One of the two dogs lay dead in the morning sun. They weren’t even done licking the blood from Wferium’s bones when the uncontrollable pain set in. The other lay sleeping, both warmed and sated by the ancient’s entrails now residing in his stomach. Only one dog could actually die from DOE because, in the end, only one could’ve given the killing bite. Death couldn’t be shared like that. Death always knew who’d done the deed and never guessed wrong.

The unfortunate dog that died didn’t resemble much of her former self. She was just a puppy now, frozen by ice crystals slowly marching into every crevice. Her final position screamed of contorted, mind numbing agony. This was usually the way DOE won, which was kind of an oxymoron. DOE stood for Death Of Existence, which literally meant to disappear into the nothingness everyone was prior to birth, but when one grew younger their tolerance to pain grew weaker. After all, how much torment could a baby really stand? Either way such a death rarely failed to shock and horrify, made worse by the fact it was happening to someone or something so very young. Those with any semblance of a soul wished to put them out of their misery, but death always came at a price, as if compensation for ending the show early.

The dog who lived didn’t seem to care much about the dead puppy, his longtime companion, the shredded ancient or the fact he’d gotten so incredibly lucky. He was probably planning on having some more of Wferium for breakfast, but her mutilated corpse had been lying in the woods outside the camp for most of the night and was now a bit freezer burned. Still, it was unlikely he would’ve minded. He was used to his food being cold, which was probably why she’d tasted so good the first time, when she was still so nice and warm and juicy.

However, breakfast had been cancelled; or rather his first choice had been taken off the menu. He watched forlornly as what little remained of the body was dragged away. He’d made a claim of it, but was whipped until he released it. Then he was screamed at and basically put in his place, because regardless of his diet or his abuse, he was trained and obedient. He was told to stay and he did. Tethered to a tree, a little thing called a chain leash helped towards this end. This still left him plenty of leeway in the immediate area, so he began licking up Wferium’s frozen blood and the bits of her that tore free during the original meal. When these were gone he resorted to eating what remained, namely the dead, frozen puppy, as was, he supposed, planned.

<><><><>

Ben Kaplan and Kyle Sorenson were only doing as ordered. It wasn’t exactly a fun job or a pretty sight. It was made all the worse as they knew exactly who she’d once been, even though she now more closely resembled hamburger meat than an actual person. They counted themselves fortunate this extended to her face, as neither were thrilled with the idea of her staring back at them. The two participated in the revolt against the ancient, but they were rife with fury at her betrayal and didn’t exactly know what her fate would be. Things were different now.

Now guilt enveloped them like a blanket. Sure, Wferium steered them wrong, leading to many unnecessary deaths. Sure, she seemed to be losing her mind. Sure, she had devoted herself to the pure nonsense of the firstborn myth. All these things were true, but she’d once been loved and revered. She’d once protected her entire flock with a determined devotion. Once upon a time, Wferium was a good and honest woman who could be trusted. Did she honestly deserve to be turned into whatever this now was? Even if her crimes deserved death wasn’t there a more humane way to go? Didn’t she deserve as much for all the good she’d done?

Now they stood at the precipice of even greater horrors. Perhaps not if their task ended with dragging her body to a place of eternal rest where she could hopefully find peace, but that’s not what they were doing. It was just a passing thought anyhow. The ground was frozen solid. None who’d recently met their end would be buried until spring and that was if they hung around long enough, which seemed unlikely. Yet they weren’t even taking her to the dead pile where everyone else was kept. That was in a discreet spot deep in the woods. They were headed back to camp.

Their job was to drag the ravaged ancient back and string her up for all to see . . . upon her own hallowed Queen Tree! They knew why too. She was to be an example; a warning if for nothing else than to obey. Neither knew if the camp could survive without Wferium, but now those who remained were being submitted to tyrannical rule. Right now Ben was remembering Wferium’s worst moments as fond ones and wholeheartedly believed, when they were done with this particularly grisly job, everyone else would be too. Whether that meant abandonment or death, they couldn’t know.

This was not an order from their new ancient, Aryl Czar, who wasn’t really an ancient at all, but was revered as such. It was a silent unwritten rule she’d ascend next in the hierarchy of the camp. She was their failsafe and likely what cemented the decision to end their once beloved leader. Tamerlane knew all about Aryl’s place and fought against it as often as he could with disobedience and irrational choices. He was, as everyone knew, trying to stage a coup. To a degree, it was working. He divided the camp, but Tamerlane’s followers made up a much smaller percentage than those backing Aryl.

So, Tamerlane reluctantly obeyed her, without even knowing Wferium was dead. He wasn’t in camp when it happened. He wasn’t a witness to the event and probably wasn’t even privy to the knowledge of what would happen to her beforehand. Few were. Many within camp possessed abilities. It gave them purpose to be there, aiding them in the search for seeds, but unless you were at least AA100 or so your foresight and all other such gifts were sporadic and weak. It took many years to hone these skills.

Tamerlane obeyed Aryl as a soldier would a lieutenant, not a general. Wferium had that rank, but made it clear to all, bar her own orders, Aryl was to be obeyed. It seemed Tamerlane hoped to further balance the scales before Wferium passed, but that just wasn’t in the cards. The assumption was he planned to keep recruiting under Aryl’s rule. Of course, that was stupid. Everyone knew what Tamerlane was all about. Everyone knew both Wferium and Aryl tolerated his useless, pointless antics because both viewed him as powerless. He wasn’t. He may not have been particularly wise, but the tides were changing and he was smart enough to monopolize on it.

Why? Because he knew Aryl wasn’t in camp either. She’d left on the orders of someone even higher. She was, Ben supposed, either completely, peacefully usurped or merely a puppet to the shadow in the background. That shadow had now come to light. He was the one Wferium warned everyone of. That shadow was Sarafyn. It was him who’d given the order to display the unidentifiable corpse of his own sister to the public eye.

Sarafyn was the tyrant and dictator rolled into one. He was angry; so very angry. Many chose not to oppose him at all, but foolishly some had. These died publicly, effectively convincing others not to repeat those fateful acts. Still, there weren’t all that many left to win over. The camp was dying.

There were 30 at Wferium’s last stand, not including the ancient herself. At the time at least six of them had already been crippled by that damned boy’s sheargun back at the grocery store. Ben should know. He was there. He’d gotten lucky not to be among the dead or wounded. Then Dietram killed Berial and died for it. That left the camp with 28 people, five of whom were now invalids. This 28 included Cynthia, who was now just a little girl with the knowledge of an adult.

At the time the camp housed a total of eight children, six of whom returned after their participation in apprehending that stupid boy. It seemed obvious these six had formed a bond and with Wferium’s power over camp waning, their only tether broke and they deserted once more, likely back to Madison.

Shortly afterwards that bitch, Meraine ran off to do who knew what. She was followed by Tamerlane and five others, basically on Aryl’s orders. These five already sided with Tamerlane for leadership of the camp. That probably wasn’t a coincidence. Those who thought him best mostly stayed near him. Ben wasn’t one of them. He’d always thought Aryl was wiser and that’s what any seed hunting camp needed most. Not some renegade. Aryl probably sent them to get rid of them. The logic made sense, but it hurt what strength remained of the camp to do so. Or maybe not. Cutting away the chafe wasn’t a bad idea.

Only 15 were left, with five wounded, and Cynthia. That left nine, many of whom trailed after Aryl into the woods with Wferium. Aryl had yet to return, along with three others. Only five healthy remained, one of whom was young girl of AA12, having been raised inside the camp. Two more were women, but strong and motivated. That just left him and Kyle as the only two able adult men. It soon became clear one of the two women, Carmen, was missing. Everyone assumed she’d deserted, which was unacceptable, but given the current state of things, who could argue? It wasn’t as if it mattered. No one was volunteering to go after her.

Then Sarafyn came into the camp and assumed authority from Aryl. He had his own agenda and it showed. It was obvious he couldn’t care less about the welfare of the camp, much less seed hunting. So, three stood up to him, but those weren’t really the right words. Two of them, a man and a woman, were crippled from earlier. The

third was Daria, the last healthy adult woman, whom Ben fancied. He hadn’t really gotten to know her like he’d wanted to, but that no longer mattered. Sarafyn had all three killed to keep everyone else in order.

Now there were only seven left. Two men and one woman who were crippled. Cynthia and Jennifer, who really was a young girl. Then Kyle and himself, Ben. It was no wonder Sarafyn chose them to bring Wferium back. There wasn’t anyone else who could do it. Neither were about to say no. He already knew Kyle wanted out. He did to. There wasn’t anything left here.

Sure, Aryl would soon return with Sebastian, Manning and Todd in tow, but they’d probably return with Tamerlane’s crew in tow. Then with the scales more balanced, there’d be war. Maybe not normally, but no one under Tamerlane witnessed Sarafyn’s brutality. They wouldn’t fear him. They wouldn’t respect him. They certainly wouldn’t obey him. There would indeed be war. Maybe none would survive it this time. He didn’t need to be an ancient to feel death coming. It wasn’t exactly something Ben wanted to get in the middle of.

Still, he obeyed, praying, likely in vain, for Sarafyn’s protection. He had nowhere to go. This camp had been his life for the last four years. Everything he’d known, everything that came before, either died or faded away. He had no one and nothing outside this camp. His last hope was Daria and Sarafyn threw her away like trash.

So they dragged in what was left of Wferium to the astonishment of the few who remained. Perhaps that wasn’t the right word. Even sheltered, brutal murder wasn’t unknown to anyone in camp, but none needed to be told who this once was. Even though most agreed Wferium’s death was justified, all who saw the result of it and how it was displayed were appalled at the audacity of anyone who’d do such a thing. Ben had to agree and loathed himself for the deed. He proved it when he paused his grisly task to disgorge what remained of his breakfast. For this, most had sympathy. After all, everyone knew who’d given the order. A rage was fueled, or refueled, but tempered by fear. Whatever was felt multiplied when they began to tie the frozen mess to the lone tree in the center of camp, but what could anyone do?

When it was done they both returned to their respective tents and waited for the storm that would surely arise from the sacrilegious act. Then that simple storm would evolve into an unbridled tempest that may very well end everything they’d ever known.

<><><><>

Nothing fit. Not anymore. It wasn’t as if she’d ever really had much to begin with, but now. Small piles of women’s clothes adorned nearly every corner of Cynthia’s tent. She’d thrown them everywhere, much like the senseless tantrum a child of her current age might have. She was EA6.

Cynthia remembered telling Wferium how being reduced to that age was a death sentence. Death would’ve been a gift. The ancient assured her she’d be kept safe within the confines of the camp. She wanted to believe Wferium, but she just didn’t. She’d never being more enraged and the feeling hadn’t faded since. This fury fit her tiny body like a glove. She remembered, like now, how it now fueled everything she did.

She needed the anger. She needed the hate. Why? They stood guard against the fear longing to creep in, both protecting her and granting her strength. Without them death would find her. Hate was all she had left, because not even her god damned clothes fit anymore. They draped over her miniscule form like robes, dragging across the well-traveled snow, soaking it all up and melting into a horrid mess whenever she was anywhere harboring warmth. They were, if nothing else, a constant reminder of her “new” age.

Sometimes it seemed a modern miracle she remained when so many more capable men and women were dead, frozen and awaiting spring to rot. Would she join them still? What was her life expectancy now? With Wferium dead, who was left to protect her? No one else bothered to, but then few acknowledged her existence, as if they’d already written her off. Either way, they all had so much better things to do. Many died for them.

Not her. No. She hid and watched as her anger boiled over. There existed within her a fear of the ancient’s death. She’d repelled it time and time again but it always returned. It refused to be ignored. Not that any love remained for the bitch. She hated and loathed her for what happened. She’d experienced a brief moment of happiness at the news of it. Inevitably, that passed. Things were different now.

With no intentional lack of appreciation for the fact she still breathed, Cynthia looked toward the future. Her luck wouldn’t last and she knew it. She must align herself with a new power or die. Her first choice was Tamerlane, her lover. She’d always shared his unabashed ego and disregard for the rules. His intensity, no matter how unguided, was an aphrodisiac for her. It fueled their sexual encounters. They’d both gotten looks for it. Sometimes it was a knowing wink and sometimes a frustration bordering on hatred. She hadn’t seen it that way though. Those were looks of jealousy.

Whether or not she knew it, that ended the moment of her “transformation”. Suddenly he wanted nothing to do with her. Sure, if she’d taken a moment to consider how she would’ve handled an EA6 Tamerlane, she might’ve understood, but she didn’t do that. She didn’t even know what exactly she’d expected, but being shunned wasn’t it, especially since she’d been rejected by half the camp. If that wasn’t bad enough, the other half, like that ancient bitch Wferium, pitied her. That earned them Cynthia’s festering, but heartfelt hatred.

That didn’t negate her need of protection. She couldn’t hate everyone. That would get her killed all the quicker. Tamerlane wouldn’t help her. She already knew that. She even begged. All she’d succeeded in doing was embarrassing him and herself. God knew she wouldn’t dare stoop that low to anyone else, but with him she had to try. He hadn’t threatened to kill her. He couldn’t bring himself to it, but she could tell he was on the brink. If only she’d pushed a little harder.

Sometimes she wished she had. After her subsequent suffering, a tiny part of her began to think it might’ve been romantic to give her youth to the man she believed she loved, but there wasn’t any love. Never was. In all they’d done she figured the word “fuck” could’ve easily replaced the word “love”. As in “Oh, baby! I fuck you so much!” or “This camp makes me so damn crazy sometimes. You’re the only one I could ever fuck.” or her personal favorite, “I fucking fuck you!” He’d gone out of his way to prove that’s all it was. She’d been Tamerlane’s whore and now she knew that’s how everyone saw her. Not one of them could’ve been jealous of that.

She’d since come to terms with it. She was a whore. At least that’s what she’d been. Who knew? If she lived long enough to grow up, again, maybe that’s what she’d become, again. Of course, losing Tamerlane was worse than simply being chronically horny. He supported her. Why? Because no one could fuck him the way she could. He had to look out for number one, right? To be clear, number one wasn’t her. No. That would be his fucking dick. He had to keep it nice, wet and juicy. That was something she knew how to do. She was good at it. Maybe the only thing she was good at.

So, providing for her kept his dick wet. That was important, right? Well, apparently not anymore. She’d tried. She knew her pussy was too tight to fuck now, but she still had her mouth and hadn’t lost her oral skills. Yet, that proved to be too disturbing even for him. Who would’ve guessed Tamerlane had any morals?

Sure, Cynthia had her own tent, but she’d gotten used to her cushy life, which wasn’t saying much being shunter. She’d gotten used to needing Tamerlane. Afterwards she had no idea what to do. If anything, she now realized, Wferium stuck up for her when no one else would. Whatever. It was rare her fury allowed her to realize anything so humbling. Most of her thoughts on Wferium consisted of three words, “Die, bitch, die!” Now that had more than doubled to, “I’m soooooooo glad you’re fucking dead, bitch!”

So then who would she side with? The only one left was Aryl, the bitch’s right hand bitch. She was strong and capable. She was more than strong enough to protect little old Cynthia, but she didn’t. She didn’t refuse her. She didn’t speak to her. It was like she was some sort of annoying pet who barked too damn much. Or maybe it was that other thing often said of children . . . out of sight, out of mind. Or maybe, children should be seen, but not heard. She should know. It was how she’d felt.

Turn around was fair play, but she didn’t much like the other side of things. It was worse than it sounded. Most everyone in camp wanted nothing to do with her. There was one who did, but not in a nice way. That would be Jennifer, who was AA12. As an adult, Cynthia picked on little Jennifer continuously. It wasn’t anything terribly cruel. No. It was just cruel enough. Why? The camp whore could control nothing else. She’d wanted power over something, and not an animal. Little Jennifer fit the bill.

To the best of her ability, adult Cynthia prevented her interaction with the young thrill seekers, only slightly older than the twelve year old. Most deserted, twice now, but not Jennifer. Of course, she wouldn’t have left anyway. Her father needed her. Sure, he was a decent man and resided in camp with her, but the hierarchy wasn’t exactly traditional. He meant well, but was chronically weak, as in timid, not wounded. That translated to strong when compared to the morons who lived in “society”. Life was hard for seed hunters. Anyone who could make it work was naturally ingrained with some strength, even those lacking courage. Cynthia didn’t care. She’d impose herself on the girl anyway. It just made it all the easier to use and abuse. She didn’t give a damn what daddy thought, even if he had the balls to protect his little girl. Who the fuck knew what happened to mommy? She’d vanished years earlier.

Cynthia cared more now. She didn’t pick on Jennifer anymore. No. Jennifer picked on her. After all, she was now twice her “current” age. Knowledge and memory will cling to someone after youthing, but not strength. Rather they will retain the strength of the EA. That didn’t turn out so well for Cynthia. It didn’t help matters when the chaos of the camp let loose a Jennifer unchecked and unchained. Of course, she wouldn’t dare get her revenge via murder. Thirteen was considered adulthood and Jennifer was only one year away. She was old enough to know all about DOE. That didn’t mean she couldn’t hurt her. That didn’t mean she couldn’t take her to the very brink of death. She did try.

All that saved Cynthia was her knowledge from adulthood. She knew tricks. She knew how to run and set traps, but murder wasn’t an option for Cynthia either. Her EA was too young. She would DOE off of 12 years. She didn’t think it was god damned fair. The odds were at least even. Both had taken hits. Both had been bloodied, literally. Both suffered the nastiness of a reality gone wrong in their own specific ways.

This reality included the three D’s . . . desertion, disappearance and death. The camp was crumbling before their very eyes. If anything, focusing on each other helped them not focus on the fact that everything they’d ever known was dying. So they both embraced willful ignorance, which was just a complex way of saying denial. Not that either would ever admit to it, but death was coming whether they liked it or not.

Even so, they shared something in common now . . . more than role reversal. They both needed protection. They both got it, but from an unlikely source . . . Sarafyn. He’d refused to murder children or sanction the murder of children. In fact any who tried would die. He’d told them both as much. He just had one condition though. They both needed to learn to protect each other. He said no one, not even him, could protect them if they couldn’t protect one another.

That was a steep price to pay and they’d both scoffed at the idea. It was as he said, refusal to the obvious. Then, of all things, one of the women, Daria, tried to hurt Jennifer. Maybe even kill her. She was old enough to hold the years. Cynthia reacted. She figured it was on impulse, but she’d remembered what Sarfyn said and possessed the adult knowledge to understand the truth of it. Or maybe she’d just pegged Jennifer as her personal punching bag and no one else could have a turn. Who could say which? Either way, she picked up a good sized stick and put all her weight behind it. Daria took it in the small of her spine. Both girls heard a resounding crack that hadn’t come from the stick.

Daria was the only healthy woman left inside the camp, but not anymore. Her back was broken. Cynthia thought Daria probably had her reasons for attacking Jennifer; reasons she could understand, but in that moment none of it mattered. They’d both gotten away, but there was a time when all Jennifer could do was stare at Cynthia as if she were more than suddenly young . . . as if she’d had three heads. That soon passed and an unlikely friendship formed. If nothing else, they both lacked anyone else who would. Bar Sarafyn, all other candidates were dead, gone or just couldn’t care less.

Or just wouldn’t, like Jennifer’s father. At one time maybe things were different, but now he relied on her more than she did him. She all but hated him. He was weak and the chaos terrified him. It didn’t matter. That was no excuse. Neither was the fact he’d never gotten over his wife’s desertion. Cynthia soon learned the details and sympathized with Jennifer’s plight, as her mother abandoned her at a young age too.

Newly bonded, both girls took the matter to Sarafyn, whom they both trusted for reasons none other in camp could comprehend. To their relief, he said he could protect them now, especially since he’d temporarily assumed control of the camp. He told them he’d sent Aryl on a mission. He told them Aryl was his wife. He basically told them everything. It seemed he’d needed someone to confide in more than they had. It worked out well for the trio. Then he told Cynthia one final, but crucial stipulation. For his protection to work she had to forgive his son for causing her condition. That was a hard thing to ask . . . much harder.

There was only one person she loathed more than Wferium, who’d set the stage for her demise. That was the boy, Jason, who had, intentionally or not, set in motion the events that led to her youth. In fact, she wouldn’t have found such forgiveness within herself if not for Jennifer’s support in the matter. Maybe it was all selfish. Maybe Jennifer simply didn’t want to lose the friend she’d finally found . . . the sudden child in a camp full of adults. Did that matter? Cynthia didn’t think like a child. Apparently it did matter. Perhaps Jennifer now thought of all the things she could learn from Cynthia’s experiences. What would that be? Sex? How to be a whore? That’s pretty much all she knew.

That was, of course, untrue. Adults experience something called adulthood. It comes whether they like it or not. Also, for whatever reason, Jennifer wanted her to stay, so she wanted her to forgive. So she figured she could do that, or at least try to. He wasn’t even in camp, which made it easier, but Sarafyn said he’d be returning eventually and that he needed her help, both girl’s help, to keep him anchored and safe. Cynthia didn’t know if she could do that. Protect the one who’d sentenced her to death? Yet Sarafyn said he’d see her back to adulthood if she could. So she said yes. What other choice was there? Only death awaited refusal.

Then he said he needed their help with the first order of business . . . securing the camp. That would begin with Daria’s death. Of course, it was as an example to all child murderers, since he’d told them that was her intent; mind reader and all. Naturally, he could’ve done it all on his own, but he needed the girls to grow up, and fast. So, they tracked her down and each girl took an arm, with Cynthia putting her full weight on her assigned hand. Once distracted, Sarafyn proceeded to sway Daria into wanting to slit her own wrists. The girls were amazed and somewhat horrified when they released her and she actually did it. Still, they’d both convinced themselves she’d gotten exactly what she deserved.

Yet there was a price to pay. The whole of those who remained in camp were uneasy with Sarafyn’s substitution of Aryl. Winning over two girls for whatever perverted purpose made things worse, but killing one of their own broke some into revolt. Of all things, the two who resisted most were crippled from the same catastrophic event that claimed Cynthia’s youth, but that simply made them all the easier to subdue. For Sarafyn, they did. They met the same fate as Daria.

Afterwards the succulent scent of fear wafted through camp; fear and reluctant acceptance of the current order of things. Sarafyn’s two little demon bitches had become the right and left hands of the devil. Jennifer’s father, Kyle, had even seen his own daughter in this way. A traitor to the camp was far too tame a title. His little girl had been cursed with the evil Wferium had warned against. Now he repented and regretted for all the good it would do him. He too was forced to obey or die. In his inherent weakness he chose to obey.

Then came the order to drag Wferium’s corpse back to camp. Sarafyn had delegated the order to Jennifer, who was to give it to her father. Cynthia was to give it to the only other strong adult male left, Ben Kaplan, which she happily did. If Jennifer had any reservation in ordering her own father such a grisly task she didn’t show it. Naturally, he was appalled and moved to buck the order of things, but was convinced better of it when she told him Sarafyn put his life in her hands and could do with it whatever she pleased.

Jennifer told her father straight out she was only keeping him alive as a role reversal, which was something she’d learned earlier with Cynthia. She told him he was shitty, fucked up father and a disgrace for endlessly crying over a woman who cared nothing for either of them. She’d told him this was his last chance at redemption and if he chose to decline then his life would be forfeit. He chose not to argue. Rather he chose to run, but didn’t have the guts to actually do it. He was admittedly pathetic, but he was strong and useful as a grunt work manual laborer, which was just about the only thing he’d ever been good for.

So they’d done it and they’d returned. Then they hung up the desiccated, mutilated remains for all to see. Both girls had a degree of revulsion at the sight of it, but held their ground in the knowledge and trust of Safaryn, who had yet to let them down in any regard. Even so, neither girl possessed a cast iron stomach. Vomit was an inevitability.

So here Cynthia was, in her tent and out of her putrid smelling, draped rags in favor of others of the same caliber. She was frustrated. She’d just suffered from a twinge of regret at what she was becoming. She’d tossed her oversized clothes at the fact she was indeed a devil child. Her hatred grew more for herself than anything else at the fact that she, well, kinda liked it. That she’d embraced it all because being bad and abusive was just in her nature. That she was going to hell for it all, but it would be one hell of a ride. She was going to thoroughly enjoy every pothole and pit-stop along the way.

In fact, she’d begun to have certain feelings for Sararyn. Regardless of her size and her age, her mind was still the same and she still had the same desires. She knew there wasn’t anything for it now, but in the future, maybe. Of course, there was always Aryl, who it seemed, was his one, true and ageless love, but he’d had others, quite a few in fact. She could be one of them. She could be his whore on the side. She could live with that. She was brazen enough to think these thoughts knowing full well he could read her fragile mind if only he chose to.

He didn’t. He hadn’t. He was preoccupied and wouldn’t say why, much less see anyone. She was worried. So was Jennifer. They were worried for Sarafyn, himself, but also for themselves. After what they’d done in so short a time, not one of the five others in camp would allow either to live, not even Jennifer’s father, who’d surely see it as a mercy. Though, none dared move a muscle without being sure of their advantage. If they could they’d even see to Sarafyn’s death. So the two girls decided they’d fight for him as he fought for them. He’d earned their loyalty, but they didn’t know if this was a battle they could actually win.

Where was Tamerlane and his crew? Where was Aryl and her crew? Where was Carmen? Meraine was still out there somewhere, too. Jason was MIA as well. Any or all of them could return at any time. All were overdue. Bad things were happening. They’d be blind not to see it. The whole camp felt the impending war between Tamerlane and Sarafyn and Aryl. Death was just over the horizon.

Sarafyn didn’t even seem to notice.

<><><><>

The trancelike state in which the future was told sometimes ensnared. Chock full of images both intensely vivid and immobilizing. It also sometimes lasted for hours with multiple paths revealing themselves in intricate detail. The older the ancient, the greater the effect. Sarafyn fell directly into this hallowed category. It was from this ailment he currently suffered.

He knew he could break free from it and he wanted to, but a sharp pain would accompany the splintered, incomplete futures. He didn’t like what he was seeing, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. His pupils had nearly rolled back into his head to where the whites of his eyes shone plainly. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t seeing with those eyes at the moment. He had his little guards to protect him as best they could from the rabble outside.

He wasn’t worried about any of that. No. He was seeing other horrors. Tears rolled down his cheeks at the inexplicable, irrefutable and most of all, unpreventable tragedy that would forever be burned into his subconscious. He couldn’t predict when a foresight would come and this one came too late. Aryl was dead. He hadn’t seen her death. He’d missed that and was somewhat grateful for it. All he saw, over and over again as if on replay was her brutalized, vandalized body lying frozen in the snow. Another lay nearby, but was of little importance. His wife was dead. He’d sent her on a century long mission of revenge and he’d had it, but the price was too damned high.

He’d loved Lisa. He’d always love Lisa in his own way, but it wasn’t the same. His love for Aryl transcended time and space. No one could ever replace her and no one ever had. In fact it was Aryl who’d finally replaced his love, Mychelle. He’d never actually forgotten about any of his wives, but especially not Aryl. There were just too many eyes watching him. He had to stay away. He just had to . . . for the sake of the mission and for her protection. He needed support and comfort to do this. So he’d found others, just as he knew Aryl had. Even though neither were permitted to speak of it. It helped, but not all that much. In most cases it was little more than a band aid for a bullet wound, but it was better than nothing.

Sometimes the other women could distract him, but if and when that happened guilt would follow. Once they’d finally reunited, his God damned sister was there, but that was planned. What wasn’t planned was how his hatred of her would so consume him. He hadn’t treated Aryl right because of it. He’d planned to remedy that. Now he’d lost his last chance.

It was all too much. Too fucking much, but he couldn’t stop. He just kept looking at her as if he were actually with her and there was something he could actually do. Her eyes were open; frozen open. It was a never-ending sign of respect to close the eyes, even after a murder. He always had. When death came the soul was free. No more malice. No more hatred. No longer enemies. Even the worst of them deserved that respect . . . even Wferium. He’d done what he could towards that end, but the surviving dog left little of her face intact.

Perhaps he should’ve used only one dog, but no. Two was wise. One may not have been able to kill her before she’d bled to death. He hadn’t seen that particular future and an error of that magnitude would’ve cost him his own life. Maybe that would’ve been better. Maybe that’s exactly what he deserved. As long as he’d lived, he had no idea what actually came after death. Aryl knew. If he’d died he’d know, too. Yet what mattered, the only thing that could’ve mattered, was that he would’ve been with her. That might’ve made it all worth it.

Sometimes staying alive was too high a price to pay. It was survivor’s guilt and this was far from the first time he’d experienced it. Still, he endured, despite a history of this pain translating into wrath. It was usually a bloody, ugly fury laid upon the unsuspecting and sometimes the undeserving. He retained some degree of self-control, however, or Jason would’ve died long ago. He needed him back. He needed his son back. He was all he had left. God, he missed Aryl.

Revenge consumed him. He hadn’t seen the act, but he knew who’d done the deed. The red haired bitch he’d glimpsed earlier. He hadn’t discerned her name or he would’ve told Aryl. He hadn’t known all the details or he would’ve warned her. He just hadn’t seen anywhere near enough to prevent such a tragedy, but it wasn’t up to him what he saw. It never was. It was just up to him what he did with what he saw.

He saw many things, far more than just Aryl’s body. He filed them all for later use, but it was his wife he focused on, over and over again. She’d been bared open to the wind. This was no normal death. This was a humiliation. Her murderer had enjoyed it. She would die for it. He would find her and when he did she would suffer excruciatingly slowly, far more than most. Even Wferium deserved better. When it was done, he would not close her eyes. Carmen would be the first in 350 years not to deserve it.

<><><><>

All eyes focused on Sarafyn once he finally emerged from the tent he’d claimed. Many different thoughts were churning. The five seemed so disappointed he hadn’t simply keeled over, but they’d known better. Wferium suffered similar visions, which made him wonder why his girls worried so. He’d been preoccupied with other things. He hadn’t been reading their thoughts, but he did now. They were of relief and abated fear.

The others were busy scheming the tantalizing dream of death. He knew it well. It made it all the harder for his girls that he hadn’t armed them with guns. That was perhaps a mistake, but he couldn’t have the only two on his side losing their nerve and pulling the trigger. They were loyal but inexperienced. They could easily commit DOE. For them death still needed supervision.

Then, summoning her courage, Cynthia said, “The ancients be revered. Something has come to you? You’ve been awhile. The camp wants to revolt.”

Jennifer was wiser this time. “The ancients be revered. You know all that needs knowing. Even our very thoughts. We will know whatever you need us to know.”

Then Danny, one of the two crippled men, screamed, “The ancients be fucked!!! What is the meaning of Wferium’s desecration?!!!”

Jennifer interjected on Sarafyn’s behalf, “Hold your tongue or lose it! Sarafyn is a great, great man! His purpose is not for you to know unless he says as much!”

Danny retorted, “You demonic little bitch! How can you follow that man?! He murdered Wferium!!!”

Cynthia spoke up. “He did no such thing! DOE would claim him if he did! But he had the right to! You should speak! You wanted her dead as much as anyone! I remember!” After a momentary pause for emphasis, her rage boiled to a crescendo and through clenched teeth she sneered, “Say one more word and I will request your death!!!”

Danny said no more. He was frustrated with anger. Though his lips and his jaw moved, he seemed suddenly mute.

Cynthia continued, teeth still clenched, “Does anyone else have any unfavorable remarks for Sarafyn? You need not say it! He can hear your thoughts just the same as Wferium could! So think wisely! Or you’ll end up just as dead as the bitch on the tree!!!”

No one else said anything and perhaps they didn’t even think anything more. Cynthia couldn’t know, but there was no longer any need to. Sarafyn had acceptingly put his hand on her shoulder, maybe even lovingly. At a glance she saw the other laid gently upon Jennifer’s shoulder.

Then he spoke. “I said nothing . . . to test you. You’ve both passed. You’re loyalty is vicious. And my trust in you is well deserved.”

He had planned on saying more, but was rudely interrupted. Anyone could see he’d been crying. The girls saw this, too, but said nothing out of respect. Daryl, the other male cripple, let loose about it . . . a mistake.

“What’s so wrong that an ancient can cry?! Not so strong after all are you?!”

The fury could be seen in Sarafyn’s face. It could not be contained any longer.

“I HAVE SEEN YOUR END, DARYL!!! I KNEW YOU WOULD SPEAK, BUT GAVE YOU A CHANCE NOT TO! YOU WILL NOT SURVIVE THE DAY!!! COUNT YOUR MINUTES, BECAUSE YOU DO NOT HAVE EVEN THE HOUR!!!”

A sudden fear infested Daryl’s soul. He may not like or trust Sarafyn. Fuck that! He fucking loathed the ancient! That didn’t mean he doubted the ancient’s foresight. Sure, he could’ve been lying, but why would he? He could easily kill him and suffer very little for it, but he didn’t want to know what his fate would be. He immediately tried to run, but it was a slow process with only one good leg.

The two girls moved to stop him, but were stopped themselves. Danny had pulled out a gun and screamed, “Don’t fucking move! I can hold Jennifer’s youth! Do NOT fucking test me! Either one of you take a step toward Daryl and so help me god, I will murder the demonic little bitch!”

Then Sarafyn bent over to whisper something to Jennifer. No one else could hear it. She took a minute to decide, but ultimately shook her head once, but firmly. The ensuing silence was awkward, but within a minute Jennifer took another step in the faith Sarafyn had granted . . . then another.

“What the FUCK did I say, BITCH?! I said do NOT fucking test me?!”

Still she moved forward, but slowly. No one else did anything. There was a panic written on Cynthia’s face, but then Sarafyn leaned over to reassure her as well. The distraction proved good.

“And you, King Demon!!! Stop fucking whispering!”

Jennifer hadn’t stopped. Perhaps slowed, but it wasn’t as if anyone could tell. Then an anomaly occurred. Danny finally noticed she wasn’t coming toward Daryl at all, but rather straight at himself. Not only this, but she was staring directly at her own father, who was staring intently back at her. He realized a second too late what was really happening. Then the shot rang out, but it wasn’t Danny’s gun that fired. No. It was Kyle’s gun. Danny was dead before he hit the ground, having taken the splintered bullet directly in the face.

Before the pain hit Jennifer’s father he turned and pulled the trigger again. The back of Daryl’s head exploded as a result. Then Kyle fell to the ground suffering uncontrollably from the pains DOE would soon bring. The screaming shattered the silence of the frozen, noon day sun.

Then the final cripple, Trina, screamed. “You fucking bastard! You used Kyle’s love for his own daughter to weaken his resolve! You FUCKING SWAYED HIM!!! GOD DAMN YOU!!!”

An appropriate devilish smile formed on Sarafyn’s lips. “It’s good to know you’re not all insanely stupid. But this is truly the end. We are leaving this shit hole for better climes. We leave this camp to you two, Ben and Trina. The secret to your success is survival and the secret to your survival is to SHUT THE FUCK UP! THINK YOU CAN DO THAT?!!! I’VE SEEN TWO FUTURES FOR BOTH OF YOU!!! FATE HAS GRANTED YOU BOTH THAT PRECIOUS CHOICE! TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT!”

Ben said nothing. He was nearly petrified with fear, but then he’d been that way since well before dawn. Hanging up Wferium’s corpse had affected him in ways previously unimaginable. Trina’s tongue was a bit more loose.

“FUCK YOU!!! GOD DAMN YOU!!! WHAT THE FUCK CAN YOU DO TO ME THAT HASN’T ALREADY BEEN DONE?!!! DEATH IS A GIFT!!! ESPECIALLY IF IT CAN DESTROY AT LEAST ONE OF YOU!!!”

Then she reached to pick up Danny’s unfired gun, but Jennifer was already there, kicking it away. Trina lost the use of her right arm during Wferium‘s test on Jason, so keeping the gun out of her hands was an easy task. Trina went to grab Jennifer with her left and succeeded momentarily. She let go of her prize the second Cynthia barreled into her with her full weight. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough. She was thrown off balance and fell, instinctively using her right arm to brace her fall. Naturally, the dead synapses failed to fire and the nerve endings didn’t respond. She fell hard on her right shoulder and smacked her head on the packed snow. It wasn’t much of a cushion, but it saved her miserable life, such as it was. Ben did nothing to help her. She wasn’t unconscious but did sport a splitting headache and gash in her scalp.

In her weakened state she was vulnerable to swaying, but she was wise to it and attempted to resist. All that ended when Jennifer split open her cheek with a well-placed fist. Of course, she was only AA12, but the long sought after brass knuckles accentuated the damage. The rest could be attributed to unceasing loyalty, unbridled rage or both. A second after impact, Trina found her head bouncing off the ground yet again. She was still conscious, but only barely. The sway was taking hold.

Ben could think of only one thing to say, and timidly at that, “Please don’t kill me.”

Jennifer turned to him and said, “What have you done to deserve it? What have you thought? Your only violation now is fucking talking! If you want to live, shut the fuck up!”

Ben didn’t need a second warning. He immediately and loyally did as commanded, being little more than a well-trained lap dog wearing humatran flesh. In fact, he barely even moved and tried in vain to choke down every breath. The wind was picking up and he silently chided his clothes for refusing to obey the order his mind had given his body.

Sarafyn knew this. Even though his entire presence was impaired with the intimate knowledge of Aryl’s death, he reserved enough focus for the task at hand, which was not Ben, but Trina. In reality, it wasn’t even Trina. No. The immediate and impending result of his actions had everything to do with someone who wasn’t even present in camp, but he would be soon. Tamerlane was well on his way. It was foremost among the visions filed and could be ignored no longer.