Jason Frost - The Warlord

"But they will," Tag said.

Eric nodded.

Tag stood up, laid the shovel on his shoulder, and marched toward the spot Eric had pointed out. Season shuffled wearily behind him with the plastic sheet folded across her arm.

"Take your weapons!" Eric snapped.

Tag and Season rushed back, snatched up their weapons, and hurried off with embarrassed expressions.

"What about water now?" Rydell asked, glancing around. "This is desert terrain. We could dig around some of the plants to tap into their water source."

Eric shook his head. "Not worth the energy. I've got a better idea. Get ready for a hike."

"A hike?" Molly moaned. "What do you call what we've been doing all night and most of the morning?"

"Strolling. At least compared with what we're going to do now." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the craggy mountains jutting up half a mile behind them.

Rydell shaded his eyes with his hand as he looked up. "What's up there?"

"History."

"Things are dry enough around here without having to swallow that."

Eric permitted himself a smile. Three days traveling with these kids-for indeed they were kids when it came to survival-had reminded him of his fondness for the curious student. And for teaching. Every day he reminded himself that he only told them what they needed to know to survive because he could use them later. They were nothing more than chess pieces to be positioned and, if necessary, sacrificed against Dirk Fallows. But there was something else going on, and though he denied daily, he felt a fondness for each of his companions and their unique personalities. Rydell's intelligence and independence, Molly's endurance and humor, Tag's sensitivity and loyalty, Season's mocking and strength.

And he enjoyed lecturing them on what to eat, what to avoid eating, how to find shelter, trap animals. In this new world under an orange, contaminated sky, the lessons of history often seemed too distant, too ethereal. How to eat, what to wear, where to sleep, who to kill-these were the gospel now. And each was a worthy student and, in different circumstances, might have been a worthy friend.

But this was dangerous ground, forming attachments. It could mean an unwillingness to use them properly when the time came. And that could result in losing Annie and Timmy forever. He had to fight these emotions, avoid reverting back to the old Eric, the civilized Eric who had failed to protect his family. Like the cassette recorder, the wedding ring, and Jennifer's body, friends were a heavy baggage in this savage world. To survive, one had to learn to travel light.

"Mines," he said, the good humor gone from his voice as he stared at Molly's and Rydell's confused faces. "There are some silver mines from the late 1800s and early 1900s."

"Silver mines?" Rydell said. "Never heard of them."

"Not much reason to. They never paid off much. Not like the ones up north. But at the time there was a lot of indication of lead, so they dug around for a couple years hoping to hit paydirt."

"What the hell's lead got to do with anything?"

"That's how silver's made," Molly said. "Silver's just an impurity contained in certain lead ore. Called galaxy or something."

"Galena," Eric corrected.

"Right."

"How'd you get so damn smart about this?" Rydell asked her, impressed.

"Jeopardy. Remember the game show with Art Fleming? Used to watch it all the time. Picked up a lot of junk. I was in love with Art's politeness."

Eric bent over his pack and started fastening the straps. "Often there are some water pools in these mines. Bring Tag and Season's canteens, we'll fill them up there."

Rydell walked over to Season's pack, rustled through for the canteen. Suddenly he straightened up. "Listen!"

"What?" Molly said.

"Did you hear that? A noise. Like someone moving." He grabbed his bow from the ground, fixed an arrow in the string.

"Relax," Eric said, not even turning around.

"No, I really heard it. There it is again."

"Yeah," Molly whispered breathlessly. "I heard it that time. Maybe I should go warn Tag and Season."

Eric continued fastening straps. "Just calm down. No need to worry." He made no move toward his crossbow.

"Hello," a familiar voice called to them. "Don't shoot, okay?"

She staggered out from behind a giant boulder, her face blistered from the sun, her tongue swollen with thirst. The heavy backpack threatened to tilt her backwards. She was wearing khaki shirt and shorts, torn here and there at embarrassing locations. One knee was bruised and an angry red knob stuck out on her shin.

Eric still didn't turn around.

"Jesus, Tracy!" Molly gasped and ran toward her. Rydell dropped his bow arid joined Molly, each grabbing Tracy under one arm and half-carrying her to the camp.

Tag and Season started to run over.

"Keep digging!" Eric ordered. They hesitated, but returned to their work.

Tracy Ammes nodded thanks as she shook off her backpack and flopped to the ground. "I had a couple of clever entrance lines," she said, "but all I can think of right now is water."

Rydell handed her his canteen. "Go ahead and finish it off. We're on our way to get more."

She swallowed the few ounces greedily, tilting the canteen higher and higher even after the last drop was gone. "Thanks. I tried to ration myself, but I guess I figured it wrong."

Eric was still fussing with his pack, his back to Tracy, "Military studies show that rationing doesn't have any physical benefits. It's just as sound to drink all the water at once."

Tracy looked at Molly and Rydell, raised her eye-brows in question. They both shrugged back and shook their heads.

"How long have you been out there?" Molly asked.

Eric answered for her. "Since we left camp. She started following us right away, been on our tails ever since. Just far enough to stay out of sight, but close enough not to lose us. Right?"

"Right." Her voice was morose, like a child caught stealing.

"That's crazy, Tracy," Rydell said. "Why didn't you just join us at the start?"

"Because she knew I wouldn't take her," Eric said, turning now to face them. "Right again?"

She nodded. "I wanted to come, though I'm not sure why. Maybe I just knew it wouldn't be the same there anymore, not after what happened. It didn't feel as comfortable, not with Annie and the kids gone. And it didn't feel as safe, not with Eric and the rest of you gone. It had a sinking ship feel to it, a lot of people putting on cheerful faces to mask their fear and dread." She shrugged, looked at Eric. "I guess you and Annie and the kids were really my only friends."

"That's not a very logical reason to leave," he said coldly.

"Maybe not. But it was enough for me." Her eyes were red and she blinked rapidly as if flushing tears, but there wasn't enough moisture in her body for tears. She hadn't expected Eric to understand, not Eric who wielded logic like a saber, more so each day since the earthquakes. Annie had often discussed it with her, fearful that Eric's hate for Fallows and fear for his family would consume him.

Tracy had always soothed Annie's fears, careful not to let any of her own jealousy peek through. But Annie had known, Tracy was sure of that. Yet she had never made any accusations, in fact had done everything to make her feel more comfortable. And Tracy had for the most part managed to bury her jealousy, learning to enjoy the Ravensmith family as if it were her own. Tried to look at other men with the same passion Annie looked at Eric. She and Annie were like sisters, and she missed Annie now. As for Eric, those buried feelings had worked their way closer to the surface in the past few days, but guiltily she did everything to force them back down. Annie and Timmy's safety was all that mattered now. And during the past three days and nights of traveling alone, hidden in the shadows from Eric and the others, Tracy had decided she would gladly give her life toward that end.