Flowerhill Place

Amiko

1 Prologue \

The countryside, ravaged by the Great War, bore silent witness to the struggle of its ragged inhabitants, solemnly soaking up the spilled blood, the tears, the fears and hopes of the men and women fighting fiercely upon the sun-baked grasslands.

It mattered not to the abused earth what it was the people were fighting for; it could have been territory, or a blood feud. Who knew the reasoning of man when it came to war?

Long ago bombs from the sky had fallen, changing the once-prosperous country forever, leaving ugly scars and wastelands upon its face, throwing its people into poverty, desperation, and primitive ways. Many had died at the first Impact. Then there had been the Dark Years; those terrifying ten- odd years in which disease and deformities from the aftermath some of the bombs had spread among the people, beaten back by those frightened into hiding, finally brought under control and at last squashed as those with the life-threatening sickness within them were dragged into the once-busy streets and burned. Mutant children were denied life; were killed before they had even had a proper breath of their new, desperate world. And so Nature reared its mighty head, and the weak were weeded out.

And Man lived on.

No longer were the streets filled with rushing cars and buses; the haunted skeletons of stores and buildings remained empty, avoided, and long- since looted of their goods. Electricity was something almost forgotten, technology had gone down the drain. People too intent on making it through each day alive were not concerned with rekindling the ways of the twentieth century. Not yet. Horses were utilized once more; those with quick minds and slick words quickly rose to command as those that trusted each other separated from the 'thems' of the world to become 'us'. The tribes and clans scattered throughout the country, housed in old forts and factories, some taking to the wild.

Nature was slowly finding her feet again, scrabbling for a hold while she had the chance. What man had taken from her before, she hurried to replace. The roads cracked with the roots of plants that pushed through them, deer wandered unafraid through the abandoned cities and towns, and the places where the earth had not been ruined or harmed by the bombs were rising quickly to assert themselves in this new world that they were fighting so fiercely to claim.

Just as fiercely fought the remaining men that ran upon the earth's surface; they no longer cared what had caused the Great War, what politics had triggered it or who had sent the bombs in the first place. Survival was all they concentrated on, and their very nature drove them to fight for what they thought was rightfully theirs.

In this instance it was a dispute over land, as is most often the case.

Two clans crashed against each other, crude weapons up to bear as they fought with animalistic intensity and brutality, their reason clouded by bloodlust and instinct.

When it was over, the victors triumphantly plundered the goods of their fallen foe, collecting the weapons and trinkets from the bodies of the fallen. A team was sent out, setting a grueling pace to follow those few who had escaped, tracking the terrified, unwitting men to the place where their vulnerable—the very young and old, and the women who could not or would not fight –were waiting for news of the outcome.

Right on the heels of the escaped came the pack of men, whooping and laying about freely with their weapons, creating instant terror and chaos in the small camp as the few remaining fighters were cut down, and those that were in the way met similar fates. Women with small children gathered their brood to them protectively, some of them trying to run to safety, their infants clutched to their breasts.

Laughing and heady with the success of their battle, the men from the opposing side moved quickly to stop those trying to escape, killing those that struggled most, their blood still pounding with adrenaline, making them unreasonable and savage. Screams and cries rent the air, and those that realized they could not escape ran to each other, crying hysterically, knowing instinctively what their fates would be as women. The laughing, leering men surrounded them, drawing a wide circle around the sobbing women and children, the handful of old men already slain, their wrinkled, twisted bodies lying in the dirt at their feet. Rope was brought to bear, and manacles. These women would make good slaves, maybe good wives. Certainly good entertainment on a lonely night.

"Mama!"

One woman stepped forward, away from the group, defiance in her countenance, her eyes flashing like jaded fire. She pushed her child behind her with one hand, never taking her eyes from the closest men, her jaw tight and trembling with suppressed rage, fear, and grief over those who had died.

"What use have you for children?" Her voice rang out sharply and clearly. Bravely she faced down the men who held her life in their hands. "We cannot stop you from taking us, but spare our children. They will only be in your way; they are just more mouths to feed. Give us that, at least. Spare them. Let them go."

Half of the men, still crazed and filled with the rush of victory, only laughed at her, and made rude comments.

One of the men, bigger than the rest, cocked his head at her, grinning. "They wouldn't survive a day out here," he shot at her, relishing the pain that flickered in her proud eyes. She was a looker, this one. And she had spunk. He raked his eyes over her body appreciatively, too concentrated on the woman to pay serious attention to the whimpering, weeping children. "You would have them die out here of starvation? You're right, they'll just be more mouths for us to feed—don't you think it's better for us to finish them now, quickly, instead of having your precious brats die miserably in the wilderness?" He laughed. "A mother's instincts are strong, and you may be reaching for some kind of chance to keep them alive, but they are going to die either way."

"I would rather them die in the wilderness than by your blades in front of the eyes of their mothers!" the woman cried out hoarsely, her voice so choked with emotion that the man was given pause, his conscience struck. It was inhumane, once he calmed himself enough to think correctly. And what did it matter? They were going to die anyway on their own. If the women saw their children left behind unharmed, perhaps they would be more cooperative. He licked his lips. This woman had guts and brains. He definitely wanted her for his own.

"Very well, then, woman. Have it your way. You all come along quietly and your precious kids live." He motioned to his companions.

The woman in front hid the pain in her eyes from their captors by turning quickly to her daughter, crouching down to meet her frightened gaze, her tearful jade eyes boring into the identical, frightened eyes of her firstborn. "Kirstie," she said quickly, quietly, before her daughter could protest. "You must take care of your brother."

"But mama—" she gasped, almost choking on her tears, her eyes wide with alarm, tears streaking down her face.

"Listen to me," her mother said fiercely, cutting her off, seizing her by the shoulders to get her attention. Her heart was pounding, and the wailing ache inside of her was fighting to break to the surface. With an immense effort she forced it down, refusing to show her own overwhelming fear to her child. "Take care of Jeromi and the others that are smaller than you. Go with Miss Harriet's son—listen to him, he's the oldest boy. He'll take care of you. He's in charge now, Kirstie."

The little girl shot an uncomprehending look towards the older boy who was trying to look brave as he listened to what his own mother was telling him. "Phillip's only fourteen," she protested weakly, trying to find any excuse to stop what was happening, her child's mind unable to fully grasp the enormity of what was going on. "You take care of us, mama."

"I can't, honey." Her mother's voice broke helplessly, and she blinked rapidly, pulling her daughter in for a tight embrace. In the background her son watched with wide, blank eyes, his arms wrapped around his stuffed rabbit, not yet aware that his mother was going to leave him for good. He hung limply in his mother's quick hug, unresponsive to her quick "I love you", blinking up at her as she rose hastily, nearly dragged to her feet by one of the strange men. Then his view was blocked as his sister, hiccupping with sobs and wailing for her mother, pulled him against her protectively, backing away to stand with the other sobbing, confused children, watching helplessly as the Bad Men pushed her mother in a group with the other women and tied her hands cruelly behind her back.

Then they started walking, away from the destroyed camp, away from the small knot of children, the mothers looking back constantly, all of them weeping, some of them begging to be let go or be killed. Only Kirstie's mother kept silent, keeping her eyes on her children constantly as she walked, tears streaming from her blank, unblinking eyes. They kept walking, farther and farther away, in the direction their husbands and brothers had started out that morning, onward, into the sunset until Kirstie could no longer distinguish her mother from the others.

Then they were over a slight rise in the land, and gone from sight.

It was as if the earth had swallowed them whole, claiming the women for its own, leaving the children orphaned and frightened, and desperately exposed.

"I want Mama," Jeromi was sobbing softly.

Kirstie didn't seem to hear him, her eyes locked on the horizon where her mother had disappeared, as if the woman she had adored since birth would somehow magically reappear and come back to her.

But she did not.

Kirstie never saw her mother again.

2 Chapter 1 \

Luckily for the children, the season was just turning into spring when they were torn from their mothers and left to fend for themselves. The harsh heat of summer or the merciless cold of winter would have killed them off quickly, claiming the lives of the smallest first, and working its way up.

Phillip, who because he was the oldest boy had been appointed leader, had always been willful and quick-thinking. After the first two lonely, frightening nights spent huddled together in the abandoned camp, Phillip forced his own grief into the background and stirred the other children with sharp words or with coaxing, depending on how far each child was submerged in their own fear and depression. He knew that if they didn't move out soon, they would starve, and if they didn't find shelter their exposure and vulnerability would get them killed.

There were seventeen children in all, one a very young infant not even weaned from his mother's milk, yet. The rest ranged from two years on up, to Brianna, the oldest at fifteen. She tried to help Phillip, forcing the children to their feet, directing them to help gather what few supplies they could from the trashed campsite. The two horses of the clan had bolted during the attack, and hadn't returned. They dug up enough dried meat and scattered fruits and vegetables to fill four haversacks, and rolled up the blankets tightly, to be strapped to the backs of the older children. Tools and the handful of weapons—most of them broken –were collected, too, wrapped up in the blankets to protect their carriers from the sharp ends.

The children moved clumsily and hesitantly in their fear, but the need and wits to survive had been ingrained in them by their elders, though they did not fully realize that it was the ways and teachings of their parents that were going to keep them alive. Because they were young, they could spring back naturally from almost any tragedy. All they needed was time. By the fourth night, the majority of the older ones had come out of their stupor, and because it was their last night in the ruined camp, they sat up around their small fire discussing their fate as the little ones slept fitfully.

"We can't stay out here on the prairie," Brianna said sensibly, poking at the fire with a stick. "What if a storm comes up? There's nowhere to hide, and the tents are ruined. Besides, anyone can see us from far off."

The others listened respectfully to her words. She was the oldest, and the daughter of the tribe's late medicine woman. She had learned a part of her mother's trade, and she was the only thing that stood between her peers and many options for death that could beset a man in the wildness of the new world.

"I know that," Phillip said, leaning forward with his arms propped on his knees, his dagger—given to him by his father –dangling loosely from his hand. "I think we should head back the way we came. Didn't we pass some hills on the way? I saw them in the distance last week. Father said they were dark because they were covered in trees. We could hunt there, if those hills are covered in woods." He was cocky; sure of himself in the way that boys are when put in a position of authority that made the others look to him helplessly. The great weight of the responsibility he had unthinkingly taken upon his shoulders had not yet touched him in the way leadership is always destined to. The decisions he would be making from this point forward would effect the very future and lives of everyone around him, and a part of him instinctively knew this. This, added to his age, prevented him from leaping to any rash decisions without thought that would have ultimately been the downfall of the ragged group. It was Phillip who saved them, though those under his charge were not yet appreciative of this. They did not realize that his shouting and cuffs were what forced them to do what they needed to do to survive, were what kept them from sinking into depression or confused desertion. He was a solid rock that they clung to, and as oldest, his word was law.

Cathy, the next oldest at twelve, looked up from cradling the single infant, who had finally fallen asleep in her arms. "I saw them, too," she testified. "Mother said…" she paused to blink back a tear before rushing on, "Mother said if we hadn't already been heading towards the Lakes we would have gone there."

"Why don't we just go to the Lakes?" demanded Linda, a headstrong child with her father's stubborn jaw and straight-forward attitude. "That's where our mommies and daddies wanted to go anyway."

"It's too far away," Phillip said quickly, to stop the muttered agreements. "It's two more weeks going north to get to the Lakes. The hills are only a week behind us. Besides, if we keep going north we'll run into them again: the Bad Men. This time they won't just leave us to ourselves." He glowered at his squirming audience. "They'll kill us."

"All right, then," Linda huffed, "so we'll go to your stupid hills. But what if there's big animals there that can eat us?"

"Like monsters?" a younger boy named Gabe asked, eyes wide as saucers.

"Like wolves and bears," Linda said solemnly. "Or even…" she searched her memory for the names of the fantasy animals her mother used in stories. "Even tigers!"

Ruth and Gabe, the two youngest at the fire, gasped and clung to each other.

"Oh stop scaring them, Linda." Jon said, chucking a pebble at the younger girl, skinny legs crossed as he leaned forward to grin at her. He was a perpetually smiling child with soft blond hair and eyes as blue as a summer sky clouded with the tragedy that had befallen them; the only indication of his inner turmoil. "You're just sayin' that 'cause you're scared," he taunted.

"That's enough, Phillip said impatiently. "Knock it off, you two. Anyway, everyone knows there's no such thing as tigers."

"Then what about wolves?" Kirstie spoke up at last. She had been quiet throughout the meeting, gazing listlessly into the fire, trapped in her own thoughts. Linda's words seemed to have stirred her out of her reverie. She glanced over her shoulder at the remaining children huddled together on a quilt, murmuring and whimpering in their sleep. "Those little kids don't have a chance against a wolf."

"Look, it's better than nothing," Phillip snapped, feeling his position slipping. "We have to go somewhere, and it's closest. Some of us will go into the hills and check first to make sure they're safe—OK?" He looked around at the others, who finally nodded dubiously. After all, what else could they do? Even Linda knew this could be their only chance, and closed her mouth on her next comment. But her fear had already occurred to the other children, though they were too afraid to voice it.

What if there were Bad Men in the hills?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Phillip remembered things best by writing them down. On the morning they stood prepared to leave, he made a roll call of all assembled, writing down their names from oldest to youngest. It didn't occur to him to write down last names—none of the children shared the same given name, and there was no use of the names of their fathers in their predicament. In time, these surnames were forgotten.

"OK, say 'here' when I call your name," he called loudly to be heard. The past leader of the clan had often done the same thing, calling out the names of his group by memory if any of them had separated from the group at any time earlier in the day to hunt or gather.

To keep things straight in his head, Phillip had written down the ages beside the names, exempting the infant's. None of the children were sure exactly how old he was; they knew he was "zero years old", and that was good enough. The list went like this:

Brianna 15

Phillip 14

Cathy 12

Kirstie 11

Jon 10

Greg 10

Linda 9

Ruth 8

Gabe 8

Jeromi 7

Tiffany 6 ½

Tim 6

David 5

Danny 4

Issac 3

Dawn 2

Trevor

Once everyone had answered, they shouldered their packs, strapped the blankets to their backs and shoulders with rope, and hurried after their new leader as he set off, eager to leave before his resolve melted.

Kirstie, with the small Dawn on her hip and two blankets—filled with tools and utensils –tied to her back, turned to look one last time at the abandoned campsite, Jeromi at her side carrying a blanket and one of the haversacks.

The old men, the escaped fighters, and two women who had struggled too much against their enemies had been buried the day before. Jon's mother and baby brother were among the bodies; how he managed to keep smiling, despite the darkness in his eyes, was beyond Kirstie. "Bravery came in all sorts," her mother had said more than once. Maybe Jon's cheerfulness was his own bravery, his own escape. His façade certainly helped the younger ones.

Unable to stand the sight of the fresh graves amid the tangle of torn, singed deerskin tents and smoking ashes of the previous night's fire, she turned away quickly, hurrying to catch up with the others, hitching Dawn farther up on her hip, pushing thoughts of her mother and father from her mind. If Jon could be brave, so could she, she thought fiercely. If only for Jeromi, she would be brave.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Marching a week was different when you had horses to drag some of the load, and all your packs held plenty of food. But with nearly-empty stomachs and no beasts of burden, the ragged group of children made time only because they were spurred on by their own fear for the first day and a half.

They each got two strips of jerky for meals, each about as long as a man's hand and as thick as two fingers. With it they could have a shriveled apple or a vegetable, and a few sips of precious water. They complained of hunger, but Phillip was adamant; if he rationed the food, they would have just enough to scrape by until they reached the hills. Young Tiffany complained the most, until on the morning of the fourth day they awoke to find one haversack open, half the food from it gone. When a teary-eyed Tiffany, her breath smelling of jerky, was brought forward, everyone started yelling angrily at her and each other, accusations flying, tempers flaring. Issac and Dawn, the youngest, began to cry at the loud, angry words, and some of the other youngsters took their example, until all was chaos.

Phillip's voice, deeper than the others' because of puberty, roared above the rest as he went through the pack, shoving and cuffing, shouting and cursing until the startled, sullen youngsters finally backed away and stopped yelling. Soon only the babies were still wailing.

"That's enough!" Phillip hollered, voice sore from trying to out-shout a whole gaggle of children. "Stop it! Everyone just shut up for a minute, god damn it!"

Issac and the other babies hiccupped to a frightened halt, and Kirstie cupped a hand around Dawn's mouth to muffle her sobs, glaring at their angry leader. Trevor, the infant, was screaming, waving chubby fists, and Brianna was bouncing him, making soothing noises to calm him.

"Calm down, Phillip," Kirstie said sharply, so sharply that the other boy turned to stare at her. "You don't have to yell anymore—you're scaring the babies!"

Phillip scowled, but when he spoke, his voice was quieter, though loud enough to be heard by all. "All right. Now listen up. If we're going to make it, there've got to be rules. Like before. Like Chief's rules."

Dawn gazed up at him wide-eyed over Kirsties hand, silent at last at the mention of her murdered father.

"Good idea," Cathy said, nodding forcefully, face still flushed from an accusation thrown at her from the fight. "We need to make up rules."

"Laws," Phillip corrected, grasping the right word. "We're going to make laws and everyone has to follow them. OK?"

Everyone nodded slowly at the words. It made sense. They needed rules. Rules put shape to their lives, made things fair. And the earlier they learned to follow the new rules, the more firmly ingrained the laws would be in them in the future.

As Trevor's howls slowly subsided, the children gathered in a huddle around their leader like eager schoolchildren.

"OK, this is like a meeting," Phillip said, wiping sweat from his brow and glancing around at the assembled. "And when we have meetings y'hafta…" he thought for a moment, then raised his arm in the air for demonstration. "Y'hafta raise your hand if you want to talk, and wait until I call on you, OK?"

Tim's hand shot in the air, and the moment Phillip pointed to him, cried, "Tiffany took the food, I saw 'er!"

Phillip had to shout again to be heard over the immediate uproar. "Shut up! Stop it! Raise your hand !"

When quiet had resumed once more, he glowered at the young boy. "We know that, Tim. That's enough. OK, first rule…" he shot a look around, searching for disagreement. "No stealing."

Everyone nodded at that, and Tiffany snuffled miserably.

"We don't have enough food anymore to get us to the hills," he said slowly, watching everyone's reaction. "We're gonna hafta try to hunt. Brianna, how's Trevor?"

Brianna shook her head helplessly. "I've been giving him that goat's milk mother brought with us, but it's starting to smell bad, and he's sick. He needs his mother's milk."

Anxiety gnawed at Phillip's gut at the prospect of losing the baby. It wasn't that he was attached to it; it was the thought of one among them dying because he didn't know how to take care of them. This thought frightened him. There was nothing he could do, but he felt guilty just the same. He knew it was almost a surety that the baby would die. But he wisely kept his thoughts to himself, changing the subject.

"Father used to take me hunting with him, and I know your dad did, too," he nodded to Jon. "Anyone else?" Brianna raised her hand.

"I can hunt."

"Me, too," Linda said stoutly.

"And me," Greg said quickly.

"OK. Cathy, Kirstie, you're in charge while we're gone," Phillip said briskly, before they could offer their skills. "We're going to go hunting; the rest of you wait here." He slid his blankets from his back and unrolled them, searching for weapons.

Kirstie stood speechless, taken unawares by the responsibility abruptly thrust upon her. Her hand dropped from Dawn's mouth, and she shot a look towards her friend, who was arching her eyebrows, just as surprised by the dual leadership given to them as she was. It made sense, Kirstie mused, running her fingers absentmindedly through Dawn's fine dark hair. She and Cathy were the oldest in the others' absence.

Phillip came across the only serviceable bow they'd salvaged, digging through the bundles for arrows. Jon held up a short, sturdy club, and Brianna quickly untangled a net and dagger. "Get me a vegetable for bait," she ordered, and accepted the carrot Ruth handed her. The others found weapons of their own.

"We'll be back later," Phillip said, nervous at the chance of getting lost but putting on a brave face. "Come on, you two, let's go."

They set off at a trot, soon disappearing from sight in the deceptively flat prairie.

Kirstie peered towards the west at the dark hulks of abandoned buildings in the distance. The ghost towns and cities that had once been the homes of her parents in their childhood made her uneasy. She turned her attention back to her brother and the other younger children, putting gher hands on her hips and trying to sound officious.

"All right, you heard Phillip—me 'n' Cathy are in charge for now, so you have to behave."

Cathy nodded in agreement. "Yeah."

Jeromi sat down, pulling off the shoes his mother had acquired at a mostly- empty department store a few years ago on one of their journeys. He dumped rocks from them, making a face. "I don't see why we all just don't go back home," he grumbled.

"Do you know the way, smarty pants?" Kirstie demanded. "None of us do. Just stop fussing, will you?"

"I'm not fussing!"

"We left home for a reason," Kirstie reminded him, crossing her arms over her chest to prevent a shudder. "Remember Old Jack? He brought a sickness to our camp. It was spreading, and Chief said it might be in the air there. We can't go back. Even if we knew the way, we couldn't go back there."

Jeromi frowned, but didn't argue, turning to play with Gabe.

Cathy scooped up the infant, who was starting to whimper and kick with hunger. The girl cradled him anxiously, taking in his thin form and weakly waving arms as he scrunched up his face and began howling miserably. "He's hungry again," she said helplessly. "What are we going to do, Kirstie?" She lowered her voice so that the children couldn't hear. "He'll die without milk!"

Kirstie felt just as useless and flustered as her friend, and the threat of the baby's death frightened her. "Don't worry, we'll think of something. Maybe if he's hungry enough we can wean him," she said hopefully.

Cathy shook her head, shouting to be heard over the child's screams. "Brianna said he's way too young! His mom just had him right before we had to leave home."

"Kirsite, Kirstie.."

She was thankfully distracted as a small boy tugged on her shirt for attention. She leaned over slightly, hands on her knees, to face the younger of the two little brothers. "What is it, Danny?"

His brother David said loudly, "We're hungry! We wanna eat!"

Danny immediately started chanting. "We wanna eat! We wanna eat!" The other children joined in quickly.

"We wanna eat! We wanna eat! We wanna eat!"

Cathy was too busy jiggling the baby to do much, so Kirstie stepped into the middle of the chanting cluster, putting her hands on her hips and glaring around sternly, raising her voice above the others. "Now stop that this minute! Little nuisances!"

They slowly quieted, subdued by the mother-like tones.

"We're all hungry," she told them, her voice gentler. "I'm hungry, Cathy's hungry… Even Phillip's hungry. That's why they left; they're going to get some food for us. So if you just wait a little longer, we'll have good things to eat, OK? Now behave. They'll be back."

Jeromi had always looked up to his big sister. He scooted up to her side and nibbled on a hangnail as he leaned slightly against her for comfort. Her arm came up around his shoulders as she turned her face in the direction Phillip and the others had come, biting her bottom lip. It was all right saying brave things to Cathy and the little ones, but what was she going to do if Phillip didn't come back? There were many dangers out on the flatlands, and they had no strong fathers to protect them or mothers to give them advice. She took a deep breath and swallowed her tears, turning back to the assembled children. She thought of a phrase the Chief had said often when talking to the children of the tribe.

"Our young ones are the future of this clan, of our ways. Listen to your parents and to your elders, they'll teach you the way to survive. You are the ones who will be here when we are gone. Don't shame our memories by becoming thieves and murderers. The greatest person you can ever become is your parent."

Kirstie remembered her mother with a clarity that was painful. Strong, beautiful, and very brave. The other women had always looked to her in an emergency, leaning on her calm authority when the men were absent, respecting her opinion and advice. Kirstie felt a wave of determination within her. She would become her mother. She would not shame the memory of her parents. She would try to be brave and kind like her mother, strong and quick-thinking like her father.

It was the least she could do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hunters did not return until late afternoon. By then Kirstie had been hard-pressed not to complain right along with the ravenously hungry children. Both she and Cathy had had to stretch their self-control to the limits, keeping the supplies from themselves and the children aside from a piece of jerky and a sip of water apiece. David and Danny, the two little troublemakers, had complained the loudest.

When Tiffany spotted them coming through the tall grass, she shouted for Kirstie and raced headlong towards the approaching figures. Kirstie hitched up her skirt and raced after her, the others dashing pell-mell after her.

They met the returning hunters in a rush, their shouts and questions drowning out whatever Phillip was trying to say. But it didn't matter; it was easy to see they had been successful in their quest, and Kirstie was almost giddy with relief when the five hunters deposited their kills on the ground for the children to see.

Two rabbits, a ptarmigan and her three eggs, and roughly a dozen field mice explained the long absence of the five exhausted hunters. They sat down, passing around a canteen of water and grinning as the children leapt about excitedly and yelled.

Cathy looked a little worried. "This is great, but it won't last long," she commented to Brianna.

The older girl took a draught of water and passed the canteen to Jon. "I know. But it should be enough for a couple days. We can hunt when we start running low; besides, we still have the rations left."

Kirstie plopped down beside Jon, pulling her knees against her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "Was it fun?" she asked, missing the times her father had brought her to hunt with him. "How did you find your way back?"

"It was hot," Jon complained, pulling a long face and making his friend laugh. "And boring, mostly. Especially waiting for those dang rabbits to come out of their holes. The mice were easy; we just found one and dug out the burrow. But that bird was a paiiin!" He rolled his eyes enormously. "We had to chase that stupid thing all over the place! She was defendin' her stupid eggs, so she wouldn't even stay in the air. So it's her fault we caught her." He plucked a blade of grass and nibbled on it. "Phillip tore up an old red cloth and left a path; that's how we found our way back, though with all the running around after that bird we almost got lost. Scared the poop out of us… we were wandering around for forever before Linda found the trail again."

Kirstie smiled at the younger boy. "I'm glad you're all right."

"So am I, Kirst," the boy said whole-heartedly. "So am I."

That night they all sat around the fire, content with full bellies as they lounged on the grass and listened to their Leader with new respect. The littlest ones had already fallen asleep, and Brianna had mixed a sleeping potion for Trevor; his empty stomach wouldn't have allowed him rest otherwise.

"We're only a few days away from the hills," Phillip said, gesturing over his shoulder. "You can already see 'em a little in the distance. When we get to 'em there'll be plenty to eat, and with all those trees there's got to be water."

Greg raised his hand. "So we're gonna be our own tribe?" he ventured.

Phillip nodded. "Unless we find another one that wants us…"

"But who's going to take in seventeen kids?" Brianna finished for him. "That's too many mouths to feed when added to a normal-sized clan."

The younger ones were typically excited at the idea of no grown-ups to boss them around.

"So that's why we gotta make our own laws an' have a Leader an' stuff?" Jeromi asked. "Then is Brianna our Healer?"

Even as Phillip nodded in affirmation, a thought struck him. "If we're going to be our own tribe, we hafta give some people special jobs," he said. "Like Leader and Healer."

"That's right," Cathy agreed. "We still need a Cook and a Tracker."

"Wot's a tracker?" Tim asked, scratching a mosquito bite on his arm.

"Don't you remember? Remember how Dave 'n' Dan's dad would go out ahead of the tribe to make sure we were goin' the right way or look for trouble an' stuff? That's how we found out about the Bad Men. That's why we didn't all walk right into 'em. Their dad saw 'em and came back and told us."

"I'll be Tracker," Jon said, waving his arm lazily from where he was lying beside Kirstie on his stomach. "I gots a pretty good sense of direction. Runnin' around and around after that dopey bird just confused me today, that's all."

Linda said something rude under her breath that Jon chose to ignore.

Cathy leaned her head on her hands, propping her elbows on her crossed legs. "I guess I'll try to be Cook," she said slowly. "My mom always had me help her with dinner, and I guess I'm good enough. I used to experiment with foods a lot."

"I wanna be cook, too," Gabe butted in.

"Then be her assistant," Phillip said. "OK, so we have a Leader, a Healer, a Tracker, and two Cooks. Good." He sighed, rubbing at his weary eyes. "That's enough for now. Let's go ahead and go to sleep so we can leave early tomorrow and…"

Brianna supplied the phrase he was looking for. "Cover more ground."

"Yeah. G'night." Phillip rose sleepily and wandered off to his blanket. Slowly the others drifted off, mumbling good nights to each other.

That night they learned a hard lesson.

Greg, who was the only one who knew how to do it properly, had been banking the fire every night so they would have embers to start the morning's fire with. But he was tired from the good food that night and fell asleep without setting up the fire.

Kirstie was jolted awake by a hideous scream.

She sat bolt upright, crying out for her mother in fright at the noise, terrified by the pitch blackness around her. It took her a few moments to remember where she was and realize her mother was not going to come and comfort her. The fire had died and only the stars and the moon provided a minimal light. She could see dark, furry shapes darting through the small camp, their musky scent making her gag.

The others were sitting up, now, rubbing their eyes wearily and complaining. Then one of the things tread on Danny and he leapt up shrieking.

Linda's petrified shouts brought them all into abrupt wakefulness. "Wolves! Wolves!"

They scrambled to their feet screaming, and bolted, scattering in all directions. The animals—dogs from the old cities gone wild –were startled from the ruckus, and three of the five dashed off, one of them dragging something heavy with him.

Kirstie was too terrified to run. She stood rooted to the spot and watched stupefied as the snarling dogs ripped through the haversacks to get at the jerky.

"They're getting our food! Stop them!" Phillip cried, panicked as he came to a sudden halt.

"Kirstieee!"

Jeromi's pitiful wail broke through Kirstie's numbed senses. One of the dogs had knocked her brother down to get to a haversack, and his thrashing was irritating the snapping mutt.

Kirstie stumbled through the blankets, searching frantically in the darkness for a weapon. Her hands closed around a spear, and she snatched it up, dashing towards her brother. "Hang on, Jermoi!!" The sight of him threatened added anger to her fear and spurred her on. She swung the spear hard.

The dog had been concentrating on the food, and wasn't expecting an attack. The hefty wood pole crashed into its side and sent it tumbling muzzle over tail with a yelp.

The sight slowed the children's flight, and Phillip seized the chance to retaliate. "Get 'em!" he roared.

The dog had been hurt. These weren't untouchable monsters, and their food was at stake. Yelling and whooping like hooligans, the children turned and raced back into the camp, swinging fists and bits of firewood.

The dogs were intimidated by the savage attack, and darted off with their tails between their legs, snarling. The shouts of war turned into a ragged victory cheer, and Kirstie collapsed to her knees before her brother, dropping the spear and hugging him tightly in overwhelming relief.

Finally the noise settled down, and Phillip took charge. "Jon, get a fire started. Everyone shut up, I'm going to call roll."

They all sat down heavily, wide awake from the wild adrenaline rush as they waited for Jon to get the fire going. Phillip rattled off the roll call by memory, and exchanged a harried look with Brianna when he was through.

"Trevor, Tiffany, and Issac are missing. We're gonna hafta find 'em. He pulled a stick from the fire, holding it up like a torch as he issued out instructions. "Jon, you and the little kids stay here and keep your eyes peeled for 'em; maybe they'll see the fire and come back by themselves. Did anybody see which way they went?"

Everyone shook their heads numbly. Phillip sighed. "All right… Brianna, Cathy, and Greg, you take a torch and go that way. Me, Kirstie, and Linda will go this way. Don't go so far away that you can't see the fire, and meet back here in fifteen minutes."

They set off, waving their torches and calling for the missing children.

They had only been wandering for a few minutes when Tiffany came stumbling towards Phillip's party out of the darkness, her face pale and tear- streaked. She had been hiding in a clump of grass, too terrified to move even when she had seen the fire in the camp. Kirstie's voice had galvanized her into action, though, and she clutched the older girl like a lifeline, whimpering softly. Kirstie wrapped her arms comfortingly around the thin child, relieved.

"Thank god," Phillip sighed, some of the tension draining from his face. "Tiffany, where's Trevor? Did you take the baby with you?"

Tiffany shook her head mutely burying her face in Kirstie's skirt."

"Have you seen Issac?" Linda asked, her voice gentler than usual.

Tiffany shook her head again miserably.

"Get her back to camp, Kirstie," Phillip said, peering around at the enveloping night. "We'll try to find Issac."

Kirstie took Tiffany by the hand and led the sniffling child back towards the main fire. Jon rose to his feet at her appearance. "Kirst—oh, you found Tiffany. Good." He beckoned to her, a strange look on his face. "C'mere, lookit this."

Kirstie sat Tiffany with Jeromi and followed Jon a little past the fringes of the camp. He lifted a small flaming stick, pointing to the ground. "There."

Kirstie crouched, touching her fingers to the dark drops on the grass, her stomach uneasy. She raised a trembling hand to the light, her fears confirmed. "Blood," she said unsteadily, rising hastily and wiping her hands roughly on her skirt. "I never hit that dog with the sharp end of the spear. That's… that's not human blood, is it?"

Jon's face was uncharacteristically grim. "Let's get back," was all he said.

They sat huddled together by the fire, not speaking until they heard voices some time later.

Linda and Phillip wandered into camp, looking discouraged. Jon pulled Phillip aside to show him his find while Linda curled up on a blanket, dozing, exhausted from her previous fright and the search. Kirstie checked the moon. It was well after midnight. She was beginning to feel pretty tired herself.

Some of the small kids were nodding off, snoring gently. Phillip came back a minute later, his face pale. Kirstie hesitated before asking, "Hey, Phillip, are we missing any supplies?"

"Of course we are," he snapped. "You saw them eating our food."

"No, I mean…like blankets or sacks or something." She dreaded the answer.

Phillip looked at her strangely. "No… why would they do that?"

Kirstie swallowed hard, telling what she had seen. "when those first three dogs ran off, one of them was dragging something big. Big like a haversack, but… shaped funny."

Phillip's voice was shrill. "What do you mean 'shaped funny'??"

Kirstie shook her head helplessly. "It was dark… I couldn't see what it was."

Jon looked like he was going to be sick. "You don't think…"

"Hush," Phillip said sharply. The other search party was in view, now, heading towards them with a snuffling Issac riding Brianna's hip. "We'll talk about it when the little kids are asleep. Jon, tell Brianna, Cathy, and Greg to come with us to the fire when everyone else is asleep, and be quiet about it."

Jon nodded slowly and slunk off. Kirstie buried her face in her hands and took deep breaths to calm herself.

Within an hour the secret meeting was underway, and the others were all sleeping soundly.

Phillip looked around at the assembled faces. "Jon found some blood in the grass," he said quietly. "And Kirstie saw the dogs dragging off something heavy."

Brianna's face was pale. "Are you saying…"

"None of us grabbed Trevor when we ran," Phillip said slowly, eyes riveted to the fire. "And we should have heard him crying from hunger by now."

Kirstie remembered the horrible scream that had woken her up and shuddered, closing her eyes tightly.

"New rule," Phillip said hoarsely. "Every night we have guards, all right? To keep an eye on the fire and wake us up if something weird happens."

They all nodded silently.

"We'll all take turns," Phillip continued. "Do it in shifts, starting tonight. I'll stay up first," he said reluctantly. Jon poked the fire.

"I'll stay with you," he offered. "I'm not tired at all anymore. That way we can keep each other awake."

"Good idea," Phillip said, relieved. "Greg, Cathy, we'll wake you up in about an hour or two and you guys keep watch 'til morning."

They all nodded again.

Phillip looked them all over. "You're all going to be part of our Council," he stated on impulse. "Like the Council of Elders that Chief had. When something happens we'll meet away from the others, OK?" He rose, motioning to Jon. "Jon, find a weapon. The rest of you get some sleep. We're gonna leave right after breakfast tomorrow."

The loss of the infant Trevor and the attack on their camp had taught them a hard lesson, one that they would not easily forget. And as always happens during a crisis, those who were truly strong became known and went up a few notches in the eyes of others, seen now as dependable and sturdy. Phillip's quick thinking and Kirstie's aggressive attack had made them the heroes of the hour and put them in a new perspective. They saw Phillip as a Leader more than ever before, and Kirstie gained the respect of all. Before the journey was over the whispers had already circulated among the youngest ones and then to the rest of the pack.

Kirstie was strong and brave—she had attacked that dog without hesitation. In the eyes of the helpless children, Kirstie was a warrior!