Jason Frost - The Warlord

Across the camp, Eric stared at Tracy. He had known since the first half hour of leaving University Camp that she was following. Had given her a day at most to surrender and finally show herself. He'd been surprised when she hadn't, but had been certain she would by that night, especially considering some of the wretched sights they had passed so far. A pack of dogs fighting over the half-eaten carcass of an old man. Hastily butchered cats chewed to the bone near old campfire sites. But Tracy had not shown herself, had not asked for refuge. For a moment he'd become worried, thought about going back for her. But then he remembered Annie's speech that night, placing Tracy in nomination as her replacement should anything happen. It flooded him with guilt and rage, and he cursed them both. The third day he knew she was still there and was angered at the rush of relief he felt. That was the old Eric.

Finally she'd joined them, holding out until she was certain they couldn't take her back and wouldn't send her on her own.

"Now what?" Tracy asked, withering under his intense stare.

"Now we get water," Eric replied, plucking her empty canteen from her side.

"That's awfully small," Molly said nervously.

"They didn't need it much bigger." Eric ducked through the entrance of the cave. He switched on the flashlight, motioned for Rydell and Molly to follow. Tracy had been left at camp to rest.

"Did I mention my fear of spiders yet?" Molly asked.

Rydell laughed. "You too?"

"Some comfort you are."

"Stay close," Eric warned. The batteries were fresh, taken from the University Camp supplies still wrapped in their Eveready black-and-yellow package, a price tag from Safeway still half-attached. The beam knifed through the thick darkness as Eric checked for loose stones indicating a weak wall. Not that there was any way to be sure.

"Wouldn't it have been safer to just look for a stream somewhere?" Molly whispered, having seen enough TV cave-ins to be aware of the danger of sound. "Maybe we could find one nearby."

"I did find one," Eric said, inching ahead.

"What?" Rydell and Molly chorused.

"Yeah, when I scouted ahead a few hours ago. There's one about a quarter of a mile from camp."

"Then what are we doing here?" Rydell asked. "Did we miss our daily quota of breathing dust?"

"The water wasn't any good. No vegetation around it, some dried animal bones nearby. Bad signs."

Rydell sighed. "Some of these desert pools have dissolved arsenic in them."

"You mean someone poisoned them?" Molly said.

"No, it's natural."

"Like Perrier, huh?"

He swatted her bottom with a canteen and she giggled.

"There," Eric said, holding the flashlight beam steady. A pool of black water, still and silent.

"Christ," Molly complained. "I should've worn a sweater. This place is cold."

"Don't complain," Eric said. "That cold is why we have water now. Works just like our still down there. If we went any deeper we might even find ice."

They kneeled around the pool, staring. Eric handed the flashlight to Rydell. "Keep it steady."

Molly twisted the cap off her canteen and reached toward the pool to fill it. Eric's hand grabbed her wrist with a power that stung. "What's wrong?"

"See that film on top of the water? That's lead. It's poisonous." He ran his finger along the inside of his ear, dipped it in the water. A clear spot appeared on the water's surface. "The wax provides a safe opening." He removed a plastic straw from his pocket. "Now we sip it up through that opening and spit the water into the canteens until they're full. Then I add some iodine just to be safe. It'll taste a little funny, but it'll be safe. However, you can pour it between canteens a few times to improve taste."

"Swell," Molly said without enthusiasm.

"It's better than dying of thirst," Eric said.

"Barely," Molly answered.

Eric took the first watch.

The orange-yellow daylight was slowly being nudged aside by the gray-pink night. The sun itself had only been a bright, hazy glob through the thick Long Beach Halo. Eric couldn't decide whether the Halo acted like an oven and made the desert hotter than ordinary, or whether it acted like branches of a tree and filtered out some of the heat. And if it did filter out heat, would it be filtering certain of the sun's rays? Would they all be breaking out with skin cancer soon? He shook his head. What difference did it make? There wasn't anything they could do about it. The feeling of ignorance and helplessness was overpowering, like a man shoved through time to a past where the language and customs were unfamiliar. But had it ever been any different? Had people ever had any ability to change anything, or were we merely prisoners locked in a room busily rearranging furniture, to give the illusion of control?

He stood up, stretched, checked the bolt in his crossbow. One of these through Dirk Fallows' heart would change the world. Make him dead. That was change enough for Eric.

He gazed at the sleeping faces of the others. How quickly they had formed alliances, relationships. Rydell and Molly, physical opposites linked by what, a sense of humor? They slept next to each other, Rydell's big arm lying across Molly's small chest like a felled redwood. Next to them, less familiar but close, Season and Tag. She, loud and abrasive; he, quiet and thoughtful. Companions by need and default more than anything else. But that had been reason enough for most pioneers.

And there was Tracy. Separated from the others by a few sandy feet of earth-and much more. A loneliness that didn't start with the earthquakes, that went back many years. Annie had hinted at childhood traumas, but had refused to break Tracy's confidences. Annie had been good for Tracy, teaching her self-confidence and maturity, which Annie defined as an ability to laugh at yourself. Together the two of them had often conspired to make Eric laugh more, surprising him with practical jokes, his shoes filled with soil and a plastic tulip they'd dug up somewhere.

Annie had asked him once if he ever had sexual fantasies about Tracy, and when he'd truthfully responded no, she'd shaken her head sadly and said, "That proves you've been worrying too much. You're not normal."

He smiled at that, picturing Annie's face wrinkled in mock concern. Tracy was nice, but no one was like Annie.

A cool wind whipped some sand across Tracy's sleeping body and she frowned in her sleep, turning onto her side.

Eric rubbed his hands together and, for the fourth time in an hour, counted the number of bolts in his quiver. There was no particular reason, but somehow he knew that tomorrow he'd need them.

"No more meat."

The men exchanged disappointed glances, but no one complained. They didn't dare.

"And we're low on water."

A couple frowns, nothing else.

Fallows grinned at that, pleased at the success of his training methods. Most of them were young and raw, and he hadn't had much time with them. Two of the older ones had been with him in Nam, wandered aimlessly after getting back to the States. Part-time jobs, some trouble with the law. Lamar had beaten his girlfriend once too often, breaking her jaw and cracking a couple ribs. She pressed charges and he did a few months on a county farm in New Mexico. Kraus had been driving a taxi in New York City, taking his first drink before work, and making short stops at bars all day. After his fifth accident, they fired him. Rather than go home and tell his pregnant wife, he took off for California to look up his old commander he'd just heard through the veteran's grapevine was getting released.

Some of the rest were also vets of Nam, though they weren't Night Shift. Others were friends or relatives of men who'd served under Fallows, twitchy kids anxious for power and action. A few he'd picked up since the earthquakes, loners used to following orders. An ex-fireman, the former chief of police of a small town that had been totally leveled. With Cruz's help, Fallows had bullied them into submission, trained them to do whatever he said. To fear him more than any enemy. They'd lost a couple men due to the rigors of training, but it had had the desired effect. Fear and obedience.