually taking
them over, feeding the chickens, keeping the hot water bucket full, and the
fire stoked ...  within days he made himself invaluable.  Clipper finally
had a talk with him, telling him basically that he had the job, he could
stop killing himself.  The kid just laughed, and kept on.

   He was good company, too.  He had his quiet thoughtful moments, but most
of the time he carried on a good conversation about virtually anything.  He
was sharp, Clipper thought.  The only thing he didn't seem to want to talk
about was his situation, why he was on his own.  Clipper understood.  He
didn't press him...  it would come out, eventually.  Dylan's mother was one
of Girl's cousins, it turned out, so the two were related, but not too
closely related.  Clipper knew without thinking about it that that was
good, for the future.  He could tell, immediately, by their closeness, that
their future was together.  With each other.  He was too old, for that
nonsense.  He just wanted to play, not make babies, which he couldn't do
anyway.  Thinking about it didn't really bother him, though, he knew that
Girl was his, first.  He had no fear of losing her.

   Girl took it upon herself to train the boy.  She dug through the knife
drawer, and selected a few, and took Dylan out back, where they spent hours
throwing knives.  God, Clipper thought, the kids pick that crap up quick.
Within days, Dylan was better than he ever was.  Within a week, he was
better than Girl, even.  Clipper took the boy out, and let him shoot the
.22 a few times, something he claimed to be good at.  He was.  They came
home with a half dozen squirrels for the dogs, and they even had fried
squirrel themselves that evening.  He just let the boy have the .22, after
that.  Dog food was no longer a problem.

   That quickly, Dylan integrated right into their little family.  Within a
month, Clipper couldn't imagine life without him.  And best of all, he
seemed to be good for Girl.  He seemed to give her a purpose.  He drew her
further and further out of her shell.  The two of them were very close, but
at least Clipper never felt like his relationship with her was threatened.
He knew that she was going to crawl into bed with him, at the end of the
day.  He never worried about that anymore.  She owned him completely.

   Chapter XXII

   As the days shortened and cooled, Clipper began to pan for gold,
seriously.  He felt like they were fairly fixed up for the winter,
food-wise, but they would need money.  And panning for gold was the only
way he knew how to make money.  They returned time and time again to the
big creek, to pan and fish, where they'd been the day they ran into the
Peacekeepers.  He had found another pan, and taught Dylan, and he and Dylan
panned while Girl and Bear took baths and kept watch.  To his pleasure he'd
discovered that he could get his feet into Girl's original boots, the large
plastic wader-looking things.  They helped him greatly with both panning
and fishing.  He was fixed up, with those.  The creek was a mother lode to
him, and he actually wondered if it had been mined, before.  It didn't look
like it, at least not this spot.

   Anyway.  Soon his little bag of gold dust was over three quarters full.
When the gold man showed up at Peck's store that month, they got a nice
stack of tiny gold coins, to his satisfaction.  They spent a good hour at
the store, and Clipper splurged on winter coats for the three of them. 
Nice large arctic looking coats.  He knew it would get cold, way up here on
the mountain.  He also got the three of them jumpsuits, to wear beneath
their jackets.  He got Girl a pair of heavy boots, winter-proof and
waterproof, and Dylan a cheap pair of waterproof plastic boots for panning.
He felt like they were ready for anything.  Peck was working on a deal to
get him more .22 ammo, and even some 7.62X39, if possible.  He crossed his
fingers.

   Life with Dylan had it's ups and downs.  The downs, at least, weren't
very far down, thank goodness.  About the only real problem, if problem it
could be called, was the first thing that had occurred to Clipper when Girl
first came up with the idea of Dylan living with them.  The lack of
privacy. Even though there was another bed in the loft, Dylan had taken to
sleeping on the couch, in front of the fire.  Clipper was glad of that, it
gave them a little privacy, but not much since the loft was open, facing
the fire.  And Girl...  he hadn't realized how noisy she was, until Dylan
came.

   The first night that Dylan stayed with them had been fine.  He'd slid
into Girl, and she'd been as silent as a tomb ...  until fifteen minutes
later, when she came.  Then, she bounced around and squealed a little, and
hiccuped and giggled ...  all her usual noises, which of course sounded
like gunshots in the quiet of the night.  He put his hand over her mouth,
which gave her another case of the giggles.  They made it through the
night, and he hoped for better for the next night.

   He was disappointed the next night.  She was even noisier.  And every
time she could tell it bothered him, she got the giggles.  After about
twenty minutes of that, he called down to Dylan.  He had little fear that
Dylan was asleep.  "Dylan.  Sorry about all the noise."

   Dylan giggled some, then.  "S'okay," he said.  Jeezus, thought Clipper.
He goosed Girl, and she giggled even louder.

   Within a week, he wasn't quite as up-tight about it as he'd been.  Dylan
was the perfect house guest, he just lay down there and dealt with the
noise.  Well, thought Clipper, he'll get a little break, here in a few. 
Girl was freaky about her period, and Clipper did not have conjugal rights
during that time.  It was okay, he understood.  She was freaky about some
things, and way not about others.  He felt like it was a fair trade, for
the things she let him do.  For instance he loved her sweet little asshole,
and she loved to have his stick his finger in it when he fucked her.  He
did it every time, every night.  It was just part of the game, to her.  But
he did give her privacy, when she wanted it.

   Dylan had lived with them maybe two months when Clipper approached Girl
with his idea.  He had no idea how she would take it, but mainly he wanted
her to know that he was okay with the idea.  Whether or not she'd follow
through with it, that was up to her.

   One day Dylan was out hunting, and he drew her to the couch.  He sat and
she crawled on top of his lap, like she liked to do.  He just held her for
a while, loving her, breathing in her soft girlish scent.

   "Girl," he said.

   "What."

   "We gotta talk about something ...  about the future ..."

   "Okay ..." she was already suspicious, he could tell.

   "Girl.  I'm not a young man, and I'm not getting any younger.  You are a
young woman, not even yet in the prime of life.  Dylan is a young man, also
not yet in his prime."

   She was silent.  She began to twist the hem of her shirt nervously.  Her
little mannerism endeared her to him so much that felt tears spring up in
the corner of his eyes.

   "Anyway.  We're kind of a family, the three of us.  I just wanna let you
know, that whatever you choose to do is okay with me.  Girl.  You need to
have some a life established that isn't centered around me.  I'm not gonna
be around that much longer.  That's a reality that we have to face."

   She was still silent.  He hugged her closer.  She looked at him, and he
saw two tears streak down her face.

   "Girl, Girl." He just held her for a while, and hugged her, murmuring to
her.

   "Girl," he said.  "It's just life.  It's the cycle.  We have to accept
it.  What I'm trying to say, is ...  if you choose Dylan, I will not stand
in your way.  If you choose to just share, or if you choose him ... 
full-time ...  I will not complain, or stand in your way.  I love you too
much ..." Here is where he choked up, and had to wait a while to continue.
"Girl.  I love you, and I want what's best for you.  I want what you want."

   She seized him, turning her body towards him, and hugged him with both
arms.  She lay her head on his shoulder.  She still didn't say anything,
but he knew her style.  He knew it'd come out, sooner or later.

   Finally, twenty or thirty minutes later she raised up from him, and
stared at him from just a few inches away.  He'd stopped bawling by then
and they just regarded each other.

   "Clipper," she said, fiercely.  "I love you.  I love you, I love you. 
Don't make me choose."

   "Girl...  I'm not making you choose ...  I'm just telling you that it
won't bother me if you do eventually choose ...  tomorrow, or ten years
from now ...  I'll deal with it ...  I'll still love you even if I have to
love you from a distance.  I love you, Girl, I love you."

   He really didn't know if he could give her up.  He knew he could love
her from a distance, that's how he'd started out.  He didn't know if his
life would matter, thought, if he had to give her up.  But he knew he had
to do what was right, for her.  He had to offer at least.  It was the right
thing to do.

   She lay her head back down on his shoulder.

   "What do you mean, it won't bother you?" she said, tears in her voice.
"Don't you care?"

   "Oh, hell yes, I care," he said.  "But I'll deal with it, I'll do
whatever I have to do.  I want you to be happy and I want you to have a
normal life.  Both while I'm here and after I'm gone."

   He pulled her back and stared into her eyes.

   "Girl.  We have to accept that.  I'm forty years older than you.  I'm
going first, like it or not."

   More tears ran down her cheek.  He lay her back down, feeling sad,
knowing that he'd caused her some pain, but he felt like he'd said what he
needed to say.  He'd let her know.  What she decided, now or later, was her
up to her.  He'd live with it.  Now she knew.

   "Clipper," she finally said.  "I ...  I wanna believe ...  that there's
more to it than just this ...  if you do go first, I wanna believe that
I'll see you again ...  somewhere ..."

   "Girl, Girl ..." he nuzzled her hair.  "If there is, if it's possible,
I'll make sure of it ...  I'll wait for you, if I can ..."

   He just sat there and held her while she cried.  He cried a little, too.
It was just one of those days.



   --==+==-

   A few days later, Clipper was outside with Dylan, holding logs down
while Dylan sawed firewood with their bow saw.  Dylan seemed introspective
that day, thoughtful.  Quiet.  Clipper didn't think much of it until the
boy found a stopping place, and dropped the saw.  They stood together for a
few moments, and then Dylan said, "Talked to Girl the other day."

   "Yeah?" said Clipper, slowly realizing something was going on.

   "She had some ...  interesting ideas ..."

   Clipper laughed.  Yeah, he thought.  I bet she did.  Girl was always
full of interesting ideas.  They just hardly ever made it out of her, that
was the problem.

   "Yeah...  and?" he said.

   "Clipper," Dylan sat.  "I appreciate what you two have done for me.  You
gave me a place to live, and more ...  a place where I could belong, and do
some good ...  not just for myself."

   "Well, Dylan, we're not totally altruistic ...  we've benefited from it,
too ..."

   "Yeah, yeah," said Dylan.  "Clipper.  I did not come to live with you to
...  to steal her ...  from you."

   "I know you didn't, Dylan ...  that's why I told her what I did ...  I'm
not worried, I'm ...  confident, I guess you could say.  I know she's mine,
right now ...  but I just told her I was willing to share ..."

   "That's a hell of a ...  of an offer ..."

   "Yeah, I know it is, but, Dylan ...  times have changed ...  we are
living, right now, in ways that our ancestors, even just our forefathers
could never imagine.  We are having to make compromises that they never
would have ...  and it's even more severe, out here in the woods.  We just
gotta do what we gotta do, to survive."

   "I will not take her from you," Dylan simply said.

   "I will not let you.  But I will share her with you.  Not everybody, not
anybody else, but you."

   "Thanks, man.  If she so chooses, Thanks."

   "You're welcome."



   --==+==-

   One day when they were up the mountain panning gold, to Clipper's
amusement Dylan and Girl got to splashing each other with the ice cold
water.  On a dare, Dylan stripped and leaped into the almost-frozen river.
Girl stared at Clipper like she wanted to ask him something and he laughed
at her.

   "Go ahead if you're brave enough." He said, wondering if she was brave
enough to strip naked, first, and then dive in the icy water.  To his
amusement, she dropped her pants, and stripped her shirt and home-made bra
off.  She waded into the water, moaning about the cold.  Dylan came up to
her and splashed her, and she shrieked and attacked him.  Clipper just
shook his head as the two of them wrestled around in the icy water.  He
knew he'd die of exposure if he joined in.  He took Bear and went upstream
to fish a little and give them some privacy, just because it seemed like
the thing to do.  He didn't expect them to do anything, not when he could
show back up at any moment, but he wanted them to start to get ideas. 
Naturally.  He laughed, even if Dylan was turned on by their nudity, it
wouldn't show, not in that ice-cold water.  Her titties should be plenty
hard, though.





   Chapter XXIII

   As fall drew ever and ever closer, Clipper began to plan an epic hunt.
He wanted at least one more deer for the winter, mostly for jerky for dog
food.  He'd take whatever he could get.  He knew Dylan would be able to bag
squirrels and rabbits, but it would set his mind at ease to have a large
supply of jerky just in case.

   Dylan was eager, never having hunted on that scale before.  Girl was
ho-hum, but she wasn't going to let herself be left behind.  One crisp cool
morning they set out, having spent the night before packing.  They went to
the west again,

   Clipper was hoping to give Dylan some experience with the AK, as good as
the kid was doing with the .22.  Clipper was carrying the .22, and Dylan
had the AK slung on his back.  Girl had the automatic in her belt, just to
round things out.  Clipper felt like they were reasonably armed, should a
situation arise.

   Four hours later found them way down the mountain, struggling through
thick underbrush.  Five hours later, and they had come out into a magical,
fairyland forest, with lush grass and low bushes under the tree canopy. 
Girl was enchanted, and it was beautiful.  They walked along and Clipper
wondered if they could find something in the area to shoot.

   Unfortunately, something found them.  They came around a large bush, and
there, not more than twenty feet away was a campsite.  Two men sat on a
log, one facing them, and one turned away.  The man spoke instantly, and
the other man turned.  Clipper was already bringing up the .22, not exactly
pointing it at the men, but letting them know he was ready.  Girl had been
sheltered from seeing them by the bush, but she had noticed Clipper stop
and raise the rifle.  She peered around the bush to see what was going on.

   By then both the men had stood, and, one of the men, to Clipper's
surprise, raised an assault rifle.  Clipper recognized the M4 variant of
the M16 rifle.  It didn't matter what it was, though, it was an ugly,
dangerous-looking weapon, and it was pointed right at him.  He slowly
relaxed, and let the .22 muzzle fall back to the ground.  He was pissed
off. Every time, he thought, every time we go through this the bad guys get
the drop on me.  He desperately hoped Girl didn't try to draw the .45, he
knew there was no way she could get it out before the muzzle of the M4
swung a few feet to her.  The man motioned for her to come out from behind
the bush, and she did, cautiously.  Not that caution did any good at this
point.  Where the hell is Dylan?  he thought.

   "Jett.  Get that rifle, and that Colt," the man with the AR said.  The
other man came forward, blocking them with his body more than once, giving
Clipper a little hope that the men weren't professionals.  The man took the
.22 from his limp fingers, and yanked the automatic from Girl's waist.  He
took her knives, too, smiling at her, leering, really.

   Where the hell is Dylan?  Clipper thought again.  He'd been right behind
them, just a few seconds ago.  Was he hiding behind the bush?  Had he beat
it for home?  Surely not.  Shit.  That was his only hope.  But Dylan was
just a kid.

   "Look," said Clipper, "we don't want no trouble.  Just let us go on, and
we won't bother you."

   The guy with the M4 laughed, nervously, Clipper thought.  Not a good
sign.

   "You can go, old man," the guy said.  "But the girl stays."

   "Uh-uh," Girl spoke.  "I'm goin' with him." She grabbed Clipper by the
sleeve of his upraised arm.

   "The fuck you are," the guy seemed to get a little angry.  "Your ass is
mine, now.  Get the fuck over here." He motioned for her to come to him. 
She didn't move.

   "Girl ..." said Clipper.  He didn't want her to go, but he didn't want
her to get shot, either.  The other guy came right over to them and grabbed
her by the sleeve and began pulling her away.  He was laughing and he
stared at her frankly and appraisingly.  Clipper looked at the two,
measuring them up, wondering what he could do.  He still had a couple on
knives in his belt, but against a rifle?  Suicide.  The man held the gun on
him unwaveringly.  The other man pulled Girl over to the side, and Clipper
thought at least she's out of the line of fire.

   "Lay down, old fuck," the guy with the gun said.  "Face down."

   Clipper slowly, wearily, dropped to his knees, and then lowered himself
to the ground.  This was getting old, he told himself.  Every goddam time
they left the cabin, they ran into this shit.

   The two men talked among themselves but Clipper couldn't understand
them. He thought if they do leave and take her I can at least follow them.
And where the hell is Dylan?  He had a halfway hope that Dylan was hiding
out somewhere behind them and he could hook back up with him when the bad
guys left.  When they left and took Girl.  That, now, that would piss him
off.  He would spare no mercy on these fuckers if he got the chance.  They
were as good as dead, he thought, if they don't kill me first.  I will not
rest, he told himself.  I will not rest.

   "Hey, old fuck," the gunman said.  "Sorry to do this, but we can't have
you following us.  Here goes ..."

   Clipper tightened his whole body, in anticipation of the bullet.  He
wondered idly if it would be a head shot, or somewhere in his midsection.
He'd never been shot before.  He halfway wondered what it would feel like,
if it would be insanely painful immediately.  He realized that nothing
mattered, if he was going to get shot.  He tensed his body, and prepared to
leap up and try and defend himself.  He didn't get that far.

   The shot blasted in his ears, and it was loud.  Way louder than what
he'd guessed it would be.  He mentally felt along his body for the wound,
wondering why he hadn't even felt a shock when it entered his body.  Shit,
he thought.  Am I dead already?  Was it a head shot?  Or did the dumb fuck
miss?

   Two more shots followed, in quick succession.  Clipper just lay there,
amazed.  I'm still alive, he thought.  Why can't I feel it?  Why didn't I
feel the impact?  Why doesn't anything hurt?  Am I in shock?  Shit!

   Something fell on top of him, and grabbed him and rolled him over.  It
was Girl.  She was blubbering like a baby.  He stared at her, bemused. 
Behind her, he could see Dylan, the AK still at his shoulder.  Shit, he
thought, shit.  That little motherfucker.  Shit.  Now I owe him big time.

   He sat up slowly, hugging Girl, who was still sniffling.  He turned and
looked behind them.  The two men were stretched out on the ground, one of
them visibly bloody, one not.  Jeezus, he thought.  Thank you Jeezus. 
Thank you, Dylan.

   Dylan stood over them, and reached his hand down.  Clipper grasped it,
and Dylan pulled him to his feet.  He lifted Girl, holding her, letting her
cry.  He understood.  His body was still flooded with adrenalin.  His heart
was still pounding in his chest.

   "Man," he held Dylan's hand.  "Thank you.  Thank you for saving us."

   "No biggie," said Dylan.  "Let's get the hell out of here.  We don't
know if there's more of them."

   "Yeah."

   Dylan handed the AK to Clipper, went over to the dead men and took the
M4 from the man's lifeless hands.  It was a fine weapon.  Shit.  They were
amassing quite a collection of firearms, Clipper thought.  He just wished
they all used the same ammo.  He joined Dylan, and they searched the men,
finding a Ruger .22 pistol on the gunman.  And a handful of knives.  The
other guy had nothing.  He must have been the flunky, Clipper thought.  A
backpack was next to the log, and Clipper opened it.  Holy shit.  It was
full of .223 ammo, a thousand rounds, it looked like.  That's literally all
that was in it.  Bullets.  They were fixed up for bullets.

   "Thanks, guys," Clipper told the dead men, grabbed the bag, and they got
the hell out of there.  Girl had settled down by now, and was back to her
usual bad-ass self.  They struck out into the woods, headed back up the
mountain.  They were all ready to go home, now, after that.  As they moved
through the woods, cautiously, now, they talked about ways to hunt and move
about the woods with more safety.  The woods felt dangerous to Clipper now,
as many encounters as they had had.  He tried to do better about keeping
his eyes on the territory ahead, to see what they were walking into.  Every
time they were caught he hoped it was their last.



   --==+==-

   That night they curled up around the fire, and had a little discussion
about the events of the day.  Clipper remembered Girl's mood after she'd
killed her first man.  Dylan didn't seem bothered a bit, he thought.  He
seemed outgoing, and laughed at everything.  Well, some people it affected
differently.  He was glad the boy didn't seem disturbed.  They'd stripped
down and cleaned the M4, and it was in the hiding place, now.  The hiding
place was getting a bit crowded, in fact.  And all those bullets.  Good
grief.  Clipper knew you could never have too many bullets.  This was a
good start.  He'd let Dylan and Girl both have a little target practice,
now.  They could afford it.  He sat back, feeling the warmth of the fire.
Things were going well.  Very well, if they could just keep from being
caught with their pants down again.

   Chapter XXIV

   One evening, when Dylan was out squirrel hunting with the .22, Girl
dragged Clipper to the couch in front of the fire.  He sat, and she crawled
up on his lap, as she often did.  He put his face into her hair, and
smelled her familiar scent.  They had made love the night before, as they
always did, without fail, every night.  Well, almost every night, except
for when Girl was bleeding.  She still wasn't over that.  Well, he could
live with that.  Making love to her was still incredible to him, every time
was almost as good as the first time.

   She nuzzled and rubbed on him for a while, and he realized that she was
going to say something.  He waited patiently, as he had learned to do.

   "Clip.  Clipper," she started with his name, as she always did.  He
nodded, and raised his eyebrows.

   "I've been ...  thinking ..." she said.  Oh yes, you have, he thought.
That's about all you do.  She still went hours sometimes without saying a
word, but he knew now that her mind was churning the whole time.

   "About ..." he said, helping her along.

   "Me.  And Dylan." Ah, he thought.  This is about Dylan.  The Dylan
thing. He would be interested to see what she thought, about the Dylan
thing.

   "Okay," he said, after a bit of silence.

   "Clipper.  You have been...  fixed.  Dylan is not.  I don't think I'm
ready, yet, and I don't think we're ready, yet, as a family.  Even a family
of three."

   He knew what she meant.  Babies.  He agreed.

   "I want to give Dylan ...  something ...  to let him know that he's part
of us, part of our group ...  our family..."

   He felt like he knew what she meant.  By "something" she meant sex,
obviously.

   "But I'm afraid of getting pregnant."

   "Girl," he felt like he understood her problem and he agreed with her.
Now was not a good time for dealing with a baby.  Maybe in two or three
more years, but not now.

   "There is a clinic in town," he said.  "Next time we go to town, let's
go in there, and see if they still have access to medicine.  To the pill,
primarily."

   "Birth control pills?" she said, and he nodded.

   "There is another way ..." he said.  "Have you heard of the rhythm
method?"

   She nodded.  "Kinda.  Where you keep track of your ...  periods?"

   "Yes.  It's difficult to do, but about ninety percent effective, when
done right.  I'll help you with it, if you wish.  We'll record your cycle
for a few months, and then you can ...  go from there."

   "Is ninety percent pretty good?" she asked.  "What is the pill?"

   "I have no idea, I'm sure it's like ninety five plus, at least ... 
We'll go to the clinic, and ask."

   "I guess," she sighed, and lay against him.  He wrapped his arms around
her, loving her.

   "Clipper.  If I get on the pill, what do you think about ...  giving him
one day a week?"

   "Girl.  It's not about me.  I could be happy with just one day a month.
Anything you give me I will be happy with.  I love you.  I want you every
night, but I understand.  If you wanna give him one day a week, go for it."

   She looked at him, and laughed.  "One day a month.  Yeah, right." She
said.  He smiled.

   "Girl.  One day a week sounds fine, if that's what you want.  It's a
good start, at least.  He's a growing boy.  I'm sure he has desires, and...
urges...  I know I did, at that age."

   Girl scooted down on the couch, and lay in his lap.  She looked up at
him.  "I wish I'd known you, then." She said.  "I'd have helped you with
your ...  urges ..." she giggled.

   "The hell you would have.  You wouldn't have looked at me twice if you'd
known me back then," he said.  "I was just a goofy-ass geek boy.  I never
even kissed a girl until I was sixteen or seventeen.  I was scared of
girls."

   "Oh, I bet." she said, giggling.

   "Seriously.  Girl.  You might not believe this, but I married the first
girl that I ever ...  fucked, pardon my French."

   "You were married?" for some reason she acted like that thought had
never occurred to her.

   "Hell yeah," he said.  "For two years, one month and twenty-two days."
She giggled.  He continued.  "The most miserable two years of my life."

   "Clip." she said.  "I'm sorry."

   "Oh well, I got a good kid out of the deal," he said.  She acted
surprised, again.

   "You have a kid?  Boy or girl?"

   "A girl, Girl.  She's ...  let's see ...  she'd be in her thirties by
now ...  I've even got two grandchildren, that I know of."

   "What happened to her?  To them?"

   "I have no idea.  That's the first thing I did when I got back in the
country proper.  But, no luck.  Her neighbors said she disappeared
overnight with the kids and her husband.  One morning she just wasn't there
any longer.  I have no idea what happened to her."

   Girl was quiet and introspective.  He loved her all the more for her
sympathetic nature.  He just sat there and held her.  She had lapsed back
into thought, deep thought, he knew.  He knew her looks, by now.  She was a
million miles away.  He let her think.

   Two knocks, a pause, and the door slammed open.  Dylan was home.



   --==+==-

   Ten days later found them in Devonsville, and Clipper left Dylan at the
diner and took Girl to the little clinic on Main Street.  No one was there
but a nurse, and she listened sympathetically as Clipper explained that his
"wife" needed to get on the pill.

   "At the moment," said the woman, "we have a pretty good supply line. 
But I'd advise you to lay up a stock of pills for those times when the
truck doesn't show up.  That happens, some months."

   The woman gave Girl a cursory exam, to Girl's embarrassment, and they
left with three months supply of pills.  Clipper was pleased, and
pleasantly surprised to see an operational clinic in the area.  Not for
himself, but for Girl's sake.



   --==+==-

   It was a month later.  Clipper had started keeping track of what day it
was, even what month for that matter.  One Saturday, Girl caught him out
back, when he was digging.  She stopped him, and he hugged her to his body.
Her warmth felt good on the crisp autumn day.

   "Clipper," she whispered in his ear.  "Can I ...  can I ..."

   "Yes," he whispered back.  "Whatever the question is, the answer is
yes."

   "Clipper.  Can I spend the night with Dylan tonight?"

   He laughed.  "Yes.  I already said yes."

   "Clip.  You're sure about this."

   "Girl.  I'll say it again.  You have to have a life when I'm gone.  You
and Dylan seem like a good match.  You like each other and you get along.
He's a nice kid.  He has fit in well and he'll just get better.  I'm happy
for you.  I'll feel better knowing that you're in capable hands.  Yes, the
answer is yes."

   She sighed, and just stood there, being held by him.  That Dylan's a
lucky sumbitch, he thought.  Even just once a week, he's lucky.



   --==+==-

   That night, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.  They sat in front of
the fire, and it felt good.  It was getting pretty cool outside, at night.
They talked and sat, and Clipper yawned and stretched.

   "Goodnight, you two," he said, and climbed the ladder to the loft.  He
wondered if Girl would go through with it.  Usually, thought, when she made
her mind up, it was made.  He figured she would.  He puttered around a
minute, and crawled in bed.  Sleep seemed a million miles away.

   Before long, he just couldn't stand it.  He crept to the end of the
loft, and got all the way over to one side and peeked down.  Damn.  It was
really too dark to see anything, but from the dim light of the fire he
could see Dylan's blanket moving around as shapes beneath it moved around.
Something was definitely going on down there.  He wondered if Dylan had any
kind of sexual experience or if this was his first.  He hoped it was his
first.  Girl was special enough to make for a memorable first.

   Later he peeked again, and this time he saw that their efforts had
knocked the blanket to the floor.  He got a faint view of Dylan's pale ass
pumping away into Girl, with one of her legs wrapped around Dylan pulling
him into her.  Her other leg was braced on the floor as Dylan pumped away
like crazy.

   He returned to bed, and lay there, feeling strangely alone.  An hour
later he awoke with a start and heard a strange but familiar moaning noise
from below.  He laughed quietly, knowing it was Girl making one of her
typical sex sounds.  It sounded different to him, probably because it
wasn't in his ear.  It turned him on and he sighed.  Tomorrow night will
not be here quick enough, he thought.  A strong drawn-out grunt from Dylan
signaled a successful end to the first of several rounds of sex for them
that night.  Ah, to be young again, thought Clipper, facing into the wall
and trying to go to sleep.

   Chapter XXV

   Yet another epic hunt was in order, Clipper thought.  He kept doing
that, thinking just one more, one more, one more deer...  another pig would
be nice, since he was making enough friends around the mountain to share
the meat, if he got another.  One brisk autumn morning, he got Dylan and
Girl up before dawn, and they armed themselves, grabbed their packs, and
headed off down the mountain.  Dylan carried the AR with a pocketful of
extra bullets and Clipper had the AK.  Mr.  Peck had come through with some
7.62x39, and the clip was now fully loaded and he even had twenty extra
rounds in his pocket, just in case.  He only planned on shooting the gun
one or two times, but it never hurts to be prepared.  He had no idea how
well that would prove to be true on this day.

   But, starting out, nothing seemed amiss.  They had Fang and Bear with
them, and the two dogs bounded far and wide, probably chasing away
everything for a mile or two.  It didn't matter, Clipper didn't consider
them actually "hunting" until they left Devonsville behind.  It was ritual,
to stop at Devonsville for breakfast.  It's just how they did it.

   The dogs began acting strangely when they came out of the forest, and
approached the town.  The hair on Fang's back stood up and she growled
softly.  Bear got more and more skittish and he began growling, too.  The
closer they got the freakier the dogs acted, until Clipper finally began to
pay attention.

   "Girl," he said, as they drew near to the general store.  "Go back to
the treeline, and keep the dogs there.  Dylan and I are going to look
around." He wanted her far away if any danger was near.  Not that he
expected any.  But the dogs were acting really strange...

   He grabbed her, and kissed her, hard and quick.  She gave him a look
like she wasn't sure she wanted to do what he said, and he nodded at her.
"Dylan," she said, "watch his back." Dylan nodded, and she turned, calling
the dogs to her.  He watched her walk away, back to the treeline.  He was
distracted.  That butt, he thought.  Goddam.  That butt.

   He felt sure that nothing really big and bad could be going on in town.
Could it?  Sure, there were people around town, lots of people.  But the
dogs had been here before and not acted that way.  What the hell, he
thought.

   He ducked into Peck's store, leaving Dylan in the doorway to keep watch.
Nothing.  Nothing, and nobody.  He went all the way in the back to where
Peck and his family lived, calling out as he went.  Completely empty.  A
pot of soup boiled on the stove, and he turned the burner off, thinking. 
What the hell.  That's what he thought, what the hell is going on here?

   He picked Dylan back up, and they carefully made their way down the
street.  He realized that he was barely hearing a voice, something that
sounded like somebody was shouting or possibly preaching.  His curiosity
was piqued even further.

   They slowly, carefully walked down the street.  Not a person anywhere.
That wasn't that peculiar, this was a small town.  It was early morning,
everyone was probably at the diner.  Yes, that had to be it.  The boiling
pot still disturbed him, though.  He hadn't known a woman yet that would
walk off and leave a pot boiling like that.  It just wasn't safe, and it'd
probably ruin whatever you were cooking.

   As they approached the diner and he looked inside, expecting to see a
whole crowd of folks sitting around eating.  Nothing.  No one.  He peered
into the window and to his amazement it was completely empty.  There was
food on the tables and jackets on the backs of chairs.  There just wasn't
any people.  Not even the cooks or waiters.

   He looked at Dylan.  Dylan shrugged.  He heard the voice again.  It
sounded like it came from behind the buildings, from the alley.  He led
Dylan around the next building and towards the alley.

   Devonsville was a small town.  The business district was about a block
long, with maybe fifteen small stores.  Behind that was pretty much
nothing...  a few acres of field, and then the treeline.  The houses, the
rest of the town, started a few hundred feet on down.

   Clipper saw a man, standing in the field.  He saw two more, as he passed
further down the building.  To his amazement, the men all had their hands
in the air.  Not real high, he noticed, about elbow high.  Like they'd been
doing it a long time.  He pulled Dylan against the side of the building,
not wanting to be seen.

   He moved a little further down the side of the building.  The voice was
droning on, he could hear it but he couldn't understand what it was saying.
He got to the end of the building.  If he went any further, he'd be seen by
the folks in the field.  He could tell by now from peeks he'd taken that
there were a lot of folks standing in the field, with their hands up.

   What the hell?  he thought.  Dylan leaned towards him, and whispered,
"Peacekeepers?" Clipper just shrugged.  He had no idea.  Dylan had a good
thought, though.  He wondered if this was a weapons sweep or something.  He
didn't want to get caught in it, if it was.  He didn't want to give up his
guns.  And he sure didn't want to get in trouble for owning them.  Unless
it was those Peacekeepers they'd met that time ...  but then again, even
they might be forced to enforce ...

   He motioned for Dylan to back up, and they moved back along the wall,
further out of sight of the activity in the field.  Dylan was watching,
though, and he spotted the next peculiar thing.  He motioned to Clipper,
who turned around just in time to see an armed man walking around the edge
of the field.  Acting like a guard, looking in towards where he knew the
people were.  The man had what looked like a deer rifle, complete with
scope.  Clipper was doubly nonplussed, now.  No uniform.  So much for the
Peacekeeper idea.  Just a guy, in normal clothes, acting like a guard. 
Clipper knew that if all or most of the town was gathered in the field,
there had to be more than just one guard.  More likely ten or twenty. 
Crap. Just what the hell was going on here?  he thought, for the umpteenth
time.

   They turned around the corner of the building, to the boardwalk.  Some
motion across the alley caught Clipper's attention, and he almost jumped
out of his skin as a figure waved to him.  He was glad his finger wasn't on
the trigger of the AK, he'd probably have squeezed one off from sheer
jumpiness.  He was pretty keyed up by now.

   It was Ableard Wilson, of all people.  Thank god, he thought.  Behind
him, holding a deer rifle pointed at the sky, was his friend John Jerard.
Ableard was making a shushing motion, also holding a rifle.  Clipper judged
that the angle of the alley would prevent him from being seen from the
field, and he ran across to meet them, Dylan close behind.

   "Ableard, what the hell is ..." he started, but Ableard broke in.

   "Clip, I dunno, just some guys with guns.  I heard some of it, the guy
talking is calling himself "Captain Hook." I guess they think they're
pirates."

   "Is everyone there?  Did they round everybody up?" Clipper asked.

   "Pretty much.  I think everybody was in the diner when they came into
town.  They probably already had Peck and his family, and Mrs.  Cling from
the seamstress shop.  From what I understand they are now taking people one
by one to their houses, to ransom family members the pirates are holding.
They have threatened several times to shoot whoever can't meet the minimum
in loot."

   "Shit," said Clipper.  "Ableard, what the hell can we do?"

   His sentence was punctuated with a single gunshot, coming from behind
the buildings.  Oh shit, he thought, wondering who had just died.  He
wondered if the pirates were just making an example of someone.  Ableard
paused, and then continued.

   "Clipper.  We have to take out the brains.  We have to get around to
where we can shoot, without hitting people in the crowd.  If we take out
the leaders we'll be way ahead.  We can do that if we take them by
surprise. We have four rifles and there's about ten of them, but most of
them just have bolt-actions, from what I've seen.  You and Dylan have
semi-auto's."

   "Dylan," Clipper turned to face the boy.  "Are you up to this?" He
didn't want to offend Dylan, but he wanted to give him an out.  He knew
that Jerard could handle the AR just fine if Dylan didn't want to get into
a firefight.

   Dylan was ready, though.  "Hell yeah!" he said, looking at Clipper like
he was crazy to suggest such a thing.  Well, I tried, thought Clipper.

   "Dylan.  Do everything Ableard tells you.  Listen close," he turned to
Ableard, expectantly.  Ableard would know.  He always knew.

   "Hell, I don't know!" said Ableard.  "Let's go to the end of the row,
and see if they're in the clear, if we have a clear shot from there.  The
main thing is, we can't shoot our own people.  That wouldn't solve
anything."

   The four of them went down to the end of the row of shops.  Clipper saw
Girl standing forlornly out at the treeline.  He motioned to her, what he
hoped was a kind of a stay and wait thing.  He hoped she understood.  Man,
he thought, we need to all learn some hand signals.

   They crossed the end shop, and started down the alley, hugging the side
of the shops as they passed.  Clipper started seeing men here and there in
the field, with their hands up.  He was surprised no one had seen them,
yet. Maybe they had, and were just giving them cover.  He hoped.

   They stopped, with just one building left.  Maybe a quarter of the crowd
in the field was visible, at this point.  At least no guards were in sight.
Clipper knew if he could see them they could see him.  The four of them
crouched and held a hurried conference.  The speaker's voice started up
again in the middle of it.

   "Okay." Ableard said quietly.  "John's gonna take out Captain Hook. 
When he fires you guys start firing.  Shoot to kill, we're not feeling
sorry for these bastards today.  Use the side of this building for cover,
John at the top, then the boy, then you, Clipper, and I'll be on my belly,
at the bottom.  Select your targets from left to right, top to bottom, so
we don't waste time shooting the same guy twice."

   They had to stop for a moment and explain that to Dylan, and Clipper was
kind of glad, because he hadn't really understood either.  Basically, he
had the third quadrant from the left, since he was third from the top.  Got
it, he thought.

   Ableard lay down on his stomach, and crept forward.  When he was in
position, he motioned, and the rest of them peered around the building,
guns at the ready, and tried not to get in each other's way.  It worked out
pretty good, Jerard was tall, and Clipper knelt down at his knees,
straddling Ableard's body, to fit under Dylan.

   The Captain Hook figure was strutting before the crowd.  Nothin' but air
behind him, Clipper thought.  Clear shot.  Good.  On the ground before the
man, a figure lay, twisted and crumpled.  Clipper figured that was the shot
they had heard earlier.  The crowd seemed pretty large, he thought.  The
whole town, pretty much.  Men and women, boys and girls, all the way down
to small children held by their mothers.  The pirates had been smart to
make their approach at breakfast-time.  They had gotten pretty much the
whole town in one sweep.

   No one had spotted them yet peeking around the building, or at least no
one had given the alarm if they did.  Obviously no bad guys did.  He waited
expectantly for Jerard's shot, already selecting his target.  Some doofus
with sunglasses, carrying what looked like a Mini-14.  Not every one was
carrying bolt actions, then.  He aimed for the thick part of the man's
body. He knew he wasn't good enough for a head shot.

   Captain Hook's voice rose to a shout as one of his pirates pointed
towards the four of them.  Then the captain's skull exploded as the bullet
from John Jerard's .300 Weatherby smashed through his forehead.  Clipper
fired, seeing the Mini-14 dude go down instantly, to his satisfaction.

   From there, it was just chaos.  The crowd wheeled as one and took off
across the field.  Clipper didn't blame them.  Two of the pirates walked
forward, firing directly at them, and Clipper could see the flashes of fire
from their muzzles.  Then both men dropped at about the same time.  Clipper
had no idea who got them.  Probably Dylan.  He heard bullets slam into the
side of the building, disturbingly close to them.  He felt splinters of
wood in his hair.  Something tugged on his shirt, beneath his arm, whining
past.

   Dylan was firing methodically, and if Clipper had been able to see
clearly he would have seen a man fall each time the boy squeezed the
trigger.  The M4 was doing exactly what it was designed for, killing and
wounding.  Clipper got off another shot at a man who had just picked up a
rifle and aimed it at them.  There was a few seconds of silence, and then
Ableard fired once at a figure far off in the distance, holding a rifle and
running towards the field.  The figure stumbled and fell.  It was silent
again.

   They just remained frozen for a while, waiting to see what happened.  A
few of the menfolk from the town began to creep back towards the scene. 
Most of the women and children were in the treeline by now, hiding.

   Clipper gave Ableard a hand and the man rose.  Ableard strode out into
the field and began shouting orders to anybody that would listen.  Two of
the townsfolk approached him and Ableard got a headcount on the pirates
from them.  He turned and shouted the number "Eleven!" to John Jerard and
Dylan, who were checking the pirates, making sure they were dead.  Clipper
ran back down the alley and peeked out to make sure it was safe.  Girl
still stood there at the treeline, waiting like he'd told her to.  He
motioned to her, telling her to come on, and she took off running to him,
the dogs leading and following her.  A single shot rang out from behind
him, making him jump.  She got there, and he caught her, and she buried her
face in his jacket.  She was almost crying.  He just held her for a while,
loving her, glad to be alive.

   "Girl!" he held her back from him, and looked her in the eye.  She
looked better than anything he'd ever seen.  He seized her again and kissed
her.  And again, and again.

   "I heard ...  shooting ..." she said, and he nodded.  He pulled her down
the alley, trying to tell her all at once what had happened.  She caught
most of it.

   When they came out into the field, Dylan and Jerard were dragging dead
pirates to a pile, being helped by some other men.  Jerard seemed to be
cutting something in their foreheads.  When Clipper got close enough he
could see it was an "X".  X marks the pirate, he thought.  Some men were
clustered around the man he'd seen on the ground, and it now appeared he
wasn't dead.  The nurse from the clinic took off at a dead run for her
office and some men hoisted the figure up and followed her.

   The pirates were not so lucky.  Jerard and Dylan discovered another live
one, and Dylan simply backed up a few steps and shot the man in the head.
He looked up, to see Clipper regarding him with disbelief.

   "What?" said Dylan, "he would have died anyway, he was gut-shot." Jerard
and Dylan moved on.  Clipper just shook his head.  I am too old and soft
for this age, he thought.  Girl hugged him closer.  He let her.  He hugged
her back.  He didn't care what people thought, not now.

   They approached Ableard.  John Jerard came up, and said, "eleven, all
accounted for," and walked away, joining back up with Dylan.  Ableard
turned to face Clipper.

   "We got them all.  The big question is, how can we keep this from
happening again?"

   "Well," said Clipper, "hopefully this has removed a major infestation
from this area.  Did anybody know these guys?  Did they just happen onto
us, or do you think this was planned?"

   "No idea, although something of this magnitude would require some
planning.  The crazy thing is, what could they have hoped to gain?  It's
not like we are rich folks, hiding away here in little Devonsville.  Some
people did hear them talk, though, while they were being rounded up.  They
were looking for girls, also, pretty girls.  They were picking them out of
the crowd."

   "Damn." Shit, thought Clipper.  Everybody's on the prowl for pretty
girls.  He promised himself to guard his even closer, if possible.  The sad
thing was, he thought, how hard it really is.  If people don't fear the
law, they'll do anything.  This proved it.  And it's hard to fight against
people who aren't afraid of anything.

   "Ableard." Clipper spoke.  "How'd you and John keep from being caught up
in this?  Aren't you usually in the diner having breakfast?"

   Ableard laughed.  "Pure chance.  We had just took a load of pig slop out
to the Amish farm for Pete, in the truck.  When we came back, everybody was
gone.  John was armed, as usual, and he advised that I get armed, too. 
We'd just gotten back from my house when we hooked up with you two.  You
guys had the firepower we needed.  Just the two of us, with bolt actions?
We'd have died tryin'.  Thanks again, Clipper, Dylan."

   "Yeah.  No problem," said Clipper, hugging Girl.  Dylan nodded, pointing
to Clipper's shirt, beneath his arm.  A hole had pierced it, a bullet hole.
He'd come that close to being hit, he realized.  Things went to shit in a
hurry when the bullets start flying.  He was glad he'd been able to keep
Girl out of the middle of it, at least.



   --==+==-

   Much later, they all sat in the diner, eating and talking.  Everyone was
back out of the woods, and all seemed peaceful again.  A team of men was
burying the pirates.  An armed watchman was on top of the water tower,
ready to give the alarm if he saw more trouble approaching.

   Two other townsfolk had been hit by stray bullets, but none seriously.
The first man that had been shot was in serious but stable condition, at
the clinic.  The whole town was buzzing, of course.  Nothing this big had
ever happened here before.

   "Well," Ableard said, "a lot of changes will have to come from this.  We
are going to create a few new jobs.  For instance, we might put somebody up
on the water tower full time, just to keep an eye on things, and sound
alarms when need be.  And we might fence the town in, or at least the
residential districts.  More people will probably conduct their day-to-day
business armed.  That kind of stuff."

   "Ableard," said Clipper.  "Did anyone recognize any of those guys?  Any
idea where they were from?"

   "Yeah, we got a few positives on ID," Ableard said.  "Some of them were
obviously locals.  Well, not real local locals, but from the general
vicinity.  Several of them were definitely from Skipps, several people
agreed on that."

   "Is it really that bad, that armed gangs are basically roaming the
forest, robbing people at will, and harvesting girls?" Clipper said.

   "Appears to be.  Let's hope that was the last gasp of chaos.  And let's
at least hope that we're better prepared, if there is a next time."



   --==+==-

   They sat around for a while longer, and talked.  Almost the whole town
was there in the diner, and conversations were buzzing.

   "Oh, yeah," said Ableard.  "Did you hear about your old friend Elvis?"

   "The judge?  In Hartshorne?" replied Clipper.

   "Yes.  Poor man was out tending his garden when a bullet from out of
nowhere nailed him in the head.  Must have been a thousand-yard shot or
more.  The neighbors said they barely heard the gun, it was so far away. 
Amazing.  Poor guy."

   "Yeah," snorted John Jerard, "poor guy."

   "It's too coincidental to be anything but an accident, at that range. 
Nobody is that good."

   "Yeah," Said John, with an evil grin.  He slowly brushed his fingernails
on his shirt.  "Nobody."

   Clipper laughed to himself.  Well, justice had been served.  The details
didn't matter.  No more payoffs for that judge, at least.  Maybe the next
guy would be a little more honest.  Maybe the next guy would get the
message.  Karma was a bitch.



   --==+==-

   Clipper gathered up Girl and Dylan, and headed for home.  The hunting
trip could wait.  He just wanted to hole up in his cabin with Girl and feel
safe for a while.  He'd let Dylan go on a hunt if the boy wanted to.  The
kid was turning into a regular mountain man, anyway.

   Chapter XXVI

   Finally, after things settled down and after a lot of thought, Clipper
took Girl and Dylan on a long overnight trip around the mountain.  He
really didn't have any idea why he chose the route he did, he just kind of
made it up as he went along.  He packed the gold pans and the fishing rods,
just in case, and he carried the AK while Dylan carried the AR.

   They practiced ways of moving through the forest where they weren't all
in a bunch, to break up targets.  Clipper was working on hand signals and
bird calls, too, to be able to communicate effectively and quietly at a
distance.  He did not want to be caught by bad guys, again.  That was now
his number one priority.

   They had made it maybe three quarters of the way around the mountain,
when far off in the distance on the next mountain over Clipper saw the
mine. Once again, with no idea why, he changed their course.

   Relatively soon, they descended down into the valley between the two
mountains and then came back up.  A day later, after a nerve-wracking
outdoors camp-out, they came to the mine.  It was a strip mine and it was
huge.  Damn near half the mountain was bare, with new, young trees just
starting to creep back in to the mined area.  Clipper wondered what they
had been mining.  Gold?  For some reason he didn't think so.  Gold didn't
seem heavy enough in this area for mining on this scale.  And the scale was
huge.

   Several miles away he spotted some building and machines.  Just because
it was interesting to him, and for something to show the kids, he headed
that way.  Plus, no telling what they might find.  The whole place looked
deserted.

   A few miles later they stood on the outskirts of what was basically a
small town.  Sheet metal buildings were all around, with offices and huge
warehouse-looking buildings where he figured the machines were worked on.

   In the central open area, surrounded by buildings, stood some massive
machines.  Clipper recognized a few bucket-wheel excavators and lots of
smaller backhoes and excavators, from massive sized to cute little baby
ones.  And, of course, lots of dump trucks.

   He realized quickly that this was a surface coal mine, judging by the
loads still in some of the trucks.  He could even smell coal smoke, in the
air.  Shit, he realized.  Somebody was burning coal.  That meant somebody
was here.  He wondered if it was mine representatives, if the mine was
still active in any way, or just simple somebody keeping an eye on it, for
the owners.  It was either that, or squatters.  Really, he thought, a mine
wouldn't be a bad place to move into and take over.  Plenty of warmth for
the winter ahead, at least.

   They walked down the row of silent buildings.  At the end was a truly
massive building, with giant doors halfway open.  He could see a few small
machines inside, and one incredibly huge bucket excavator, partially
inside. The machine was four or five hundred feet long, he guessed.  It was
a big building.

   They went through the doors and went inside.  Inside, against the far
wall, was a stack of office buildings, halfway up the wall.  The smell of
burning coal was strong inside and Clipper had just opened his mouth to
suggest they leave when he saw a figure standing in a doorway.

   He nodded towards the guy, and Girl and Dylan saw him too.  Dylan
slowly, casually lifted the M4 from his back, and Clipper lifted the AK a
little higher, placing his hand on the trigger assembly.

   The figure in the door waved at them, and then started down a staircase,
seemingly unafraid by their subtle show of force.

   Clipper looked at Girl, and motioned her behind him.  He kept an eye on
the wall of buildings, for any more people to show up.  Was it just this
one guy?

   "I'll watch your back..." he said, in a low voice.

   "And I'll watch yours." Said Girl.  They waited for the man to approach.
The guy got to the bottom of the stairs, and headed towards them.

   Guy?  Man?  It was a kid, Clipper thought, as the figure drew close. 
Maybe mid teens.  He didn't appear to be armed, not even knives or
primitive weapons.  He seemed fearless, coming right up to them, and
stopping maybe ten feet away.  Jeezus, thought Clipper.  He's still got
pimples.  He's just a kid.

   The kid was gaunt, not starvation gaunt, just really skinny.  He had
long brown hair, which stood up in several spikes.  Huge green eyes.  A
little pug nose.  What Clipper had thought were tattoos on his neck and
arms now looked like Magic Marker or Sharpie tattoos.  Definitely homemade.

   "Howdy," said Clipper.

   "Howdy," said the kid.  Girl and Dylan just nodded.

   "Sorry to bother you," said Clipper.  "We didn't know anyone lived here.
We were just out hunting, and saw the mine.  Thought we'd stop by." Girl
suddenly grabbed Clipper's sleeve and tugged on it.  He glanced at her to
see her half turned, looking behind him.  He figured someone was coming up,
from behind.

   "It's cool," said the kid.  He motioned behind them, smiling.  Clipper
turned and looked, and his heart stopped.  Behind them, a huge crowd had
assembled in complete silence.  Kids, mostly.  Completely.  He was shocked,
both at the silent stealth with which they'd assembled, and their age. 
None of them looked to be over twenty.  All of them seemed to be armed,
whether just sticks or shovels, and a few even held axes.  Shit, he
thought. Girl had been watching his back, and she'd tried to warn him.  He
needed to remember to tell her thanks.  Assuming they got out of this
alive.

   He turned back, and licked his lips.  "Seriously.  We mean you no harm.
We are just visitors, passing through."

   Jeezus, he thought.  His mind raced.  He looked at Girl for a second,
and saw fear on her face.  He was sure that a little showed on his, as
well. These kids had them.  There must have been a hundred of them, at
least.  They didn't even have that many bullets on them, at the moment. 
Not that he planned on shooting kids.

   "You guys all live here?" he asked, and the kid nodded.

   "Yeah, some of us been here a while.  And some are new."

   "You from Skipps?" Clipper asked.

   "Most of the new ones are.  I'm not," the kid said.

   "So you guys live here then.  Lots of coal?  Other supplies?"

   "Yeah, but nothing to give away," the kid said.

   "We're not looking to take.  Just wondered how you all made it.  That's
a lot of mouths to feed."

   "We still have some food in the cafeteria.  And we hunt.  We have two
bows.  We need a rifle, though," the kid said, looking pointedly at
Clipper's AK.

   Clipper was silent.  He wasn't going to just say, here, have mine.  He
felt for these kids, though, trying to survive out here on their own.  He
wondered why there weren't at least a few adults helping them.

   "What you got to trade?" Dylan said, taking the initiative.

   The kid thought a moment.  He finally said, "coal," with a laugh.  "Lots
of diesel.  A little gasoline, though it may be sour.  Lots of hand tools,
tons of them, literally.  Oxygen tanks and masks.  A half dozen generators,
both gas and diesel.  Building supplies.  Lots of work clothes.  Stuff you
work a mine with...  that kind of stuff."

   "Clipper.  Can we talk?" Dylan asked, and Clipper nodded.  He looked
back at the kid.  "Give us a moment, okay?"

   The kid nodded.  "Sure.  Take your time.  We ain't goin' nowhere."



   --==+==-

   "Clipper.  Could we use anything they have?"

   "Hell yeah," Clipper said.  "Coal would be nice to burn, though it'd be
a bitch getting it home in any quantity.  We could use a few tools, if
they'll let us pick them out.  And the folks in Devonsville could probably
use gas or diesel, or better yet one of those generators."

   "Clipper.  We only got thirty rounds in the AK, at the moment, right?"
Clipper nodded.  Dylan went on.  "If they want a gun, that'd be the one to
give them.  Enough bullets to hunt with, assuming one of them can handle a
gun, but not enough to let them to take over the mountain or anything."

   Clipper agreed.  He hated to lose the AK, though.  It was the ultimate
defense weapon.

   "Clip.  Just loan them the AK, or rent it to them," Girl said.  That was
a good idea, Clipper thought.

   "Yeah," said Dylan.  He nodded at Girl.  "Good idea."

   "Okay," said Clipper.  "We rent them the AK, for a load of coal, some
tools, and maybe some stuff for the town, like a generator.  And let's see
if they got a truck, in working order, to deliver the coal.  They got
diesel, probably?  From all these machines?"

   "Probably," said Dylan.



   --==+==-

   Clipper turned back to the kid that seemed to be in charge.  The kid was
waiting expectantly.  Clipper pulled the AK off his back, pulled the clip,
and slid the round in the chamber out.  He handed the gun to the kid, who
took it gingerly.

   "Okay," said Clipper.  "We will...  give you an open-ended lease on this
gun, for a dump-truck load of coal, some tools, and maybe a generator.  We
don't need the generator, but the town near us might want it.  Does that
sound fair?"

   "Hell yeah," said the kid.  That seemed like a pretty one-sided trade,
but the kid obviously knew the value of a gun in today's economy, Clipper
thought.  The kid motioned to somebody in the crowd behind them, and a
large kid stepped forward, and took the AK.  He examined it carefully,
getting the first kid to hold the bolt open while he looked down the bore,
even.  He nodded, and took the gun.  Clipper put the bullet in the clip and
handed it to him.  The kid disappeared back into the crowd behind them. 
Remember that, Clipper told himself, there's a gun at your back, now.  He
looked at Dylan, who nodded, still facing the crowd of kids, loosely
holding the M4.  He trusted Dylan.  More and more, though, he trusted these
kids, too.

   "You guys got an operational truck?" Clipper asked.  The first kid
laughed.

   "Hell yeah.  We got fifty of them, probably.  We just don't drive them
unless we have to."

   "Well, it you could load up a truck full of coal, and deliver it to my
cabin ..."

   "Easily," the kid turned, and pointed into the crowd.  Another kid came
forward.

   "Go get the Unimog.  The one at the far end, that's already fueled up.
Here."

   The kid had been fishing in his pockets the whole time, and he held up a
ring of keys.  The other kid took the ring, and disappeared out the door.



   --==+==-

   The boy took them to a nearby building, which turned out to be a machine
shop.  For ten minutes Clipper and Dylan pawed through hundreds of hand
tools, picking out what they thought they might need at some point in the
future.  There was way more stuff than they could ever use, and choosing
was a problem.  They eventually settled for two handfuls, and Clipper
nodded to the boy.  They went back outside, and didn't wait for long. 
Finally they heard the roar of an engine, and a large dump truck pulled up
in front of the door, and sat idling.  The kid driving it barely looked old
enough to ride a bicycle, much less drive a twenty-thousand pound dump
truck, Clipper thought.  The truck had high ground clearance and it
shouldn't have any difficulties making it back to the cabin or the town.

   "You got any more bullets at home?" the kid in charge said.

   "Yeah.  But just a box of fifty.  I'll get it for you, when you drop the
coal off." He wasn't too scared of giving the kids all his bullets.  He
figured they'd be sensible with them.  And he could probably get more from
Mr.  Peck.  So far, the kids had seemed pretty level-headed, to him.  If
they were all pretty much like this one, at least.

   "Okay, cool," said the kid.  "I've heard that William is a pretty good
shot.  We won't need a lot of bullets.  We just want to get a deer every
now and then, that kind of stuff."

   "You know how to work the meat?" asked Clipper.  "You know how to make
jerky?"

   "Not really..." the kid said hesitantly.

   "Well, you get a deer, send a truck and get me.  I'll show you how. 
I'll teach you, or several of you, better yet.  You got knives?"

   The kid nodded.  "Yeah, we got knives and lots of cooking stuff.  Pans
and skillets and so on.  There was a whole cafeteria here.  That's kind of
what we're living off of right now, in fact."

   "I see."

   "Yeah, if you could show us how to make jerky, that's be cool," the kid
said, presenting his hand to be shook.  Clipper shook it.

   "Come on," the kid said.  "Let's pick out a generator, and we'll load it
onto the truck."



   --==+==-

   Clipper, Girl and Dylan followed the kid to another outbuilding.  On the
way, Clipper asked the kid his story.  He was from a small town nearby, he
didn't say which.  He was the first to come here, and discover the whole
mine open for the taking.  He got some of his friends to join him, and soon
other kids heard and joined them also.  A few adults had come occasionally,
but they left for whatever reasons.  Mostly, it was just kids, or
teenagers. The kids had problems, every now and then, with bandits and
burglars, but mostly sheer force of numbers kept them safe.

   When Clipper had asked the boy his name, the boy laughed.  "I don't have
a name, any more," he said, reminding Clipper of Girl.  Why do these kids
think like that?  he asked himself.  The kid continued.  "Here, they call
me the President.  That'll do."

   "Sure, Prez," Dylan said, and the kid laughed.

   They stood in front of a selection of large diesel generators.  Six
large ones, and one small gasoline one.  Clipper hemmed and hawed, he had
no idea what to ask for.  Finally he said, "load up the smallest diesel
one, and we'll just go ask Ableard.  He'll know."

   The kid nodded, and half a dozen husky teenage boys later the generator
was loaded in the back of the truck, sitting on a load of coal.

   "Well," said the President, "crawl in, and tell us where to go."

   The kid with the AK had already left with two other boys on a hunting
trip.  Clipper let the President climb aboard, and then he helped Girl into
the cab, climbed up himself, and then held the M4 while Dylan climbed up.
The driver kicked over the engine and off they went.

   It was a long drive, and several times they had to detour to get around
creeks and rough terrain.  Part of the distance they were able to even
drive on a worn-out, rocky road, paved, no less.  Girl held onto Clipper's
arm tightly as she sat in his lap, and he wondered if she'd ever rode in a
vehicle before.  Possibly not, anything with an engine was pretty rare
nowadays, because of the fuel problem.  But if these kids had taken over a
working strip mine, there was probably lots of fuel, if nothing else just
in the tanks of the vehicles scattered around.  Some of those diggers
probably had huge tanks.  Clipper knew that diesel didn't go bad, not like
gasoline.

   They came out on the road to Devonsville, and Clipper didn't have to
direct the driver any further.  They drove down the main street, and
stopped in front of the diner.  People slowly filed out of the diner,
staring at the huge truck.  In fact, people were coming from all over the
town, drawn by the noise the truck had made.  The kid driving killed the
engine.

   Clipper climbed down the ladder to the ground.  Girl and Dylan were
already down.  The President followed him, looking a little nervous at the
crowd.  Clipper nodded to him to let him know all was well.

   "Where's Ableard?" Clipper said loudly, and John Jerard stepped forward
to say, "he was in his garage a few minutes ago."

   "Here I am," said Ableard, coming forward, "heard the truck.  What's
going on, Clipper."

   "Ableard, meet the President," Clipper motioned to the boy, and Ableard
shook the kid's hand.

   "Ableard, the president's got a generator he's gonna let you have, if
you guys can use it.  I was thinking the clinic, mainly ..."

   "Yes, that would be great," said Ableard, and they stepped to the back
of the truck to look the generator over.

   "If it's not big enough, we can get a bigger one," Clipper said, and the
President nodded.  "Of course, the bigger ones will use fuel faster ..."

   "No, this is perfect ...  it is diesel, right?" said Ableard.  The
President nodded.  "Good," said Ableard.

   Ableard directed the driver where to go, and got a few guys to help them
unload the generator behind the clinic.  They all loaded back up in the
truck, and left the town.  The last thing Clipper saw was John Jerard
walking towards the clinic, with a snake's nest of extension cords in his
hand.

   "Good.  You helped those people out a lot," said Clipper, and the
president nodded.

   "Send somebody out tomorrow, or in a few days, if you want to sell them
fuel.  I'm sure they'll listen to your offers.  You're about the only game
in town."

   "Yeah, we can do that.  There's stuff we can use, from their store."

   "Yes, I'm sure you can work something out.  Plus, there's a clinic, if
you have ...  medical problems."

   The president nodded, thoughtful.



   --==+==-

   They pulled up in front of the cabin, and Clipper directed them around
to the back.  He had them just dump the coal on the ground.  He'd build a
roof over it, in time.  This was going to be nice, this winter.  There
would be times when it wasn't easy to get out and find firewood.  This
would be their emergency firewood.  Smokey and dusty, but good.

   Girl retrieved the AK ammo, and they all climbed back aboard, and the
driver fired the truck up.  Clipper had thought about just staying home,
but he still wanted to explore the mountain.  In less than an hour they
were back at the strip mine.  They all piled out of the truck.

   "Hey," said the President, "You guys gotta eat dinner with us.  Come
on."

   The followed him back into the giant building.  It even had a cafeteria.
Damn, Clipper thought.  The refrigerators even worked, he assumed they had
a generator going somewhere.  They all had a fine meal of canned and
prepared food, sitting and talking.  Clipper looked out the windows of the
cafeteria, to the dusky twilight outside.

   "You don't mind if we stay here tonight?  You got room?"

   "Oh, hell yeah," said the president.  "We have a dormitory, just pick a
room.  Four beds in each."



   --==+==-

   They left the next morning, after breakfast.  Clipper felt good about
the whole thing, he felt like they'd accomplished something worthwhile, and
done some good.  He felt a lot of sympathy for the kids, they were just
trying to survive, like anyone else.  They were in a good spot for it, at
least.

   The had sat around with most of the mine community that night, talking,
and answering questions, and asking a few.  It wasn't cold, not that deep
in the building, but a coal fire burned in a huge fireplace, nonetheless.
Of course it did, he thought, this is a coal mine.  He wondered if the kids
planned on mining, after the coal loaded in the trucks ran out.  It
wouldn't be that difficult, he thought.  It's not rocket surgery.  And the
kids seemed pretty sharp, pretty adaptable.

   He got a promise that they'd send a truck for him, when they got a deer,
so he could show them first how to properly skin it and then how to make
jerky and a few other things.  He wanted to help them, and not just so he
could get stuff from them.  He wanted to see them make it, to see them
survive.

   They turned to the West, to see what else they could find.

   Chapter XXVII

   Hours later they were struggling up the side of a steep slope.  It
leveled off, and Clipper breathed a sigh of relief.  Trees were getting
thinner, the higher they climbed.  Finally, a quarter of a mile further up
the slope, Girl spied a tunnel entrance, and called it out to Clipper. 
They headed for it, curious.

   When they got there, it was even more surprising.  It was just a hole,
literally, cut into the rock of the mountainside.  There were no buildings
or anything near it.  Not any longer, at least.  Just it.  Just a hole.

   Clipper stepped a few feet inside it, far enough to see that it went on
into the mountain a ways.  When he drew a deep breath through his nostrils,
the smell was hard and sharp.  And familiar.

   "We gotta get the hell out of here, now!" he said loudly, and headed for
the exit.  It was too late, though.  Two shapes blocked the cave entrance.
Shit, shit.  He knew that moonshiners guarded their stills pretty closely.
He did not want to get caught in a mess like that...  but it looked like
they had.

   Dylan was to the side, and already had the AR raised.  Clipper had his
bow, an arrow nocked, as he'd taken to carrying it.  He knew Girl had the
automatic.  The two men just stared at them, though, seemingly as surprised
as they were.  One of the men was carrying a shotgun, but he still had it
pointed down at the ground.  The men didn't seem to be a threat, not yet,
at least.

   "Howdy," said Clipper, trying to read the men, to read their body
language.  "We were just passing through, and saw the cave.  Didn't mean to
disturb anything."

   One of the men, the old man, nodded.  Neither of them spoke yet, though.

   Clipper suddenly had an idea how to possibly befriend the two.  And, he
just plain wanted a taste.

   "You got some hooch for sale?" he said, and both the men grinned and
laughed.  The old man motioned for them to follow, and the five of them
took off through the trees.

   Maybe five hundred yards later, they were in a small cabin, nestled back
in some trees.  It was small and primitive but homey.  A woman was cooking
something over a wood-burning stove, holding a baby on her hip.  Two more
kids peeked shyly out of the loft.

   "I'm Clipper," Clipper said, shaking the old man's hand.

   "Ah'm Cyrus Becker," the old man said.  "This har's mah boy, Zeke.  An'
his wife, Thelma.  Them young'ns don't need intro-doosin'"

   They all laughed, and shook hands all around.  While the old man talked,
the younger man pulled jugs and jars and plastic bottles out of closets and
off shelves, and piled them on the kitchen table.

   "We don' get many visy-tors, way up har," the old man said.  "Jes' folk
from town, every now an' then, lookin' tuh buy."

   Clipper picked out two one-gallon plastic jugs of moonshine, and asked
the man how much.  The man gave him a number than meant nothing to him, and
Girl dug around in her pants for her coins.

   "Yew folks shoot us a deer with that rie-full," the old man said, "And
we'll fix you up with juice.  We need a deer tuh make it through the
winter. We got a rie-full, but we ain't got no more bull-its for it.  Done
runned plumb out."

   "Tell you what." said Clipper.  "We'll work on that.  We can get you a
deer, sooner or later." He wasn't really sure how well the AR would bring
down a deer, but he could always nail one with the bow.  He'd help these
folks out, if he could.  The more friends he had here in the hills, the
better.  And he knew this kind of people.  He'd been raised by folk like
this.  He was mountain folk himself, though he'd left the mountains long
ago.  But it never really got out of you.

   "Thelma.  Fetch us sum glasses," the old man said, and the woman brought
some drinking glasses to him.  He cracked a jug, and poured everyone a few
fingers of moonshine.  Clipper breathed his deeply, the smell taking him
back fifty years or more.  Carolina Mist.  He'd grown up sipping this
stuff.

   Dylan knocked his back in one gulp, and then bent over double, coughing.
Girl just stuck her tongue in hers, and that was enough for her.  Clipper
sipped, and enjoyed the taste.  Smooth as silk, he thought.  The folks knew
how to make some good whiskey.  He reached for Girl's glass, and she handed
it to him.

   "Girl," he said, raising the glass in a toast.  "This is some good shit.
Trust me."

   She laughed, and looked a little puzzled.  He knew she couldn't believe
he liked it, she probably thought he was saying that just being polite.  He
wasn't.  It was good shit.

   They sat around and talked for a while, getting filled in on all the
local gossip around the mountain, at least what gossip made it up this far.
The fall of Skipps was big news in this area, everyone had stories to tell
about people passing through, both crazy folk and honest folk who needed
help.

   Before they left, Clipper bought another jug, for Ableard.  The man gave
him a short piece of rope, to loop through the handles, and carry the jugs
with, over his shoulder.  They departed, thanking the folks again.  Clipper
knew he'd be back, sooner or later.

   They continued on their explorations of the mountain.  Early the next
day clipper shot a stag with his bow, and they built another travois to
pull it on.  Luckily, it was mostly downhill.  Once again they approached
the Becker cabin, and stood outside of dog range and shouted.  Father and
son came out, and inspected the deer, pleased.  Clipper knew he didn't have
to show them anything about skinning the deer, or making jerky.  These guys
were capable.

   They got a promise of all the moonshine they would ever need, and set
out on their hunting trip again.  Clipper felt like he'd helped somebody,
and done a good deed or two.  He realized how rarely he'd felt that, in his
life before the fall.

   Chapter XXVIII

   They continued on around the mountain.  Clipper didn't even know the
name of this mountain, the one they were on.  It was one mountain to the
West of Candletop, their mountain.  It didn't matter.  After half a day's
walking suddenly they came out into a clearing and there was another small
town.  A road, crumbling and potholed, led into it, and a small sign said
"West Harper".  The place looked deserted, but that's how Devonsville
usually looked, too.  Any town did, when the folks were indoors.  Or out in
a field, being shook down by pirates.

   But this town, when they got closer, really looked deserted.  Almost
every single pane of glass in every window was broken.  Places just got to
looking run-down, when people were no longer around to pick things up and
care for stuff.  That's how this place looked.

   They cautiously went inside a few buildings, finding nothing worth
taking.  Everything looked pretty well picked over.  They stood out in the
middle of the street, and speculated on the town's demise.  To Clipper, the
death of the town looked even older than the Fall.  It was obvious to him
that people hadn't been here in a long, long time.

   Clipper had an idea, though.  He'd had it for a while, after using the
loose floorboard in his own cabin for a hiding place so successfully.  He
took them into a run-down old house, but a house that had probably been
fairly well taken care of, back in the day.

   "Okay, look in the closets, in the store-rooms, places like that.  And
anywhere else you see a loose floorboard, or loose sheetrock on the wall.
Try to think like a person that wants to hide something."



   --==+==-

   Well, it had been a good idea, he thought, as they walked away from the
house.  They'd found nothing except a old knife blade that Dylan had used
to cut into the sheetrock here and there.  Clipper led them to the next
house.  Time, at least, was on their side.

   On the fourth house they hit pay dirt, kind of.  Some peeling wallpaper
had led them to a loose piece of sheetrock, and behind it-- pay dirt.  Old,
before-the-Fall pay dirt.  Stacks and bundles of cash.  Tens of thousands
of dollars of dusty, useless cash.  Clipper felt vindicated, at least.  His
theory was sound, people did hide stuff.  There was stuff to be found, if
you looked long and smart enough.

   Five houses later, they found the real pay dirt.  Girl had pulled a
floor tile up, and Dylan had noticed a seam.  They pulled a few more tiles
up, and Dylan broke his knife blade, but managed to pull a large concrete
block up.  Darkness lay beneath.  Empty space.  But not totally empty. 
Before it was over, Dylan was deep inside a round hole in the floor, while
Clipper and Girl held his legs.  He began passing things up.  The first few
things were worthless, some jewelry, and a few thousand dollars in
old-style cash and old coins.  Then, the guns began coming out.

   Shit.  When it was all out Clipper just sat and stared, his mouth open.
Girl giggled at him.  Dylan was overjoyed, and was pawing through the stack
of rifles.  There were six guns, all in all, from a .22 target rifle to a
monsterous .458 caliber elephant gun.  No pistols, only rifles.  And ammo,
all kinds of ammo.  Old looking stuff, in crumbling boxes, but ammo out the
wazoo.  Shit, Clipper thought.  How are we gonna carry all this crap? 
Shit.

   In the end, they put the .22, the elephant gun and one other gun back in
the hole, and replaced the lid as best they could, attempting to keep it
hidden.  They'd come back through here and get them eventually.

   Dylan had found a .300 Weatherby just like John Jerard's, with a ten
power scope, and it was love at first sight.  Clipper said, sure, it's
yours.  If you can stand the recoil, you can have it.  He had taken another
bolt action, something called a .256 Newton, also with a scope, for
himself, and a 30/30 lever action with iron sights to give to the Beckers.
That, and about forty boxes of ammo.  He would never want for moonshine
again, that was for sure.

   They finally left the house, each of them carrying an extra rifle, and
Dylan carrying his knotted-up shirt full of ammo.  It was getting on
towards mid afternoon.  He turned to say something to Girl and Dylan, and
behind them, for a fraction of a second, he saw a small child watching him
around the corner of a building.

   "Hey ..." he said, pointing, and Girl and Dylan turned.  The child had
disappeared by then, and they saw nothing.

   "Honest." said Clipper, halfway wondering himself.  "There was a kid
there, just a second ago."

   The three of them went to the corner of the building, but saw nothing
behind it, either.  The kid was gone.

   "Come on," Clipper said.  "There's only one way he could have gone." He
set off down the alley behind the buildings facing the boardwalk.  When
they got to the end, they stopped.  Girl suddenly pointed, and there, for a
fraction of a second again, Clipper saw some movement behind an old house.
They set off after it.

   All in all, it was a pretty good chase.  Clipper finally got nervous,
wondering if they were being led, rather than chasing.  He cautioned Girl
and Dylan, and Dylan clicked the safety off the AR.  Girl had the pistol,
and of course, Clipper had the bow ready.  Finally they dead-ended into an
alley, and looking all around, saw no more of the child.

   "He's got to be around here somewhere ..." said Clipper, and they began
to search the houses and outbuildings that the alley led up to.  They had
given up when Girl made a funny noise and pointed into a small building.  A
flicker of movement showed from the doorway.

   Clipper motioned Girl and Dylan back, and cautiously stepped up to the
door.

   "Anybody home?" he said loudly, and waited.  The building was small, but
he didn't want to just charge in, not knowing what he was dealing with.  He
knew a kid that small couldn't survive on his own.  There had to be more
than just the kid.

   He called out again, after a minute, "we're not going to hurt you, we
just want to make sure you're okay..."

   He was just summoning up the courage to enter when a face appeared.  A
young girl stepped out, finally, screwing up her face at the bright
sunlight.  She wore a tattered shirt, and a pair of dirty jeans.  Her hair
was long and unkempt, and her face was dirty.

   "Whut 'choo wunt," she said, staring defiantly up at him.

   Clipper was totally taken aback.  Although, he did want what he'd said.
He wanted to make sure that whoever he found was okay, and help them if he
could.  About that time the boy reappeared, and came out far enough to hide
behind the girl.  The boy looked to be six or seven, and the girl ten,
maybe, he thought.

   "I want what I said," Clipper said, "I just want to make sure you're
okay."

   "Yeah," said the girl, "we're okay.  You got any food?"



   --==+==-

   The five of them were sitting on the concrete blocks of some stairs,
while the kids devoured stick after stick of beef jerky.  They were both
eating like they were starved, and from the thinness of the two of them,
they probably were.  Clipper gave the girl his canteen, and she nodded her
thanks.

   "Our momma stopped movin'" said the boy, and Clipper nodded.  The girl
had already said their mom had died.  Clipper wondered if she'd starved to
death, giving her food to the kids.  He wondered how long they'd been on
their own.

   "Look, you two," he said.  "We know a place where a lot of kids live, in
an old coal mine.  There's food there, and a warm place to sleep.  And no
adults, to tell you when to go to bed or stuff." He just threw that last
part in on impulse.  After all, he was trying to sell them on the idea.

   "I dunno," the girl said.  "Our momma told us to wait here, she said
somebody'd come for us.  Uhm.  Are you them?  Did you come for us?"

   "Well, kind of," Clipper said.  "We just happened onto you, but we want
to see you taken care of.  Like I said, this place I'm talking about, it's
not to far away, and maybe when you grow up a bit you can come back here
and see if anybody's here for you, anybody that you know."

   "I dunno." said the girl, again.

   "Okay, listen, then," Clipper approached from another direction.  "We'll
leave a note, telling your people where you are, so that if they come,
they'll be able to find you.  Is that okay?"

   "Yeah ...  that'll work ...  I guess ..." the girl said.  Surely,
thought Clipper, in all these houses around here we can find a pen or a
pencil.  He told Girl and Dylan to look for a pencil, but the girl stood,
and sent the boy back into the small building they'd been living in.  The
kid returned with both a pen and some paper, and Clipper printed a note
that basically said Gina and Darrel were now living at the strip mine a few
miles East of here.

   "Did you live here, before?  With your mom?" he asked the girl, and she
nodded.  "Where is your house, so we can put the note where people will
look for you first?"

   "I can take you there, but it smells bad ..." the girl said, and they
set off, following her through the small town.  They finally stood before a
small ragged house.  Sure enough, it smelled bad.  It smelled like death,
to Clipper.  He knew their mother was in there.

   "You guys stay here, and I'll run it in." he said, and took a few deeps
breaths, and then pinched his nose shut.  He ran up on the porch, and
through the door, and dropped the note in the middle of the floor, and went
back out.  He was glad he hadn't seen anything of the woman.  They walked
away, back the way they'd came.

   "Kids.  Is there anything you'd like to take?  Anything back where you
were staying?"

   The two of them looked at each other, and nodded, giggling.

   "What?" said Clipper, puzzled.

   "Yeah, we got stuff.  Stuff we found." The girl said, and so they
started back to the hiding place.  When they got there the girl said, "Wait
here." and she and the boy went inside for a few moments.  They came back
out fairly quickly with a pillowcase that looked stuffed full.  Dylan
offered to carry it for them.

   "Look at our stuff." the girl told Clipper, and he came forward, to see
what she had to show him.

   The bag was packed full of what looked like mostly junk, to Clipper. 
Toys and papers and office supplies, all kinds of shit.  Most of it looked
like stuff that would only appeal to a kid, to Clipper.  Well, he thought,
they're kids, what's valuable to them is going to be a little different
than me.

   "You gotta dig for the good stuff," the girl said, showing him, digging
her arm deep into the sack.  She felt around for a while, and then pulled
her hand out.

   "Ta da!" she said, holding something up to him.  It looked like a rock.
Except the color ...  he looked closer, his heart stopping.  He took it
reverently from her fingers.  It lay heavy in his hands.

   "Girl ...  Dylan ...  look," the two of them had been off to the side,
talking.  They turned to him.  He held the rock up to them, and Girl
carefully took it, already assigning it value just from the reverence he
treated it with.

   "That is the single biggest gold nugget I've ever seen.  Even in a
museum," Clipper said, awe in his voice.  And these kids had it in a
pillowcase.  Sweet jeezus, he thought, before the fall, that thing would
have been worth an incredible fortune.  Possibly even more now, now that
the world ran on gold.  He wondered how to insure that it stayed in these
two kid's possession.  People would kill for that damn thing, he thought.
And kill quick.

   "Gina ..." He said, staring at the nugget, now in Dylan's hand.  Jeezus,
he thought, it's the size of a baseball.  He felt hypnotized by it.  He'd
found a nugget once, while panning, that was almost as large as a pencil
eraser.  He had been proud of it, until now.

   "Gina ...  where'd you get that?" he asked.

   "We found it in a house.  Well, Darrel found it actually.  I just found
dolls an' stuff."

   "Gina.  When we get you to the mine, I'm going to take that home with
me, and put it in a safe place for you.  When you get older and need it,
the money it'll give you, I'll give it back to you.  Okay?"

   "Okay." The girl seemed puzzled why he thought this was necessary, but
she went along with it.  He didn't think the kids at the mine would steal
it from them, but he wanted to make sure it was safely stored, and not
stolen, or just frittered away.  He trusted himself with it.  He knew he
wouldn't steal it from them.

   "Did you find any more of them?" he asked, and she shook her head no. 
Jeezus, he thought again, this is enough.  More would just be too much.

   Dylan threw the sack over his shoulder.  Clipper pocketed the nugget, as
well as he could since it was so large, and they set off.  They led the
kids out of town, back towards the coal mine.



   --==+==-

   On their way back down the mountain they stopped again at the Becker's
cabin.  After this, Clipper thought, these folks will die for me.  I'll be
their hero forever.  Zeke's eyes had lit up when they'd walked in, each of
them with extra rifles strapped to their backs.  Anyway, Clipper gave them
the 30/30 and all the ammo for it, and the Beckers had thanked them
copiously.  Clipper knew that he had friends for life, now.

   Cyrus Becker broke out the moonshine again, and while the kids played
the adults got fairly toasted on hooch.  Well, Clipper did, Girl and Dylan
mostly just sat in the corner and shook their heads at him.  He related the
story of how they'd found the rifles, and eventually giggled a lot.  The
five of them spent the night there, Clipper and Girl stretched out on a
beat-up old couch, while Dylan slept on the floor.  Clipper didn't know
where the kids stayed, up in the loft with the other kids, he guessed when
he thought about it the next day.  He didn't actually remember a whole lot
about the evening the next day, in fact, and he had a headache.  But, damn.
It was worth it.  Old man Becker made some good shit.



   --==+==-

   The kids at the coal mine absorbed the newcomers without a fuss, and the
President let the kids pick out a room in the dormitory.  Clipper knew that
at least they'd get enough to eat now, and there would be lots of other
kids to help them and befriend them.  Clipper had seen enough older teen
girls there and he knew that even some mothering would probably be
available.  And, they'd keep busy, at least, the President routinely posted
work schedules, and even the young kids seemed to keep busy.  Clipper felt
like he'd done the right thing with the kids, the only way he could have
done better was to take them in himself.  At the moment, though, he thought
this was the right thing to do.



   --==+==-

   Clipper thought about a side trip down to Skipps, just to see the damage
and check on salvageables, but it was too soon since the town had died.  He
knew it would still be full of people, crazies, squatters, and good folk
who just wouldn't want to leave their places.  It would probably be nothing
but trouble.  They walked for two more days, and were finally back on their
own mountain.  At last Clipper was able to give Ableard his jug of hooch,
when they passed through Devonsville.  He told anybody who'd listen where
he got it from, figuring the Beckers could use the business.  They made it
home just before sunset, and the dogs were glad to see them.  Clipper was
glad to be home, he liked traveling, but he had reasons now to be home. 
His main reason sat on his lap that night, in front of the fire.  He was
happy, all over again.

   Chapter XXIX

   He would remember the day that Girl disappeared for the rest of his
life. Summer was winding down, and in a few days he knew fall would be in
the air.  Girl had suffered from allergies all summer and she had a
headache that day and was all stopped up.  Clipper felt sorry for her, and
told her and Dylan to just stay home that day.  When I leave, he said, bar
the door, and here-- keep the .45.  He took the .22 and his bow and went
hunting for dog food.  Scarcely three hours later he was back.  He skinned
two squirrels, quartered them, and tossed them to the dogs.  He approached
the front door, speaking her name to let them know it was him, and banged
on the door.  To his surprise the door slowly creaked open.  Oh, shit, he
thought, the first of a day of many oh shits.  He went in cautiously, his
bow at the ready, although he knew it was almost impossible to use indoors.
Nothing.  He dropped the bow and climbed to the loft.  Nothing.  He went to
the door and out and around the house to the privy.  Nothing.  Shit shit
shit, he thought, where the hell could they be?  He just couldn't imagine
her leaving, not voluntarily.  Not as careful as I've trained her to be. 
And she just wouldn't leave me, not like that.  He went back inside and
retrieved his bow.  He searched the whole area, piece by piece.  Nothing.
No sign of her or Dylan, no tracks, no nothing.

   He charged out into the woods, going back to where he remembered her
lean-to had been.  It was still there, and her tattered blanket was still
there.  The kids weren't though.  Shit!  He was frantic, by now.  He knew
something was wrong.  She'd never just up and leave, not like this.  Never.

   He hurried back home, and searched the cabin in detail.  He checked the
hiding place, and the AR was there, but not the .45 auto, which the kids
had had.  He stood in the middle of the cabin, and tried to look for
anything, any sign or anything out of place.  Anything that might be a
message from her to him.  Nothing.

   He was almost crying by now, he was so shaken.  He went back outside and
searched the area near the cabin again, carefully and slowly, looking for
broken branches or anything that might give him information.  He was
starting to have a sick dreadful feeling that he would never see her again.
He just could not imagine that she had left him of her own free will. 
Nothing was wrong between him and her, they had no issues.  None.  Nadda.
For the first time in his life he was in a totally equitable, peaceful
loving relationship with no negatives.  And now she was gone.  He thought
he was going to go crazy.

   He wondered if she'd taken Dylan back to Wellston for some reason. 
Surely, though, she'd let him know before doing something of that
magnitude. And he thought she'd take more than just the .45 if she did.  If
she did?  She wouldn't, he knew.  She just wouldn't up and do something
like that, as careful as she was.  As careful as he'd trained her to be. 
Dylan was still new, but he was just about as careful as Girl.  He didn't
doubt either of them.

   It got worse when night fell.  He felt like he had to do something but
he was limited in the darkness.  He went outside every few minutes and
searched the forest as well as he could see.  He even called out several
times.  He stopped and thought.  The dogs.  The goddam dogs.  If somebody
came and took her, the dogs would have stopped them.  The dogs went crazy
when strangers showed up, and everybody but Clipper, Girl and Dylan were
strangers to the dogs.  If somebody had showed up, they would have stood a
fair distance away and called.  Somebody like a refugee, a tramp.  He just
couldn't imagine her going out to meet them.  He could imagine her slamming
a knife into them, or shooting them with the automatic, but he couldn't
imagine her going out to meet them.

   He figured it was well after midnight.  He went up into the loft, and
just lay there the rest of the night.  There was no way he could sleep, not
without knowing where she was or what had happened to her.  He felt bereft,
as if an arm or something had just been ripped off his body.  He felt lost
without her, without having her there to love.  He still loved her just as
hard as he ever had, he just didn't know where she was.  I will find you,
he vowed.  I will not rest until I find you.

   He woke up well into morning and leapt up, angry at wasting time
sleeping.  He splashed his face with cold water, grabbed his bow, and
decided to go into town to see if anybody there knew anything.  He would
make a wide circle around the cabin looking for clues, and then go into
town.  He walked out the front door and fifty yards down the path he
turned, to start his wide circle.  Something gleamed in the morning sun and
he knelt, his heart stopping.  There, on the ground, was a handful of
coins. The tiny little gold coins that passed for money now.  Scattered
over a few square yards.  He knew they were hers.  She kept their money,
usually in the front pocket of her jeans.  She always had the money.  And
now, here it was.  He knew this was not a good sign, but it was a sign.  He
knew for sure that something had gone wrong, something had gone horribly
wrong.  She had been taken down this path and at some point she'd reached
in her pocket and dropped this money.  For him, to give him a clue.  To
tell him something.  It's all she'd had.

   He squatted, and carefully picked up every coin he could find.  I will
give this back to you, he promised her.  I will find you and give these
back.  He wasn't sure there was any point in going into town now.  He
marked the spot he'd found the coins in with a stick in the ground.  He
looked around as carefully as he could, making a mental grid of the area
and examining every square foot of ground.  Two dozen feet away, in damp
soil, he found a deep footprint, a kind of skid mark made by a dragged
shoe. A heavy tread mark was at the end of it.  He racked his brain to
remember what the tread on the bottom of her hiking boots had looked like.
He went behind the house to the privy and looked in the dust on the floor.
He lifted his own foot to see his tread.  He moved over in front of the
mirror.  Only Girl used the mirror.  To his surprise, because it was almost
too easy, the tread he'd seen out front matched most of the other treads in
front of the mirror.  He knew it was hers.

   There really wasn't a path out in front of their cabin.  Not enough
people passed through to wear one down.  He went to where he'd found the
tread mark and stuck a stick in the ground.  He went back to where he'd
found the money, knelt, and sighted along the sticks.  To his surprise and
shock, it pointed unerringly to where he knew the Simmons house was, a few
miles away.  Shit.  Shit-fire, he thought, is it really that easy?  Is it
really that obvious?  Or is it just chance?  Did the kidnappers head this
way just to throw trackers off?  Or...  could it possibly be?  Jeezus,
sweet jeezus.

   He ran into the house, and stuffed his shirt with beef jerky.  He ran
back outside, and fed most of it to the dogs.  He ran back in, and on
impulse grabbed a blanket.  He thought about it for a moment, and then
fished the M4 carbine out of its hiding place.  He checked the clip, and
chambered a round, putting one more round in the clip.  He'd left Girl and
Dylan the automatic and he hadn't seen it anywhere during his searches of
the cabin.

   He wanted to carry something that could knock a person down and stop
them instantly, although, he preferred the bow.  The bow was silent and
deadly rather than loud and deadly.  The M4 beat the bow on range and
stopping power.  He wrapped the rifle in the blanket, his hand on the
trigger.  The bow was on his back.  He had nine arrows left.  He filled his
belt with throwing knives, wishing he'd practiced more.  On impulse he
packed one of his most valuable possessions, a box of matches.  Finally, he
felt ready.

   It was probably eight hours until sunset.  He walked into the woods, far
south of where the Simmons house was.  When he thought he'd gone far
enough, he turned ninety degrees and walked, finally seeing the chimneys of
the house through the trees.  He stopped and settled in under a brush pile,
waiting for nightfall.



   --==+==-

   That night he crept as close as he dared to the house.  He knew without
ever having visited that they would have dogs.  Anybody in their right mind
living out in the woods would have dogs.  He heard, to his satisfaction,
growls and a few low-key barks from a dog.  He knew he had been right. 
Shit, though.  How could he sneak up on them, if they had dogs?  Shit,
shit. He got as close as he dared, maybe two hundred feet from the back of
the house.  When he figured out what he was looking at he realized a large
barn was between him and the house.  Good, he thought.  Maybe that blocks
me from the dogs.  He double-checked that everything was tied down in case
he had to run, and crept as close to the barn as he dared, moving slowly to
keep from making any noise.

   He knew at this point time was on his side since the night was young. 
At last he was up against the back of the barn.  The barn was constructed
of steel siding, but it seemed to be fairly old.  When he touched it, he
felt roughness, as if rust had set in in places.  He slowly, carefully
followed the back to the corner, hoping to look around at the house.  When
he peeked around, he saw nothing.  The barn was angled where this side was
also away from the house.  Good.  He crept along the side to the next
corner and peeked around.

   Goddam, he thought.  These motherfuckers have electricity.  Lights were
on in the house, and he heard a faint drone that he recognized as a
generator, although he hadn't heard one in years.  Shit.  The goddam rich
fucks.  He was disgusted at how much it impressed him.

   He stayed there most of the rest of the night, watching the house,
watching the windows.  The windows were shaded, but several times he saw
someone pass by the shades.  He didn't really know what to do from here. 
Finally, at what he judged was well after midnight, the generator choked
and died.  The house went dark.  He saw a lantern or flashlight, moving
from one room to the next, and then all was dark.  He waited another hour,
and moved, as softly as he could out into the back yard, just to fix
everything in his mind.  He looked up.  A quarter moon.  That gave him
enough light to see where the barn door was, and the back door of the
house. Straight line.  There seemed to be no dogs in the back yard.  Made
that mistake myself once, he thought.  Rich folks aren't any smarter than
us poor folks.  They're just rich.

   He backed away slowly, going back around the barn to where he was
sheltered from the house.  He slowly returned home through the darkened
forest, taking his time.  He racked his mind to think of anything he'd seen
that might mean something.  Nothing did.



   --==+==-

   He lay awake again the rest of the night.  He remembered a thousand
things about her, holding her, her sitting on his lap, his hands on her
body, hers on his.  And making love, god, making love to her.  Sleep was
impossible.  He felt like his heart was breaking, thinking of where she
might be.  He knew that if she was still alive she was being held against
her will.  There was no way she'd go this long, without letting him know
something.  The idea of her and Dylan running off together occurred for a
second but he dismissed it as insane.  He couldn't imagine either of them
doing something so crazy.  Something bad had to have happened to her.  To
them.  Nothing else fit, nothing else worked.

   He woke early, this time.  He found the scope that had been on the .22
and cleaned it the best he could with a rag.  It would make a crude
telescope, being only six power, but it was better than nothing.  He put it
on the counter.  He arranged his knives, and checked his bow and his
arrows. He was ready for the night.

   Finally, in late afternoon he could stand it no longer.  He had to do
something.  He packed up, and headed into the woods.  He followed a
slightly different path this time, much closer to a direct route, not
wanting to be predictable.  He thought that this would have been their
path, had they been taken to the Simmons house.  As he walked he tried to
cover a wide swath of ground, and he was both surprised and gratified to
spot something on the ground.  Something very familiar looking.  A .223
bullet, a single bullet.  He'd seen Dylan with a pocketful of those things,
more than once.  He read the manufacturer's name on the hub.  Same as what
they used.  It had to be from Dylan.  He could imagine Dylan reaching in
his pocket and dropping one every now and then, to leave a trail.  He
really kept his nose to the ground after that, and discovered two more
bullets before he was close enough to stop paying attention solely to the
ground.  He felt like he was on the right track.

   A few hours before dusk he was settled in, this time on the north side
of the house, where he could see the back door and the barn.  He had
scouted the front of the house, from a distance, and seen nothing but a
battered doghouse and a snoozing husky.

   He settled in, hidden beneath a large fir tree, and waited for
nightfall. To his surprise, an hour later the back door of the house opened
and a man and woman emerged.  The man was not Mr.  Simmons.  He was much
younger and large and muscular.  Clipper decided the guy was going for the
"bad-ass" look.  The woman looked mid-50's.  The man was carrying a five
gallon bucket, carrying it carefully, Clipper could tell.  He could see
through his telescope that the woman was holding, of all things, a stack of
soup bowls, and what looked like some spoons.

   Shit, thought Clipper, shit shit shit.  What the fuck?  What in the fuck
is going on here?  He watched them carefully through his scope.  The man
placed the bucket on the ground and pulled a large ring of keys from his
pocket.  He selected one and unlocked a large padlock on the barn door.

   He moved aside to let the woman enter and then followed her in, shutting
the door behind him.  Clipper estimated they had been inside for fifteen
minutes when they reappeared.  The man was not so careful with the bucket,
this time.  Right before the door shut, Clipper heard a long, sad mournful
wail.  The hair on the back of his neck stood up.  He imagined how loud it
would have to be for him to hear it this far away.  Damn loud.  And what
the hell was it?  What the hell would make that kind of noise?  What did
these people have in this barn?  Whatever it was, they fed it from soup
bowls.  It wasn't goddam milk cows.  Shit, shit, shit.

   He spent the rest of the night deep in thought, trying to make all this
add up.  He was certain that people were in the barn.  Animals might use
bowls, but they wouldn't use spoons.  And the lady must have been carrying
ten of the damn things, at least.  The people so obviously in the barn...
were Girl and Dylan in there?  Was she being held prisoner in there?  When
the generator died he headed back home, still deep in thought.

   Chapter XXX

   Another nearly sleepless night.  He awoke early.  He was running on
fumes now, having barely slept ten hours since she'd gone missing.  He
finally felt like he was getting somewhere, though.  He didn't know what
was going on in that barn...  he didn't know if it had anything to do with
her...  but he was going to find out.

   He realized by now that this was bigger than he was.  He knew he would
need help.  Ableard rose to mind.  Ableard was a friend of Mr.  Simmons,
that was obvious, but he felt like Ableard would do what was right, first
and foremost.  He had to have proof, though.  He had to have proof
something bad was going on in there, if it was.  He had to first see if it
was somehow.  He racked his mind for a way in the barn.  Sadly, he didn't
know how to pick locks.  It was probably a little late to learn at this
stage.  He didn't even have one to practice on.  Tin snips?  The barn was
made of sheet metal.  If he could cut a hole big enough to crawl through...
he remembered running his hands over the rough steel sheeting of the barn.
Every now and then, his hand had encountered...  a bolt.  A bolt or a nut.
Hmmmm, hmmmm.

   He got up and searched the cabin, coming up with something he'd brought
from the cabin he'd looted.  A large, rusted adjustable spud wrench.  It
would make a fine weapon, even, he thought, with the sharp point on the
end. He cleaned it with a rag, and found his can of machine oil and lubed
it up good, working the worm gear until it moved the sliding jaw smoothly.
He slid it into a belt loop.  He put the oil in his pocket, too, in case
the bolts were rusted.  Fine, fine.  Shit.  Night would not come quickly
enough.

   He puttered and messed around the cabin, impatient for nightfall.  He
fed the dogs, and gathered up his gear, including the AR.  He thought about
taking the pistol he'd taken from the slavers, but he only had two bullets
for that one.  Hardly worth carrying for just two rounds.

   Dusk found him at the Simmons residence.  He found his spot, and bedded
down, waiting for the middle of the night.  He hoped to see the feeding
again, but he figured he was too late.  That was probably earlier in the
afternoon.  The generator finally died, thankfully.  He idly wondered where
they got the fuel for the damn thing.  Fuel was outrageously expensive now.
Insane.  He was sure it was a fairly small generator, it's not like the
whole house was lit up or anything.  Still, it was a gratuitous display of
wealth.  The bastards.

   He waited another two hours, counting time to himself.  The house was
dark.  The dog was quiet.  Well, he hadn't heard the dog but a time or two,
in the three days he'd snuck around here.  He felt like he was ready.  He
crept from his spot, leaving his bow and the AR behind.  He hated to leave
the bow, he felt naked without it, but it was too dark.  And he imagined he
was in for a tight squeeze, getting into the barn.

   He got to the back of the barn without incident, and went to the corner
furthest from the house, where it seemed to be the darkest.  He easily
found the bolts in the darkness, and not so easily got the wrench fitted on
one.  He could feel the ridge just slightly over from the bolt where the
sheet metal started, so he knew he was starting out right.  Slowly,
painstakingly, as quietly as he could, he removed bolt after bolt, until
he'd gone up as far as he could reach.  He figured that the panels were
eight feet high, so he knew he couldn't reach the top bolts.  But maybe he
could get enough.

   He tried to pry the sheet outwards, just to see where he was at.  Shit.
Bad discovery.  It felt like it had been caulked together.  Shit, shit.  He
slid a thin-bladed knife under it, and had some success.  He pried with the
sharp end of the spud wrench, and succeeded in pulling the sheet apart from
the sheet it was overlapping.  It was obviously not going to make a big
enough space to crawl through, though.  He located the next row of bolts,
and began taking them out.

   Half an hour later, he was on the third row.  He felt like this would be
enough, at last.  He got the last one out, broke more of the caulking bead,
and pulled the sheets apart.  Down at ground level he could make a space of
about two feet.  He felt like that was enough to wiggle through.  He slowly
pushed his hand through the space, and boom.  Disaster.  Another sheet of
steel.  Shit.  He felt all up and down it, and as far back as he could in
the direction that the steel was still bolted in.  Nothing.  Just another
wall of steel.  This sheet was flat and smooth, though, and had no flex at
all in it.  He felt some space on the floor beneath.  It was like it was
something inside the building was pushed up against the wall, rather than
the construction of the building itself.  He was about ready to give up,
when he heard a thump and some scrabbling right on the other side.  The
inside.  Shit.  What was that?

   He took the wrench, and as loudly as he dared he tapped three times on
the inner steel wall.  After a few seconds of silence something clearly and
distinctly tapped back three times.  It sounded like they used knuckles
instead of something hard, though.  Shit, he thought.  What have we here?
That people were inside was now undeniable.  He poised himself to run if
someone came around the side of the building.  A few minutes passed, and no
one did.  Good.  He tapped twice.  Two taps returned.  He tapped four
times. Four returned.  Shit, he thought, goddam.  I wish I knew Morse code.
He tapped three shorts, three longs and three shorts, the SOS signal. 
After a few seconds, the sequence was repeated exactly.  Then again.  And
again.  It did not stop.  Over and over.  Three short, three long, three
short.  He felt sure he got the message.  Somebody in there was in trouble.
He tapped a few times to try and get them to stop and at last they did.  He
pulled the metal out a little further and stuck his head inside and put his
ear up against the inner wall.

   He breathed silently, straining to hear.  Suddenly, from just what
sounded like a foot away he heard a woman's voice.  He couldn't understand
what she said but he heard her voice.  Another voice sounded, further away,
a male voice, rising in inflection, like a question was being asked.  Then
the first voice again.

   He sighed, knowing what he had to do.  He found the wrench on the ground
and carefully moved to the other end of the barn.  He started to go around
the corner and then thought, if it's blocking the back, it'll block the
side.  He started on a new row of bolts.  Shit.

   He figured two hours had passed, maybe three since he'd started.  He
feared the sun coming up, but figured he had a few more hours at least.  He
pulled out the first row of bolts and slid the knife down where the sheets
overlapped, meeting a lot of resistance.  This one was a bitch.  The caulk
guy had spent way too much time on this one.  He got it, with the help of
the wrench, and pried the sheets apart.  He held his breath and stuck his
hand into the darkness.

   Thankfully, there was nothing as far as he could feel.  He hurried as
best he could and got the next two rows of bolts out.  He lay down in the
grass and tried to wiggled his way inside, finding it impossible since the
sheet metal wanted to lay back down against his direction of travel.  He
pulled back out and took the spud wrench and pulled the sheet back as far
as he could.  It made a horrible loud squeaking noise and he imagined all
the lights in the house coming on.  He backed up a few dozen feet,
preparing to run, and waited five minutes by count.  Nothing.

   He returned to the building and much more slowly pulled the sheet back
and drove the sharp end of the wrench in the ground as far as he could.  It
held the sheet back, and he lay back down on the ground and wiggled his way
into the building.  He moved as slowly as he could in case he bumped into
something, and was careful that none of his gear caught in the opening. 
When he got inside, the space seemed to be empty.  There was a small amount
of light in the building from the skylights in the ceiling, but he could
see absolutely nothing.  He stopped and waited, listening, straining every
nerve in his body to hear something.  Nothing.  He fumbled carefully in his
pocket and pulled out the box of matches.  He selected one and struck it on
the box.  Immediately he heard a moan and a woman's voice.

   Plainly, he heard a woman say, "Over here.  Over here." He held the
match up and carefully walked forward.  The small circle of light moved
with him.  To his amazement, just to his right was a cage.  An
honest-to-god, serious-as-fucking-hell cage, welded together from steel
beams and separated metal, with large, diamond-shaped holes.  He raised the
match, feeling it starting to burn his fingers.  A woman was in the cage.
Jeezus, he thought, a woman!  She stared back at him, horror in her eyes.
Sheer, abject terror.  Jagged, diamond shaped shadows from the match light
and separated metal played over her face as the match shook in his hand. 
She opened her mouth and took a deep breath as if she was going to scream,
and he brought his finger up before his mouth, saying, "Shhhhh!" as loud as
he could whisper.  Amazingly, she shut up instead of screaming.

   "I'm going to get you out!" He said carefully and slowly.  He had to
drop the match, and he fumbled for a new one.  He struck it and raised it
again.  The woman was now plastered up against the separated metal, staring
at him.  She was shaking violently.  Her hands reached through a food slot,
and sought him out.  He touched her fingers, careful not to let her grab
him.

   "Guh," she said.  "Guh....  get me out of here!" her voice rose almost
to a scream.  He shushed her again, and strangely for the second time she
shut up.  God, he wished he had his automatic or the AR after that much
noise.  He wondered if the people in the house could hear the woman or if
they cared.  He figured it wasn't the first time screams had been heard
from the barn.  Not if it had people in cages in it.

   "Who are you?" the woman suddenly said, conversationally.  He was taken
aback by her sudden change of mood.

   "Clipper," he replied, before he thought about it, just to shut her up.

   "Oh.  Clipper," the woman said.  "The new girl said you'd come.  Hmmmf.
What took you so long?"

   Oh shit, he almost cried.  He almost screamed.  His heart, already
beating madly, kicked into overdrive.

   "Where is she?" the woman looked startled at the vehemence in his voice.
She motioned down the row of cages.  Another woman spoke about that time
asking what was going on down there.  From the cage right next door,
another woman said, "It's a man!"

   He lit a third match, and headed down the row of cages.  In each one, a
woman stared from within, most of them trying to talk or whisper to him. 
All of them reached out to him through the slots in the front of the cages.
He got to the end, and there she was.  He grabbed her hands, sticking
through the food slot, holding onto her feverishly.  She opened her mouth
and he shushed her.  He let the match fall, and kissed her through the
large diamond-shaped separations of the metal screen.

   "Darling!  Listen!  I have to go for help.  But I'll be back in an hour.
Just hold on!  Keep these girls quiet about me, that I've been here.  Don't
let anyone know I've been here.  Just hold on, okay?  Where is Dylan?"

   From behind her, hidden in her shadow, he heard the boy say, "right
here." He was in the same cage, even.  Goddam.

   "Look, you two, I gotta go get help.  Just hang on.  Dylan, take care of
her.  I'm gonna go get the AR, and hand it through the slot to you. 
Through the food slot."

   In a tiny voice she said, "don't leave me."

   "I have to darling, I have to have help, with all these girls.  I can't
do this alone.  There are too many bad guys here." He only knew of three,
actually, and one of them was the woman who looked to be his age.  Well,
Simmons had said he had a little girl, also.  He figured there was a wife,
if there was a child.  He was mostly afraid of the muscle-bound bad-ass. 
And, even though Simmons was an old fart, old farts could shoot guns as
well as young.

   "Girl.  I have to go now.  But I'll be back, I promise, I swear." He lit
a final match, and picked the one on the floor up.  No sense in advertising
his presence here.  He gripped her hand and kissed her, one last time.  He
then ran back down the row of cages to the end picking up the third burned
out match on the way out.  The women were all talking fiercely to him but
he didn't bother to stop and listen.  He already knew they all wanted out
of the cages.  He scrambled through the opening.  He still tried to be
quiet, but he was in a hurry.

   Just as he stood, a powerful, resonant voice said, "well, well, what do
we have here?"



   --==+==-

   He froze.  It was the muscle freak.  Goddam, goddam.  He was aware of
the throwing knives in his belt.  That was all he had.  The bow and gun
were back under the tree.  Shit.

   In the dim light of early morning, he could see the man holding a weapon
on him, from maybe twenty feet away.  A real gun.  It looked like a HK91 to
Clipper.  Damn.  Big bullet.  Shit.  He knew he was just moments away from
being a dead man.  This time, he thought, I'll feel it.  There's no one to
save me, this time.  He remembered Girl, that time in the woods.  The easy,
long swing of her arm, and a knife was in a man's eye.  Shit, he wished he
had time do that.  He wished he had that much confidence in his throwing
ability.  I have to do something, he told himself, or I'm dead.  I'm
probably just seconds away from being dead.

   Shit.  Sometimes stupid tricks work.  He didn't have anything else.  A
stupid trick would have to do.  He looked at a point in space behind the
man, and said plainly, "Shoot him."

   The man spun, his rifle at the ready.  Clipper yanked his shirt up, and
pulled a knife out.  He grabbed it with his left hand and transferred it to
his right, holding it by the blade.  He was thinking, oh shit!  oh shit! 
the whole time.  He yanked his hand back and threw, trying to aim for the
thick part of the man's body.  The man was turning back by now, realizing
he'd been fooled.  Clipper watched, in slow motion, as the barrel of the
gun swung closer and closer.  About that time, the knife hit, sticking
lightly in the man's thick muscular neck.

   Clipper was running by then, right past the fucker, headed for his nest
in the trees.  He zigzagged, but only slightly, not wanting to waste time.
He fully expected any second to hear and feel the shot that would end his
life.  He slowed, and crouched for a second to grab his bow.  Later he
would wonder why he hadn't grabbed the AR15.  But the bow was habit, pure
habit.  He felt more comfortable with the bow.  He knew he could hit a
target, with the bow.  He'd never even fired the AR, and he wasn't familiar
with it.  Plus, the bow was silent.

   He ran again, he ran like his life depended on it.  It did.  He could
hear the man crashing through the underbrush behind him, cussing loudly. 
The stupid fuck, Clipper thought, he should have a least fired off a few
shots to let the people in the house know something was going on.  Idiot!
But no, he wants to be a hero and kill me all by himself.

   He felt like enough trees were in between the man and himself to stop
and spin.  He already had an arrow out of the holder and he nocked it and
yanked the bow back, judging where the man was by the sounds he made.  He
tried to keep a large tree between them until the guy was close.  At the
last second he took a step to the side, and there the fucker was.

   The guy looked surprised and was bringing his weapon up when Clipper's
arrow slammed into his chest, going in a good six inches at the base of his
throat.  Now he really looked surprised.  Blood was already soaking into
his shirt, from the knife wound on the side of his neck.  He just stood
there, refusing to die.  Just that he could stay on his feet and absorb the
impact of the arrow told Clipper a lot about him.  Shit.  He was a monster.
Clipper put another arrow into his gut.  The guy still just stood there. 
That's enough of this shit, thought Clipper and put a third into the man's
right eye.  The man dropped like his legs had been removed at that, the
pained and puzzled look no longer on his face.  Clipper approached,
straining to listen for any sign of additional pursuit.  Nothing.

   The man was definitely dead.  Jeezus, Clipper thought, get your sorry
ass on to hell.  He kicked the man's foot, just to be sure, ready to dance
backwards.  Nothing.  He put his bow on his back, leaned down, and
liberated the assault rifle.  He checked the clip.  Full.  One in the
chamber.  He went through the man's pockets, finding a handfull of .308
ammo.  The bullets felt huge to him after the 7.62x39 and .223 of his other
weapons.

   He ran the hundred yards back to the barn, dropped the HK, and grabbed
the AR from his hiding spot.  He slid the weapon through the gap he'd made
in the building.  At least it was a little lighter inside the barn now.  He
scrambled to his feet and ran down the row of cages to Girl and Dylan's
cage.  Girl made a funny little squeak when she saw him and he stopped for
a moment and kissed where he thought her lips were through the separated
metal.  He pulled the clip off the rifle, and passed it through the feed
slot to Dylan, then passed him the clip.  Dylan slammed the clip home,
checked for a round in the chamber, took the safety off, and placed the
rifle on the floor, laying a blanket over it.  Good, thought Clipper.

   "Don't use that unless you absolutely have to.  And don't use it until
they unlock your cage first.  If you get out, go into the woods.  Hell, go
home.  Go home and hide."

   Dylan nodded.  Dylan looked serious, as serious as Girl ever had. 
Clipper was relieved that the boy seemed so level-headed about everything.
He felt like he was leaving Girl in the most capable hands that he could.

   He kissed her one last time, and he and Dylan touched hands through the
separated metal.  Clipper ran to the gap he'd created in the sheet metal.
He crawled out, carefully this time, looking for anyone.  No one.  He
pulled the wrench out of the ground, and let the tin sheet lay back down
against the barn.

   He ran back to where he'd left the weapons.  He left the bow, this time,
and grabbed the HK.  He turned, and never looked back.  He ran.

   Clipper was an old fart.  He knew that.  But he wasn't in that bad of
shape, and his life since the Fall had toughened him up considerably.  He
knew his window of success was fairly small, though.  He knew that he had
to get back before Simmons noticed that the muscle-head was outside for too
long.  He knew that if someone found him the alarm would go out, and all
the people in the house would be on their toes.  They might even move the
girls, who knew.  He knew that Girl and Dylan had an advantage, now, they
were armed.  They were locked in a cage, but armed.  But bad things
happened when bullets started flying.  He ran faster.

   By the time he got to Devonsville, he was almost dead.  He walked the
last quarter mile, panting, trying to catch his breath, knowing he had to
talk, and talk fast, when he got there.

   He burst into the diner, and no one was there.  Shit.  Well, it was like
seven in the morning.  He ran to the counter, and almost grabbed the man by
the collar.  Almost.

   "Where's Ableard?  Where?" he said, unable to remember Ableard's last
name.

   The counterman looked at him like he was crazy.  "He should be here any
minute," he finally said.  It seemed like to Clipper the man was acting
slow just to piss him off.  He realized that he was probably coming across
a bit intensely.  Hell, though.  This was an emergency.

   He was wondering by then if he should have just gone back to the barn
with HK and the AR.  He figured he could have liberated Girl and Dylan, at
least, just shot the lock off their cage and got them the hell out of
there. But all those other women ...  he guessed there was seven or eight
locked in there ...  he knew he had done the right thing.  He had no idea
how many more people were in the house.  But if he got back there and Girl
were gone ...  he didn't want to think about that.  He'd just put a bullet
in his brain, if that happened.

   Several other men came in and he rose from his seat each time, hoping.
At last he saw Ableard on the boardwalk, talking to two other men.  One of
them was his friend John.  Clipper blasted out the door and they all looked
towards the noise as the door slammed into the wall.

   "Ableard," gasped Clipper, "you gotta help me."

   "Sure, Clip, what is it?" said Ableard, looking puzzled.  He looked at
the rifle Clipper was carrying and his eyes narrowed.

   Clipper took another gulp of air.  "It's...  it's Simmons!  He's got
Girl, Dylan and some other girls locked up in cages in his barn!"

   "What?" said Ableard, like he didn't believe him.  Shit!  thought
Clipper.

   "Ableard!  I snuck in the back of the barn and saw 'em.  In his barn,
out back of the house.  He has these cages with girls in 'em.  One of them
has Girl and Dylan.  I followed their trail to Simmon's place when they
disappeared three days ago." Three ...  four?  He couldn't remember.  It
seemed like forever.

   "Shit!  Are you for fucking real?" said Ableard.  The man seemed to
tense, and expand, growing larger.

   "As real as it gets!  I killed his man, the muscle freak.  I just killed
him ...  less than an hour ago ...  we have to get up there before he moves
the women, Ableard.  Look, man, I know you're his friend, but this is heavy
shit.  You gotta see it to believe it."

   "John.  Get the truck," Ableard held out a key.  John grabbed it and
took off in a dead run.

   "Bill.  Get Tim and Verel.  Anybody else that wants to go, anybody with
a gun.  Clipper, follow me."

   Clipper followed Ableard, who was walking as fast as some people run. 
They went down a street, and ended up in front of an old house.  Ableard
went right in, the door wasn't locked.  He grabbed a bolt-action rifle from
a gun cabinet and checked the magazine.  They left the house.

   He heard the truck long before he saw it.  Old and battered, pouring
blue smoke from holes in the muffler...  but it looked better than anything
in the world to Clipper.  John jumped out, and vaulted into the back. 
Another man tossed him his weapon and then the man and two more more men
also climbed into the back.  All of them were armed.  Ableard and Clipper
were in the cab by then, and Ableard peeled out, heading down Main Street
towards the woods.  He went right over the low curb at an angle, and
Clipper pointed the way to him, the way he'd just come.

   The truck did pretty well, although the suspension left a little to be
desired.  They still made good time, bouncing through the woods.

   "Simmons was under suspicion many years ago, but he wiggled free," said
Ableard.

   "Suspicion of what?" said Clipper.

   "One of his babysitters disappeared at his house, or something.  I don't
remember the details.  There wasn't a trial, but an inquiry.  An inquest? I
dunno.  But his lawyer got him off, even kinda made him look like a good
guy, though the girl was never found.  He's always been a smart-ass about
his money and how he can bend the law in this area, what little law there
is.  I think he thinks he's the law, actually.  A lot of people have tried,
but nobody has ever been able to pin anything on him.  He plays with shit,
but he don't stink, know what I mean?"

   Clipper nodded.  Men were no different now than before.  The Fall was
nothing special.  It hadn't changed human nature, only human conditions.

   "Clipper," Ableard glanced at him.  "If what you say is true, he's a
dead man."

   "If he's hurt Girl he's a dead man," Clipper said.  "Ableard.  What I've
said is true.  Get ready to have the shit shocked out of you."

   The closer they got, the more nervous Clipper became.  Had the man been
missed yet?  Had he been found?  Had the alarm gone out?  Were the girls
still there?  Had they been harmed?  A million things went through his
mind. He regretted leaving Girl, now.  He wished he'd had just shot the
lock off the cage and freed her and dealt with whatever came out of the
house.  Damn, he would have Dylan with him and the two rifles as well as
the bow and Girl with his knives.  He was starting to wish that he had gone
back and freed the two of them, at least.  The other girls could have come
later.

   He stopped them where the muscleman had fallen.  He was still there, and
Clipper hoped that meant that he hadn't been found yet.  The men examined
the body, surprise evident on their faces.  Now do you believe?  Clipper
thought.

   "On foot from here?" asked Ableard.  Clipper nodded, wondering if the
truck had been heard.  He pulled back the slide on the HK, making sure a
round was in the chamber.  He felt for the safety, to familiarize himself
with the weapon.  He led the way, the others following.

   From the treeline, they surveyed the back of the house.  No movement. 
Clipper didn't look back.  He strode right to the barn, and around the
corner, glancing at the house to see if anyone was watching.  Still no
activity.  Good.

   He looked at the large padlock.  He looked at the assault rifle he was
carrying.  It was a .308.  The lock should be no problem.  He placed the
muzzle of the rifle on the top of the lock, and then rotated the lock
ninety degrees with the gun.  Ableard saw what he was doing, and motioned
the others to stand back.  They were all watching the house closely. 
Clipper squeezed the trigger.

   The gun was louder than hell in the quiet morning.  They heard that,
Clipper thought.  They heard that shit in the house.  The lock had pretty
well disintegrated, and fragments of lead had splattered painfully all over
Clipper's face and arms.  In the shocked silence after the shot, they heard
a motor in the distance.  Clipper ignored it, and charged through the door.
He ran to the end, ignoring the screaming and shouting women in the first
cages.  The women were all going crazy.  It sounded like a zoo in there. 
The other men stumbled through the door, and just stood there, staring,
their mouths open.  Like I probably did, thought Clipper, as he reached for
Girl's hand.  He just stood there and held onto her fingers while Ableard
stalked up and down the row of cages like an angry god.

   Shit.  Thought Clipper.  I cannot risk this any further.  She has to be
freed, and now.

   "You two," he said.  "Lay on the floor and put that blanket over your
heads."

   Girl and Dylan did exactly as he said, without asking any questions,
except that Dylan covered Girl's head with his body.  Clipper placed the
weapon's muzzle on the head of the lock, exactly as he did the first one.
This time he hid his face, though.  The lock exploded into a million
pieces, and Girl was in his arms and Dylan gripping his shoulder.  He held
her and hugged her, murmuring to her, wiping her tears with his chin.  He
felt Dylan take the gun from his hand.

   "I knew you'd come," she leaned up and whispered in his ear.  "I knew it
was you when you knocked.  I told Dylan and the girls that it was over,
that you were here."

   One of the men with them literally dropped his gun on the floor and
stumbled forward.

   "Donice?" he said, "my god...  Donice?" The girl in the cage was crying.
He touched her fingers, like Clipper had done with Girl.  The man began to
cry.

   "Verel.  Watch the house," said Ableard.  The engine noise was loud by
now, and it seemed to come from right outside.  The man named Verel went to
the door, and yelled to get Ableard's attention.

   "It's Simmons and his boy!" he said, and brought his rifle down to the
ready.  Ableard strode to the door, and leveled his gun.

   "Simmons," he said loudly, "put your fucking hands up."



   --==+==-

   Mr.  Simmons slowly climbed from the cab of the truck.  It was a nice
big truck, a box truck.  It had plenty of room in the back for the girls.
Clipper realized that meant he was probably trying to move them.  It dawned
on him how close Girl and Dylan had come to being gone.

   The rest of the men and Clipper, Girl and Dylan followed Ableard out
into the yard.  Ableard's gun had never wavered from Simmons' face.

   "Ableard.  It's not what it looks like." Simmons spoke.

   "Simmons.  Don't even try.  Don't even fucking try," Ableard said.  "If
you want to live a few seconds longer slowly toss me the keys to those
cages.  Otherwise we shoot you, and just take them."

   Simmons hand moved imperceptibly towards his pocket.  He was going to
stretch this out, probably while his mind raced for a way out of this mess.
He slowly fished some keys out and tossed them on the ground at Ableard's
feet.  John stepped forward and got the keys without placing himself in the
line of fire between Ableard and Simmons.  He went back in the building to
release the other women.

   Simmons' boy dropped from the cab, blubbering.  He just about got
himself shot doing so.  The guns went back to Simmons, all but one, which
stayed on the boy.

   "Ableard," Simmons tried one last time.  "There is a lot of money in
this...  operation.  Enough to make all of you rich men."

   "Simmons," Ableard spoke one last time to his former friend.  "See you
in hell, motherfucker."

   The shot was loud, in the still air.  Simmons looked surprised for a
moment, and then slowly crumpled to the ground, a small bloody circle on
his chest.  It's just a .243, Clipper thought.  Not enough to even knock a
man down.  They all turned to look at his boy, kneeling on the ground.

   "He made me do it ...  don't shoot me ..." the boy said, crying. 
Ableard turned away in disgust.



   --==+==-

   They sat in the diner, talking.  Pretty much the whole town was there,
and everyone seemed to be talking at the same time.  The imprisoned girls
had been reunited with their families and were being left alone as they got
used to life on the outside.  Girl ate a piece of pie, her head down.  She
was not adjusting to the attention very well, Clipper thought.  She had
whispered to him that she just wanted to go home.  He understood and he was
ready to go home too but he felt like he had to clear some things up first.

   Dylan seemed to be enjoying the attention.  At least somebody is,
thought Clipper.  Pete Sinclair brought the boy another piece of pie, and
he nodded his thanks.

   "Ableard.  Do you know what he did with them?"

   "The boy said they went overseas, to the Chinks.  To our new masters,"
Ableard said in disgust.  "White girls are a status symbol over there,
apparently.  Something you are proud to own."

   He told Ableard something Girl had told him, that Simmons had come in
the first night they were there and held a gun on one of the girls while
his son had sex with her.  The boy had pointed at Girl and smiled when he
left, and she fully expected him to return and rape her at gunpoint sooner
or later.  The little fucker was lucky he hadn't, Clipper would have killed
him if she said he had.  The kid and housekeeper were being held in the
town jail while they waited on justice, Ableard and John Jerard style. 
Simmons' wife had disappeared with his daughter for points unknown,
claiming ignorance of the whole affair.

   "Why were some of them there for so long?"

   Tim Donahugh's niece Donice had been in her cage for almost two years.
Two long years, eating watery soup and peeing in a bucket.

   "No idea.  Guess she didn't appeal or something."

   "Shit.  Shit."

   "Yeah.  Shit," said Ableard, shaking his head.  "Jeezus.  You think you
know somebody, and then..."

   "Yeah.  And then," said Clipper, finally.



   --==+==-

   The dogs were hungry and a little put out at being ignored for so long.
Clipper spread the jerky around.  It didn't matter, he had plenty of time
to get another deer before winter.  Girl hummed softly, following close
behind him.  She didn't let him get out of her sight, hardly.  He
understood.  She had even left the door open when she went to the privy. 
He had just held her last night, drinking her in, loving her.

   She told him, with great embarrassment, how easily they'd been captured,
in spite of her mistrust of Mr.  Simmons.  He had showed up and shouted to
the house, acting like he was afraid of the dogs.  She had gone out to
speak with him, thinking he was there with news about the cabin, about them
living there.  Once he had figured out Clipper was gone and the kids were
alone he had simply put a pistol to her head while his man came from behind
a tree and relieved her of her gun and her knives.  Dylan couldn't do
anything, for fear of harm to her, and he was searched and stripped of
weapons, too.  Within an hour, they were in the cage.

   That night as he held her she had whispered her secret name into his
ear. He was stunned by the beauty and perfection of it and tears streamed
down the side of his head and dampened the mattress.  Later, when they made
love, he whispered it over and over to her, loving the rhythmic sound of
it. She was just too much, sometimes, he thought.  Sometimes she just blew
his mind completely.

   They had a long talk with the two of them about safety and procedures
and who could be trusted.  The list was pretty short.  Clipper didn't know
what the future might hold for them.  He knew he probably only had a few
more years with her, before he croaked.  Maybe 10 or 15 at the absolute
most.  Maybe we should pick up a kid or two from these refugee folk, he
thought.  Maybe we should start our own family.  He figured that
eventually, with Dylan around ...  she'd have a kid or two of her own. 
After all, she'd probably get that mothering urge, at some point.  He knew
that Dylan would take care of her after he was gone and he was glad again
that Dylan had come along.  He was confident enough in her love for him to
share, even now.  Plus, he was an old man.  He needed all the help he could
get.

   Well, he told himself, we can worry about that shit later.  The future
is what you make of it.  It's wide open.  The future ain't what it used to
be.  He kissed her, again, and breathed in the smell of her soft, warm
body. He was happy.  He was pretty goddam happy, all in all.



   --==+==-



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