Dinner consisted of a pile of rare roast that Ruth had sliced and broiled like steaks. Sean and Molly both managed to clean their plates so they wouldn't be suspicious. Molly even managed to down the "good luck family treat," the cup of blood from the broiling pan. It wasn't nearly as bad as she thought it would be. After dinner, she helped Ruth with the dishes while Sean and Jake stayed in the living room.
Sean was fascinated with the collection of World War II photographs on the wall. One somewhat familiar looking face was in many of them. "Who are these of, your father?"
Jake shook his head. "Me. North Africa, Italy, France and Germany, 1942 to 1945."
"You must be..."
"Eighty five."
"You must have some healthy genes."
"I was near dead before Ruth got me improved. Now I have my strength. My bones don't break. My hands don't shake. My back and knees don't hurt. Even my face looks younger. God has blessed me with a second life."
Sean thought for a moment. The muscle growth hormone levels skyrocketed on the aliens. The repair facilities and bone calcium density had climbed. It would not be unreasonable if the old people who became aliens and didn't die right off would feel and act much younger.
Jake pointed to a framed Luger with an SS armband. The finish on half the gun was almost gone. "I got that at a Nazi concentration camp. The head of the camp blew his brains out as we liberated the camp. I took it and his armband. By the time I took it out of my pack the finish on that side was all eaten up from that bastard's blood. We knew what to do with Nazis then. We killed them until they surrendered. You called them Washington Thresholders Nazis. They're worse because they're ones of us."