There was no one to greet me when I arrived. I had seen the city from the helicopter, so I was prepared for the razed skyline. The grey sky. I hadn't been prepared for the emptiness. I had to restrain myself from reaching backwards, grasping the pilot's hand once more. Only, the helicopter was already taking off. I grabbed my duffel and dove out of the deadly radius. On a better day, in a different time, I would have given him the finger for his carelessness.

Now, in my first day in "Loston," as the pilot had called it, I only wanted him to come back and get me, take me back to civilization. I took a couple of deep breaths. They'd told us it would be like this, the homesickness. It would pass, once I could immerse myself in my work.

I was the best recruit they'd had from Anchorage, they had told me. It was because I had meant it when I swore my oath. When I heard the President speak, the first time, I had felt something stir and wake inside of me. I had shared the vision of a new world, cleansed, re-purified, through the efforts of the individuals. The only life I had up North was following my father into medicine, but the computers did most of the work. What I had learned with the RePeace Corp had been the sort of medicine that hadn't been practiced up North for more than a half-century. I'd seen my hands do the impossible. I'd seen them seal skin like cloth, reassemble the human body. When I thought about "healing," I felt my fingers electrify, as though a current ran from the heavens to the cadaver in front of me.

The mainland was a vast expanse; only by populating the lost cities one by one with the peaceful could the New Republic hope to regain it. My job was a complex one. The lost cities had dwindled in population, according to the government stats, but the remaining population was engaged in gang warfare that aided in their decimation. I was a trained professional in field of peacekeeping, with a focus in medicine. I just needed to find the others.

We sent an education focus the year before, and two legal experts the year before that, the assignments officer had told me. They had been tasked with establishing a capital building and enforcing rule of law. Only three had been judged necessary for the city's estimated population of two hundred or so. Were they successful? I had asked. She had flashed me a brilliant smile, probably my father's work. Very much so. We didn't get all that training for nothing, she said with a wink.

I was atop a hill that overlooked much of the city. It was beautiful, in a way. I'd never seen so much metal as I did now in its skeleton. Rusted beams whistled slightly in the wind. The clouds above flashed with dry lightning. I needed to find the right building quick to avoid being drenched. Only now did I wonder why I had not been given a map.

I followed a cement path down the hill, cracked by the roots of dead trees. There were other stones, in shapes that made me recall my history books. Long on one end, short on three others, like little stone people sprouting from the ground. They ended where the buildings began. Some edifices still stood five, ten stories high. I didn't think about the higher ones, though they were there, because I felt like they would collapse on me at any minute. The hollow cliffs appeared to stretch endlessly now that I was in the chasm. It was amazing how the old ones had reached for the sky. Foolish, but amazing.

Sweat trickled into me eyes, brought by the oppressive humidity of the incoming front. I was tempted to take off my sweatshirt. The grey cloth, emblazoned with the RePeace Corp circle was too familiar to shed, a kind of armor. I couldn't relax, not after a lifetime of being surrounded by friendly faces, and now terribly alone. I had no idea where I was going.

The setting sun was now completely hidden by clouds. I clawed open my bag and pulled out the small standard-issue electric lantern. I thought the light would help dispel the claustrophobia, but as soon as it was on, I wished it wasn't. I felt even more trapped by its glow. I was about to flip the switch when my better sense prevailed. This was how it should be. An adventure. The silence was a good sign, it meant I wouldn't be walking into the middle of a gang shoot-out. The light was good, it meant friendly eyes could find me, help me.

A shadow. It was there and gone, at the edge of the light's circle. I froze, despite myself. My hair stood on end, and my imagination conjured a thousand nightmarish figures.

"Hello?" I asked pathetically. The sound echoed, like at the bottom of a well.

I heard something hit the ground behind me, and whirled around. The lantern revealed a tall building, but its windows were as empty as mouths. I had the unpleasant sensation that one at least, had been occupied in the past seconds.

My breath was coming quicker. I toyed again with the idea of turning off the light, but like a kid, I couldn't shake the idea that something would attack as soon as I did. I stumbled backwards, caught myself, then began to run.

It was no longer my imagination. The air was too heavy, as though someone had packed it densely to hide other presences. The sound beneath the noise of my worn boots was too low, too empty. Some part of my brain had jolted into the awareness that these were signs. Of what, I knew not, but I didn't intend to find out.

The streets were too open, but I didn't dare enter the buildings. My chest was already starting to tighten, unused to the combined exertion of running and panic. Whatever chased me, I was sure knew the city better than I. I felt my foot catch and my thoughts fled as I hit the ground. With a grimace I felt the skin sheared from my knees by the impact. I'd held on to the light, miraculously, and as I scrambled to my feet it revealed a gruesome sight, that I will not describe here. I couldn't scream. All that emerged was a little coughing sob as I turned away and forced my aching body to run on.

Whatever chased me was so near I could smell it. It was a dirty, choking smell, like melted rust. I diverted quickly to the left, leaped up steps into a building. I heard the rhythmic sound of flesh on stone follow me, closer than ever before. I dove into an open arch only to find myself in a dead end. I flipped around, willing my back to melt into the concrete. The lantern had dropped and now rolled in the center of the room. My pursuer emerged to confront me.

It was a man, though this was no great consolation. Almost as soon as I'd determined that, I felt a hand roughly push my neck back, hitting my head against the wall. My vision blacked out for a minute, but I saw the other man, for there were two, fumbling with a small package. He ripped it open and the light caught on the point of the needle. It was a syringe the length of my hand, and without a word, he plunged it into my chest.

I would have screamed, but the hand on my neck pushed my jaw up so hard I thought I would swallow my tongue. My body had seized in response to the puncture, so I was unable to resist as he released its contents and pulled it out, none too gently. I hardly felt the pain through my shock.

I wasn't released. In fact, neither moved. Somewhere, through my haze, I realized that even with my pursuers pressed against my body, the acrid rusty odor was faint. The hands held me with an iron grip. As the odor grew stronger, so did their grip, until I felt like tensed fingernails would puncture my skin. The silence was broken then, by the smallest of noises. It was a snuffling. A foreign nose was scenting the air. I looked down with horror to see a fourth shadow cast in to the lantern's circle, evilly amorphous. I held my breath, and noticed I was not the only one.

Then, the shadow retreated. The snuffling was replaced by a displacement of air as whatever the beast was exited. I was not released for another eternity; it felt like, as my captors waited for some unknown sign. Their grip gradually loosened. I nearly fell when they pulled away completely. In the light of the still-rolling lantern, I saw them for the first time.

It was a miracle I had recognized them as men. They were tall, unnaturally so, and as lank as pines. They moved with unbelievable swiftness as they stood back to confront one another.

"Idiot!" hissed one, his stance aggressive. Of the two, he was the most repulsive. His blocky features were smothered in dirt.

The second, who had also gathered himself to fight, barred his teeth, revealing yellowed bone.

The first growl-barked. It was a horrible noise to hear from a human, dug out from the back of the throat. He advanced on the second in the blink of an eye, shoving him into the wall with enough force to shake the entire room. The second took the hit with practiced skill, slapping into the wall to avoid the full impact. He spread his fingers out, clearly readying to launch himself off again.

"You didn't have to help me," he hissed. "If you hadn't, she would have died."

The first moved swiftly, throwing his hand up against the second's jaw like he had to me only minutes ago. He lifted him clear off the ground, pinned to the wall by the sheer force of his muscled arm.

"Did you think what would happen if they got a taste of her after you'd given the shot, you scum-feeder?" He growled. The sound made my ears ache.

His eyes darted to me.

"I didn't think so," the first let go without warning, and the second dropped to the ground with a resounding thud.

The second pulled himself to his feet, but didn't make a move to attack.

"They already got Marcus," he stated.

"With any luck that was the one we shot. We'll see when daybreaks. As for her…" the first one began. They turned to regard me for the first time.

"We'll have to take her back," he said gruffly, smacking the second's head with a bear-like paw. The second snapped his teeth at him. "Because of your little heroics, you get to be the babysitter."

In all this time, I could not force my fingers to move an inch. My entire body had locked up. The second approached me, and then stopped.

"If she hadn't been covered in Marcus, they probably would have tasted anyway," he pointed out reasonably.

It took all my effort to force my head down. When my eyes fell to my sweatshirt, I wished I hadn't. The grey was soaked with a sinister red. The scream I had lost found its way to my mouth.

"Fuckin' hell!" I heard on the edge of my consciousness, before someone slammed my head back with one purpose in mind.

It worked.

I woke up slowly, in dim light. I was reluctant to leave the comparative safety of my subconscious. A slight wiggling alerted me to the fact that I was surrounded by warm blankets. There was someone sitting next to where I lay. A woman, middle-aged. Her features were dirty as well, but I thought I could see some kindness in the lines.

I tried to sit up, but she pushed me back down.

"Rest is scarce come by here. I suggest you take advantage of it," she told me brusquely before putting a warm cloth on my forehead. I hadn't realized until then, but my head ached. I probably had a concussion. The wet cloth felt a lot better than I knew it should.

My eyes roamed the room, or what I could see of it. I heard the noise of people behind the hanging curtains, and through their moth-eaten holes I caught glimpses of motion. One of the curtains pulled back, and a man stepped through. I recognized him as the second of my rescue party. He had cleaned, or at least splashed water on his face. It seemed that a layer of grime was standard uniform here. He had a handsome face, I thought, though it bore a tense expression. He had a darker complexion than we saw up North anymore, and coal-black hair, worn in a ponytail.

He was not looking at me.

"Mother Rowan," he said, bowing to the old lady that sat next to me. I guessed it was a ceremonial address.

"He's dead, isn't he?" she asked.

The man hesitated.

"Orin," she demanded.

"Yes, Mother."

I felt the woman run her hand across my forehead. I tried to read her face, and failed.

"They seem to like the taste of Rowan," she told me quietly. "Marcus was my last blood-son."

I shivered at the deadness of her tone. These were hard people. I only knew scraps of what had made them that way. I had the sinking feeling that I was in for more than the RePeace training had prepared me for.

She was still petting my forehead. I didn't know if it was to comfort me, or her.

"Orin," she repeated a one-word command.

"Mother Rowan, I acted on instinct. I will accept what punishment you find necessary," he said falling to one knee on the packed-dirt ground.

"It was soft-hearted, soft-brained," she quietly scolded him, pulling her hand back. "She could single-handedly ruin half-a-year's defenses."

I realized with some shock that they were talking about me. I propped myself up, determined to have some dignity. Mother Rowan did not stop me. But, once up, I realized I didn't have anything to add to the discussion, not knowing what it concerned.

"Orin," I said, seizing upon the first pleasantry to come to mind. "Thank you for saving me."

"I wouldn't go thanking him yet, girl," Mother Rowan told me, amused. "We might have to kill you yet."

It must have been the concussion that kept me from reacting strongly. I was too woozy from my last brush with death to panic again.

"That wouldn't be smart," I told her. "I'm a medic."

Her eyebrows lifted a miniscule amount.

"We could keep her in the tents, Mother," Orin hesitantly pointed out. I gave a little inner sigh. It looked like one person was on my side at least. "We could send Marian out with the hunters, like David used to."

Mother Rowan was silent for another moment. I could just about see the scales in her eyes.

Finally, she nodded.

"Very well," she decided. "She can have Marcus' cot."

I gave a deeper sigh. Unfortunately, I'd forgotten about the blanket, and it slid down to my waist. I scrambled to pull it up again, but not before Orin had an eyeful.

Mother Rowan gave a bark of laughter.

"Modesty. You'll grow out of that real soon, girl," she said, patting me on the back. "Hell, we might even get you baby-making."

By that afternoon I was moved out of the sick wing and into Marcus' cot, in the main hall. Everyone slept in the wide galley of a room. Make-shift cots were lined up against the wall like teeth on a comb. I was thankful to see children there, tracing pictures in the dirt and playing complex little games. It gradually sunk in that this was no gang. It was a matriarchal tribe, and this was their fortress.

At the end of the hall was a wide doorway with impressive wooden doors. They were open now, and people passed in and out casually. Some carried baskets of little fruits I remembered from the hill where I'd landed. Others carried weaponry. We didn't have anything manual up North, but I saw a mixture of guns and spears thrown over long backs. The sun shone in from windows high above. There was even one with colored glass shards still in it. It was a bunker of a place to have survived this long, this intact.

I went back to the medical ward that evening, when my head was no longer spinning. Mother Rowan met me on the way. She was the oldest person I saw in the whole building, and she couldn't have been more than fifty. She kept up with me stride for stride, but didn't give me any directions. I figured she wanted to see what I would do.

The first bed behind the curtains contained a pre-pubescent boy. He was a sight to behold. His hair had all fallen out, long ago, and his skin was grey. He appeared to be in a comatose state. I fished his hand out of the blankets, and as I had feared, his fingernails were as soft as paper. It was poisoning of some kind.

"Didn't take well to the vaccination," Mother Rowan told me.

"What did you give him?" I asked, trying unsuccessfully to iron the accusation out of my voice.

She pulled a stool from the corner and eased on to it.

"Medic, this is something you're going to have to learn about this life," she said in a no-nonsense tone of voice. "You remember the beasties that near ate you last night?"

I shivered.

"I never actually saw it… them."

She spat on the ground.

"Those that do don't usually come home."

"What… are they?"

"Don't much know, specifically. They aren't like anything you've been taught. When I was a girl, some used to say we made them. Engineered them and they turned on us. Others said they've always been there, and after the war, they flourished," she looked thoughtful

"They are hunters. We are prey. That's all you need to know," she concluded. "They don't wait for you to die before they feast. Sometimes they'll fight one another, tear you to pieces. It's not a nice fate, and you've got reason to be thanking Orin for saving you from it."

I thought back to the horrors of last night.

"The shot…?"

She nodded gravely.

"We call 'em "vaccinations." It keeps the beasties away. They hunt by smell. Sometime ago medics discovered that you can inject chemicals into the blood to confuse them, or put them off their food. Only, they're real smart. Once one of them gets hungry enough to take a taste anyway, they all learn."

"What chemicals?" I asked, curious despite myself.

"We don't really know anymore," she said with an ironic grin. "Whoever made the discovery set about making a century's supply of shots, and we're very grateful to them. We take new ones every half-year, to keep ahead of the beasties."

I sat there for a moment, trying to take this in. I wouldn't have believed a word if It hadn't been for the night before, when anything seemed possible in the darkness.

"How come we didn't have beasties up North?"

She smiled widely then, revealing a number of teeth I could count on one hand.

"Just count you're blessings you don't. Personally, I ain't never left home. They closed immigration before my Jack and the kids could make it."

I remembered the Act #2452. It was still controversial Up North, but they'd taught us the truth about it in RePeace training. It was necessary, they had said, to keep the cities populated. An over-population up North would only have meant scarce resources, and a complete loss of the mainland. I had been one of the acts strongest proponents in my Ethics class.

Now I looked around me, and felt awash in guilt. This wasn't maintaining the mainland. It was consigning people to death camps.

"This isn't anything like my training," I said under my breath.

She laughed.

"No, it isn't. Do you know you're the only RePeace to make it past the first night?" She leaned in close, her hard eyes intent on making her point. "We know it was them that got eaten because the beasties left the buttons."

I shuddered. Why she thought I needed further incentive to not venture outside, I didn't know. She's worried about her people, I chastised myself. If I get eaten, it's them that suffer too.

I looked back down at the boy in bed.

"He won't last the week," she told me, patting my back. "Come over here and look at Claude, he's one you can help."

He was sitting on a stool, not in bed, and I immediately recognized the first of my rescuers. He hadn't cleaned, and blood mixed with dirt to coat his body. He glared at me as I approached.

"I told you Mother, I don't need no attention. It'll close."

I saw then, beneath the dirt, his chin was split open.

"You need stitches," I told him

He opened his mouth, presumably to say something rude, but Mother Rowan was ahead of him, she slapped the side of his face. He roared, and I winced in empathy.

"If that hurts, you need attention," she told him. "Don't give the nice doctor-lady any trouble."

I was liking Mother more with each minute.

There were supplies, in bad shape, but present, in a little box I'd been given. After using a damp cloth to clean his face, I choose the needle with the least rust and dipped it in the antiseptic I'd been given—which smelled somewhat like rum. Mother pulled a piece of wood out, and put it in Claude's mouth. I opened my mouth to ask for anesthetic, looked at the wood, and thought better of it.

Claude did remarkably well. Not many men would make it through a stitching like that conscious. His skin turned dangerously red, but he bit into the wood and kept himself from crying out, or I thought, biting me. He was a truly awesome man, larger than any I'd ever seen. He projected fighter with every movement, and especially with his Viking-like appearance. Only the memory of intense training kept my hand from shaking as I closed the wound.

"There," I said. "Now keep that clean."

He stood up, nearly bowling over the chair, flung the wood to the side and stormed out of the sick ward.

Without blinking, Mother took my arm and directed me to the other side of the ward, saying "Now young Freddie took a blow to the arm and thinks it might be fractured…"

I followed, determined to be as hard as the people that surrounded me.