I see her beneath the water of the pond. She still has her clothes on. I take off my clothes and enter the icy water. I then take her into my arms. She jumps a bit as I do so as she didn't see me. I remove her clothes and for a moment I hold her and slide my hand up and down her back as she presses against me for comfort. We stand there for a moment her in my arms. Her slight frame trembles, and she puts her arms around my neck. I take her hand and guide her out of the water retrieving my blanket to wrap around her shoulders. I carry her to my tent. I cover her with blankets and curl myself around her as she stares at nothing. The shivering ceases as I warm her. Though we're together a great emptiness surrounds us, and I feel cold internally. I regret every decision I've made. She can't handle it. Even if she loves it, every loss carries her further from me. I was selfish however, I wanted her with me.

"Lola, we've lost before. There was nothing you could do."

It would have been better had I not said anything. She recedes into her mind at the reminder and enters a dissociative state. The emptiness deepens. I feel her shudder, her body writhes against mine. It's as though I'm trying to hold still a feral cat as I squeeze tightly trying to calm her. She persists pressing her backside into my hips. I begin to react to her motions. She wants me and I want her, but I can't give into her when she's like this. She's not looking for what I want to give her. She's looking for something I can't give. I can't.

"Lola don't."

She turns and looks at me eyes wild. Then takes my hand and moves it from place to place putting over the dip between her ribs and hip that I love so much. Her hazel eyes wide, her lips protruding, nostrils quivering. Despite her madness she's still beautiful, she's acting like a woman but looks like a girl.

"Make it better." She whimpers.

"Not right now." I whisper.

"Please." I see tears begin to glisten in her eyes.

I get up and retrieve a sedative, injecting her with the calming elixer. Though I feel guilt about drugging her there's much more pressing matters at hand. I don't have the time to wait on her.

There's so much to take into account. Nearly everyone made it out. Some above and some below ground.

It was bedlam in the tunnels. People squeezed in. All trying to flee the chaos.

We sit outside smoking cigarettes the night air is sticky and clings to our skin as we sit on the patio. Outside the patio the insects and nocturnal creatures are making their nightly symphony. The moon and stars reflect off the ocean creating an undulating mirror.

"Do you really think we can change things, turn hoodlums and peasants into an army? I know you're heart is there and so is mine."

Vladimir interrupts Ciro. He's a brawny man from Kiev where he serves as a diplomat for the Eurasian Federation. His face is astier with little blue eyes and cropped blonde hair. He sits with perfect posture. He's dressed like a soldier more than an emissary. He leans forward and examines us both. He's putting his neck out there. Plotting to overthrow our government. Teaching us how to smuggle, sabotage, weaponize.

"What do you think we had? A bunch of loggers from Siberia, street rats and, college students. When people are repressed they are not blind to that repression It's like a shaken bottle, if you pop the top then it all comes out. It cannot be contained or retained. It is free. We popped the top."

"How. Violence?"

"Yes against our oppressors. We went to the heart of the repression, to Siberia, to the slums, we built schools to educate them, we gave them medical care. We trained those who were willing to take on the repressors and free our people." He holds his glass of vodka tonic in front of his face studying it, cocking his head side to side. "The healthy and educated can't be repressed."

l lean back in my chair. Vladimir dabs the sweat from his brow and my mother comes to offer him another drink. He hands her his empty glass and regards her warily.

"You have our full backing." He says he thanks my mother and she slips back inside.

"She doesn't know who you are. She thinks you're a defector who's my professor." I tell him. "I don't think she understands what the people have to live like. She doesn't understand want. Neither did I until we drove from end to end of the island and saw all the people, children dirty and suffering. While I knew I would be able to eat, to shower, to sleep in a bed. She's ignorant to it. She believes what my father tells her."

I watch as her eyes go heavy and she falls asleep. I dress myself in a fresh pair of fatigues and leave her there to find Ciro. He sits across the campground under a large tree smoking a cigar by a fire.. He looks at me with weary eyes. He looks as though he hasn't sleep in days. His dark hair frazzled, dirt caked under his fingernails. He wears no shirt exposing the scarred flesh of his back and torso. His face is bruised. He's the strongest of all of us. He had to fight his way out of the Compound after evacuating others. His knuckles are bruised and swollen, he's probably broken his hand in a few places. He sits there on his backside elbows on his knees. He doesn't look at me just at the fire.

"We're too exposed here." He says.

"I know. We should get started building a base in the trees and mangroves. We'll be shielded by the canopy."

"Yep."

He stares into the fire more, as if in a trance. Dark circles line his eyes which are blood shot. Finally he looks up at me.

"How's Lolita?" He looks at me with a boyish face his eyebrows raised in concern.

"Sleeping."

"Do you think she'll keep it together?"

A question I don't know how to answer. I don't think she's safe, she's traumatized, she's unstable. I can't tell him that. He'll worry too much.

"We'll be keeping an eye on her."

Ciro constantly has his eye on her. It isn't problematic as his work gets done, usually I'm the one that asks. Usually he has nothing to report. Still they've grown to be like brother and sister. He needs his sister to be safe.

"I know." He says returning his gaze to the fire.

"Vlad told us this might happen. I sent a line to him yesterday morning." I tell him.

He throws his cigar into the fire and lights a cigarette. He wipes his brow. How he's awake I don't know as he looks at the brink of collapse.

"You should let Lola look at you." Motioning to his hand.

He shrugs his shoulders.

He's distant. Perhaps the incident elicited memories of his time detained in Notre Dame. He better than anyone else knows the brutality of the government. He has a slight tremor in his hand as he puffs upon his cigarette.

"It's happening. What's our next move." He says not particularly looking anywhere.

"We can't bring the violence to the cities. We contain it between us and them. We take them out from the top down."

He nods.

"We'll have to start with hearts and minds first." He says glancing at me sideways.

"I know who can capture hearts." I say with a smile.

I watch as his demeanor changes his body straightens up and he looks me in the face now.

"Can she take it?" He says.

"It gets her away from this. It's what she was made for."

I stand and leave my friend by the fire. Before I enter the canvas tent that serves as my home I turn to him and nod to him. We've moved thirteen miles inland from the city to the marshlands. Our position isn't well hidden. We're exposed to the air. The tents, food and water rations, a weapons cache and medical supplies were hidden outside the city in case of an emergency such as this. The tent becomes stuffy and I open a crack. I hear rustling as she sits up on the cot. Her chest bare, her auburn hair a tangled mess. I sit beside her and hold her for a moment.

When I returned I packed my things and moved to Lyon. I set up a political headquarters there with Ciro. We've gained a great deal of support among the people there. Part of the Municipality is well to do is well to do the parish Beaufort is well to do. Mostly rich white's from the New Elizabethton State and The Greater European Republic who worked for the oil company ManheimOl based out of the The Greater Deuschevolk State. The parish Quebec are poor Creole and Native Hispanic refinery workers, or worked on the drill rigs, both jobs dangerous and paid little. The typical citizen started working at thirteen, most died of some work related cause by fifty-five. The people here are desperate. Many workers use cocaine and amphetamine to keep up with the physical demands. Criminal organizations formed to supply that habit drawing in many young men desperate for a living. They want equal living. We've petitioned to be recognized as a the Civil Worker's Party to represent for them in congress. Repeatedly we've been shut down. They know that the majority of people on the island are subservient to the few, and will demand and attain equal living given the chance. More and more citizen's work with us looking for that. Young people move from the streets into our fold out of hope of change. Yet, the people are becoming more and more frustrated. More and more they are acting out in civil unrest. So it wasn't a surprise when the knock came on the door, and two police officers stood on the other side to collect Ciro and myself. I held my hands out willingly. Ready to defend myself publicly, to be persecuted for the people. Ciro wasn't willing. He turned on the officers who bloodied him and tossed him in the back of the paddy wagon before escorting me to a car. Unable physically torture me because of my father's status they let me hear them as they torture Ciro. Not even questioning him. I hear them burning him, I hear them beating him with chains, I hear them holding his head underwater. I hear the sound of it against his flesh but Ciro never makes sound. Eventually he must be taken to the infirmary after they flayed him and set me in front of a screen. Riots were broken out of the street. People throwing stones at the police. Police beating people. Then the army coming with their tanks and guns and mowing all the people down.

"You did that." An officer says to me as he shuts off the screen. "You fucked your spic partner up pretty bad too."

I watch Lola as she sleeps. Her hair spilled out around her as though she had lit the bed on fire. Her arms above her head as though surrendering. Her bare chest rising and falling steadily. She's peaceful. No screams or whimpers. Silent sedative having the desired results. I let her stay there for two hours, rocking back and forth in my chair taking account of what had happened in my head. We had lost Andre, Dumont, LaRue, and Michael during the attack. Germaine and Robert are injured. Had the memo not been intercepted it could have been worse. I haven't been able to ascertain the civilian cost. I've managed to communicate with Vladimir who's currently on the way with bodies and supplies.

Eventually I smell the aroma of eggs frying and coffee brewing that I stroke her hair. She gently turns her head from side to side as she squints her eyes squeezing out the last seconds of sleep before she opens them.

"Get up and brush your hair."

She gets up and dresses herself in a shift. She brushes out her tangled tresses and organizes it into a clean braid. For a moment she stands still looking at the side of the tent as though it were a bay window and she was stricken by the vista. Then she comes back to me and sits on my lap and wraps her arms around my neck burying her face in it. I can feel Lola has returned.

"Get some coffee, and something to eat."

She obliges and walks back in with both, she grimaces as she sips her coffee.

"Ciro made it."

She giggles.

"I can tell."

She regards a bandage on my upper arm covering where a bullet grazed me. It had bled through the white wrapping and hadn't noticed.

"Can I see?"

I nod

She peels back the bandage with nimble little fingers. She pries the parts which had dried on to the wound as gently as she can. Her eyes focus onto the wound then into mine and back to the wound again. Caressing it with dainty hands.

"Did anyone clean this?" She furrows her eyebrows. Though her expression is that of annoyed concern she looks quite girlish.

"No."

"Do you want blood poisoning?"

"No."

"I'm cleaning it."

She walks to the other side of the tent and grabs a first aid kit

I wince as sharp pain sears down my arm as she presses a fresh gauze soaked in iodine to my arm.

I balanced on my forearms, as I made love to her again. My senses were fulling engaged, the feeling of the inside of her, the warmth of her breasts against my chest. The grip of her hands on my back as I pushed myself more and more into her. The sounds of her cooing in my ear. The sweet smell of her hair. The salty sweetness of the sweat on her neck. Most of all the vision of her. She bites her lip with each sigh, she keeps her eyes open looking at me look at her. I can see her collarbone aligned perfectly from her shoulder girdle to sternum, the protrusion of it is beautiful. I could feel her back arch into me as I put one arm underneath her and raise her up to where she's sitting on me rocking gently. I bury my face in her hair and run my fingers up from the nape of her neck grabbing handfuls of auburn hair. Eventually the soft coos become moans and she works herself harder and harder on me. With an exhale I was done. I lay back down and close my eyes, I can feel her looking at me, and her tiny fingers playing with my chest hairs. I grab her at her waist and massage keeping my eyes closed.

"You'll be the death of me woman."

She is deliberate in her action. She cleans and dresses the wound she's steady and delicate. She returns her gaze to me.

"What's next?"

"Eurasians are coming. But what we really need are the hearts and minds of the folk around here."

She nods.

"Most of them are fishermen, they live in houseboats around the swamp. There are a few kiosks which sell essentials, my mama grew up around here. We help them. We give them health care and decent food and water. We give what the government doesn't. We show them they are not forgotten. That's how we get them on our side."

I creep my hand closer to hers and for the first time in a while she takes it not in a masochistic or erotic way but as my partner. I put my hand on the nape of her neck and press my forehead to hers.

"I'm sorry this happened."

I feel her struggling with a sob.

"You have to stay with me." I tell her.

She sits up, she still looks lovely though her auburn tresses cling to her face and her sleepy eyes maneuver to focus on me.

"This is it. Five years. This is what I've lived and breathed for. I know our movement hinges upon the success of this mission. If we take back Saint Jude and give it to the people in the open like we are here. It won't be like Lyon again. We'll have the people on our side."

"You already do." She says back to me touching my face. "The people out here stopped giving their produce to be exported. We're here cultivating right now."

"I would die for this." I tell her I look her dead in her hazel eyes "I would give my life."

"I know."

I nod my head. Halfway expecting her to tell me she feels the same. But she has a strong sense of commitment and I know she just lied. Yet she would die for me first. Her heart is stronger than her mind.

She lays back on the cot arms above her head submissively. I watch her, the rise and fall of her chest, all the tension that had broiled in me before comes flooding back.

She takes her arms and wraps them around my neck, I take a hand feel her, I take my other arm and wrap it beneath her waist. Despite the urging of her hands I take her slow breathing into her keeping my forehead against hers. She puts her hands on my chest pawing and ignore them, I'm only wanting to concentrate on each agonizing moment and I press my mouth onto hers.

When we're done she lays back down fingers curling her hair. She sits up and kisses my back.

"We've got to get it together." I tell her.

"Sleep." She says and lays back down.

I lay beside her.

The next morning she lies in my bed arms over her head. Her face is peaceful, her head cocked to one side. The covers are wrinkled around her yet her left side is exposed. I get dressed quietly so as not to wake her. I start coffee and make her crepes. I leave them out as I slip out for my day.

We sit around the fire, Vladimir, Ciro, Lola, Phillippe our outside contact and a few others. We're all huddled around as though we were attempting to stay warm from an icy night even though the heat is intense.

"How do we proceed?" I ask the group.

"Take Saint Jude back." Rene a corporal pipes up. "Siege style, surround them and force them out. We can have enough men here within the week from the Petite Mount"

"We'd be starving civilians." Ciro interjects spitting the loose tobacco from his cigar.

"We have to get the people on our side first. The government says we're terrorists, show them we're not. Expand out here, educate them give them medical care just like we did in Saint Jude. The key to any revolution is to have the peasants on your side. The ones who are the most oppressed." Ciro says.

Ciro has apparently adopted the hearts and minds theory.

"I agree. I know this area, the people here, sugar cane farmers, fishermen, who have to give their hard work to the government for a monthly ration. It's like the middle ages here. The people live in squalor. Show them that there's more, that they can take charge of their crops, their health, their lives." Lola pipes in again. "That their children can live better lives."

"Lola, how about you and Ciro go out there tomorrow, introduce yourselves. Give the people a check up. Tell them who we are and what we can provide." I say. "Is that okay with everyone."

They shake their heads.

"Let's start building an encampment. Vladimir bring us the goods we need, and soldiers to train the men. We're going to fortify and unify before we do anything else. Got it?"

"Yes sir."

We break apart to start our day. Lola goes to tend the wounded the others to their tasks.

"Marc?" Ciro says from behind me. "You think she'll be able to handle this?"

"There won't be any violence. This is what she's good at."

"Okay. But what do we do if she breaks out here?"

I turn to him.

"She won't."

I walk of to my tent to read intelligence reports. Ciro and Lola have great minds, tortured ones but great. Ciro finds Lola weak, and Lola finds Ciro violent and at the same time they're thick as thieves. They better each other. I need the best of them right now.

"Can you get backing?" Vladimir asks.

"We can. My clan in San Juan stands by our principals I could talk a few into joining. We have friends on the mainland as well. We've already got a network of smuggling in goods."

"You have to get the people guy. This won't be quick." Vladimir says with a icy face. "Not the preparation, the revolution needs to be like a storm."