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From: MeatBot777@gmail.com (MeatBot)
Reply-To: MeatBot777@gmail.com
Subject: {ASSM} - After The Fall - AfterTheFall.txt (1/1) - [1/1]
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Date: Sun, 13 Apr 2014 07:10:03 -0400
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Title: AfterTheFall Author: MeatBot Keywords: teen intergen straight

   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.

   Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to reality is
accidental and would be damn surprising.  Be warned that this story may
involve explicit descriptions of sexual activities, including some defined
under law as "Weird Shit".  Do not read this story if you believe that
fictional characters should not have fictional sex, or if you are less than
the age of consent in your social or legal group, or if you live under a
repressive, totalitarian regime in an out-of-the-way place such as the USA.
If you like it, I did it.  If you hate it, I didn't.  If it offends you, it
was a misprint.  If you want to sue me, I don't exist.  Sue the internet
instead.  Nobody's twisting your arm.  Leave if you don't like crap like
this.  These are just words, people.  Just words.

   Be warned, this is a goofy, infantile, poorly written, disgusting and
depraved story with bad punctuation, bad grammar, and lots of misspelled
words.  I am not an English major.  Deal with it.  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.  I
wrote 98% of this shit twenty odd years ago, and found it a while back when
I fired up my Sage.  Getting it off that machine was a bitch.  I basically
cleaned it up, and edited some of the stuff that dated it.  You have been
warned.  This story is graded <TAME> compared to some of the shit I've read
in this newsgroup.





   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, and held up...  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 started.  He could hear
the dull roar of the crowd downtown, as he ran back to his flat, and yanked
his pack and bow from under the bed.  He stuffed as much as he could in his
pack, trying to prioritize under pressure, and 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 a long hauler picked him up,
to his surprise.  The man just wanted somebody to keep him awake, but it
got him a good two hundred miles down the road, headed into 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 some 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
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 habitations, 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 cross
hairs.  He was used to it.

   He finally went off-road, and plunged into the forest.  It was spring,
here in the Smokies, and he was used to it.  He had grown up just a hundred
miles from this spot.  He'd been overseas when the Fall had begun, and
spent two years just getting back in the country.  He had to finally sneak
in, down from Canada, that 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 tramper,
should he actually make it back to Falls Creek.  The people there wouldn't
know him any more.  Or care to.

   He climbed and climbed, using his hatchet to make a walking stick.  That
made hiking easier, and also gave him a crude, simple weapon.  He wasn't
anxious to advertise the pistol 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 almost 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 pistol, 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.  He crossed
a creek, and filled his canteens.  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, 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 knew what people around here,
this far up in the hills, would do to strangers.  It wouldn't be good.

   He finally saw Candletop, in the distance.  Another three or four days.
That was his goal.  He knew of a cabin, far up, almost past the treeline.
If no one else was in it.  He'd hunted there, many times, and he knew the
game and the watering holes, the springs.  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, nowadays.





   His watch woke him up at three in the morning, and he carefully, quietly
hiked the 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 almost anyone,
if they lived here, would have dogs, and he saw no signs of dogs.  Good.

   He watched until noon, and finally stood, his back cracking, his joints
stiff.  He fitted a broadhead into his bow, made sure that his pistol was
accessible, and slowly walked to the cabin, every sense on high alert. 
Nothing.  He kicked the door open, and jumped to the side.  Still nothing.
He darted in, the gun in his hand, and stood to the side, 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 packages of ancient popcorn in the
cabinet.  He remembered popcorn.  He wasn't sure if his teeth could have
stood it, though, even if it was any good.

   He spent the rest of the day cleaning and dusting, finding a cache of
blankets in the loft.  He aired them out and beat the dust out of them. 
The pump in the kitchen finally coughed up some muddy water, and he pumped
until his arm almost gave out, until the water looked fairly potable.  That
was a big plus about this place, fresh drinkable 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.

   The first time he saw the girl, he almost thought he was dreaming or
imagining her.  He was outside, chopping wood with his hatchet.  She stood,
two hundred feet away, where the thick treeline started.  Her hair, even
from this distance even, looked tangled and matted.  Her clothes were
ragged, but serviceable.  She was carrying a stick, a cudgel, really, a
stick with a heavy knot of wood on one end.  She had thick high boots on,
and she stood loosely, on her toes, it seemed to him.  He opened his mouth
to say something, 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 shack 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 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 pistol at the ready.

   The next morning he rose, and bathed himself, heating some water in a
metal barrel in the fireplace.  No one had disturbed him.  No one showed
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, as she ran down the hill, zigzagging
crazily among the trees.  That told him a little about her.  She knew some
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 child?  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.  One 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 got there.  She wasn't.
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.

   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 or two 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 outdoorsman, before the fall.  He was just
a regular guy, working in an office.  He hunted a little, and was familiar
with guns, at least.  After he'd snuck back in the country he 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
Newark, 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.

   An hour before sunset, he took a haunch of dog and set out for the
girl's nest.  She was there, this time, he caught a glimpse of her running
form 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, though, 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.





   A month later, he was still feeding the girl, and he had no idea why. 
She seemed comfortable with their distance, by now.  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.  The
game in this area was just unreal.  Fearless.  It was almost a crime to
shoot 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 axe, 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 made 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 potatoes, well, last years crop, and several
other vegetables growing wild.  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 mild 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 to sick to run.  She finally just closed her eyes, as if she were
giving up.  It was almost 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 almost sitting on top of him, holding a
butcher knife at his throat.  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, though, with a broken bone.
She seemed to have all the symptoms of a massive infection, though.  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, or for breeding stock, he was too
old for that, and he'd been snipped, anyway.  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.  "I have medicine.  I can make you better.  Let
me help you."

   "Laaaugh..." She said, almost 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, 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 again, 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 ten, at least.  She was a fairly large
girl, within half a head of his height, he guessed.  He set off for his
cabin.

   He was exhausted by the time he got home.  He started to do his usual
survey for enemy activity, and 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, chewed
her up pretty good.  That was not good, animals had dirty mouths, usually.
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 almost wished he could
tie her up, but that'd just make it worse.  He finally made sure that all
sharp objects were hidden away, and he even pulled the gun out of his
waistband and hid it atop a cabinet.  The water boiled, he let it cool, and
then began to clean her up.

   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 or fifteen, 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 almost ran, but
then she suddenly seemed to realize that she was naked, and she grabbed the
blanket and burrowed back beneath it.  He almost laughed at the expression
on her face, but he 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, or wherever
you want.  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, though, 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 noways, anyway, 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 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.

   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.
You just lay here until you recover.  Are you hungry?"

   He wasn't that over it, not really.  And seeing her naked and examining
her as closely as he did when he washed her had woke his libido up,
somewhat.  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, that infection, he thought.  In the old days infection was
fairly easily controlled.  Now, it killed people.

   "Girl." He said, leaning down towards her.  "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 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 he found
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,
her eyes never leaving him.  He got up again and fetched her a plastic cup
with some fresh water in it.  She had devoured all the food, and she handed
the plate back to him.  He handed her two of the antibiotic pills, and she
just stared at them dumbly.

   "Medicine." He said.  "Antibiotics, for your leg."

   He motioned for her to put them in her mouth, and she finally did,
taking a drink.

   "Swallow them whole, don't chew." He said.

   An hour passed.  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
darkness, his hand on the pistol.  All was peaceful.  He took her around
the house to the privy, and used the light from the burning stick to check
for critters before he stepped aside and let her enter.  He showed her the
water bucket, and stepped out.  He waited a long time for her to finish,
and she finally emerged.  She was clutching a hairbrush she'd found.  He
led her back to the house.  They resumed their quiet communion, before the
fireplace.

   "Girl." He finally said.  "What is your name?  What do I call you?"

   She was silent.  That one she didn't answer.  Well, he thought, Girl it
is, then.  They sat in the dimness of the fireplace, and he finally
realized 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.



   Her fever had broke by the next day, but she didn't seem to want to stir
that morning, still exhausted.  He left her and hunted, bringing back three
squirrels and a rabbit from a snare.  He was proud of the squirrels,
squirrels were damn hard to kill with a bow.  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 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 pistol out from his belt.
She stared at it, and at him, and he put it back up, 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 countertop,
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, he had to give her that.  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 three or
four. He returned.

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

   When 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
finally spent two hours digging on his tunnel.  He finally grew tired and
went back in the house.  He realized he was anxious to see her, 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.  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 finally said, and she repeated it slowly, like she was
talking to an idiot.

   "Medicine." She said it better the second time.

   "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 locked 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, 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 finally said, and she 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 finally asked.  She just stared at
him, silently.

   The minutes stretched.  He finally 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 finally asked, one of his big curiosities about her.

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

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

   "Months.  No.  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 short
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 now.  He'd miss her one-word
sentences, and her solemn gaze.

   He finally got up, and began fixing dinner.  He opened one of the
label-less cans she'd brought.  Sweet potatoes.  He 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 barrel, and
told her how he used a rag to bathe with.  If she wanted to.  She hadn't
spoke 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.  He realized he felt alive
again, he felt purpose again.  He felt like he had a reason to live, again.





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

   They were following some tracks beside the creek, when he heard
something growl.  He froze, as she did, 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 finally saw the dog, beneath a large bush.  It growled
again at him, and he aimed carefully for its heart.

   Girl spoke 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.  He thought, how I'd like to have a dog like that.  A nice, big,
scarey 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.





   The next day they were close to where they'd seen the dog.  Girl was
carrying three squirrels by then, and Clipper took one from her, and they
searched for the dog.  They finally found her, beneath a hollow under a
log, a handful of puppies squirming around and clustering under her for
safety.  Clipper tossed the dog the squirrel, and they left her alone.

   The next day, 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 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 found them a pan for a water
bowl, and filled it.  It was several more days before the mother dog let
herself be touched by Girl, but after that, she seemed to comfortable
around them both.  Clipper was pleased with the days work.

   He sat before the fire, with girl in the recliner.  She stared into the
fire, and he watched it, 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, "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, pulling the pistol out of his pants.  "Can you use
this?"

   "No." She said instantly, gratifying him with her speed.  Shit, though.
She was defenseless.  He stuck the pistol back into his belt, and ran to
the countertop, and handed her back her original butcher knife.  He grabbed
his bow, with a ten broadheads 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.  He finally made a shape out
that he thought to be a person.  He drew his bow, aiming off to the side,
but he wanted 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 finally said loudly.  "I can't control this
dog much longer."

   "We got a baby." A man said, almost 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 finally replied.  "We don't 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 followed him, carrying a bundle. 
Damn, thought Clipper.  How can I shoot, if I have to, with a baby in the
mix?

   The man approached, and stopped maybe fifty feet away.  The dog was
quivering, now, 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 and 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 somebody'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 broadhead, 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, 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.  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 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.  He retrieved his arrows, unscrewing
the shafts and leaving the points inside the bodies.  He had more points.
Someday, though, he'd probably have to retrieve the points, also.  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 tonight.

   They were up late that night, just in case the men had friends in the
area.  Nobody bothered them, and finally Clipper 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, and then 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, he thought.

   Girl seemed troubled and seemed to have 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 racked up a brace of squirrels to feed the
dogs.  He felt like he owed them, big time.  The dog had worked out
perfectly, he thought.  If they hadn't had had the dog, the men would have
been at the door before they knew they had company.  Bad company.





   "Darling." 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.  Good.  "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, noways.  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.

   "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.  Life is easier with two.  I
don't want you to get out there, and have something happen to you.  Girls
have a hard time in this world, nowadays.  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.  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 very expensive.

   Even better than that 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 almost shocked at her
uninhibitedness, 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 again, in his pants, as he glimpsed her cute fuzzy little pussy.
Oh, he thought, don't do this to me, don't give me hope.  He turned away,
and let her try on the other pair.

   The men also had some money, the new money, the 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 close, 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
in for four knives, and she picked 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
the land out, he knew winter was less than six months away.  Winter came
early, at this altitude.  He was getting more and more anxious for some big
game, a deer 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 it, that day the men showed up. 
He wished he had more than one box of bullets.  He could let her dry fire
it, to get used to the feel of it, but she still needed to actually shoot
it a time or two, to understand it.  And, he thought, we need to be far
away from home when she shoots it.  No sense in attracting attention.

   They finally got 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.





   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 store, 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 sidewalk, 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 man, middle aged, came out from a door, and spoke.

   "Kin I halp yew?" He said, in mountainese.  Clipper nodded.

   "Just looking for some staples." He said.  "Salt, cheese, butter,
cooking oil, or maybe some shortening."

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

   They went up and down the aisles, and Clipper picked out stuff.  The
prices were incomprehensible to him, he'd never used the new money before,
and he didn't understand it.  Girl pointed to a price on a jar, shook her
head and put it back.  Damn, he thought, she understands the 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 a single coin.  He placed it on the register, while he
made change.  Damn, thought Clipper, we even get change back?  How cool. 
The man placed their purchases in a crumpled paper sack, and stood back,
folding his arms.

   "Whar yew folks frum?" He 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 cash.

   The food arrived.  They ate, and Clipper laughed at Girl, telling her to
slow down, slow down.  It was good stuff.  They had pie, even, when they
were done.  Clipper finally 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." One of the men said.  "That a Crafty?"

   "Yeah." Said Clipper, picking it up and showing it to the man.

   "Wanna sell it?" The man asked.

   "Oh, I'm 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 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.  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.

   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 around here."

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

   The man turned back.  "That 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 two men, standing outside the store
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 houses around.  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 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 stash of dough, though.

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

   They got all the puppies named, finally, that was 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 noways learns 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, 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?"

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

   He laughed, slightly.  "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 finally 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.





   That night, Girl came to him.  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 almost painfully aware of her every
move, every noise.  Every smell.  He finally 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 changed.  They had a nice
jerky breakfast, and Clipper dug on his trench 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 almost 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, a large stone house stood.  Smoke was pouring from the
chimney.  They surveyed 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 structures
made it look like wealthy people lived there.  Nowadays, wealth was
possessions, and 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.  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, pointing a rifle
at him.  He had his bow down, an arrow nocked, though.  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.  He wondered if she was hurt. 
And, shit.  Behind her were two more men, close, both coming fast and hard,
one swinging a machete, and the other brandishing an axe.  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.

   Girl was almost to her feet by now, also.  She had seen him see the men
behind her, and turned to face them.  He saw her arm swing out in a long
arc, and a second man screamed as her throwing 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 opened his
fingers, and the axe 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.  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 finally 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, with 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.  Damn.

   Clipper turned to the first man, who was writhing in agony on the
ground, his gun forgotten.  The arrow had pierced completely through the
thick part of his hip, 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
second man, shooting him in the back.  He looked at the man on the ground.
He'd already lost a ton of blood.  Those broadheads 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 few feet away, and he recovered it, his eyes
never leaving the man.  The man grimaced at him, but he didn't beg.  He
finally 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.  Jeezus.  No
sense in coming back tomorrow, then.  He'd come back someday to get his
arrows, though.

   He searched the other two men, and came away with a few more knives, the
axe, 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.  Finally she hiccuped a few
times, and was done.  He just held her on his lap, in front of the fire. 
She was soft and warm.  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 unfireable in the condition it was
in.  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 and put away.  He was
through with deer until next year.  He still hunted rabbits and squirrels
to feed the dogs with, and it required a lot of meat, since the puppies
were now weaned.

   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 up 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
finally got them into some semblance of order, Clipper grabbed his bow, and
they sat off for Devonsville.

   They arrived shortly after noon, and Clipper took them to the general
store, while Girl waited outside with the dogs.  The man was most 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, when he had
told him.  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.  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 two thick welding rods that he could 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 wader things she was wearing.  She was very
pleased, and he was, too.

   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 two 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 pleasure.  He loved wrapping his arms
around her slim 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 almost 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 almost felt like they were at times, as they
sat together during the long silent evening, he imagined what she might be
thinking and 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 though, 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, for right now it's better this way.  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.





   He trained her with the pistol, 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, he tried to train her to yank it out of her
belt and sight it instinctively on something, and he even let her dry fire
it a few times, although he was conscious of firing pin damage.

   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 pistol, even behind her back.  He finally 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, 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.  "Have you ever 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 six rounds.  The noise and recoil didn't bother her
in the slightest, but he knew that they weren't heavy loads.  He had her
reload the pistol, and stick it in her belt.  He brought out the .22.

   He wasn't sure of his ammo, it was old enough that the lead on some of
the rounds had corroded, but he had her fill the tube with .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.  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, Clipper spied a tiny figure, far in the
distance, coming up.  Then another.  And another.  He took Girl off at a
ninety degree angle to their path, and they finally laid low, behind a
brush pile.  Thirty 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 off, 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 finally made it home.





   Bow training, when it started, went as well as gun training had.  Girl
seemed to have very good hand-to-eye coordination.  Within a week she was
nailing the center of the target almost 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 he
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
eggs, and get some chickens.  Have to look into that.  Fresh eggs would be
nice.  And chicken was much better than squirrel, or even rabbit.





   Summer was well underway.  Clipper couldn't remember a time in his life
when he'd been more happy.  Or comfortable.  Or satisfied.  He knew things
weren't that great, he knew it was all because of Girl.  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 or something.

   His chickens had been a success.  First they had five chicks, and a trip
to Devonsville and two dozen more eggs got them almost twenty chicks.  The
chicks were now almost chickens, and he knew before long they'd have fresh
eggs.  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 finally 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 almost 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 his 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, the giant cities, 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.

   "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, for her, he thought.

   "It's...  it's the other girl...  the girl that was in my body before
me...  her birthday.  Her birthday was April sixth.  Nineteen ninety nine.
I don't have a birthday."

   "Ah.  I see." He said.  "You...  she, I mean.  She was a child of the
nineteen hundreds, huh.  Interesting." She was fourteen, 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 maybe some kind of mind tool to protect her, or to keep her
sheltered or insulated from something horrible that had happened to her. 
Her distances 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 finally spoke.  "Analisa." She said.  "She was named...
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.  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 her his
name, although he thought he might have said it in front of the Devonsville
residents, where she could hear.  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 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 almost
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 allow him to clean it.
Anyway, she unbuttoned the first button.  Then the second.  Then the third.
Finally 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 her.  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?  Crazy.

   He lay in bed, and stared at her beautiful breasts, naked in the dim
firelight.  He could see her huge 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.  Or infinity.  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 breathe.

   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.  How sad, he thought.  Language fails
us, at this point.  There is no word for what comes after love.  There is
no word to describe what I feel for her.

   She finally lowered herself, and crawled into the bed.  She cuddled back
up against him like 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.

   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, feeling her
beauty through his fingertips.  He went lower and lower, and finally gently
caressed her beautiful ass.  She did have a fantastic ass, he thought,
sometimes just seeing her in her jeans made him hard.  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 to touch her pussy and asshole
bad, but he didn't go that far, he just rubbed her legs, what of them he
could reach at the moment.  He finally 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, and
her breasts were full and firm.  Beautiful, just beautiful.  He salivated,
thinking of her breasts.

   She giggled in her sleep, and he finally stopped.  He didn't know if 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 mental power his mind could muster, he loved her.





   When he'd marked off thirty days on his calendar on the kitchen wall,
they walked back to Devonsville, to the store.  They used the last of their
cash to buy some butter and cooking oil that they really needed, and
another dozen eggs.  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.  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 mountains over.
We can do that.

   He found a nice pan, in the stuff he'd taken from the other cabin.  One
day he took Girl and Bear way, 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 a nice creek, 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 the 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.  The other day
the three of them had been carrying high powered rifles, and he knew that
Girl and he couldn't outrun a bullet.  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 by then,
and finally 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 again 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.

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

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

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

   "No." Clipper laughed, kind of self-consciously.  "Panning for gold."

   "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 almost crazy
saying it, but that's what he understood that she 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 almost 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 the 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 .22 ammo at the
store.  I think Peck's finally stopped selling it, though, at least above
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, and finally Clipper felt like it was
time to leave.  They departed amicably, and headed back down the mountain,
as the other men headed up.  Damn, thought Clipper, I still don't even 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 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 know." 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?"

   "I heard of 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 pistol out and surprised
one of them, and maybe Girl could have poked another's eye out, 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.



   That night.  He didn't now 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, stripped, as she now did.  Everything she did now,
to him, was sensuous.  He had gotten an 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 hem of his shirt beneath the blanket.
She unbuttoned the first button, and then the one above it.  He finally
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 finally 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
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 that 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 kind of 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 could taste it.  Or something like
that, he thought.  He finally slid down to her breasts, and killed another
ten minutes kissing, sucking and licking.  Her fantastic nipples were hard,
stiff little ridges of flesh.  He could feel goose bumps on them,
sometimes. 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 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, and a little sweaty, and it was the
most wonderful taste he'd ever tasted.  She tastes 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.

   That, too, he would never tire of.  He finally 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 perineum.  She shivered.  He licked
her asshole, loving the harsh bitter taste of it.  Harsh and bitter, with
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 finally paused for a few moments.  He needed the rest.  He needed
the recovery time.  She finally made 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, though, and finally, without any help from his hands, he felt like
his penis 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, and felt resistance.  He
finally 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.  His hands were buried in her firm ass,
squeezing and kneading her.

   He finally felt his groin make contact with hers.  He knew he was all
the way in.  I'm not John Holmes, he thought.  I don'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 finally 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.  Her legs kicked, and her diaphragm jerked a
breath into her body.  She came.

   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, hoping she could have another.  Minutes
passed, and she lay beneath him, seeming to almost be asleep, except for
the occasional moan, and convulsive breath.

   He finally 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, for him.  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,
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.  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 sperm.

   They lay, breathing hard, in each others arms.  He finally 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 almost
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 laid
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, almost 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 finally 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 up this.  She might fall off, anyway.
He just lay there, deep into the night, loving her, touching her.  Feeling
her.





   The next morning they made love again, after she woke him up.  This time
she was slow, almost languid.  He slowly, gently pumped 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.





   He remembered, when they went into town the next time, to ask for razor
blades.  He got them, and a few other things.  The little jar of gold he'd
panned had gotten them a lot of coins, which had bought a lot of 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 hmmm'd and hawed a bit.  Finally he looked
outside the window, as if he was seeing if someone were coming.  Or
listening.

   "Mr..." 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 been a stockbroker. 
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 finally 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 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.  That's bad news.  No, first I heard of it." Said Clipper.

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

   Yes, 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 feel like 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.

   "Yes..." 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 pretty 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 nowadays?"
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.  Yeah."

   "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."

   "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 out 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.  Honest people, as well as bad guys."

   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.  "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.  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 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."

   "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.

   When 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.  Finally 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.  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 her?"

   She pointed down the mountain, mutely.

   "It's probably, what?  Another three, five 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, 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.  Halson's 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, seeing 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.  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 pastor 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.





   She was wild, that night.  Sometimes she was slow and soft and gentle
and tame, he thought, and some nights she was wild.  This was one of those
night.  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 quantified
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 to 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, 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, when she defecated.  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, 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.  She 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 fat 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 finally grabbed his penis, 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 prostate.  It was
ready to ejaculate.  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 drill, by now.  He knew the way she worked.





   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.  They hid, and watched as the man
approached from a tangent, headed off up the mountain from them.  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.

   "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 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 finally
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 will soon
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 kind of
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 finally 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 for dinner.  Eggs and ham.  He made a
joke about 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.





   The Skipps problem seemed almost instant.  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.  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, when she
opened the door, and screamed.  Out of the privy, like a wild man, a man
jumped, 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.  She
had fallen, tripping over something, but finally, 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
nailed him with a broadhead in the lower left side, right below his
ribcage. 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.

   Clipper 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 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.  He was too close,
though.  Maybe next time, he thought.  He decided to build another
doghouse, and move half the dogs to the backside of the house.  The guy
must have been pretty sneaky to avoid making noises the dogs could hear. 
The back side of the house needed to be protected, too.  Anyway, he vowed
to never let her go outside after dark unaccompanied.  He doubted that she
would, after this, though.

   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.





   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. 
Finally 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,
almost literally crawled underneath his body, her legs spread.  He sought
out her warm wet softness out without using his hands, and finally 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,
just pleasure.  She was tight, lord 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.  He was glad he was giving it to her.  When she
finally came she almost 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.





   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 to just stay home that day.  When I leave, he said, bar the door,
and here.  Keep the pistol.  He took 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 her 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 now 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 she 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, no tracks, no nothing.

   He finally charged out into the woods, going back to where he remembered
her lean-to had been.  It was still there, kind of, and her tattered
blanket was still there.  She wasn't though.  Shit!  He was almost frantic,
by now.  He knew something was wrong.  She'd never just up and leave, not
like that.  Never.

   He hurried back home, and searched the cabin in detail.  He stood in the
middle of it, and tried to look for anything, any sign, anything out of
place, anything changed or slightly askew, 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
re-searched the area near the cabin, carefully and slowly, looking for
broken branches or anything that might give him information.  He was
starting to have a sick feeling, a dreadful sick 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.  Zip.  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.

   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 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 and Girl 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 tramper.  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
pistol, but he couldn't imagine her going out to meet them.

   He finally figured it was well after midnight.  He went up into the
loft, and just laid 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 and rescue you.  I
will.

   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, and 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 a hundred 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.  Of the tiny little gold coins that passed for money nowadays. 
Scattered over a few square feet.  He knew they were hers.  She kept their
money, usually in a 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 for her, something had gone
horribly wrong.  She had been taken down this path, he knew for sure, 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.

   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
looked as carefully as he could, making a mental grid of the area, and
examining every square foot of ground.  A 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 looked like.  He finally
went behind the house to the privy, and looked in the dust on the floor. 
He lifted his own foot, to see his tread.  To his surprise, because it was
almost too easy, the tread he'd seen out front matched the other treads in
the privy.  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 stick.  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, 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 Remington out of its hiding place.  He pumped the slide, putting
a round in the chamber, and put one more bullet in the tube. .22 long rifle
hollow points.  Not a killing round, but it was all he had.  He'd left Girl
the pistol, and he hadn't seen it anywhere during his searches of the
cabin. 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 there, 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 finally 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 finally 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 super slowly to keep from making any noise.  He knew at this
point time was on his side, the night was young.  Finally 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 finally peeked around,
he saw nothing.  The barn was angled where this side was away from the
house.  Good.  He crept along the side, to the next corner, and peeked
around.

   Goddam, he thought.  These motherfuckers have electricity.  He heard a
faint drone that he recognized as a generator, although he hadn't heard one
in years.  Shit.  The 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 in front of 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 a
little light.  He saw 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 where he was sheltered
from sight.  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, though.





   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.  Something bad had to have happened to her.  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 eight 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, not wanting to be predictable.  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, 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 large and
muscular, and Clipper decided he was going for the bad-ass look.  The woman
looked mid-50's-ish.  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 some
spoons.

   Shit, thought Clipper, shit shit shit.  What the fuck.  Whatever in the
fuck is going on here.  He watched them carefully through his scope.  The
man carefully placed the bucket on the ground, and pulled a large ring of
keys from his pocket.  He selected one, and unlocked the large padlock on
the barn door.  He let the woman enter, and then he entered, shutting the
door.  They were in there fifteen minutes, Clipper estimated.  Finally they
re-appeared.  The man was not so careful with the bucket, this time.  Right
before he shut the door, 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 introspection, trying to make all this add up.  He was certain, of
course, 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...  was Girl one of
them?  Was she being held in there?  When the generator finally died he
headed back home, still deep in thought.





   Another sleepless night.  He awoke early.  He was running on fumes, now,
he felt, 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 nefarious was going on 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, finally
coming up with something he'd brought from the other cabin he'd looted.  A
large, rusted crescent wrench.  It would make a fine weapon, even, he
thought.  He cleaned it with a rag, and found his can of machine oil and
lubed it up good, working the nut and slide.  He slid it into a belt loop.
Fine, fine.  Shit.  Night would not come quickly enough.

   He puttered and messed around the cabin, impatient for night.  He
finally fed the dogs, and gathered up his gear.  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'd been to late.  That was a late afternoon thing.

   The generator finally died, thankfully.  He idly wondered where they got
the fuel for the damn thing.  Fuel was outrageously expensive nowadays. 
Insane.  He was sure it was a fairly small generator, it's not like the
whole house was lit up or anything.  Still.  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 rifle behind.  He hated to
leave the bow, but it was so dark, and he imagined he was in for a tight
squeeze.  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 crescent
wrench fitted on one.  He could feel the ridge just slightly over from the
bolt where the sheet 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 ones.  But maybe
he could get enough.  He finally 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 a throwing knife, and succeeded in pulling
the sheet apart from the sheet it had been bolted too.  It was obviously
not going to make a big enough space to crawl thought, 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
finally got the last one out, and pulled the sheets apart.  Down at ground
level, he could make a space appear 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 in, 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, thought.  He felt some space on the floor beneath.  It was
almost like it was something inside the building, rather than the
construction of the building.  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 tapped three times on the inner steel wall. 
After a few seconds of silence, something clearly and distinctly tapped
three times back.  Shit, he thought.  What have we here?  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 though, goddam.  I wish I knew
Morse code.  He tapped three shorts, three longs and three shorts.  After a
second, 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 finally
tapped a few times, to try and get them to stop.  At last they did.  He
pulled the metal out a little further, and stuck his head in it, 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, 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. 
At last he was done with three rows of the bolts.  He 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 finally
got it, 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 finally 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 largest knife he
had, 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, and much more slowly pulled the sheet back,
and drove the knife into the ground.  It held the sheet back, and he lay
back down on the ground, and wiggled his way into the building.  He moved
as slow as he could, in case he bumped into something, but the space seemed
to be empty.  There was a slight amount of light in the building, due to
the sunlights 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 finally fumbled carefully in his pocket, and
pulled out the box of matches.  He selected one, and struck it on the box.
Almost 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.  He raised the match, feeling it starting to
burn his fingers.  A woman was in the cage.  Jeezus, a woman.  She stared
back at him, horror in her eyes.  Sheer, abject terror.  She opened her
mouth to scream, and he brought his finger up before his mouth, saying,
"Shhhhh!" as loud as he could whisper.  Amazingly, she shut her mouth, and
didn't scream.

   "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, the second time, she
shut up again.  God, he wished he had his pistol now, 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 she'd screamed.

   "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.

   "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
metal.

   "Darling.  Listen.  I have to go for help.  But I will 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?"

   She said in a tiny voice, "Don't leave me."

   "I have to darling, I have to have help.  I can't do this alone.  There
are too many people 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, too, if there was a child.
He was afraid of the muscle-bound bad-ass, though.

   "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 hands one last time, and then ran back
down the row of cages to the end.  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
have we here?"





   He froze.  Who wouldn't.  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 gun on
him, from maybe twenty feet away.  A real gun, it looked like something a
soldier or a peacekeeper would use.  Black satin finish.  A big clip. 
Bayonet lug.  The works.h Shit.  He knew he was just moments from being a
dead man.  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 could
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 from being dead, anyway.

   Shit.  Sometimes stupid tricks work, too.  He didn't have anything else.
He looked at a point 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, 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, almost 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 the shot that would end his life.  He slowed,
and crouched for a second to grab his bow.  He left the rifle.  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
pulled the bow back, judging where the man was by the sounds.  He tried to
keep a large tree between them, until the guy was close.  At the last
second, he took a few steps to the side, and there the fucker was.

   The guy looked surprised, and was bringing his gun up when Clipper's
arrow slammed into his chest, at the base of his throat.  Then he really
looked surprised.  Blood already streamed from the side of his neck, where
the knife had nicked him.  He just stood there, refusing to die.  Just that
he'd stayed on his feet and absorbed the impact of the arrow told Clipper a
lot about him.  Shit.  He was a monster.  Clipper put another arrow into
his gut.  A third followed, into his shoulder.  The man finally crumpled, a
puzzled look on his face.  Clipper approached, straining to listen for any
sign of pursuit.  Nothing.

   The man was finally dead.  Jeezus, Clipper thought, get your sorry ass
on to hell.  He kicked the man's foot, ready to dance backwards.  Nothing.
He tossed his bow, leaned down, and liberated the assault rifle.  He
turned, and never looked back.  He ran.

   Clipper was an old fart.  He knew that.  He wasn't in that bad of shape,
his life so far had toughened him up considerably.  He knew his window was
fairly small, though.  He knew that he had to get back before the
musclehead was found.  He knew that once somebody found him the alarm would
go out, and all the people there would be on their toes.  They might even
move the girls, who knew.  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 waiter 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 now, if he should have just gone back to the barn
with the assault rifle.  He figured he could have liberated Girl, at least,
just shot the lock off her cage and got her 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 they got back there, and the girls
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.
Finally he saw Ableard on the boardwalk, talking to two other guys.  One of
them was his friend John.  Clipper blasted through the door, and they all
looked up as the doors slammed into the wall.

   "Ableard." Gulped Clipper, "You gotta help me."

   "Sure, buddy, 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.  And some other girls.  In his barn."

   "What?" Said Ableard, like he didn't believe him.  Shit, shit, thought
Clipper.

   "Ableard.  I snuck in the back, inside, and saw them.  In his barn, out
back.  He has cages with women in them.  One of them is Girl.  She
disappeared three days ago." Three...  five?  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 have 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 gun from a gun
cabinet, and checked the magazine.  They left the building.

   He heard the truck long before he saw it.  Old, battered, pouring blue
smoke from holes in the muffler...  it looked better than anything in the
world to Clipper.  Except maybe for Girl.  John jumped out, and jumped in
the back.  Another man tossed him his gun, and then the man and two more
more climbed in the back.  Ableard and Clipper were in the front by then,
and Ableard peeled out, heading down Main Street for the woods.  He went
right over the low curb, and Clipper pointed the way to him, they way he'd
just come.

   The truck did pretty good, although the suspension left a little to be
desired.  They made good time, bouncing through the woods.

   "Simmons was under suspicion many years ago, but he managed to wiggle
free."

   "Suspicion of what?" Said Clipper.

   "One of his babysitters disappeared at his house, or something.  I don't
know the details.  But his lawyers got him off, even kinda made a hero out
of him.  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.  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 got.  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 the pistol with
him, he would have shot the lock off the cage and freed her.  And then
dealt with whatever came out of the house.  He was starting to wish he had
gone back with the rifle, and freed her, at least.

   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.

   "Foot from here?" Said Ableard.  Clipper, nodded, wondering if the truck
had been heard.  He nodded, and pulled back the slide slightly on the
weapon, making sure a round was in the chamber.  He felt for the safety, to
familiarize himself with the gun.  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 dead.
Good.

   He looked at the large padlock.  He looked at the assault rifle he was
still 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 turned 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 sounded 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.  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 Girls hand.  He just stood there
and held her 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, now.

   "Girl." He said.  "Lay on the floor, and put your blanket over your
head."

   She did exactly as he said, without asking.  He placed the gun's muzzle
on the head of the lock, exactly as he did the first one.  This time he hid
his face, though.  The lock dropped to the floor in pieces, and Girl was in
his arms.  He held her and hugged her, murmuring to her, wiping her tears
with his chin.

   "I knew you'd come." She leaned up and whispered in his ear.  "I knew
it. I told the girls you'd come."

   One of the men with them literally dropped his weapon on the floor and
stumbled forward.

   "Donice?" He said.  "My god...  Donice?" The woman 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 motioned to get Ableard's attention.

   "It's Simmons.  And his boy." He said, and brought his rifle down, at
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 he was trying to move them.  He realized how close
she'd been to being gone.

   The rest of the men, and Clipper and Girl, had followed Ableard out into
the yard.  Ableard's gun had never wavered from Simmon's face.

   "Ableard.  It's not what it looks like." Simmons finally spoke.

   "Simmons.  Don't even try.  Don't even fucking try." Ableard said.  "If
you want to live a few seconds longer, very slowly toss me the keys to
those cages.  Otherwise we shoot the locks off, after we shoot you."

   Simmons hand moved almost 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 forwards, and got the keys.  He went back
in the building to release the women.

   Simmon's boy dropped from the cab, blubbering.  He almost got himself
shot doing it.  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.  Ableard turned
away in disgust.





   They sat in the diner, talking.  The whole town, pretty much, was there,
and talking.  Girl ate a piece of pie, her head down.  She was not
adjusting to fame well, Clipper thought.  She had whispered to him that she
just wanted to go home.  He understood, but he felt like he had to clear
some things up first.

   "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."

   "Why were some of them there for so long?"

   Tim Donahugh's niece Donice had been in her cage for almost four years.
Four 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.  He had just held her last night, drinking her in, loving her.
She had told him, with great embarrassment, how easily she'd been captured,
in spite of her mistrust of Mr.  Simmons.  He had been afraid of the dogs,
so 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 she was alone, he had simply put a pistol to her head, while
his man came from behind a tree and relieved her of her pistol and her
knives.  Within an hour, she'd been in a 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 sibilant,
onomatopoeic sound of it.  She was just too much, sometimes, he thought. 
Sometimes she just blew his mind completely.

   They had a long talk 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.  Fifteen or twenty 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.  If Girl wanted it, he knew he wouldn't be too
against her spending a night or two with the right guy...  so she could
even have a kid or two of her own.  After all, she would need somebody
after he was gone.  And he would go before her, he knew that.

   Well, he told himself, we can worry about that later.  The future is
what you make of it.  It's wide open.  Although, 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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