Chapter 4

2940 Upton St #A
Washington DC

Spencer

"So that was a propaganda film?" Kat asked later that evening. "It was kinda…blah."

Spencer put his book down and looked over at her. They were getting ready for bed, he was reading while she was brushing her hair over at the mirror. "Blah? The whole point of a propaganda film was to be inspiring, to encourage people to fight for the cause. It's supposed to be moving."

She paused in her brushing and looked at him. "I know, love. I was in them, remember?"

Oh. "Right, I take it yours were more exciting?"

"Well, they did have real battle footage."

"Oh?" Even now, every so often he'd learn something new, some new bit of horror from her past. But it all mattered somehow. If I had to worry about forgetting, he thought, I'd write it all down. Maybe I will anyway.

"We were in Eight, Gale and I. I was supposed to be visiting a hospital, you know, comforting the wounded? The Capitol bombed it while we were trying to leave."

Spencer made a sound of disgust. "They couldn't even stick to the Geneva Convention."

It took Kat a moment. "Right, we covered that in class. Anyway, Gale and I helped take down the bombers. Not that we were able to do enough."

Now it took him a moment, "With your bow?" He wondered why she had explosive rounds for that thing.

"Yeah," she started braiding her hair back for sleep.

He could picture her, in that remarkable armor, her bow pointed toward the sky, shooting down…airplanes? That would be…. "I bet that was a remarkable sight. Did you have a tag line?"

"Fire is catching. If we burn you burn with us." She finished and came to climb on the bed beside him.

"Memorable." And horrifying, but several therapists he had consulted with had told him that it was best to not imbue her memories with any more emotional energy. Doing so would only reinforce the trauma, it was better to acknowledge and agree that it was so very wrong, but not to get overly upset in front of her. If nothing else, it might make her shut down for fear of harming him.

"I suppose." She wasn't exactly looking at him. She was looking off into her memories.

Watching her move like that, in her soft night clothes was utterly distracting. It made everything go warm once again. Besides, she needed to take her mind off the past. He set his book aside and rolled over to look at her. "Well, I am glad you retired from film making." He leaned over and kissed the point of her shoulder. Why not. "You make a very tasty retiree." Come back to me.

"Do I?" He felt her relax, her attention shift to the present, as she caught his intent.

He kissed her collarbone, "Yes, very much so." He lightly slid his fingers under the hem of her nightshirt and bent and kissed her soft belly right above her hip.

She laughed. "That tickles." She informed him.

"A retiree with a charming laugh," he kissed her there again. "We should try to hear more of that."

"And how are you going to go about doing that?"

"Well, I've heard a theory that exposure to the prostaglandins in semen can be mood enhancing." He kissed a little higher up on her belly, lifting her shirt as she obligingly rolled over.

"Oh really?"

"Yes. In fact I know one case where someone is so sensitive they tend to break out in the giggles right after exposure." He pushed her shirt up high enough to bare the lower curves of her breasts and kept kissing his way up.

"Hmmm, we may have to try that then." That decision made she reached down and tugged him up to her lips.


Sonoran Desert
Fifty miles west-south-west of Nogales
Mexico

The small caravan stopped in the middle of nowhere. The first and last vehicles were battered army jeeps, repurposed for private use. They each held a brace of well-armed gunsels, all part of a private army. The center car was a brand new American SUV, practically a tank, but a tank with fittings of the highest luxury.

They arrived at their destination just as the sun dropped below the horizon. The head of the small army got out of his jeep and went to knock on the passenger window. The window lowered a trifle, letting out a waft of ice cold air. "Señor Nieve, que estamos aquí."

The window was rolled up without comment.

They waited.

Thirty minutes.

An hour.

By ninety minutes the men were starting to get restless.

There was a whiff of ozone.

Another

A crackle.

The men looked around for the source.

One of them pointed out a place where the darkness seemed to be swirling somehow.

Then…a crackle of lightning erupted from it.

Another, and the men scattered to hide behind the vehicles, the rocks.

Another that tore into the night.

And then the darkness…opened.

Three men in oddly cut suits stepped through.

The sky closed behind them as if nothing had happened.

The three men walked over to the SUV. Two of them were carrying cases that were obviously heavy. The leader was carrying one that was light. They walked over to the SUV and stopped.

The driver got out of the SUV, and opened the door for Señor Nieve, the head of the organization. He stepped out of the SUV and waited. "Señor Nieve," the first of the three men said with a polite nod. Then he turned and opened one of the four heavy cases carried by his associates.

The gleam of gold was obvious, even in the moonlight.

Señor Nieve nodded and smiled. He indicated the back seat of his SUV. The two associates took the cases and slipped inside. He turned to the leader. "Y usted es?"

"Fossman. Juegocreador Fossman. Su tataranieto envía sus saludos."

With that the two men joined the others in the SUV, and the caravan drove away.