Daria and Helen stood in the yard and watched the remains of the house as Martin moved through what was left of the basement. A ladder was set up near where the front door had been.

"Have you thought about where we're going to go?" Helen asked her daughter. "I would like to try to find out about Amy and Rita and...Mother."

"Then, I'm with you for that," Daria said.

"What about Martin? Will he be willing to come along for a search for strangers?"

The small brunette smiled and said, "I have a feeling that he'd follow me if I said we're going to the desert to live in a shack."

"Doesn't he have family he wants to find?"

Daria said nothing for several seconds, then said, "He has several uncles in West Virginia, Indiana and Kentucky, but he doesn't want to go to them. There is one aunt, his mother's sister, that he was close to. She's...probably dead, since she taught in Washington and was supposed to be on a field trip near there on Black Saturday."

Helen jumped as an ash-covered skillet came up and landed on the ground 10 feet from her.

"Hey!" Daria yelled. "Give us some warning, O.K.?"

Martin's head popped up. A blue bandanna covered his mouth and nose; it reminded Daria of a hold-up man from an old western movie. He pulled the bandanna down and said, "Sorry. I found the skillets, so stay back." He covered his mouth and nose again and he disappeared again.

Daria and Helen moved back and several more pieces of iron cookware came up and landed in the yard.

"Well, we have something to cook in," Helen said, "when we get another home."

Suddenly, a child's bank came up and landed at Daria's feet. She picked it up and looked it over. The bank was of a cartoon character, and it took her nearly a minute to recognize it as the bear from the Pizza Forest restaurant. Then she heard a sound from the basement and moved up to the edge. "Martin?" she asked.

The youth sat on a ladder rung, his face in his hands, as he cried.

"Martin, do you need help? What's wrong? Talk to me, please."

He looked up at her; tears ran from his eyes and caused the ashes on his face to run in small, dirty rivulets. He stood up and moved to near where she was. "I just turned six," he said. "Before Mom went...went nuts. They...they took me to Baltimore and to Pizza Forest. It was the happiest day of...of..." He broke down and started bawling again.

Daria moved to the ladder, but Helen stopped her. "Martin," the older woman said firmly, yet gently, "come up here and take a break."

Martin climbed the ladder to the ground level and sat hard on the porch. Daria moved next to him and put her arm around him. He turned to her, laid his face in her shoulder and cried even more.

Helen took a canteen and moved up on Martin's other side. She patted his back gently and grimaced briefly at the ashes that covered him.

oooooooooo

Odell Jones heard the knock on his office door and frowned. He quickly clicked the home icon on his computer screen. Forever Kristie's blog disappeared and a Sunday School resource site appeared. He then smiled and walked to the door and opened it.

A muscular woman with short-cut blonde hair stood there. She wore the green fatigues common to the Marines and had the chevrons of an E-5 sergeant on her collar. "Mr. Odell Jones?" she asked, a straightforward expression on her face.

The deacon's face paled and he broke out in a sweat. He swallowed and said, "Uh...yes, I'm Odell Jones."

"We have some...things to discuss, Mr. Jones," the sergeant said and she smirked at him. "If I could come in?"

"I'm sorry," he said quickly as he recovered and stepped back. "Where are my manners?"

The woman's smirk widened as she glanced at him. "Oh, I don't know. After all, you haven't tried to look down my shirt...yet."

"I...I don't...I..."

"You don't do that?" She laughed and stood near his desk. "You are lying, Mr. Jones. But that's not what's important right now."

"You're not here to arrest me?" he blurted out and looked down.

The question seemed to shock the Marine. After several seconds, she laughed again. "No, I'm not," she finally said. "But you are...being watched. You are a crotch hair away from being hauled in front of the colonel. You don't want that. With that machete of his, he'd bone you like a chicken."

"Why are you here, sergeant?" Odell asked, a slight confidence showing in his tone.

"You and I have...common problems, Odell. I'm here to make a business proposition to you."

"Oh?"

"Do you have something to drink? Something adult and none of that idiotic fruit punch?"

Odell unlocked his filing cabinet and pulled out a bottle of vodka. "How's this for an adult drink?" he asked and smiled slightly.

"Grey Eyes, huh? Ahh, I prefer Stolichnaya myself. Beggars can't be choosers, though. That will do. Do you have any orange juice?"

"Canned only."

"Good enough."

Odell mixed two screwdrivers and handed one glass to the Marine. As they sat down on opposite side of his desk, he said, "You mentioned a business proposition."

The woman sipped her drink and sighed in contentment. "Not bad," she said. "Not bad at all. Pretty good for a church man. Let's be frank, Odell. Your future here at Carthage is shot all to hell. Forever Kristie has seen to that."

The deacon sighed and shook his head. "Yeah, I know. Blasted, gossipy little twit."

She smiled. "Do you know who she is?"

He nodded. "Oh, yes. She's a 15-year-old member here. Her real name is Renee Andrews."

The sergeant's smile widened and she sipped more of her drink. "You know the nice thing about vodka?" she asked.

Odell snorted. "No booze breath after you drink it."

"Smart man. You have a photo of this 'Renee Andrews'?"

He pulled a church directory out of a nearby bookcase and opened it to the first page of portraits. "Here she is."

The Marine looked at the photograph of the girl, who posed with her parents. She nodded. "Pretty girl. Nice face, nice hair. Can't tell much about her figure, but I bet that you can."

Odell blushed and said, "She has a good figure. Why?"

"She's going to be our meal ticket, Odell. When I said we have common problems, we really do. My...reputation is about to expire within this unit and I'll need to...leave, rather quickly. You will also need to leave. We'll take this 'Forever Kristie' with us and she'll be the first of many."

"The first of many what?" he asked. "What kind of business proposition are you talking about?"

"The oldest profession in the world, Odell. We take this girl, break her in and make her earn us a living. Then we get some more girls. This war has created a lot of lost children and there's a real market for young teen girls. We, you and I, can service this market."

The deacon felt himself get warm as a wave of nausea enveloped him. This is immoral! he thought. Don't do this! Then he wiped the sweat off his forehead and he said, "But...this is wrong. We can't do that."

The Marine smiled at him, but the smile didn't touch her eyes. "Don't you dare presume to lecture me about morals, Odell Jones. You forfeited any rights to do that the moment you stuck your hand inside the pants of a 13-year-old girl. Even more so when you made her...touch your...equipment, shall we say."

It's too late. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Why do you need me?"

"Simple. You're male and strong...and you like young girls. It's time for you to embrace your true calling. Besides, you get to sample the goodies. Renee would be the first and I know that you'd love the chance to sample...and punish...her. Sounds better all the time, doesn't it? Or you can forget it and stay here with your lovely wife, in this backwater church. You'll lose your position and your reputation, your marriage and maybe even your freedom, but hey, that's up to you."

In truth, Odell only took six seconds to decide. He threw his hand up to his face and covered his eyes. with it. "O.K.," he said. "I'm in. When do you want to leave?"

"Tomorrow. I'll let you know. What about those goons the girl mentioned in her blog? The ones who started that fight. One of them is your nephew. Are they useful as muscle?"

Odell snorted. "The way they got beat up, I'm not so sure. One's got a broken leg."

"Screw him, then. From what the girl wrote, those boys are safe here only because of you. My idea is to use them to guard the girls we get, collect anything we're owed from any deadbeats and just be useful. They can learn to fight better. I can teach them that myself. They made the mistake of going after someone prepared to defend himself." She finished the rest of her drink. "They need to embrace their true calling as well."

"I'll talk to them later, then. How are we going to get this girl? I've thought on it, but I can't figure out a way. She doesn't like me, as you already know, so getting near her isn't something I can easily do."

She smiled. "You let me handle that. I'll figure a way to entice her to where you and your boys will take her to your truck."

"Excuse me, sergeant, but you haven't told me your name yet."

"You're right, I didn't. Where are my manners? The name's Kerry Thompson. You and I are going to be rich, Odell Jones."

"How? Money isn't worth much nowadays."

She blinked at him and shook her head. "It's not worth much here, right now. There are still parts of the country that are untouched and life goes on, as normal as it can. You're out of touch here." She set the glass down on the desk, stood up and smiled as he did the same. "One last thing, Odell. I value loyalty from my subordinates."

The deacon frowned briefly when he realized that she was telling him that he was somehow...beneath her. But there was something about her expression that made him scared. Oh, God, what have I done? He cleared his throat and said, his voice shaky, "I value loyalty, too."

She moved up to him and nodded. Then she quickly grabbed his crotch and squeezed hard. "If you betray me, I'll rip off your cock and balls and shove them down your throat. Do I make myself clear?"

Odell gasped in pain and shook as she held him. "Very clear!" he said quickly

"Good. Never forget it." She released him and left the office.

oooooooooo

"O.K., I'm done," Martin said. "I'm coming up."

Daria braced the ladder and gasped as she saw her boyfriend lug a compact safe on his left shoulder as he climbed up the ladder. When he dropped it in the grass, she turned on him. "What in the hell do you think you're doing? That thing probably weighed 100 pounds! Think about your ankle, dammit!"

Martin bent over slightly and breathed heavy as he held his knees. "It weighs 85 pounds."

"There is rope in the garage. I would have gotten it, you could have tied it off and we could have pulled it together. Are you trying to hurt yourself?"

Helen watched the exchange in a slight amusement. It reminded her of the times she and Jake had clashed over some unnecessary risks he took.

"I've carried packs of shingles on my shoulders many times!" he protested and stood up fully. "I did it all summer three years ago. They weigh 80 pounds each!"

"You didn't have a broken ankle then, either, Martin. I love you, dammit, but don't scare me like that."

He blinked at her and said, "Sorry."

"I don't want you to get hurt even more. I want you to heal up and be strong for us."

A sheepish smile covered his face and he said, "Will you forgive me?"

"Probably not." She lifted her glasses and covered her eyes. "Oh, I might as well. I'm only 17 and you're going to give me gray hairs, Martin Peters."

The net results of the salvage operation were one safe (the handle and combination dial melted), 10 iron skillets of assorted sizes, a child's bank and a charred hardcover copy of Nevil Shute's On The Beach.

Daria looked at the book as they carried the supplies in the garage. "Given the war and all, do you really want to read that book again?"

Martin shrugged. "It's mine. I'll replace it when I get a better copy."

After Martin took a quick shower and put back on his clothes, the three went back to the church in time for lunch. They joined Jane and the others for spaghetti and meat sauce with crackers and canned banana peppers on the side. The conversation, coffee, Ultra Cola and fruit punch flowed as they ate.

Daria smiled as Jane laughed at a joke Danny told and she suppressed a laugh at the surprised expression on Helen's face. She noticed Martin staring at her and raised an eyebrow in response.

"I'd like to do something after lunch," he said in a quiet voice.

Neither Helen nor Jane heard his comment, nor did anyone else. "Oh?" she asked, her voice as quiet as his was. "What is it?"

"It's a fantasy I want to fulfill," he replied.

"We should wait until we're alone to discuss this."

He took her left hand in his right and said, "You're going to think that it's silly." Then he pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

Daria shivered and smiled. "O.K. What is it?"

He smiled back. "I want us to dance."

"Dance?"

"I've never danced, Daria, except for the play kind that little kids normally do at times." He looked down at his empty plate. "I want us to dance...a slow dance...alone." He sighed. "I know it sounds silly."

She touched his face and he looked at her. "It's not silly," she said, leaned over, and kissed him. The smiled and kissed again. "My only question, however, is what kind of music do we dance to?"

Martin relaxed slightly and said, "There are some CDs in the garage. Some are the easy listening kind."

"You mean elevator music?" she asked. "Some of that just burns me up hearing it."

"Yeah, but it's nice when you're sick and want to sleep. I got them for my 13th birthday from my grandmother. I put them up with some hard rock CDs I hid from Mom."

Daria finished the food on her plate and said, "Let's go, then." She then drank the rest of her cola. "I'm done."

Martin stood up and said, "Great."

Helen watched as Daria stood up with Martin and asked, "Where are you two going?"

"Martin and I are going to the garage for a bit. We're going to sort through some boxes, get belongings together."

"Alone?"

"Yes, Mom, we'll be alone."

"Daria, with those bullies threatening you, maybe I should go with you."

Daria patted the Colt Python in its holster. "Martin has his Glock and also carry back-ups. We are careful, Mom...in more ways than one. Don't worry."

Helen blushed. The teen smiled, kissed her mother's right cheek, took Martin's hand and the two lovers left the lunchroom.

Across the room, Tommy Jones stood up and moved to follow them.

Jane looked down and said, "Danny...Trent."

The two men stood up and got in front of the bully. "Going somewhere, Tommy?" Danny asked, his arms across his chest.

"It's none of your business, Smith!" the muscular youth said and moved to go around them.

Trent gripped Tommy's left shoulder - hard. "You should try the apple pie, Tommy. It's good for you. Good and healthy."

The boy grimaced in pain and gasped as he stared at the two men. He saw the threats in their eyes and recognized the double meaning of what Trent said to him. "I'll sit down! I'll sit down!"

Trent release him and the boy sat down quickly.

Danny turned to Tommy's friends and said, "Kenny, get some apple pie for yourself, Tommy and Carl. Then you three eat it - real slow."

Trent leaned forward and said, "Daria and Martin are my friends. I take what happens to them personally. Very personally."

Danny smiled as the pies were sat down on the table. "After you eat, sit there for awhile. Let your food settle down and digest. If you get up too soon, you might get hurt."

Jane walked up then and held up her .38 in her right hand. Helen and Pam flanked her, their hands on the butts of their holstered pistols. "Ignore the word 'might'," she said. "Substitute the word 'will' in its place."

The three bullies looked down at their pies and ate in fearful silence.

oooooooooo

Martin locked the garage door after they got inside. They embraced and kissed for several seconds.

"Where's the CDs?" Daria asked as she broke the embrace.

He moved to one spot under a loft area. "This box directly above me." He set up a ladder and climbed up slowly.

"Maybe you should let me do that," she said and put her hands behind her back.

He looked at her. "Why?"

"With your ankle still tender and balancing yourself with a box, you could fall. Besides, you lugged 85 pounds earlier. You're already overdoing it."

"Well, you could fall, too, Daria."

"Yeah, but you'd be there to catch me...or cushion me." She smirked at him. "Come on, boy, move your butt and let me up there."

Martin climbed back down and Daria moved up the ladder in his place.

As she pulled on the box, she felt his hands move up the back of her legs to her buttocks. He gripped her as she stopped and stood still.

Daria turned her head slightly, looked down at him and asked, "What are you doing?"

"I'm bracing you on the ladder, making sure you don't fall. After all, Daria, safety first."

She smiled. "Uh, huh." She got the box in her left hand, waited several seconds and finally said, "I'm ready to climb down now, Martin."

"Oh, sorry." He released her, but kept his hands close to her.

"Yeah, right." She climbed down slowly, the box still in her hand as Martin moved his hands to her sides. As she reached the floor, he moved his hands to her breasts and gripped her again.

"I suppose that this is for safety reasons again," she said and sighed.

"No," he admitted and lightly kissed her right ear. "This is definitely for my...our pleasure."

"O.K." she replied and leaned back against him. "Carry on." She closed her eyes as he continued to kiss her...and hold her. He moved her slightly and kissed her mouth.

When the kiss broke, she exhaled and whispered, "I thought we were going to dance."

"Oh, that's right, we were." He kissed her again. "That way we can get even closer."

"If we get any closer, Martin, I'll be behind you." She pulled back slightly and set the box down on the broken recliner. "We can go back to that in a little bit. I'd like to dance now, since you got me interested in it. But I'll choose the music. Get your CD player ready."

He set up the player on the hood of the F-150, while she rummaged through the box.

Daria held up one CD and said, "We can dance to this."

Martin paled when he saw that it was The Downward Spiral by Nine Inch Nails. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," she said and smiled widely. "We can specifically dance to the song Closer."

He swallowed and sighed. "There's a reason for the parental warning label on the CD."

"It can't be too bad, Martin, since you own it."

"There's a reason I had it in a box, Daria," he said quickly. "After the first time I played it, I put it out here. If Mom found it and played it..."

Daria ignored him and put the disc in the player. She waited until the music started and said, "Let's dance, big boy."

Martin closed his eyes, took her in his arms and they began to dance slow.

"You let me violate you..."

"Ah, the lyrics of love," Daria said, and chuckled in Martin's ear. "You are turning redder than I've ever seen you get before."

At the sound of the first f-word, he winced and she chuckled again. They continued their slow dance.

"My whole existence is flawed..."

"We can make this 'our' song," she said and bit his earlobe lightly. "We can play it in front of the whole church and Mom."

He groaned. "You're enjoying yourself too much," he said.

"No, I'm not. After all, this is your CD."

"You've heard the song before."

She bit his earlobe again, then kissed it. "Of course," she whispered. "I not only love you, but I love to see you squirm."

"I'm glad I'm entertaining you."

"You make me smile and laugh, Martin." She laid her head against his shoulder. "That's a winning combination."

"But what if I had failed the 'test' earlier? What then?"

They danced in silence for several seconds before she said, "My grading standards aren't that tough. Don't take them so seriously."

He kissed her forehead and when she looked up at him, kissed her lips.

The song ended and Daria pushed the stop button on the player. She removed the CD and pulled out an Enya CD. She put in in the player, then unbuttoned his shirt. "You wanted a chest-to-chest hug once," she said. "I want to dance slow again, to softer music, chest-to-chest." She pulled his shirt off his shoulders and arms and closed her eyes as he pulled her T-shirt up and over her head. He reached behind her back and attempted to unhook her bra, but failed.

After three attempts, she reached behind her and did it instead. She smiled at him, started the music and they moved together again. Slowly they danced as soft music filled the garage.

oooooooooo

Col. Kyle Armalin sat at his desk in the trailer outside the church and sipped on a bottle of root beer. He read over his daily report and took another sip. Not the same as real draft root beer, but it'll do for now, he thought.

A knock on the door made him look up and he said, "Enter."

A young male private first class came in and said, "Colonel, there's a Mr. Williams here to see you."

"Williams? One of the church members?"

"No, sir. All I know is that he just got here and he's a civilian from New England."

Great. He's changed his name again. Armalin raised one eyebrow. "How do you know where he's from?"

The private smiled. "When I was Camp Lejuene I dated a girl from New Hampshire, sir. She had the same kind of accent that he does."

"Very well, son. Send him in. Also, get Master Sergeant Horton and Gunnery Sergeant McCoy and send them in here."

"Yes, sir."

The private left and a tall, lanky man in a well cut business suit entered. He stretched out his hand and said, "Kyleton, it's good to see you again."

Armalin took the offered hand and the two men shook. "Uh, huh. I hope you have better news for me, this time. After all, the Hammersville trip ended up being a bust."

"That wasn't my fault. Besides, your actions with that so-called church..."

"It was a real church, Mr. 'Williams'. Make no mistake about it. They just had their heads up their asses."

"...well, Kyleton, let's just say, you nailed Hammersville just right and they served as a good example of what not to do in a crisis." He smiled at the Marine. "How do you like it here in BFE?"

"As good as can be expected, Mr. 'Williams.'" He sighed. "Can't you at least keep the same name for a year or so? I'm ready to call you Joe Bob Betty by now. Or Kilroy."

"Please, my name is George. This time, that is. Besides, I do not question the general. She tells me to jump and I ask HALO or HAHO?" He smiled. "I see you have your root beer stash. What brand name this time? Payday? Big K? Goose Island?"

"Stewart's. Well, I'm waiting. What's the news?"

"I figured you'd want to wait on your two sergeants. That way I can debrief all three of you and answer any questions you might have."

Just then, the two non-coms knocked and entered the office. When the door was shut, the civilian turned on the TV to CNN and turned on a radio as well and spread a map out on a nearby conference table. The four men leaned in close.

Williams pointed at one spot on the map and said, "This is Carthage, gentlemen. Your target is this spot here." He pointed at a reference. "Twenty miles away at map reference 17-Alpha. It is the hideout of Brethren of the Long March."

"Marxists," Armalin said and snorted.

"More accurately, Maoists," Williams said. "So far, CNN and the other networks are convinced that the raid on the lab at Fort Detrick was the work of a criminal gang, though one blog has speculated that it was an Arab terrorist group. It was actually the work of the BLM."

"How many bogeys are there?" one of the sergeants asked.

"Fifteen," Williams answered. "At the height of their power, they numbered nearly a hundred. We rounded up most of them right after Black Saturday, along with members of the Communist Youth Thought League, the Soviet America Brigade and Red Menace. Twenty of them died in a failed raid at a chemical weapon disposal facility in Newport, Indiana. They found a Navy SEAL team there waiting for them. After those two raids, all chemical and biological research, storage and disposal facilities have been locked down and heavily guarded."

The gunnery sergeant looked down for a second, then said, "Sir? There's more than four Communist groups in this country."

"That's right, sergeant, there are. Most of them are also scared shitless right now. We're watching them as well and their turns are coming. Don't worry about that."

Armalin said, "The coordinates you specified are on a backroad. Outsiders would stand out like a sore thumb in that kind of country."

"The property has been in the same family since West Virginia split from Virginia during the Civil War," Williams said. "The current owner, Armstrong Morgan, is one of the leaders of the BLM, which he co-founded while in college. The neighbors thought that he was growing dope or making moonshine there and his security precautions keep them scared them off. They were right as far as dope growing goes. They used the profits to fund 'the revolution.'"

Williams smiled at them and continued, "Your orders are to go in with an 11-man team. Tonight at 2210 hours. Wipe them off the face of the earth. Upon...disposal of the people, we'll come in and take over."

"Kind of last minute for this kind of thing," Armalin pointed out. "I like to be prepared."

Williams said, "Just by virtue of your continuous training, Kyleton, you and your men already outclass them. You go in with that machete of yours and start lobbing off heads and the rest will shit their pants." He handed them a folder of photos. "Aerial photographs of the property. Two Pave Low choppers will take you in, while three Apaches will wait with the rest of us."

"Why not just use those Apaches to blast them into atoms?"

"I see that subtlety is still your forte. We want to see their...papers. Make sure that you kill them before they can destroy anything. The Apaches will handle...any attempted escapees."

oooooooooo

Music continued to play, but Daria and Martin were laying side-by-side in the back of the pickup truck. After their last kiss broke, they hugged and held onto each other. "I have a question for you," she said.

"Yes?"

"It's about Sarah."

Martin tensed, laid his head on her shoulder and asked, "What about her?"

Daria broke the hug, ran her right index finger over the top of his chest and asked, "How much...how far did you two go?"

A few seconds passed, and he said, "I took her to Cumberland once."

"You know what I'm talking about, Martin."

"It doesn't really matter, Daria. Not anymore." He looked away from her.

She pulled his chin back and stared up into his face. "It does matter. I really want to know." He said nothing and she moved her face closer to his. "You did say that there were no secrets between us. Since we are intimate, I think I have a right to know about your...experience."

Martin blushed and sighed. "You'll get mad, or jealous."

"No I won't!" She looked at him. "You two did more than we have?"

He nodded, took a deep breath and said, "Here goes. We were naked together once. We didn't touch, however, or even kiss."

"Oh? Why not?"

"Sarah feared that once we started...touching...we wouldn't be able to stop ourselves." He shook his head. "She was probably right."

"You want to do that with me?" she asked.

"I want to do more than that," he admitted. "But then, you already know that." He stroked her left cheek and they kissed. "I'd like to wait until we leave Carthage, however. This place, this area, has too many...memories. Besides, I want it to be in some room other than this garage."

"O.K." Daria kissed him and ran her fingers over his back. "I look forward to it."