Standard Disclaimer: No copyrighted material used in this chapter belongs to me. This story belongs to Linda Howard/Jones with some RIB and the writers of Glee mixed in. I was 45% finished with rewriting this chapter, and I lost it all. I was so peeved. I decided to forget about recapturing the modifications that I do make to this story-Samcedes, but after twelve hours, I am listening to another story that I probably read over six years ago, and I am in my Samcedes feels. Amber showing that photoshopped picture of her and Chord on the Snixxmas charity Youtube video didn't help either. She is an undercover Samcedes shipper from 2011, but RIB ruined the ship for her and so did toxic fans who love hating on black females in BWWM relationships which I am currently experiencing with some fanboys/girls who hate Naomi Nagata on The Expanse...I could go on in my rant, but I will end it with this extremely long chapter that should be two different chapters and ends before any itches are scratched...Thanks for continuing on this journey with me only six more days to Christmas and the end of this story...

Chapter Nineteen

Herb began to question his decision to be at the meeting when he noticed the men who had gathered in the bank parking lot. They were in one word filthy. They seemed to be poor white trash between the ages of eighteen and sixty, though it was hard to tell when personal hygiene wasn't a priority on any of their lists. Herb did his best to ignore their appearance and rancid smell. He tried to think positively and think that they only looked and smelled this way because of the CME, but not that much time had passed for them to be missing several teeth or have such decayed teeth common with drug addicts. This was a tough, uneducated, and lawless group, he finally admitted it to himself. Still . . .

The events of the morning embarrassed him, more than a little. He kept replaying in his mind the moment Cedes Jones shot a bird at him in his face. How did the little black bitch dare to disrespect him that way? And no one supported him; the people around them had actually laughed at him! The laughter and the disrespect from the rest of the community patrol hurt more than anything else. He wasn't used to being humiliated by a woman, a minority at that.

Herb shook off his resentment and tried to focus on the here and now. Cedes and her minions didn't appreciate him, but this bunch of white men did—or would. Cedes could keep her community patrol. He would be able to organize and lead these men, the same way he had with the employees at his tire stores. Some of them had started off pretty rough, too, but his leadership had brought them around. Most of the time, except for those lost causes that even he couldn't help.

After being introduced to the group by Lawrence, Herb found out that most of the men in their group were Lawrence's cousin, friends, a brother, a neighbor. Disgusting appearances aside, they were an affable group, and seemed to look up to Herb. They saw him as a leader, who they needed to organize them.

They saw him for who he was, not like that know it all Asian doctor or the rest of the area who thought that they were Herb's equal. His pride swelled. Here he was special.

One of the older men, Lawrence's cousin Cooter, took a step forward and grimaced as he almost fell down. It was only then that Herb noticed that the man's jeans fit higher and tighter on one thigh than on the other. A thick bandage to stop bleeding, perhaps? That, and the grimace, and the paleness around the man's eyes . . . he'd been hurt.

Cooter could've injured himself in several ways. For a second, maybe ten, Herb tried to think of ways in which the man could have hurt himself—but, he couldn't fool himself for long because he wasn't an idiot. Herb felt a tightness in his throat. These were the men who had shot up Cedes's store and tried to steal the gas as well as hurt Cedes and the young girl, Bree.

Herb decided to play it cool. He didn't ask Cooter if he was okay; instead he concentrated on not revealing what he had just found out. He looked them in the eyes when they spoke. And as the men discussed plans for organization, he casually moved closer to their vehicles. There were some small holes, maybe bullet holes, in the bumper of one truck but again he did his best to make it look as if he hadn't noticed them.

At quick glance he noted that all six of the men had guns. He wanted to believe that they were here because they were willing to see that God-ordained white male leadership prevailed in their community, that they felt unappreciated though they outnumbered the minorities who were in charge, as Herb himself did, but his gut said that they were dangerous, and he had gotten himself out of the frying pan and into the fire.

He finally figured out how they tried to manipulate him with all their flattery and asking for his opinions, and for the first time he asked himself the obvious question: What did they really want from him? They had to know as an educated, law abiding Christian man, he wouldn't have gone along with them stealing the gas, shooting at women no matter how awful the two older ones in her family were, the little girl did not deserved to be almost killed for gas.

As he continued to feign interest in their conversation, he tried to memorize every face and name. As he stayed he sized each man up. It was easy enough to tell which ones were in charge, and which were only followers. A couple of them were high on some kind of drug, he could see it in their eyes. One man, a neighbor of Lawrence's named Cody, was obviously drunk.

Herb's thoughts seemed to spin around in his head. Instead of planning how he'd form his own army to help them all survive this crisis, now he tried to think how he could get himself out of this mess. He had no intention of joining this gang, not that he was dumb enough to say that aloud and think they'd let him walk away. Maybe they would—but maybe they wouldn't.

What was he supposed to do with the information he now possessed? He needed time to think.

"We need an official place to meet," Lawrence said. "A kind of headquarters like they have in motorcycle clubs." Without working cell phones, they had to physically meet in one location at the same time. In different circumstances, with a different group of men, Herb would've suggested his own house, so he could be in the thick of things, but thank goodness he'd figured out what was going on before he'd taken that step, and also that he hadn't agreed to let them meet at his house today! He didn't want these men within a mile of Bailey, much less in their home.

It did make sense to suggest that they should meet at a place more convenient for the volunteers, something central, perhaps near the school. He nodded; he wanted it to look as if he was participating.

As they were discussing the matter, Cody the drunk spoke up in a voice so loud it might have carried across half the county. "I've got a friend whose mom owns that little shop by Breadstix. I'll talk her into letting us use it. It's just sitting there, empty."

A few of the volunteers nodded in agreement, and once more Herb joined in. He didn't care where they met so long as it was far from Bailey.

They set a time to meet at their new headquarters—the day after tomorrow, which would give Cody a chance to gain permission and a key, and perhaps to sober up—and it was done.

As the others wandered off, Lawrence placed a hand on Herb's shoulder. It took everything Herb not to shudder with revulsion. "You might want to quit the community patrol and tell Cedes Jones and her folks to go to hell, and I sure as hell wouldn't blame you, but don't do that just yet."

Here it was, Herb thought, the real reason they wanted him here.

"You see, they don't trust any of us. But you, Herb, they trust wholeheartedly."

"I don't think they really trust or appreciate me at all," Herb replied, allowing his true resentment toward Cedes to show. "That bitch—well, never mind."

"Don't blow your cover. We'll need you as a double agent. To let us know what's going on like her sitting on all that gas and nobody knowing about it until now. Food is going to get more scarce, and an army needs ammunition, too. Pain medicines are already running low, and I figured since you know Dr. Mike, you can find out what he has and where it's all stored."

Herb didn't want to readily agree. He didn't want Lawrence to become suspicious of him. "So, you just want me to be the group's spy."

Lawrence smirked. "We want you to gather and share important information. You can call it spying, if you want to, but I see it as another step in ensuring our survival. Survival of the fittest, and all that. We also need more educated white men to join us. You appeal to a different income bracket of our fine community, you can convince others like you to be a part of our efforts."

Herb nodded, but didn't smile. "Most of the community patrol act as if they'd rather I moved back to Ohio. Let me think about it. I know they're not telling me everything, so I don't know how much use I'd be."

"Don't think about it too long, Herb. We need your leadership skills in our army."

Herb didn't answer; he just left with a lot on his mind. The walk up the hill to his house was becoming less and less arduous, as he had built up the muscles in his legs, and he had lost a considerable amount of weight not being able to eat sugar and processed foods and all the walking he did for transportation. The only good thing that had happened because of the CME. He tried to look behind him to see if he was being followed. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Lawrence wanted, and why. He knew these type of men were evil and wouldn't mind hurting people. Who was he kidding, they might even enjoy it.

He needed to take this information to . . . someone who was probably their next target. Mike Chang, even though they hadn't gotten off to the best start, the man needed to be warned about their plan to get to the medicine. It would be a little humiliating, but Mike was smart enough to be a surgeon, so he would know what to do. But not now, not today. He suspected Lawrence or one of his crew was watching him right now even though he couldn't see them, waiting to see how he would respond to their request. The best thing he could do was go home and not do anything at all.

They didn't want a leader, they wanted an insider to manipulate and use and probably kill later. They wanted to be a motorcycle club without the bikes. They probably literally were the sons of anarchy. If he turned back now, if he showed any indication that he intended to share what he knew of their plans, he and Bailey would be in serious and immediate danger.

He detested Cedes Jones—truly hated her, especially now. He thought she didn't know what she was doing, and he wanted to replace her, but he didn't want her dead, he wouldn't have been a party to robbing and shooting at her, and if Lawrence had his way there would be more of the same coming. He had to find a way to stop him before it was too late.

Sam let the dog out of the truck at the Carlisles' house, and the animal began running around sniffing at everything as he reacquainted himself with the area. Jim and Mary Jo came out of the house next door. They both looked more defeated than he'd expected. The dog dashed over to Mary Jo and she crouched down to give it some tender loving care.

"I just stopped by to see how y'all were doing," Sam said.

"I can't complain," Jim said, though his gaze slid to his own house, a sorrowful expression crossing his face. Behind them, the neighbors came out of the house, too. "Thank God, we are alive."

"I can't bring myself to go back home." Mary Jo kept her head down, looking at the dog as she continued to stroke him. "I keep seeing . . ."

"It's cleaned up," the neighbor woman said. "If you'd just take a look—"

"No, Carole, I can't. I'm sorry. Not yet. I don't want to continue to impose on you and Burt, we'll go somewhere else—"

"Mary Jo Carlisle, you know that isn't it at all! I just want you to feel safe."

Sam decided to distract the women by changing the conversation. "How about I take the dog in your home to look around? You know about Cedes Jones distributing her stores of gas from the underground tanks, right? I brought you all extra storage cans full, and a portable generator. If you two men will help me get the generator hooked up and fueled, we'll turn on the heat and get your house warm."

Immediately the two looked distracted by the different subjects he'd thrown at them. He knew from his own experiences that having something else to think about was a respite. Logically taking the dog in to look around wouldn't change a thing, but the Carlisles were too emotional right now to think logically.

Mary Jo brightened. "Yes, let the dog look around. What's his name?"

"I haven't named him. I thought I'd let you do it." That was another distraction.

Her eyes widened and she looked at the dog with something approaching joy. "I get to name him? Oh my! That's a big responsibility, isn't it, boy? That's a good boy, yes you are." She punctuated her words with scratches behind the dog's ears, who reveled in the praises.

Sam whistled the dog over. "Is your home unlocked?" he asked.

Both of the Carlisles looked taken aback, because obviously that hadn't occurred to them. "It is," their neighbor affirmed, and went inside with Sam and the dog.

Sam didn't do anything specific, just let the dog run around inside and sniff at everything, letting it get accustomed to his new home, and also to get Sam's own scent in the house so the dog wouldn't feel abandoned. He looked in the kitchen where the shooting had happened, and while they were waiting for the dog to explore, he and the neighbor named Burt talked about what had happened at Cedes's store, about the gas—the neighbor had filled his car and also a couple of storage cans—about how hard Mary Jo had been taking everything. She didn't feel her home was safe any longer; she'd lost her place of refuge.

Sam had thought of a lot of things when he'd gone back to his place hours ago to get the dog and the parts to get the suction pump going. He hadn't known Mary Jo and Jim hadn't been able to go back into their home, but he knew how people reacted to trauma, and he knew about changing environments. That's what he himself had done, an insight that struck him only now, for the first time. He'd come to these mountains, isolated himself after living for years as part of a team, and set about making himself as self-sufficient, and self-contained, as possible. Mountain living was different. The effort required to become self-sufficient had been the means he'd used to distract himself, to get him to the point where he could . . . where he could begin healing.

He hadn't thought of himself as wounded. It wasn't until Cedes that he realized he wanted to be whole and was able to tolerate more contact with people that he could begin to see where he'd been and how far he'd come.

Cedes. She'd been the Kryptonite that had brought him out of the cave of hurt isolation, the same way he was using the dog to bring the Carlisles out of their cave. The comparison amused him, though he didn't know if he'd tell her that. Her gentleness was what he'd noticed first about her, and he'd wanted to protect that, keep it untarnished; telling her something that might embarrass her wasn't the way to do that, though he suspected she might think it was funny. Maybe one day in the future he'd tell her just how she had changed his life forever.

"What do you think?" the neighbor asked Sam jerking him out of his thoughts.

He had no idea what the guy had said, so he shrugged. "I think we need to get the generator out of the truck and fired up, get these folks some heat. They can't live in a house this cold."

"They're welcome to stay with us, but they want their own space, and at the same time Mary Jo has been afraid to come back. How are you gonna work this out?"

"The dog," Sam replied, and went back outside with the dog following on his heels.

"Have you thought of a name yet?" he asked Mary Jo as they pulled the generator out of the back of the truck.

Of course the dog had dashed back over to her for more ear scratching and belly rubs, and it was rubbing against her legs in a frenzy of affection. She actually blushed. "I think McConaughey," she said. "I like— I used to like watching the actor in my favorite romantic comedies. I would tease Jim and told him if I was younger that I would have set my cap for him."

"McConaughey's a good name," Sam said. "Listen. Do you think you could take care of him? I'm away from my cabin a lot, and this boy needs more company than I can give him. With him in your house, no one else would be able to sneak in, and mountain dogs are protective dogs and would alert you and scare off potential intruders."

Sam saw her face lit up and watching his wife, Jim seemed to finally catch on. "I'd love to have a dog around," he said slowly. "I've missed having one. But how will we feed him? We're having trouble feeding ourselves."

"I'll hunt for you." Sam made the offer with a sense of resignation, because he'd already known he'd have to do it. "I brought some of his food, his blanket and bowls, and the rope I use for his leash. His collar is pretty ratty, sorry about that."

"I can make him a collar from one of my old belts," Jim said, beginning to truly smile himself, as he looked at the dog. He squatted down and patted his thigh. "C'mon, McConaughey, come let Pops pet you."

The dog ran towards Jim, and Mary Jo came with him.

While the old couple was bonding with the dog, Sam and the neighbor took the generator to the house and got the electric heat pump running. That done, Sam retrieved the food and the dog's things—which included his old shoe—and took them in. Seeing the shoe, the dog raced after him into the house, wanting his toy. Jim followed, and, somewhat reluctantly, so did Mary Jo. Sam saw the alarmed look she cast toward the kitchen, then the dog pounced on the shoe and began shaking it from side to side and a smile enveloped her face as she watched him.

Making another trip to the truck, Sam brought in a kerosene heater and an extra can of kerosene. "After the generator gets the house warm, use the kerosene heater to keep it that way, at least until Cedes can get some braziers made." He had no doubt she'd manage it, somehow, if there was a kiln anywhere in walking distance. He looked around. "I think that's it. I have another stop to make, so I got to get going."

Jim went to Sam and shook his hand. "Son, I can't thank you enough for what you've done for us." He nodded toward Mary Jo. "This makes all the difference in the world."

Sam shook the gnarled, bony hand, still vaguely surprised to be touching someone voluntarily.

The sun was getting low, the long day almost gone. He was hungry and tired, and that was the least of it. Part of him, if he lived to be a hundred, would never recover from how he'd felt when he'd been racing down the mountain in the dark, terrified that he'd find Cedes dead in that store over gas and knowing he'd never forgive himself for not thinking ahead and knowing there was a slight window of opportunity for stealing it.

Talk about a defining moment. He'd known then after praying that she would just be okay, that he'd be rethinking what he'd planned on doing for the rest of his life. His body and heart had known all that she was a part of him, and now his mind knew what his heart was trying to tell him all along. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn't alone; he just hoped he could handle the transition with his PTSD.

He was also extraordinarily proud of how she'd handled herself—with nothing more than a puny gun and her young cousin to hold off the thieves—but she'd probably never even see herself as anything special. She would prefer working behind the scenes rather than putting herself out there, but when the occasion called for drastic measures, she did what she had to do. She protected her gas and kept her cousin safe. There was not even a cut on the girl. Cedes was a special woman. Even if she and Herb Duncan didn't see it, he saw her as special, and that was what all that mattered.

He never wanted to spend another terrifying moment wondering if she was dead. Everything had crystallized inside him during that short time, letting him see clearly what was important and what he could put aside. She was important. He loved his family, but his heart was now opening to someone else. Not just as his as his woman as he felt she had branded him earlier while taking care of him, but his as his soul mate.

All he wanted now was to see her.

Well, that wasn't all he wanted to do, but just seeing her would make him feel better.

He began driving to her house, but when he passed her aunt's blue house he saw her white Honda there and whipped his truck into the driveway. Before he got out of the truck, he picked up a can of the food he'd had the foresight to bring with him, and put it in his coat pocket.

As he got out of the truck he looked around, paying attention to the sky, which had been sunny earlier but in the last hour a low, lead-colored cloud cover had moved in, and the temperature had taken a decided dip. Snow, he thought. Maybe not much, given it was still early in the season, but the weather had to turn sometime, and he was figuring it would be tonight.

He went up on the porch and knocked. In a few short seconds Cedes's face appeared in one of the panes in the door, and she opened it. "How did it go after I left today?" Guilt crossed her face. "I intended to get back over there, but I slept too long, and when I did go, everyone was gone. Was it you who boarded up the windows? Thank you."

She stepped back to let him enter, and closed the door behind him. He'd been right: he did feel better just seeing her, being with her. He liked how she'd immediately jumped to the conclusion that he'd been the one who boarded up the windows. "Some guy named Carl Howell had some plywood to donate. He and Brett Bukowski helped. I didn't expect you to come back over there anyway, you were wiped out." The warmth of the house, and the smell of food cooking, enveloped him like a hug. How could he have forgotten? There was something about women, the way they took a space and without thinking made it into something softer and made a house a home.

Bree sat on the couch, her eyes big with curiosity as she watched them, and a woman with dreadlocks was stirring something in a pot set over the fire in the fireplace. Cedes said, "You know my cousin Bree. Carmen, this is Sam Evans. Sam, this is our friend Carmen Tibideaux. She's living here for the duration."

"Who's out there?" someone called from another room.

Cedes paused, gave a subtle cast of her eyes heavenward, and called, "Sam Evans." Then she closed her eyes and seemed to be waiting for something.

"What? White Chocolate is here in my house?"

"She's on pain medication," she murmured to him, her cheeks heating. "We got her in the shower today, and had to give her an extra dose afterward to knock down the pain. Since she broke her leg, she's had two moods: inappropriate and irritable. You can guess which one she's in now."

Bree was giggling on the couch, and she yelled, "Grandmother, behave!"

"I am behaving! What I want to do is throw something, because I'm stuck in this damn bedroom by myself. Bree, you didn't hear that."

"Yes I did."

"And . . . the mood just flipped to irritable." Cedes gave him a small smile. "You may want to leave while you can."

He'd faced worse things than a pill-fueled auntie. . . maybe.

"You have to stay for supper," said Carmen, turning to smile at him. "It isn't anything fancy, just beef stew and cornbread, but there's plenty of it."

His first reaction was to refuse; habit was habit. His second reaction was to remember the woman standing right there beside him, and he said, "Thanks, I'd like that." Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the can he'd put there. "I brought this. Figured you could use some bacon."

Cedes went still, staring at the can in his hand. Carmen wheeled away from the fire, the forgotten spoon in her hand dripping liquid on the floor. Bree bolted off the couch. "Bacon," she said in a reverent tone as she came to stand beside him, then in astonishment added, "Bacon in a can?"

"Yeah." He held out the can to Cedes, and she took it as carefully as if it was made of the finest crystal.

"Well, my goodness gracious. I've never seen canned bacon before." Carmen came over and peered at it. "How do you cook it?"

"It's already cooked, but you can crisp it up the normal way."

"What the hell is going on out there?" Roz bellowed.

"He brought us bacon!" Carmen yelled back.

"Bacon! Damn it! I'm stuck in here in bed, and y'all are out there with real bacon—"

Sam sighed. Obviously the only way to settle down the older woman was with bold action. He wanted to spend time with Cedes, and he couldn't with her aunt constantly yelling from the next room. "Is she decent?" he asked Cedes.

"She has clothes on, if that's what you're asking. I wouldn't go any further than that." A tiny smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

In battle Sam had learned that action, even if it was the wrong action, was better than inaction. Silently he strode in the direction of the uproar, which broke off as soon as he walked through the bedroom door. The woman in the bed gaped at him, her eyes and mouth wide. Yeah, he recognized her, knew the improbable—now fading—blonde in her hair. She was covered with a sheet and a blanket, her splinted leg propped on a couple of pillows. Silently he went to the side of the bed, bent, and scooped her up, covers and all. Carrying her out, he asked, "Where do I put her?"

"Right here," Cedes said swiftly, pulling out a chair at the table and turning it to the side, then pulling out another one on which her aunt's broken leg could be propped. "If she's going to be in here, she might as well eat at the table with us." Sam deposited the woman in the chair and carefully supported the broken leg until Cedes had the other chair and some cushions arranged. "Is that comfortable?" she asked her aunt, leaning forward to straighten and tuck the covers around her.

"Un huh," the woman said, still staring at Sam. She held out her hand. "I'm Roz Washington."

"Pleased to meet you." He took her hand. "I'm apparently White Chocolate."

She didn't blink. Instead she said, "Honey chile, if you only knew the other names I've called you."

"You definitely do not want to know them, stick with White Chocolate," Cedes advised him.

He took her word for it. He looked around, feeling a little awkward, but she indicated another chair at the table and he settled into it. In short order the food was placed in front of them.

It was a simple meal; Roz said a very brief grace over the food, then the bread and stew were passed around so people could get as much as they wanted. Cedes had seated herself beside him, and he noticed that she took the smallest portion of any of them, and made a guess that she was doing without to make sure the others had enough to eat.

That couldn't continue. He'd make sure she had enough to eat. He loved her curves and all. And he planned on making sure she didn't go without a anything ever again.

He didn't remember the last time he'd had a conversation with a meal—likely when he was still in the military. But then, this was the first meal he'd eaten with anyone else since he'd gotten out. When he was in Texas with his family, he couldn't bear sitting down with them and eating as if everything was normal. He wasn't the same Sam they knew and loved, and he couldn't pretend to be and watch his mom suffer because he was suffering. When Cedes asked, "Did everything go okay with the gas today?" it took a moment for him to realize she was talking to him.

"Well enough." Some people had gotten testy about being limited to five gallons until everyone who had been in line had gotten a share, until he'd told the complainers he didn't mind if they went on home, so there'd be more for the others. He'd given the same reply to the ones who had complained about a record being made of how much they got, and that they'd have to reimburse the store once the power came back on, and they got back to work. He looked mean enough that not many people came back at him, plus he'd spent the day with the shotgun strapped to his back. There was just something about a shotgun.

An added bonus was that the shotgun scabbard had rubbed against the cut on his shoulder, making him more visibly irritable. Sometimes things worked out for the best.

Cedes was looking at him as if she expected more in the way of information. "Let's go get naked" didn't seem like something she'd want to talk about in front of her relatives and family friend, so he settled for a safer subject. "Jim and Mary Jo loved the dog. Mary Jo hadn't been able to go back into the house, but with the dog there she felt better. She named him McConaughey."

"After Matthew McConaughey," Carmen said, smiling. "She does love that actor. I prefer Idris myself."

Sam had never heard of Idris, but he'd take her word for it.

Bree gave him a petulant look. "I can't believe you gave that sweet dog away."

"Yeah I had to." Again, expectant looks that asked for more. "They can give him more attention than I can, and they need a dog there to look after them. I'll do some extra hunting to keep them all fed." He glanced at Cedes. "Any progress on those braziers? I loaned them one of my kerosene heaters, but that's a temporary fix because they'll run out of kerosene."

"There is." This time it was Roz who answered. She shifted her leg uncomfortably, but focused on the subject. "Holly Holiday came over to talk about it, while you were asleep, Cedes. She does still have the kiln. It's not a big one, and it's electric, so she'd need a generator and fuel to fire it up. She said the design of a brazier was simple, it's basically a grill pan, but she could do one medium-size at a time, or two smaller ones at once. How many do you think we'll need?"

"I have no idea," Cedes said. "Plus people will need charcoal for them."

"Charcoal is no problem. It can be easily made, all you have to do is just burn the wood down to that point," Sam pointed out. "I'll set up the generator, so she can get started. Even one small brazier will mean a lot to people who don't have any heat or any way of cooking."

Would you listen to him. He'd talked to more people today than he had in the past three years, total. He could feel the discomfort gnawing at him, the need to withdraw to the top of the mountain where there was nothing but trees and earth, wind and sky. That was no longer an option, unless Cedes was there with him. The compassion that was a part of her, the care she showed for others, had become something he wouldn't willingly do without.

"I'm thinking hundreds of braziers," she admitted, rubbing her eyes as if overwhelmed.

"A lot of people already have grills," Bree piped up. "I know there has to be good ventilation and all that, but they could be used and if people are too stupid to open a window a little bit, that only improves the gene pool, right?"

"While I might agree with you in theory, in practice we don't want to kill anyone off," Cedes pointed out, though she smiled a little. "The same precaution goes for the braziers, because like you said, they're basically grills."

She brought out a notebook and began ticking off things she'd thought about. Evidently they were in the process of getting some sort of schooling organized for the kids. Everyone—literally everyone—would need to plant vegetable gardens in the spring—and she had a list of who would need help plowing up a plot and sowing the seed. She had a list that made his head hurt, people who had medical conditions Mike needed to see, places where herbs could be gathered and squads of gatherers organized. A bigger drying shed would be needed. They needed a place to cure meat. They needed springhouses to keep butter and milk cold.

This was going to kill him. There was no way she'd give up trying to make her world livable, trying to get her friends and neighbors through the crisis. He was up to his neck in this to help her accomplish her almost unattainable goal.

"We still have to deal with security problems." He was very aware of the word we. "The people who tried to kill you have to be found and dealt with, because they're an ongoing problem until then. The community patrol is looking at vehicles as they patrol, asking if anyone has been hurt. Until they're found, everyone in the valley is in danger."

"But they failed. The gasoline is out of the tanks now."

"So they start attacking and stealing from individuals. That's their next step."

He saw her flinch at the realization that by fighting off the thieves at the store, she had inadvertently made individuals the next targets. He wanted to tell her that it didn't matter, that after the asshole punks had used the gasoline they'd have moved on to smaller targets anyway, but the conversation had already skipped to another topic.

Eating had slowed and then stopped. Cedes and Carmen got to their feet and began cleaning off the table, while Roz looked pleased to be sitting where she could talk to them while they worked. Sam figured he was more in the way than anything else, so he went to put another log on the fireplace and stand with his back to the fire, enjoying the warmth.

After a little while, Bree hesitantly approached him, and stood beside him in an unconscious mirror of his posture. She was silent for a minute, then asked, "Were you in the army?"

"Marines."

"Oh." Another silence. "My brother Matt is in the army. He's at Fort Benning."

"Close to Columbus."

She nodded.

"He is okay, then. The military bases will have power, and they're secure. Columbus Georgia is not as big of a city as others that have bases, and it is South where it is warmer and near lots of farming communities, so he is in a safer location with lots of food."

She nervously rocked back and forth. "Do you think he's ever shot anybody?"

Of course shooting someone was bothering her. Sam wondered how in the hell he was supposed to reassure a teenage girl about doing something so violent. The last time he'd interacted with a teenage girl for anything longer than ordering fast food, he'd been a teenager himself. Now they were like an alien species to him.

"Unless he's been deployed to a combat zone, no."

"He hasn't." She paused again. "Have you?"

"Been deployed? Yes."

"To a combat zone?"

"More times than I can count."

"So you've had to shoot people."

"Yes."

"And hit them?"

"I was very good at my job." Let her infer from that what she would. She was a kid, so he wasn't going to spell things out in graphic detail for her. He glanced over at Cedes, wondering when it would occur to her to rescue him. Even normal people had problems dealing with teenagers, and he hadn't been normal for a while now.

"I think I shot someone," she confided.

"I hope so. A bullet wound would make it easier to identify the gang."

"You don't think I killed him?"

"With a .22? Not likely. Possible if you hit a major artery or organ, but not likely."

Then she went off on a tangent he hadn't anticipated. "So you think I should get a bigger gun?"

He sent another look at Cedes, and a mental message: Help me! Now!

He obviously sucked at mental messages, because she kept chatting with the other two as they washed and dried the dishes. "What I think is that I wish I'd been there instead of you two. Whether or not you're armed and how you're armed is a personal decision for you and your grandmother." And in a perfect world, there wouldn't be war, and a teenage girl wouldn't be asking him about weapons. The world wasn't perfect and never would be, but knowing that didn't make him less uncomfortable.

"I wish you'd been there, too," she said, and thank God that seemed to end the conversation because she had nothing else to offer, and neither did he.

Cedes looked over at him and smiled, a soft smile that went all the way through him and it kept him there waiting on her. Because there was nothing he would not do for her or to see her smile that way at him again. He was whipped.