Jason Frost - The Warlord

He nodded sullenly.

"Hell, we were better off talking about sex."

He looked into her face. "You're not the kind who tries to joke people out of bad moods, are you?"

She shrugged helplessly. "Afraid so. Mary Tyler Moore with slanted eyes."

The sound of footsteps outside the door interrupted them. Rydell nodded to Molly to stay put. She picked up her bow and eased an arrow out of the quiver. Rydell plucked a throwing knife from his belt, poised it over his shoulder.

"Hey, anybody in there?" Season called before popping her head into the doorway.

"It's only you," Rydell said impatiently.

Season jerked a thumb at him and spoke to Molly. "Get him. Bah, humbug to you too." She slipped her quiver over head, laid it on the floor next to her bow, and sat down on the mattress next to Molly where Rydell had been sitting. "Oh my God. Oh, that feels good. I never thought I'd get to sit again."

"Any sign of Eric?" Molly asked.

"Nope. Wherever he is, he doesn't want to be found yet. We've combed, teased, and blow-dried this camp three times already. Still no sign. Tag told me you were hiding out here so I thought I'd join you." She raised her eyebrows suggestively. "I didn't realize you had company of the male persuasion. I can keep watch outside the door if you guys want some privacy," Neither of them answered her, so she just shrugged and closed her eyes. "Suit yourself."

"Anything new out there?" Rydell asked to change the subject.

Season rolled her head toward him, half-opened her eyes. "Same old same old. People are still in shock about what the council did. They're scared now that we don't have a doctor. Susan was a surgical nurse, but you know people, they like professionals with titles, little letters after their names. She's doing a hell of a job at the hospital, but people are still asking her what would Dr. Dreiser do."

"What about Trevor Graumann?"

"He's organizing people, keeping them busy. The old guy really knows what he's doing. And since he's the only one who didn't have anything to do with this disaster, people are starting to listen to him. In the meantime, Dr. Epson is locked in a room in the hospital until they figure out what to do with him."

"What can they do?" Molly asked.

Season laughed sharply. "If most people get their way, they'll lynch him."

"They wouldn't," Molly said.

"Probably not," Rydell said. "But I wouldn't be surprised if they expel him from University Camp."

"Expel him? They might as well lynch him. You saw what it's like out there. He wouldn't last an hour, especially in his present condition."

"I'm not saying they will expel him, just that they might. After all, we don't have the facilities or manpower to care for him."

"God, you can be cold," Molly said.

"Uh oh," Season grinned. "Trouble in paradise. Your first spat."

"Knock it off, Season," Molly said angrily.

Season was stunned by the hostility in Molly's usually placid voice. "Sorry," she mumbled, meaning it.

A heavy silence.

Season broke it with nervous chatter. "You guys given any thought to what you're going to do now?"

"What do you mean?" Molly asked.

"I mean around here. Things definitely aren't going to be the same anymore. Not after tonight. They counted twenty-three dead of ours." No one was ghoulish enough to ask for names. The community was small enough that everyone knew everyone else, so it didn't really matter who was killed. It would be someone they knew, probably liked.

"Anyway, this is a good chance for us to run for council. After braving the dangers of the Dead Zone, we've built pretty good reputations. And we obviously didn't have anything to do with the massacre tonight. If we get Eric to endorse us, I bet we could get the votes. We'd all be on the council together, really get this place rolling."

"Rydell's thinking of going with Eric," Molly said suddenly, an edge to her voice.

"What?" she asked incredulously. "Go with him? Where?"

"After his wife and kid."

"Right, his wife and kid. But do you know who has them? Col. Dirk Fallows. You ever hear of him, follow the trial in the papers?"

"Yeah, I know all about him."

"And did you hear the descriptions of his second in command, what's his name?…"

"Cruz," Molly offered.

"Yeah, Cruz. He's the bastard that slit Jenny Ravensmith's throat. Supposed to be seven feet of pure mean. That's who you'll be up against. Just you and Captain Bligh."

"Let me worry about that."

"Men," Season sighed, shaking her head. "They all think they have to wear their balls on their sleeve. I'll tell you one thing about Eric, if he were you he wouldn't go. You don't have any experience, any training."

With a sudden flick of his arm, Rydell tossed his throwing knife across the room. It stuck in the center board covering the window. "Yes I do," he said quietly.

Season and Molly exchanged looks.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Molly asked. "Boy Scouts?"

He laughed, trying to lighten the conversation, but neither woman smiled back. "My father taught me. His campaign to make me a man was ceaseless. Did I mention he was a SWAT commander in Atlanta?"

"No," Molly answered stiffly. "You didn't."

"Yeah, well, it's not something that comes up often in normal conversation. 'What's your father do for a living, young man?' 'Well, sir, he's a SWAT commander.' Tends to dampen polite conversation. Anyway, he taught me everything his own troops learned, and then some. Knife throwing, marksmanship, climbing, just about everything a young boy needs to know at a public school in Atlanta." He pointed at his bow. "Except archery, unfortunately. College was to be a necessary evil, then right into the police department as a rookie, and finally a member of his own crack corps."

"What happened?"

"It was his dream, not mine. Is this where the dramatic music comes in?"

Molly nodded. "Strings usually."

"Well pretend. Anyway, he wanted me to study-criminal justice, I wanted to study philosophy and theology."

"Theology?" Molly said, shocked.

"Yeah. I wanted to become a minister."

"Jesus, forget what I said earlier, okay? I didn't mean anything."

"I said minister, Molly, not eunuch. My dad and I used to have some real screaming matches at home about that. Well, I was always very good in science and math, so my mother's compromise was physics. That's what I got my degree in."

Season tilted her head at him. "You've got a degree in physics? I thought you worked at the university as a janitor or something."

"Maintenance, if you please. After graduation I let my father talk me into at least trying out for the force, giving it a chance."

"And?" Molly asked.

"I gave it a chance. I didn't like it, so I quit. He hasn't spoken to me since."

"And your ministry?"

He shrugged. "Lost interest in that by my sophomore year."

"That leaves physics."

"I wanted to take a few years off, see if I was still interested in that enough to pursue it any further."

"And? Christ, why do I have to pull every word out of you?"

Rydell laughed. "And I applied to several graduate schools and was accepted by all of them. I'd decided to go back in the fall. But the best laid plans of mice and men…"

"Tell me about it," Season said. "At least you had some choices. My parents had me acting since I was eight months old. They thought it was so cute to stick me in their films, kinda like Alfred Hitchcock, which is who I looked like as a baby. When the rest of my friends were trying to figure out which end of a tampon you inserted, I was in my own sitcom."

"Friends of the Family," Molly said.

"Yeah, right. I was pretty horrible, huh?"

Molly shrugged.

"I know. I didn't know how to act, still don't. But I had the right look, and the right name. We ran for four seasons. When I decided to go to college, my parents thought it was a great idea. Until I told them I was going to major in physical education. They thought only dykes liked that."