Three layers of concrete, metal and bars were security measures that made Cafas’ shop safe from shoplifters with a hankering for swords pre boom-day. Now what had been a solid concrete wall around the mechanic’s yard was mostly levelled, the car bodies had long ago been looted for everything useful, from the batteries to the seat coverings and the whole area was smothered in the dust that coated everything these days. The huge roller doors were still intact, but warped inwards and non-functional and most of the corrugated metal that had formed the walls had been torn away either by the force of the explosion or by looters scavenging what they could to survive.

Inside the shell of what was once the workshop several more car corpses littered the area, gouges in the concrete floor showing where the force of the shockwave had flung them. At a glance, or even a prolonged look, the area seemed empty and long deserted, everything useful pilfered and nothing worth searching left. If you knew where to look though, behind a land rover flipped against the wall with such force the bonnet had crumpled and the glass in every window shattered out, there was a metal grill with a locked padlock outside a solid steel door with an assortment of locks making a neat line down the frame side. There was also a pass-code box, or what had once been a pass-code box, the wires inside cut and melted and the latch attached non-functional.

Inside the closed door was Verdy’s home, the place she had lived ever since the explosion. Thankfully she had been at the shop when the first bomb fell, and Jack had been with her. She had seen the devastated ruins of what was once the mansion and time and time again she had thanked her lucky stars she had arrived early to set up. The shop had been reworked in the time she had been living there. The swords still hung on hooks around the walls, but the glass cabinet that had once held all the daggers and pretty knickknacks had been emptied and was now filled with an assortment of useful things, materials, the scraps of leather and her leatherworking tools from before, a few books, things she found while scavenging that might later by used for something else, or perhaps traded. The cash register had been removed and sat in the corner, she was sure the mechanics in it would be useful for something and it was too heavy to carry away, so she mainly left it alone, behind closed doors the small kitchenette and the storeroom looked much the same, except there was now a mattress on the floor of the storeroom, and the kitchen sink was dusty and full of bits and pieces. It was mainly clean though, and it was safe.

She was sitting at the counter, candle burning, repairing the strap on her bag yet again. Jack lay on the floor napping, there was no point burning energy unless it was necessary, and their long walks in search of food tired him out now more than ever. Verdy didn’t like to think about it, but he was getting old, and the last winter had been hard on him.

There were precious few places in New York City that were safe these days. Acid rain ate through metal, the dust storms were likely radioactive, and certainly glassy and dangerous, even the sun seemed stronger than it had been, way back before this had all started. as a result the city had been bleached of most colour, everything seemed to be the same shade of post apocalyptic grey.

Haven't seen decent colours in years...

Cafas blamed the dust for this. He hated the dust. He remembered when the dust had been concrete. When the billboards held colourful ads and the streets held life. He missed the angry horns of rush hour, the excited yelling of spruikers, even the obnoxious smell of burned gasoline and cigarettes. Now it smelled of dust, the only sound groaning metal and merciless wind, and colour came only from blood...

I never though society would collapse this completely...

He was using the subway these days to get himself around quietly. Many called it their home, the cave ins made direct travel difficult on occasion and he knew for a fact there were wild things down there. Booby traps, marauders, the constant threat that a wall near or under the bay would give out... It was a damned scary place, but it was direct, and he was a big boy.

I wonder if I really saw what I thought I did...

Stepping into the light Cafas tucked away his hand drawn map. The piece of canvas held his entire knowledge of the layout and accessibility of the subway. He had danger zones marked, settlements, areas he frequently found marauders, or traces of them, and the ranges he suspected the wild things down there patrolled. He had traps marked, cave ins, caches he had found or left, even the couple of places that still had working toilets (a luxury, let me tell you!)

Now to find an unending supply of toilet paper!

He cautiously made his way to the wrecked yard of Daoine's motor shop, a bloodstained back pack in his hand, spoils of someone else’s war. The area still reeked of oil. He ducked inside, making sure he wasn't being followed, and found his way over to a concrete construction tucked neatly away to the side. He dropped behind the land rover, which was always a tight fit, knocked on the door, a combination of taps that let both Verdigris and Jack know it was him, and unlocked the door one key at a time. Took him nearly a minute. The door swung open, Cafas stepped inside, closed the door and re-locked it. At the door he left the bloodstained bag. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust.

Man it's dim in here...

He looked somewhat gigantic under all his packs. He wore a bug out bag, which held his food and other necessities, designed for three days, he made the contents last a week. Combat webbing held as many more bag as on the front as he could fit. There were even bags on his bag, X-zibit would have been proud of the amount of bags he had. He unclipped in all. It was all held to him securely, with a single strap release. A precaution. He thought Verdy had designed it for him. Most people didn't chase you once they had your bag, and the ones that did you could tell from miles away.

Damn that pit, and its workers, sick F***s

Without a word he dropped his dusty trench coat. It fell with a thump. Every single pocket on it was full. He was left standing in a pair of rip-proof, old school, cargo pants yo bro I heard you like pockets style; Up top he had a hoodie over an Auscam combat uniform shirt. Just because it was the end of the world as he knew it didn't mean he got to stop being patriotic.

Functionality was a bigger point...

His boots were the same as they had ever been, though this pair was newer, he couldn't remember who he had traded for them. He had steel reinforced the exterior, it had been a relatively simple job, just a few points that allowed movement, nothing spectacular, but it made it damned near impossible for his feet to be injured, there was even a steel shank in the soles to prevent any debris puncturing his feet.

Injured feet are a death sentence... Though life out here is a death sentence too...

"Hey." Cafas hung his coat and bag and webbing set up on two hooks on the wall. He moved over to the pair and petted Jack. Cafas pulled up a stool. He watched as Verdigris repaired her bag strap by candlelight. Pretty standard as far as things went these days, bags were in short supply, not that you could tell from Cafas. It looked like there was more repair on the strap than there was original material. "I found a place, would have thought nothing of it but for the blood. Looks like a single person did the damage, too much stuff was left for a group. The guy that had lived there was... I guess some people just think of it as food these days... Anyway he had a safe and cabinet that were untouched, I found some stuff."

Being squeamish about looting will kill you as well as any bullet...

Of course the attacker had not been able to force their way through the metal safe or the steel cabinet door. Cafas had filled a bag he found inside with some of the things. He grabbed it from next to the door. He put it on the counter as he sat back down. "A few books, some food, and some bits and pieces." Cafas pulled out a bag of marbles, the books, some comic books, a working tin opener and a whole bunch of food tins, various long life stuff, as well as a few random items that he couldn't use but suspected Verdigris could. Right down the bottom was the real treasure though.

Bet whoever killed that guy was looking for this...

From the bag he extracted four big, two litre bottles of water. Still sealed. "You can keep it this stuff, I already took anything I desperately needed. Oh, almost forgot!" From one of his extensive network of pockets Cafas pulled out a box filled with assorted batteries. On the box someone had written the word dead. "They've all been tested, all should work." He had his own supply of batteries, and those he could replenish if he went to the right places. Verdy, well, he didn't really know about her.

Hope she can use them...

Jack’s ears perking up was her first warning, then the scuffling noises outside the door. She put down her darning silently and her hand closed around the shrapnel in her pocket, the other levelled at the door. Anyone trying that hard to get behind the vehicle knew something was there. She had been diligent at keeping the floor of the shop clear of footprints, both her own and Jacks, no mean feat with the mess of dust and oil that covered the concrete.

The knock set her mind at ease, and she released the glass and other bits and pieces. She didn’t rise though, he had keys and was on his way in, getting up and back down was a waste of energy. If he had been injured there was a different knock he would have used and she would have rushed to let him in and gather the limited medical supplies to stitch him up. Her moderate sewing skills were mostly focused on repair rather than creation, and repair of the body was as up there as repair of equipment, if not more important.

By the time he had made it in through the multitude of locks she was back at the strap, carefully stitching to make the most of the material she had while still making a decent repair job, no point saving the material only to have the repair tear through and need re-re-re-repairing. She glanced up at the bulky form she knew to be Cafas, he was in there somewhere under the layers of protection, storage and bags, and gave him the once over. Everything seemed to be in order, so she relaxed further as he began de-cocooning.

After some time (although not nearly as long as it would have taken if he had had to unbuckle every bag individually) he was down to a more humanoid shape and the size she remembered him being. After a short greeting and petting the slumbering Jack he was sitting by her blinking in the dim light. She continued her sewing, glancing up now and then and crinkling her nose when he explained what he had found. She had been desperate for food, eaten things she wouldn’t have considered even as a street kid, but she had never gone so far as to eat another person, even one she had killed herself. Still, at the mention of having found something (as well as her sewing being finished and the needle and thread removed to inside the glass cabinet) she turned her full attention to her friend. Being a mutant really upped the chances of survival in the post apocalypse world and she suspected his mutation was what allowed him to touch the untouched safe and cabinet.

"A few books, some food, and some bits and pieces."

Books! The ones she had were well worn and dog eared despite her care, there were few ways to stave off the boredom and reading was one of them, it kept the mind active and she was sure it kept you from turning into the savages that roamed now days.

Food was always a necessity, the days of simply going to a fridge, cupboard or even the shops were long gone and almost forgotten, so getting something new was a serious luxury.

As he unloaded his stash her smile grew wider and wider. Marbles to renew her almost depleted stashed of cracked and chipped ones (she had taken to collecting the chips of smashed windscreens to supplement as buckshot she didn’t bother to pick out). The books were a good mix of instructional (including one on home-repairs which she was certain would come in useful) and novels, there was even a hardcover copy of the lord of the rings, which must have been a serious pain to carry considering how heavy it looked, the comics were a splash of luxurious colour and she savoured the covers as he spread them across the bench. Food tins and a tin opener (far more effective than a knife, and less risk of injury) as well as other bits and pieces; a working hinge to repair the broken kitchen cupboard, hair ties and some other things she hadn’t finished looking at before he pulled out the water. Clean, clear, sealed water. Even though the bottles were a little dusty (what wasn’t these days) they were truly beautiful and she drew a smiley face on the bottle closest.

Batteries as well! It was always nice when Cafas came over, but today it was like old Christmas used to be.

“You hungry?”

There was still toasted pigeon from the night before which was actually quite good, although a little dry, and she had found an un-raided vending machine which held an assortment of salty snacks and dusty drinks, after some slight screw-driver work and a few sturdy kicks she had been able to collect a feast of the unhealthy.

Verdy seemed happy with the haul. That was good, it had cost him a few hours of walking to get it to her. It would keep her alive a bit longer. That was a good thing. He had few friends, fewer still that he'd met pre-apocalyptically. She was keeping him sane. That was very nice. She offered a place to rest every so often, in this part of the city. His place was nearly five hours walk away, so it was certainly a good point for ventures further away from home.

Might have to make a trip deeper in, supplies are getting harder to find...

Hungry? Was he hungry? Was she kidding? Silly girl. " 'Course I am." He smiled, he hadn't eaten in a while. 2 meals a day kind of got bad after lunch time, whose name had ceased to make any sense for Cafas to use, but he found people still understood what he meant.

Wonder if we'll ever have lunch again...

Cafas ventured a look around the room, looked the same as usual, swords on the walls, various things stacked neatly around the place, a bed, a door, pretty bare. Nothing was glaringly out of place, but he figured it would be polite to ask. "You need anything done while I'm here? Not sure what I'm doing for the next week, I was thinking I might take a look a bit further out, Manhattan is getting... Empty."

I could use a grocery store...

A wistful glance was cast in the direction of the past, to happier memories, of lunch with Calley, of classes, of training with the old telekinetic woman at the mansion... To fighting buildings with Mirror... Cafas knew it wasn't going to get any easier, in fact, he doubted humanity would survive, he knew with almost absolute certainty that they would never rise from their own ashes. Not without some serious divine intervention, and he wasn't much of a fan of the divine.

Stupid church is out of control...

Of course he was hungry, was there anyone anymore who wasn’t constantly hungry? She nodded and stepped into the little kitchenette. The fridge didn’t work, of course, but it was slightly cooler there than in the rest of the room, so that is where she stored any open things or meats, they were usually eaten so quickly (try as she may to ration them) they didn’t have a chance to go off anyway. She removed the plate from the fridge and inspected the carcass, there was more than half left of the skinny bird, ‘plenty’ by the standards of the current day, she also grabbed two of the little bags of crisps and a can. It was feast time. She didn’t bother getting small plates, or cutlery, pigeon is a finger food after all, and Jack would wait patiently until they were done then gnaw the bones for any sustenance they contained. She set the plate down on the counter, then the two bags and the can.

“Would you like to do the honours?”

Cracking the can was like the olden days popping champagne, a symbol of plenty and celebration, by these standards anyway.

Before she got her hands all greasy she slipped aside to the pile of roughly patched blankets that was her bed and dug a plastic container, once upon a time a child’s lunchbox, out from beside the mattress. It was full of bits and pieces for Cafas, or for Cafas to fix. A broken buckle, a bright pink piece of cloth (he might not want that, but it had reminded her of him so she had kept it) other little bits and pieces of metal and, what she was currently most proud of, two pairs of broken sunglasses. The larger pair, aviators she thought they were called had snapped on the bridge across the nose, the smaller pair, a classy ladies set of thin metal was missing an arm, which she had found but not been able to attach. She laid them out on the table.

“Tah dah. Do you think you can fix them?”

Travelling in the heat of summer, with the clouds of dust that left grit in even the squintiest of eyes was not the best of conditions, and having some form of protection, even if it was not in keeping with the rest of the outfit was a distinct advantage. It also meant that if you had to move quickly from light to darkness, your eyes were already semi-adjusted.

She pulled a piece of meat off the bird and popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly and carefully. The flavour was pleasant enough, and if she chewed it for long enough it didn’t seem to stick in her throat quite as much. She had another surprise for her friend, tucked away carefully wrapped in plastic bags, but that could wait until once they were finished eating.

“Do you think there’s anywhere that isn’t so… dead?”

As foolish as it seemed, she stilled hoped that somewhere, there were radiation free pockets, where people still lived in sanity, and there was food that was fresh and wholesome. In the meantime though, it was more important to stay alive and alert, than to dream of the improbable.

Cafas cracked the can in the most celebratory of manners while Verdigris fished around in her bed for a moment and brought out a plastic box. The hiss from the can was satisfying and he felt refreshed already. Cafas pulled two cups from his pocket, plastic ones, and poured half the drink into each. It was a luxury and a half, this sweet drink that had once been so common as to be wasted en mass.

The girl spread out a variety of items on the table. The broken buckle Cafas fixed straight away, practically as it had hit the bench, the rest he looked at contemplatively. "Shouldn't be too difficult." Cafas carefully picked up the ladies glasses, scrutinising the point where the screw had once held the arm to the lenses. It did seem as if only that screw was missing. Cafas had no idea about the thread of the screw though, so instead carefully fashioned a pin from a piece of the scrap on the table, pushed it through, and flattened the ends so it would not slip out. "There you, good as new."

Well, new-ish...

The second pair Cafas simply used another piece of scrap to weld back into a sing piece. He even put the glasses on to make the weld custom fit his nose. "Thanks, haven't seen my old pair since a run in with some marauders, dropped them and just never looked back..." He slid the glasses off and slipped them into his breast pocket.

After all the repairing was complete Cafas tore off a bit of pigeon and ate it. While not terrible, he could tell why it was Kentucky Fried Chicken. Which reminded him, what with Verdigris' insistence on eating pigeons, Cafas had found something he thought she might like. "Found this sealed in a box under some rubble in a KFC outlet." He withdrew a bag of whitish powder, KFC seasoning. "That and the oil I brought you last time, provided you didn't use it all, should improve your next pigeon somewhat. Now how are you for fire fuel?"

A sip of drink and some more bird went into his mouth. It felt good to put something into his stomach.

“Figured you were the man for the job”

She took the girly glasses and tried them on, they fit nicely and she even felt a twinge of classiness, pigeon fingers and all. Pushing them back atop her head she smiled as Cafas squished a piece of metal like tack around the broken bridge. The large glasses seemed to suit the shape of his face, and she suspected even in the olden days when there was choice, they would have been the right glasses for him. She took the bag curiously and listened as he explained where he had found it.

“Eleven secret herbs and spices of goodness?”

Totally awesome, and she had barely used any of the oil, actually, so she was excited to try this recipe on the next bird she got. Fire fuel, it had been a serious issue this winter, and a few times she had just stayed cocooned in the blankets with Jack beside her to keep warm rather than go out to scavenge. She had to work twice as hard to replenish the stores she had wasted on those days, eating to stay warm between trying to gather scraps of wood or even cardboard to burn. She had made an effort, once the weather picked up to find and collect a large enough store so that by the time winter came around again she couldn’t run out if she wanted to. So far she only had a relatively small stack of broken pieces of wood, but she knew where to get some more.

“There used to be a school nearish here, and all their desks were wooden and stuff, so I’ve got it lined up, but I haven’t gone at it with an axe yet. It’s a bit depressing though, ‘cause all the kids...”

There was just something about the tiny skeletons and the shards of blackboard with chalked up ABCs that was tremendously sad. Of course children died in the bombing, and shortly after too, but to see so many little lives cut off at once, somewhere between recess and big break was sobering.

Once the pigeon was little more than bones she set the plate down for Jack to chew on and wiped her fingers on what was once a white tea-towel. Nothing for it but to reveal the secret now, it wasn’t really any good for one person and a dog, and she had been saving it for some time.

“I have something for you, well us really, unless you’re better at soloing than I am.”

She pulled the multi-layered plastic lump out carefully from the bottom shelf of the glass cabinet and placed on Cafas’ lap. Inside, carefully layered so as to not be damaged was a glass chess set, almost intact, one of the queens had been beheaded and sported a rather sharp neck, and a few of the pawns were replaced by wooden ones, plain to be white, charred to be the blacks but on the whole it was rather fancy.

“Well, go on, open it.”

She had tried versing herself when she first found it, or playing as herself and Jack, but there was just nothing quite like a real, intelligent, separate opponent.

Cafas was glad she had access to firewood. At least she wasn't about to freeze, or starve, or make herself sick eating raw food. That was certainly a relief. The last thing he needed was to lose his friend. Especially considering the amount of gear she had stored. It wouldn't do to give the types of people that were actively seeking and killing others the sorts of supplies she had. That and she was female, a dangerous thing to be in the world of post apocalyptic NYC.

Gotta not worry about her, she has a shotgun for a hand...

Once the food was eaten, the drink finished, and all were finally settling, Verdigris sprung a package upon him. A present, by the look of it. "Soloing?" Cafas did as instructed and unwrapped the package. Inside was a partly cobbled together but completely recognisable chess set. Her previous comment made a hell of a lot more sense now. "Cool!" He wasn't much for chess, he was pretty bad at the game truth be told, not a planner, but games were a welcome relief from surviving.

It's been years...

Cafas set up the pieces as best he could, and it seemed right by candle light. He looked around for a moment, found an old coin, and flipped it. "Heads." He called in the air and heads it was. He moved a pawn forward two space, and the game began.

I'm so going to lose...

She was pretty sure she remembered how to play chess, in fact of all the bits and pieces of games she had found since the apocalypse- burned cards missing kings or aces, a broken wooden box with triangles and plastic dots (she knew it wasn’t called badminton, but that was all she could think of when she saw it) puzzles sporting scenes of kittens or masses of flowers- the chess set was in the best condition, and she had played it before, though not extensively. Although her strategy was a little rusty she was confident that she knew the names and movement patterns of each piece. She hadn’t played chess that she could recall since Hawaii with James. She wondered if he had survived the bombs, if her family lived still, or if their house was still standing. Not that it really mattered, even if she had wanted to go back, even if she believed they would recognise her after nearly ten years with no contact, there were no boats that she knew of, no way to get to the islands.

Cafas flipped a coin, a laughable reminder of what used to be able to grant food, shelter, almost anything, and called heads. The game was on and the movement of pieces back and forth was rhythmic and rather soothing. It was nice to just do something with a friend for once, rather than constantly be trying to eke out some form of life from the barren wastes.

“Where are you planning to head out to next?”

The bunker was a shelter, a base that kept her safe in an unsafe world, but she knew the area around it, and the resources there were steadily draining away. If he found somewhere where the quality of life was better, where supplies were in greater stock… it was a flicker of hope. The American dream was no longer about kids, or a yard, or even a stable job. Her American dream was green, something, anything alive, she missed trees and grass and flowers and vegetables, pond scum just didn’t compare, even though the duckweed she had found growing in what had once been an ornamental pool tasted somewhat like lettuce.

Horse moves in Ls. Castles in lines. Take a pawn, loose a pawn. The game was gentle enough that thoughts were able to drift back and forth and conversation was acceptable.

Cafas stared at the board, considering her question. Moves were made, in time the board started to look as bleak and barren as the world they sat in. A few stood strong, others just incapable of moving on. They were dangerous, you forgot about those ones. Maneuvers were being made, last ditch assaults, defensive positions held by the lives of the acceptable sacrifices.

We were an acceptable sacrifice once...

He took a long while to finally come to a decision, many topics passed, both happy and sad, and neither. The time between longer than the response really warranted. "North." He hadn't been that way in months. Not far anyway. No further than the ruins of the Mansion. Cafas stared down at the board longer and longer, thoughts flickering across his face, mere traces of the struggle within, of the wishing, hoping, the memories, and the considerations. He knew now his fate was set.

It always has been mate...

"Rook takes bishop, check." The move was reckless, it relied on her not seeing. It was what some might call stupid, but it did force one more move. It never crossed his mind the things in range and what they could do next... He was far too stuck in what he had seen. A dream, a bomb, a flash, chains, blood, it meant something, or it didn't. He didn't know. He just suspected.

Let it be, live now.

"I miss home... Not the Mansion, not a base, not some long forgotten Alley with an upturned dumpster and a sleeping bag, but home. I wish I'd seen my parents one last time. I wish they could accept me, or at least try. That'll never happen. For some reason, it doesn't stop me wanting it." They'd tried to kill him. They'd cast him out, they'd hurt him, they'd given him scars he would carry his entire life, but the thing he missed most was his mother's embrace and his father's peculiar form of wisdom. he missed the days before they knew, back when their son was just a quirky boy who liked to play knights and do metal work, not play video games and ride bikes. He missed love that felt unconditional, though now he knew it was not.

"You think we can survive? The food is running out, nothing grows in this city except in parks, and they're raided when they do grow food... Do you think we'll make a decade? Will we even want to?"

He was headed North. His face saddened, and she felt the twinge of sorrow she always felt when she thought of what once had been their home, the mansion, the haven, now a ruin even further crumbled and devastated than the land around it. Some had blamed the mutants for the attack, children of the atom, some still so very young, hurt or killed by those who stormed the once strong gates seeking revenge.

She didn’t go to the mansion anymore. It was too distressing. The graves of friends, people unknown, and the ones that she might have recognised were they six feet further up and breathing. It was nice that they were buried, not left out to rot like some of the corpses she had seen, but still the happy memories of the place were outweighed by the loss of so many lives.

She glanced at his face and it seemed that the thought of the mansion was painful to him too. He had lived there, had friends, a lover? She didn’t know what had happened to the catboy he had once been known to hang out with, but there were surely friends of his lost in the collapse or the attacks. She was searching for the words, any words to ease their shared pain, but before she had come up with anything more comforting than ‘at least they aren’t suffering’ in her mind, he made a move and took her bishop. Rats, that had been on the same colour as his king.

“Ah.”

And now her own monarch was in jeopardy, and the useless thing could only move a space at a time. Pity her main defences had been taken down already, but if she moved him one space, then used her last horse to l-jump towards his castle… in a few moves the threat could be eliminated, or she could have lost. Her fingers hadn’t yet left the crown when Cafas spoke again, and his words stirred in her feelings she had been pushing down for a long time. Parents, James, Micah… Alive? Dead? It was pretty much guaranteed that she would never see them again, and it seemed the same for Cafas. Away from their homeland islands, each separated by distance, water and prejudice.

If home is where the heart is, where is the home for the broken hearted?

“Yeah, me too.”

She missed legos with James’ family, and walking her brother to school. Her parents despite their hours were good people, it was unfair that good people died too, not just the higher powers trying to prove some unknown point. Maybe each of their parents were still alive, thinking of their children now with love and half-hope.

“I don’t know. I can’t know. All I do know is that right now, today, I want to live. Who knows about in ten years… maybe we’ll have evolved enough to eat concrete dust… I can only live day-to-day.”

That wasn’t entirely true, she had slightly planned for the short-term future; her food was organised in rationed portions, the scant few seeds she had found were planted in a patch of dirt in what had once been the wrecked car yard and watered the best she could with what she had. Someday she hoped that there might be a tinge of green against the grey and that slowly the peas and beans might sprout. She was optimistic about the popcorn, and hopeful about the apples which she had found strung as a necklace in what was once a peace and well being hippie shop, the ruins of which still smelt of sandalwood incense.

“What do you think, do you have a ten-year plan?”

Cafas watched the board in silence for a while, moved a piece, furthered his new strategy. No check though, which meant she could mount a counter attack. He looked up from the board and stared at the wall. It took him a moment to remember what her question had been. When he did, he almost had to laugh. "I'm not particularly hopeful for the next ten months friend, let alone ten years. When I stop hearing gunshots every night, when the screams stop, when the girls in the south stop waging their war on everything and the group down on liberty island quit gathering prisoners for their battles, and that damned church can find peace with the rest of the world, and stop doing their cleansing, then I may plan for ten years. Until then, I live day to day, happy to see each morning, grateful for each breath."

When I'm not bemoaning the loss of my X-box and my boyfriend.

Now there was a thought he didn't have as often any more. Calley. What had ever become of him? Cafas secretly hoped he had died, quickly. This world would probably suit him, but Cafas doubted he would be terribly happy with the food situation. He couldn't stand living in a room that looked like s bomb had been dropped in it, Cafas doubted a whole city of it was any more to his liking.

Cafas certainly did consider what he would be doing the next day. He suspected walking, as usual. Maybe he could find some evil bastards in desperate need of not living, or perhaps something to restore his faith in humanity as a concept. Once he thought he had found that. It was not to be so.