One in Ten (Chapter 13)

By FinalStand

*Editing magic performed by Shyqash, and Kenjisato, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells*

*To be treasured is to be safe in the knowledge you are cared for and unsafe in the certainty your value puts your life at risk*

(The long race to Cody, WY.)

{SHIRLEY'S DINER, WINNER, SD}

Despite the early hours -- their declared opening hour was six AM -- Shirley's was packed, mainly with 'take-out' orders. They were for people heading east, somehow hoping to get past the quarantine on the Highway 44 Platte-Winner Bridge. It was already shut down to all traffic and enforced by some National Guard unit, but still people kept trying to cross. The traffic jams were horrendous.

"Okay," Casper warned us. "We are looking for reinforcements here, so keep your eyes open and your hands on your trigger guards."

"Are you going to give me a gun?" I knew I sounded incredulous.

"Yes, Israel, but it won't be loaded, so no need to freak out," she answered.

"What if someone shoots at him?" Angel frowned.

"We make them dead."

"Done deal," Angel responded.

"Let's go and keep those engines running. This had better not take long," Casper declared, before our diminished group went in. The Vanishers had to keep one team member in the driver's seat and the other manning the copula so they could only spare four coming in. That meant 'my group' had to contribute some members. I had volunteered and stunningly, Casper said 'yes'.

Angel had my back, along with Wes with one group, while Casper had Capri and Luna in the other. For some reason... and then I saw them just as they saw us -- it was Dimple's team!!! Dimple's team plus Freya and her infant son -- who was currently breastfeeding. Fraklos was the one closest and she jumped up and came right at me in a hurry.

"Fucking 'A'," she chortled, shaking her head. "It would have to be you."

"How did you know to meet up with us -- and we have to go right now," I took her hug, bit down on my fear of being touched by strangers, then turned her half around and began retiring from whence I came. I guessed since the last time we had been together at GNN studios, she really had helped me escape after all... so...

"Enola contacted Mary Wollstonecraft and they steered us here," Fraklos clued me in on our convergence.

She waved everyone over, and we all rapidly made our exit outside to our waiting rides. We had drawn some attention, but the local law enforcement must have already been hellishly overtaxed, so no one, officially, was bothering us. Besides, not counting Jethro's motorcycle, ours looked like a small military convoy. In short order, the former-FBI contingent mounted their two stolen rides and off we went.

Our problem was one of power, or lack thereof. Our Hummers would need a recharge sometime in the next four hours -- sooner, if we were forced cross-country. It was Kuiko, who stepped up and told Casper she had 'connections' in Rapid City, who might be able to help. They had a private electronic hook-up on site of their business -- the Rapid City Hotel and Casino...

"Kuiko, who do you know who works in a casino?" I inquired. As far as I could figure out, it was most likely someone in food services, or a dealer if she was lucky.

"I... um... my grandmother manages the largest casino back in the city," she meekly confessed.

"Wait a second," Aniqua's voice broke over the frequency. "How much does your grandmother make a year?"

"Upper six figures, I think." She looked so embarrassed.

"Does she hate you?"

"No."

"Let me get this straight... nine months ago, when we were struggling to make rent after that disastrous shopping trip... and we had to eat raman for six days straight -- nothing but raman breakfast, lunch and dinner -- and you had a relative, who could have lent you the money?"

"Yes, but I don't like being dependent on her for that," Kuiko pled her case.

"All that's nice, but who do you know in Rapid City -- precisely?" Casper interrupted.

"Well, Charlie Sano is the floor boss, and Sakura Baker is head chef. They are both my cousins."

"Do they know you?" Casper pressed.

"I'd hope so. I see them every family reunion, and recently, I graduated to the adults' table. Before that, I was one of the babysitters," she explained. "Oh, and they send me Christmas presents every year, too."

"That will have to do," Casper grumbled. "Please recall we are making this plan up as we go along, everyone. Humping our way across the Black Hills and most of Wyoming would truly suck for most of you."

"Humping?" I wasn't alone in asking.

"Marching," Casper enlightened us to her military jargon.

What was unspoken in all of that was the reality that most of my women couldn't keep up with the pace Casper and company would set, nor could Jethro and his two ladies. Since the Vanisher wouldn't leave me behind, that could spell a really bad standoff when the first of mine dropped down and couldn't get back up.

{KUIKO'S 43}

The four long hours it took us to reach Rapid City had our hairs standing on edge. Behind us, the world slowly devolved into chaos and violence. In a desperate effort to hold the Missouri River quarantine line, the EMM had the Air Force and Air Force Reserve blast the secondary bridges, all up and down the river line from Kansas City north to God knows where. It seemed like such an impossible task.

If there was one saving grace, it was that the provinces of the Middle Rockies had never quite recovered from the first round of the Gender Plague, so there weren't too many people throwing themselves at the barricades this time around, or this early. Already people from California and the Pacific Northwest provinces were starting to head steadily eastward, as news of the spreading outbreaks radiated out of central California.

As we exited Winner, this reality became omnipresent for all of us. All roads heading east were crowded, or getting that way, while lanes heading west were almost entirely deserted. Here and there were RVs heading toward the great wilderness regions of the Middle and Northern Rockies and Mississippi provinces to either pass their final days in nature, or in an attempt to have the plague pass them by. I wished them luck in either case.

As a plus, I was allowed to spell Zara in the copula and use her binoculars to scan the horizon, looking for threats for a few hours, while she garnered a cat nap. Kuiko curled up with a blanket on the floor space and gained her own measure of sleep. The skies remained clear mainly because, little to my knowledge, only the Bolivians and Caribbeans realized we had evaded the Missouri quarantine and were booking it westward. The rest were playing catchup, realigning satellites, and sending their own military drones out westward in an effort to locate us. Even Mother Nature appeared to be in our favor.

A storm front was rolling off the Rockies on its way to the Gulf, spawning tornadoes and dropping torrential rains in its path. All we received was dark cloud cover from about seven AM on, but that was a serious help as well, with high winds making drone driving exceedingly difficult, especially from half-a-world away.

Zara informed me, that while we were invisible to optical satellite imagery, they could still pierce the cloud cover with SAR (Synthetic Aperture Radar) to track us. Our grey, ghostly images could still be spotted racing off in the opposite direction of saner folks -- the ones trying cross those bridges. Still, Jen and a few other Vanishers, could spoof SAR too, given enough time. Time -- time -- time... all we needed was more time.

Likewise, I didn't know that Big-M Keverich was reaching out with all her tendrils of influence and criminal underworld contacts to also locate how far west we had made it, as well as figuring out our final destination. Thanks to Flame and her utter destruction of Industrial Maintenance Welding, Isobel Diaz didn't have the name 'Jethro MacFarlane' to toss out there, though she was curious about her inability to locate Francesca Silverhorn ... who seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth.

By the time my name percolated to her ears that afternoon, the Morning Sun killings there were old news and we had put hundreds of kilometers between that abysmal incident and her reach. Worse, the Airmobile Division, while being sent in the right direction, was removed from her control as the EMM needed those professional warfighters to start blowing up bridges over the Missouri and limiting traffic over the few which would currently be permitted to remain.

By the time the formal declaration of war rolled around at four PM, they were doing just that. The two Ranger battalions were still in her arsenal, but the capital was getting awfully curious as to why they weren't moving their way as commanded. The regional military commander was running out of excuses and was clearly on the cusp of declaring herself in rebellion by temporarily siding with the Minister of Defense, thus the Civilian Government -- initiating a civil war.

{***}

It was drizzling in Rapid City when we rolled into town. The sky was dark enough that most of the street lamps were alight, though the area was still under a tornado watch as well. There was remarkably little traffic in the streets. Most businesses had closed early, though most supermarkets, and gun stores, remained open. The casino was on the north side of town, yet even the two passing Rapid City Police cars paid us little mind.

I guess we looked official and to be moving with a purpose, so they assumed we were on some errand for someone higher up the chain of command. Besides, they had their own host of problems to deal with, not the least was the growing number of 'Vigilance Committees', aka neighbors banding together for self-protection and to control local resources... like supermarkets.

One such 'Vigilance' outfit was stationed around the casino itself, and they didn't appear to want to give way to Casper, despite whatever bullshit she was trying to sell them, or the heavy ordinance she possessed. Kuiko popped up and took off so quickly, I was remiss in immediately following her.

Before I could rectify that mistake, Zara put a hand on my shoulder and said, "No, you don't."

I could still make out what she was saying though.

"Hey. Can I speak to Rufus?" she asked the lead tough-gal -- with her assault rifle.

That person spoke into their walkie-talkie and then we all waited. If possible, Kuiko looked even cuter, as the rain plastered her hair to her head and her clothing to her body.

About five minutes later, this tall, robust Black woman came striding up to the entrance and, after taking one look at Kuiko, smiled and greeted her with a hug.

"Kuiko, what are you doing -- here! As opposed to back home where it's safer?"

"Ah -- long story. These are my friends and we need someplace to hold up, while we refuel and get a bite to eat. I swear we have all come from the city and haven't been talking to any strangers in the past three days," sort of spilled out of Kuiko's mouth.

"You sure about this?" 'Rufus' eyeballed Casper, then the rest of our expanded convoy. She gave Jethro the twice over.

"Yeah. Oh, and I want you to meet my boyfriend," Kuiko blathered.

"Oh, the aunties are going to love that," Rufus laughed. "Kuiko's got herself a man." Then to the rest of us, "Come on through."

The second the other women on watch helped move the concrete-filled trash cans out of the way, we drove around the back of the casino to the carpark -- a three-story structure. Due to their size, the Hummers had to be stored in the VIP parking (normally reserved for limousines) which had the benefit of placing us under some hard cover and invisible from above.

Once parked, we made our way indoors -- three Vanishers remained with the vehicles -- and I was able to catch up with Kuiko at last.

"Rufus -- Raphine, actually -- this is my boyfriend, Israel," she blurted out.

"Israel ... popular name," she joked. "You've been in the news -- a whole lot. Why don't I have you meet up with the manager, while Kuiko, here, reacquaints herself with her kinfolk?"

Right then, four young girls came squealing out the side entrance and swarmed Kuiko, calling her name and demanding to be picked up.

"These are my cousins," she informed me -- us. "This is Little Shiro, Akari, Hayami and Kohaku," she pointed out each one in turn.

"Are you Auntie Kuiko's beau?" Akari questioned me.

"Yes. Yes, I am -- Akari, right?"

"Yes, that's me," she beamed.

"Scoot, you four," Rufus commanded. "Israel here needs to see Miss Mulroney and Auntie Charlie."

Then, to me, "Miss Mulroney is the general manager and in charge, since none of the owners have made it here yet. Charlie is the floor boss -- oh, and I'm head of security."

Of course, the kids wanted to tag along, claiming to be sssoooo bored. They didn't take into account all of the guns which had surrounded me once more. Flame chuckled, while Kuiko appeared very nervous. Casper was a cypher as were Wendy and Zara. Angel and Carpi quickly sent the others on a 'food run', while Casper had the other Vanishers begin the refueling process.

That accomplished, we all packed into a large elevator and headed up to the highest floors in the adjoining hotel complex.

"You won't need your guns, folks," Rufus advised us. "This is just a meet and greet. As I said, Kuiko is family and known here. She is vouching for you. Keep that in mind."

"Where is Sakura?" Kuiko worried.

"Her Reserve unit got called up so she's at Ellsworth, probably preparing meals for the whole damn 90th by now," Rufus answered.

"Oh yeah. She always wanted me to join up to... you know... if this welding thing didn't work out," Kuiko moped somewhat. "I hope she stays safe."

"Well, the 90th has top-flight medical facilities, plus they are rather isolated. As long as they all come in okay, they should be able to ride this storm out as well."

"By storm... you mean the plague?" I asked.

"Yep," Rufus nodded.

"Ah... are your employers likely to want to turn me in... you know, to the government?"

"Which Government?" Rufus snorted. "The governor, the military, or what's left of the civilian one?"

"Point taken," I had to grin. "Things are really a mess."

"Not my problem anymore," Rufus stated. "The casino is in its own quarantine now and that's where I draw the line. Anyone off the property is no longer my concern -- less they are family."

"Well, with any luck we won't be bothering you for much longer," Casper riposted.

"Who are you with?" Rufus asked.

"10th Special Forces Group," Casper replied, "though my current assignment means I won't be seeing any of those gals ever again."

"Pity. The whole world is going to crap -- showing everyone the importance of family and what that means."

The elevator doors opened. I barely noticed Zara placing herself and her armored body between me and danger. Rufus led the way down the hall to a double door with a lone armed guard stationed there.

"Janet, come to see the boss," Rufus addressed the guard. 'Janet' nodded then stepped aside. Rufus opened the right-hand door and we began to file in.

"Well, as I live and breathe," the woman behind the awesome desk stood, as I entered -- fourth in line, "Israel-fucking-Jensen. Welcome to my casino."

"Thank you very much," I responded. "Your hospitality is much appreciated.

"Glad to hear it. I'll make it simple. How many pints of your 'special' blood can you afford to give me?"

"Can we consult my medical specialist?" I blinked at Miss Mulroney's abrupt nature.

"Sure. One would be nice, two would be great. We will use our state-of-the art medical facility here to do it in, of course. We have the centrifuges as well, so all I need to know is... are you sure he has the 'Cure'?"

"One hundred percent," Casper stepped up, and pledged. "We have already tested it against this new plague and it was remarkably effective even, with minimal parts per billion."

"Can this be replicated in our population?" she asked next.

"Not sure. As far as we know, it is limited to males of the species, but we haven't had the medical team to ascertain this."

"Damn, I'm an idiot!" Casper suddenly exclaimed. "You don't need to put Israel through this again and so soon. The past forty-eight hours have been pretty horrific for him. Why don't we have all the ladies he's slept with donate a pint, instead? They have a healthy dose of his antibodies and giving one pint of blood shouldn't be that debilitating."

"I like your idea," Mulroney nodded. "How many women are we talking about?"

"Kuiko, Angel, Venus and Aria," Casper mentally went down that list.

"I would prefer we not draw any blood from Freya," I added. "She is nursing her infant -- her male infant."

Mulroney nodded.

"Four pints of the Israel Cure should do us just fine. We only need to inoculate the children and those most at risk -- those who are going to have to go out and raid other places, when our stockpiles run low," the manager mused.

"I gave blood Wednesday," I confirmed.

"Yes, and Brandi says due to other concerns, we would really prefer him not be required to give again so soon," Casper tacked on.

She must have contacted Brandi via her headset, put on a 'private' channel so the rest of us wouldn't get spooked, or bothered.

"Let's get to it," Mulroney came around the desk. "You round up the ladies in question, and I'll make sure medical is ready for this. I can't say how much this will do for morale here. Things were looking pretty bleak."

"Any cases here in Rapid City yet?" I had to ask.

"Not yet, but I don't think the provincial government shut down the airport soon enough. We were getting planes in here from points west until late last night."

"If everything works out okay, maybe I -- we can double back in a month with more of the 'cure'," I offered.

"We'd appreciate that. We'll keep you abreast of the situation here, so you don't walk into a shit-storm," Mulroney promised. "The casino has its own electronic switchboard and HAM radio station -- I'll give you the specifics."

As she walked around us, it rapidly became clear she wanted us to follow. I caught Casper whispering into her communication set, most likely keeping the rest abreast of our position and direction of movement.

Back into the elevator we went, our situation made even more comical having to shoehorn in one extra person. The device gave off a groaning sound as we went down, protesting our excess weight it had to carry -- way past the 'safe' limit.

"Are you really Kuiko's boyfriend?" Mulroney ambushed me.

"Yes. I love her and she has agreed to share me -- emotionally -- with a few other women," I replied. "Honestly, she is freaking wonderful."

"Damn right she is," the manager chuckled. "Glad to see she has found someone, who appreciates her."

The elevator doors opened and we were confronted with a sea of little- and medium-sized Sanos.

"Mr. J," a grey-haired-model Sano stepped forward, and extended her hand.

"OH MY GOD!" screeched Capri. "You didn't tell me you were related to THE Shiro Sano!"

"Ms. O'Hara, correct?" the person identified as Shiro Sano said to Capri, while pumping my hand.

"Yes -- yes ma'am," Capri blushed furiously. "I'm stunned you recall me."

"You were second chair on the Wainwrights case in that Mock Court at DePaul -- two years ago," Shiro explained. "As I recall, you kept exquisite notes. Honestly, I felt somewhat superfluous."

"I -- yes ma'am," Capri stammered.

"I'm glad you have rediscovered your ability to speak, too," Shiro teased.

"She has a wonderful voice and a shark-like courtroom presence. Yes, I'm Mr. J and Capri is my legal counsel of record and has been doing a bang-up job keeping me out of the hands of the GED and the FBI."

"Damn right I have," Capri recovered quickly. "Still, I am very happy to see you. What are you doing here?"

"Vacationing with my two daughters. What are you doing here?"

"Living a life on the run from virtually every authority in the Western Hemisphere," Capri answered. Then, "You are still shaking my client's hand, Ms. Sano."

"Ha! Good for you," Shiro let my grip go. "How did you get to know our family's best known -- least appreciated artist?"

"Hey now," I protested.

I also reached out for Kuiko and drew her in. I could tell the manager was anxious to continue, so off we set, that sea of Sanos tagging along. If anything, having four more of their kids and now two teenage ones -- all girls -- with us put Casper more at ease.

"What do you mean 'least appreciated artist'?"

"Kuiko has the ambition to become a world-famous metal-sculpture artist. She has quite the talent, but is afraid to strike out on her own. She claims she wants to build up the seed money for her enterprise herself first, though."

"Kuiko, did you blow all that money on our first date instead of saving it for your dream occupation?" I stared deeply into her eyes. Words weren't necessary. She had. Then the words hit her.

"First date," she sighed happily. "Yum-yum," she murmured, as she snuggled in tightly.

"Oh, where are my manners," I reengaged with Shiro. "This is Angel Kristi and Zara 'no last name given' along with Casper, our team's lead lioness."

"Horvat," Zara finally spoke, though her alertness hadn't ratcheted down one bit.

"Casper Harvey," Casper nodded.

"Sorry Sano family, but we have to go to medical." Rufus began separating us from the Sano clan.

"Is everyone okay?" Shiro inquired. "I understand it is becoming quite wild out there."

"Just checking things out," I lied. Sadly, Shiro immediately clued into me lying.

I would have cared more, except Angel had taken ahold of my other hand and was giving it a squeeze every few seconds to remind her she was close by, in case I needed to fall back inside myself for a few moments -- a respite against the world's pressures and expectations.

"Shiro, gather your aunts and cousins in reception room number two, and I'll explain things there," Mulroney set things straight.

Shiro stopped walking, pulled out her phone and began making some calls. The rest of us traversed the casino room floor which was still quite active. Despite my infamy, no one seemed to notice me. Perhaps it was because of my obvious military outfitting and hardware. Who could say?

We entered their medical center... which was very much like a modern day trauma center -- holy shit!

"We take the care of our visitors and staff very seriously," Mulroney took in my surprise. "We get yearly updates on our equipment, and supply our medical staff with the continuing education opportunities."

"I had heard casinos did this," Capri noted. "I simply didn't believe it."

"Well, believe. Now, Mr. Jensen, this is Dr. Three Dogs Running M.D. -- she is a Crow Aboriginal who has elected to fort up with us for the crisis. Doctor, this is Israel Jensen and we have an opportunity for you to save us all."

And then she laid out the plan to the gathering medical staff on what they needed to do.

Despite the positive progress we were making, Casper didn't scale down her alertness one iota. She assigned one armed individual to be with the donors at all times. I would stay within arms' reach of both Zara and former Special Agent Fraklos for the duration. We were offered rooms to crash out in, but Casper declined. Mulroney didn't get it, but Rufus did.

Just as the casino was Rufus' family, the convoy was hers. We had our food delivered and an FBI agent was stationed with each of the vehicles as well. Sleep was calling us, but the reality was that humanity in the Federation was slowly unraveling as the crisis deepened. GNN was keeping us abreast of the pandemic as well as the upcoming civil war... which took a back burner when the Federation declared war on Bolivia and the Caribbean Federation of States.

{***}

Texas was about to get demolished, but then it wasn't so slowly occurring that the regional military commanders in the other provinces began recalling their oaths and put politics aside. The question was 'would this reaction be in time?' The major problem was the vast majority of Federation regular military units were on either the western, or eastern coasts of the Federation, not in its interior.

It was up to the National Guard and Reserves to repel this unheralded invasion in its opening hours -- and quite frankly, the only hours which mattered. There was one overlooked benefit in all of this, though. At the capital, the Joint Chiefs had been gathering dozens of regular units and reservists under their direct control. As the airborne assaults began, they released those units in two directions.

Most of the Army units were sent racing south, toward Texas, to repel an expected seaborne invasion, while their Special Forces were sent hunting westward for my yet-to-be-revealed location. Whomever had me, had the cure thus life itself, or so the reasoning went. Following in the footsteps of the deposed Federation President Pillyere, the Joint Chiefs were also isolating key communities and industries in a desperate attempt to keep some aspect of the Federation alive.

One of their biggest problems was one of location -- too many key defense industry establishments were in the provinces of California and the Pacific Northwest. California was already a lost cause and was callously written off -- including their regular military units -- there was no saving them. Already, the associated naval units were expelling suspected infected individuals in a tragic attempt to save some elements of the Pacific fleet.

The East Coast, on the other hand, there had remained some concrete hopes of saving what 'needed' to be saved. Civilians were already being rounded up against their will and were either expelled from critical junctures, or placed in those all-important positions they would be needed in over the upcoming months. With any luck, these isolated redoubts would keep the flames of civilization alive.

{***}

We all took the declarations of war in different ways. I wanted to break down and cry. Women -- thousands upon thousands of women -- were about to die, trying to get their hands on me and that meant everyone currently around me was in deathly peril. I asked Casper to spin off my group of ladies and the former FBI crew to 'lighten our load'.

She nixed that. She wanted every gun possible around me when whatever side discovered us first. To prove this was the End of Times, they did what our society NEVER did. They gave the three of us guys -- Jethro was a breed apart -- firearms -- pistols in our case. We even went behind the casino, where it looked over undeveloped countryside and had another firearms training session. Pierre and I was getting remarkably better, whereas Barabbas and Zuiko... were not.

In what seemed like a race to remain relevant, the military broadcast stations were updating the deployment of the National Guard and military reserves, though they used code words to indicate locations in most cases. GNN gave us spectacular footage of jets using rockets to destroy bridges all along the Missouri and lower Mississippi (from the Federation Capital to the Gulf).

Only a handful would remain open. As for the people on those bridges, trapped in those impossible traffic jams... most died. Those who didn't, were encouraged to swim back to the west bank. Those who didn't, were killed by the law enforcement and troops sent to guard those crossings. I had to hope that, somehow, Mama and Sonia Ripley were okay. And if they had my kids. I had to hope they would somehow make it as well. Seeing those children of mine... still an impossibility.

"You look incredibly bleak," Capri caught up with me in the bar.

For a few moments, the bartender was keeping me to the two, and only two, alcoholic drinks I was permitted by law.

"Society is going down the crapper," I joked feebly. "Besides, who is going to arrest you now?"

"Point taken," she snorted, then poured all of us a shot glass. "To surviving this shit," she toasted. Carpi and I joined in that toast, all right. 'To surviving this shit' indeed.

I was just starting to feel warm all the way from the tips of my toes to the hair on the top of my head, when Zara grabbed hold of me.

"Time to go," she began steering me toward the side exit, where our rides had been parked. I could see it in her eyes. Something was wrong.

"What happened?" I worried.

"Someone just attempted to land a jet airliner at the Rapid City Regional Airport. A big one. Initial reports are sketchy, but it appears to be disgorging a large number of armed women. We need to get out of here."

It was nice of her to let me know what was going on as opposed to merely strong-arming me.

"The last of the donors are resting up," Casper contacted me, as her Vanishers made sure we were all accounted for. "The vehicles are fully juiced. We need to be going -- NOW!"

I nodded. What else could I do?

As I started running for the exit, I felt the heavy weight of the ten-millimeter pistol's holster banging against my right thigh. The extra magazines were upon my left. The belt securing it around my waist suddenly felt a whole lot heavier, too. Out we went, and piled into our assigned rides. Zara touched my headset and suddenly all the other chatter died.

"Israel, this is Enola -- Dimples. No matter what else happens, don't commit suicide if we get separated. We will keep looking for you no matter what, and we will find you. Promise me you will stay alive."

The unspoken promise was if I didn't agree to her demands, they would disarm me lickety-split.

"I swear, Enola, I won't give up. I have children of mine I want to see come into this world and grow up. I won't lose faith in you, or the Vanishers, hunting for me and setting me free."

"Atta boy," Dimples gave off a sigh of relief. "Bravo."

We all piled into our cars, or Hummers -- except Rufus had traded in our stolen sedans for off-road all-terrain rides -- and peeled out of the parking garage. We exited the casino parking lot and took a left (north) onto Federation Highway 90. This time, we had a tiny bit more room, as Casper had gifted the FBI contingent with Barabbas, so that each of their vehicles had five occupants (or one with six, if you counted baby Narfi).

Kuiko, glued to her phone, was watching footage of the airplane wreck from the vantage point of the air control tower. It was a confusing mess initially... and then the firing began. One sheriff's deputy had been approaching the crash, a gas mask over her face and warding the newcomers away, so one of them shot the gal at near-point-blank range.

Her back-up, some dozens of yards away, sheltering within her cop car, began firing at the newcomers... and then the entire new contingent returned fire, shredding the ARMORED police vehicle and the woman inside of it. At the same time, the person recording this from the tower zeroed in on the woman seemingly in charge.

"Oh no," Kuiko sniffled, in a scared, little girl's voice.

"What?" I rubbed both her arms. "What is it?" as if the carnage wasn't bad enough.

"It's Big-M," she whispered. Sensing my momentary lack of comprehension, "Maria Keverich."

"Oh shit," I trembled uncontrollably, and I didn't even know precisely who that was even then -- my sole experience with organized crime having been with her daughter, 'Little M'... who had me nearly beaten to death, over something as trivial as a look.

Flame would have known more, but sadly she was in one of the other vehicles. She had once worked for Big M after all so could separate the legend from reality while Kuiko could not.

"Casper," I said over my headset, "that is Maria Keverich at the airport... and she has a lot of people with her."

"I'm watching the same coverage. I'm counting roughly eighty people, approximately two-thirds are moving, and acting, like professionals -- professional mercenaries, that is. The rest are most likely criminals associated with Keverich."

Already, the mob of women around Keverich were racing toward the parking lot and breaking into the cars there. It would be a tight fit getting them all into the rides they could get into. Since I could then make out the difference, I could tell who the criminals were, and who weren't. Among them was... oh hell no!

"Kuiko, scroll back! Scroll back," I urged her.

She did so and my heart nearly stopped.

"That's Bethany Fremont," I muttered.

"Your ex is working with Big-M?" Kuiko gulped.

I nodded.

"Casper, the mercenary contingent includes Bethany Fremont, Dr. Fremont's youngest daughter... so I guess those two factions are currently working together."

"Seems to be the case, but for how long -- we can't conjecture at this moment. Zara."

"Yes." Zara sounded so icily calm.

"If you get the chance, take down Maria Keverich, Bethany Fremont and the woman standing next to her -- most likely the mercenary team leader."

"Understood. Three targets confirmed."

I leaned around Kuiko and into Zara's face. She looked at me, confused, so I kissed her fully on the lips.

"For luck," I plastered a smile on my face.

"Don't worry, Israel, we've got you," she assured me, with utmost confidence.

Ahead of us, Wendy was watching the path ahead with her small drone, while Casper was covering our rear with another. While not the same size, speed, or potency of the swarms of drones seeking us out, they were the right tools for the job. All they had to do was keep pace with our convoy and stick close to the ground (fifty meters up, or so) and their small size was their best armor against detection, thus their destruction. Kat was driving their Hummer with former SA Vabishi manning the fifty caliber in the cupola if necessary.

I was in the second Hummer with Zara, Jen and Brandi with Pierre, Angel and Kuiko with me. Wes was driving in the third Hummer, and Thorn at the wheel in the fourth. Between the first and second Hummer was the first all-terrain vehicle with Sosa driving. Between the third and fourth was the other all-terrain, with Norris driving. Both Dimples and Barabbas were in the first all-terrain vehicle, safely in the middle of us all ... safe as that was.

Just outside of Gillette, in the old State of Wyoming, our luck finally ran out. A drone, floating about a kilometer-and-a-half up, caught sight of us. We were pretty certain because it began following along. Worse, it was armed, so our little convoy was then in constant peril. To add to our catalog of misfortunes, the sky began to clear and sunset was still nearly three hours away.

{***}

For the six survivors out of thirty, the mission was almost complete. They only needed five to do what needed to be done. That this would be considered a war crime didn't bother them in the slightest. If they failed, their nation would be dead. There were too many safeguards to fulfill their primary mission -- turn the solar array closest to the Federation capital into a massive cannon, nuking the site from orbit.

Instead, they overrode the array's controls and sent it crashing down into the capital. Organizing, and pulling this feat of skill, and technology, off in such a limited amount of time was truly phenomenal -- coordinating it so the solar array could fall on such a tiny amount of Earth's space. The damage would be far less than the space cannon idea, but still extensive. In this moment of crisis, they would remove the Federation's leadership, or so they hoped. The sixth member of the team reported the ground site's reaction force was coming for them.

They were out of time. The ladies gave each other one final salute, then engaged every thruster in the array and pointed it downward. Then they put plastic explosive charges on every device capable of counteracting their work, blew the place, and went off to join their sixth sister in the Halls of Legends back home, heroines to the bitter end.

GNN got it more succinctly. Terrorists had seized the ground facility and plunged the array into the capital city area. Most of the bigwigs were whisked to deep bunkers capable of sustaining them against anything short of a nuclear strike, or the mother-of-all-bunker-busting bombs. Besides, the majority of the array was fragile, burning up upon reentry. What the Federation did lack was cohesive leadership at this crucial juncture.

Essentially, every military district's regional commander was on their own, though technically the Mid-Atlantic Command had the senior-most seniority and could have taken charge if she wanted to attempt it. Unsure as to what damage the capital had sustained, she did nothing. Besides, she had a plague to prepare for, a war to fight -- she was rushing two brigades to Texas by rail at that moment -- and a 'bunker' strategy to enforce.

Adding to the cacophony of destruction were the ambassadors to Brazil and Argentina, who finally decided to pay the foreign ministers of those two countries a visit and enlightened them to the war the CFS and Bolivia were waging with the Federation -- and, seeing as both had borders disputes with Bolivia -- if they could ally with the Federation. South of the equator, two more countries were preparing to jump off into their own struggle for survival.

{***}

An hour later, the fireworks began. First and foremost, though it was beyond our horizon, the solar farm which powered so much of the capital's energy was taken off-line... then dropped on our capital... was it still my capital, even after all the betrayals and misery heaped upon me? Who could I ask about such thinking?

"The prime military channel just went off-line," Kuiko was the first to warn us what had gone wrong.

The next... to the southwest, we saw bright points of light begin at the horizon and start to rise, rise, rise to the heavens. Before they lost communications with the outside world, the Joint Chiefs gave the order for the majority of the Federation's ICBM groups to strike at their two foes. While the heads of those missile groups hesitated -- who was really in charge after all -- the capital went silent. With that event foremost on their minds, they preemptively decided to strike back as well.

"Holy shit," Zara commented. "There go the missiles. This is... the End."

"What do you mean?" I had to ask.

"We are about to pulverize every city center in the Caribbean Federation and Bolivia. Those are our ICBM fleets you see in the distance," she explained.

"Won't the two of them hit back?" I worried. That was the MAD (Mutual Assured Destruction) doctrine I had learned about in high school.

"Without a doubt," Zara puffed out her cheeks, and exhaled.

"What's going to be left?"

"Not a lot. More to the point, this sort of shit cans any hope of saving any part of the Federation from the plague. How can we set up quarantine zones if all the major cities are shattered?"

"Oh no," Kuiko wept. "Who is going to survive?"

"Us... the fantastically lucky few... the people living in remote rural areas with enough firepower to beat off the refugees fleeing their shattered homes," Zara outlined. "It is going to get ugly. At least the Vanisher model really has a chance now."

"You mean you took part in this, not believing you could succeed?" I gulped.

"Yes -- until I met you, I wasn't sure at all. Now... Israel, you have really given me hope we can pull this off. The rest of the events which have followed our first meeting have simply been serendipity."

With one hand I squeezed Zara's, while my encircling arm hugged Kuiko to me tightly.

Seconds later, the drone tracking us began a series of drastic, violent maneuvers. Zara popped up in her cupola and began scanning about -- not at the drone, but looking for the thing it was evading. She spotted them even as the lead fighter -- an old F-55 -- launched an air-to-air missile at it. Before it unleashed, we couldn't see the damn thing and this was a sixth-generation aircraft -- as old as the Gender Plague itself.

"That has to be someone's Air National Guard," Zara whispered over our shared communications network. Indeed, those two were patrolling jets from the Upper Mississippi Province (old North Dakota). Behind them, came two of 'our' drones, looking for the convoy, led to us by the CFS drone. West of Gillette, there was nowhere to hide, except in one of the half-dozen abandoned coal-mining sites.

Hiding in one of those would have meant we weren't gaining ground to the west, so Casper decided to move at an unsafe speed on Federation Highway 90, instead. It was fortunate for us traffic on the highway was minimal due to the various local quarantines. Tapping into various satellites, Jen was able to maneuver us around the roadblocks set up to question those who were on the road this fateful day.

"Man, I am so stressed," I mumbled. "Kuiko, can we have sex?"

"No, silly," she giggled, shedding her own crushing anxiety, "we have to keep our armor on."

She looked so adorable in her heavy-armored vest and helmet.

"Besides, it is better if you had sex with the other members of the coterie first -- and all the Vanishers -- before we can share 'the sexy' again."

"You are turning me down," I teased her at the absurdity of the moment.

"Yes. I can't believe I'm being so stupid," she riposted.

"You aren't being stupid, you are saving your life," Capri reminded us both. "If you keep hogging Israel, Roni and Samantha are going to kill you in your sleep."

"Point taken," I sighed.

Kuiko hugged me tighter, then relaxed somewhat.

Zara reported the results before the rest of us heard it -- the speed of light being much greater than the speed of sound.

"Nailed it," she related to us in her patently smooth, soft voice. "Down one enemy drone. The jets have moved up to a holding pattern... oh shit, now they have gone evasive, while the accompanying drones have dove for the Earth."

Who was chasing them? That question was answered twenty-seven seconds later, when one of the National Guard F-55s exploded in mid-air and the other one fled to the northeast. Five new fighters came to dominate our airspace and, unlike the F-55s, these were top-notch seventh-generation war machines.

"Crap," Zara muttered. "Those are Panavia Cyclones. I'll wager a month's pay those are either CFS, or Bolivians. Well, they fucked up," she added.

Like a Prophetess of Doom, six missiles, fountaining flames and plumes of smoke, rose out of Gillette and raced after the five enemy aircraft. Gillette was the home base for 'A' Battery, 2nd Battalion, 300th Multi-role Field Artillery of the Middle Rockies National Guard -- that meant they blew shit up from a quite a distance and, in this case, it meant several units in the battery were configured to be SAM (surface to air) launchers.

Unlike the SAM weaponry the Vanishers had, these were some-freaking-huge missiles, which could chase after targets for close to a hundred kilometers. Yikes!

The enemy aircraft scattered, each one attempting to evade the oncoming pinpoints of death. Even then, the SAMs only had to get so close -- exploding and ripping the fragile aircraft to bits with the resulting shrapnel.

Sadly, the artillery unit was also a National Guard formation, so their missiles, while lovingly maintained and updated, were still configured to hunt down and destroy sixth-generation targets. The enemy lost one aircraft before the other four evaded their missiles and raced toward Gillette to smash the battery before they could launch their second volley of six, or reload those launchers.

While they rained rocket fire on the city of Gillette, seeking out the battery, and radar units which guided it, various MANPAD (man-portable air defense) missiles rose up to meet them. They bagged yet another jet -- wounding it to the point it had to limp away south, before the other three made them pay for the temerity of firing at them in the first place.

The plus side for all of us in this was the aircraft spent all their munitions on Gillette so had nothing except their gun-pods to threaten us with. That meant they would have to come within range of our own MANPADs and the Vanisher tech was top notch -- designed to deal with seventh-generation opponents. The fighters elected to not close the distance, leaving it to the drones to keep a close watch on us.

Then the drone battle began. This time, a flight of drones from the south came charging in, engaging the three surviving fighters with their own radar-guided missiles then the foreign drones with magnetic-seekers -- hunting down their foes' residual signals of their magnetic engines. Those engines didn't produce enough heat to justify using an IR (heat-seeking) warhead these days.

The airspace around us became cluttered with the contrails of missiles racing to destroy their targets, or the actual planes and drones either launching said missiles, or evading them with bright clouds of chaff. While, technically, none of the aircraft above us were 'on our side', we had to pretend to be on the Federation's side. Once our lead Hummer 'lit up' a CFS drone which, while evading another drone, crossed dangerously close to us.

Being the awesome goddesses of war they were, the Vanishers clipped the enemy drone and sent it spiraling out of control, eventually crashing in the desolate terrain we found ourselves in. Twice the CFS-Bolivian side attempted to crater Highway 90 ahead of us, forcing us to stop, or at least slow down. Not these girls. They maneuvered off-road, dodging the damage and keeping their pedals to the metal.

The real difficult part came when, after some effort, the Federation side managed to contact Casper. They wanted us to make it to the town of Buffalo, and fort up there until ground units could secure 'our' -- the convoy's -- package -- 'me'. Estimated time to our safety -- thirty-four minutes. Casper acknowledged the order, then dropped contact. What else could she do?

Ahead of us, my old friends in the 1st Ranger battalion from the city, had circled to the north of the kerfuffle centered on the convoy, and put four hundred of their young ladies in charge of the town -- temporarily. They even had the captain Capri had insulted on the metro; how wonderful. Casper had Jen figure out a route around Buffalo as quickly as possible, which bled off our speed as little as was practical.

We'd need every kilometer-per-hour if we were going to make it to Ranchester and the Highway 14 turn-off. Highway 14 would, hopefully, deposit us in Cody. In theory, we would then push on into Yellowstone National Park via the Shoshone National Forest, all along good ol' Highway 14. Depending on the level of surveillance, we would have to actually enter the Shoshone, abandon our vehicles, then return to Cody on foot.

{***}

All of that assumed we made it past Buffalo. Our saving grace was the distance from town the airport was at -- the Rangers had to have 'borrowed' some cargo-lifters from the 7th Airmobile Division on loan to the Great Lakes Command to have gotten that far. Currently, the helicopters and ground assets of the 7th was rushing to help hold the Missouri River quarantine line.

Unwilling to be left out of the race to capture me, the Great Lakes Regional Commander dispatched two platoons of SEAL Team 17 (Naval Reserves) in search-and-rescue aircraft westward. Technically, the SEALs were to support the Rangers, but they had specific private orders from the top to seize me and bring me back to the city. The biggest problem being the S&R (Search and Rescue) aircraft couldn't defend themselves.

The belief being that once they had me in the air, nobody would dare shoot them down less they end all life on Earth. I didn't have that ironclad belief in the women being reasonable, once they felt they could no longer possess me. Not by a long-shot. I guessed my newfound faith in women didn't reach that far.

Meanwhile, back in Texas, the CFS Marines had established a beachhead at Galveston and seized the airport there. The military and law enforcement had either been killed, or dispersed, but the civilian populace remained a problem.

Sixty years, mostly without men, hadn't dampened the gun culture in Texas all that much, as the CFS Marines were discovering. Snipers abounded, which made expanding their perimeter difficult. Still, a fleet of VTOLs (Vertical Take Off and Landing) and STOLs (Short Take Off and Landing) were making use of the captured airport to prepare to springboard into the Federation interior. From the way things were looking out at sea, the Marines urged their Army and Air Force counterparts to hurry.

And all the while, doom stalked ever closer. The first confirmed case of the plague had just been reported in San Antonio, Texas. Three hours later, Dallas would report its first. At the same time, Phoenix, Southwest Province, reported the same. Any hope of containing the outbreak to the West Coast were dashed. In Seattle, the regional military commander ordered her ground units out of the city and to be quarantined in her military installations. By nightfall, all law and order had broken down; Metropolitan Seattle-Vancouver was in total chaos.

{ENCOUNTER AT EAGLE PASS}

We blew through Buffalo -- quite literally, with all cupola weaponry firing away -- then began our race down Central Rockies Highway 16 into the Bighorn National Forest. Our speeds were beyond reckless. We had to go that fast, lest they blow a bridge ahead of us, bringing our flight to an abrupt halt. Jen, with her satellite hook-up, kept us abreast of efforts to get in front of us.

Apparently, those in pursuit could also see how deadly our pace was and decided they didn't want to risk me plunging into some ravine at 120 kilometers an hour. The one drone to make the attempt made the mistake of coming within range of our MANPADs, so Zara blew it out of the sky. The skies, in all directions, were filled with squadrons of fighter-jets in a deadly dance of skill and technology.

Neither the North American Federation, nor the CFS/Bolivian Alliance, would establish air supremacy so all their drones were at risk. Both sides were ruled by other constraints which forced them to feed aircraft into the fight, piecemeal; thus our current airborne bloodletting. The Bolivians had to move through the corridor they had established through Texas, while the Federation was limited by the politics of the regional commanders and the distance their weapons of war had to travel.

{***}

Even as I was viewing the desolate yet beautiful national 'forest' -- it was mostly craggy grassland -- outside our window, the elite Condor Regiment's 1st Battalion was lifting off from Galveston's somewhat battered airport -- the race was on and every factor had us colliding at an abandoned scenic overlook called Eagle Pass, the last chokepoint before Cody, Wyoming and the Shoshone Forest beyond.

The only problem was we weren't the only people who could read a map, and the 90th Security Forces Group could see that the best place for them to ambush us was at the same Eagle Pass. Why? Because the 90th didn't have a plethora of attack helicopters and no assigned jet cover whatsoever. To rush straight into the Bighorn National Forest was simply begging to be shot down before they could assume a defensive position.

Essentially, we had finally been boxed in, or that would have been had the 90th and the Condors not been on a collision course. Lest we forget, there were the Rangers on our tail by land and air since Buffalo, and Big M's horde of vehicles in hot pursuit since Rapid City. Jen projected a massive amount of carnage ahead as well as behind, with us having no clear way around Eagle Pass ourselves.

How bleak were things for us? Casper gave Barabbas, Pierre and me the option of using PDW (personal defense weapons) along with our pistols, if we truly wanted to fight for our freedom. If not, she recommended we remove our pistols as well. Pierre was balking right up until I took a PDW and another belt with spare magazines attached. Barabbas still chose to go weaponless.

I understood that mindset. He barely knew any of the Vanishers and wasn't invested in their survival strategy. No matter what happened to the rest of us, he would most likely be taken prisoner and transported elsewhere, but at least would still be alive. Those of us foolish enough to pick up a weapon were simply asking to catch a bullet in a cause which wasn't our own.

The town of Shell was a ghost town, which we burned through. Outside of Greybull, someone's aircraft tried to blow the bridge over the Greybull River... not realizing it had been built into a dam. Before they could come back and rectify the situation with a massive application of high explosives, we were over the damn dam and racing through the streets of Greybull itself.

In Greybull, we had to navigate a dogleg of a turn north along the junction of Highways 14 and 20. I swear to God, or Goddess, we rose up on two wheels taking that turn, so great was our speed. Once again, there was a critical bridge ahead of us -- this one over the railroad -- which they blew up. This time, Jen navigated us down 13th Street North which took us over the rails before the bridge and out into someone's farmland.

Before they could adjust, we were back on Highway 14/16 heading west once more. Then everything depended on Eagle Pass. Crucial seconds lost to maneuvering in Greybull meant the 90th and the Condors collided on the western side of the pass before we got there. Neither side could get to the high ground, which left us that option... and we were running out of options all right.

In one final aerial push, the CFS and Bolivians cleared the airways for their forces. The mass of automobiles following were the first to feel their wrath, confusing Mama Keverich's group with some of the Texas patriots currently keeping the CFS Marines so fatally busy. A lot of them died and so close to their goal, too. I certainly couldn't spare them an ounce of pity.

They also downed all but two of the Ranger helos and one aircraft from SEAL Team 17. Those two units swung around the north side of the ridgeline and set down northwest of the pass, optimally reinforcing the 90th Security troopers. Seconds later, all three of their rides were blown to smithereens as well. This was the carnage we came rolling into, as we climbed up the eastern side of the ridgeline.

Right as Casper's ride cleared the top of the pass, her Hummer was hit head-on by a 'light' anti-armored rocket, we suspected to have been fired by the Condors' side. The Hummer swung to the right then rolled over. Nat, at the controls of the second Hummer's copula, hit her selector switch even as Wes slammed on the brakes in order to not slam into the vehicle in front of her.

A chain of smoke grenades went off everywhere. Our people were pouring out and rushing to Casper's demolished ride. Somehow, I found myself amongst them, Pierre at my side. While other ladies provided us cover fire, we dragged Casper, then Wendy, from the Hummer. I crawled in to get Kat... but she was clearly dead, a piece of the engine block having fractured and crushed her chest.

"Take the pathway to the south!" Jen was screaming. "We'll swing around the ridgeline and cut cross country."

Our only problem was the lead vehicle in our line up would be Dimple's all-terrain vehicle, without a hint of armor. Pierre and I half-dragged, half-carried the two wounded Vanishers with us, as we fled back to our ride. Elsewhere, the other walking-wounded passengers crawled into the floorboards of other vehicles.

"She's going to beat the shit out of you for this," Zara intoned, even as she used her chosen weapon to suppress the few people coming up from behind us.

Kuiko and Capri helped us wedge the wounded into the back of our Hummer. The moment I said, "Everyone's in!" Brandi hit the accelerator, and off we shot.

"You're bleeding, Kuiko suddenly noticed, getting all weepy once again.

I was. The broken glass and metal shard inside Casper's vehicle had cut up my hands and forearms. Without even thinking about it, Kuiko began to pull out the small pieces of glass shards from my exposed tissue. Meanwhile, I had other things on my mind, like ...

"Who me?" I asked a busy Zara.

"Yes, you," she murmured, then her rifle recoiled once more. "She told you to cease with the heroics... and here you are being all heroic again."

"Fuck it all," I shrugged. "She needed saving."

"She's going to love that excuse," Zara chuckled, even as she slid down to join us in our super-cramped quarters.

Zara immediately went into first-responder mode, tending to the two wounded and directing us how we could help. Outside I could hear the fifty caliber and grenade launcher firing away. I couldn't see who, or what, they were firing at. Little did I know we were running straight through the Condors' LZ (landing zone) and they weren't happy about it.

Zara, Kuiko and Capri bound my various light wounds and abrasions once the foreign particles had been removed. The alcohol barely stung and the iodine was utterly harmless in comparison. I still ended up looking as if -- very appropriately -- I had been in a war zone.

This time my heroics had earned me wounds I could be proud of. I had suffered for my friends, and that was a sensation I could barely articulate. Best of all, I was damn sure I would do it all over again, if the necessity arose. I was becoming a 'Man', or at least a man by the metrics of Jethro MacFarlane -- and that meant something to me.

Still, in the LZ, they must have had orders to not use too heavy an ordinance against our tiny convoy lest they accidentally kill me. SAMs and rockets were going off everywhere. It appeared the Federation Air Force -- this group from the Ohio Valley Province with some smatterings of the fastest flyers from the East Coast provinces -- had gotten back into the fight.

Another wave of drones, plus the remainder of the Bolivians, gave it their all in defense of their units. The end result was a maelstrom of chaos. Normally, you fight your aircraft with the idea you retire once you were out of missiles. Only the insane tried to engage a fighter with missiles with only your guns. Still, that is what the Bolivians did. All that really meant was both sides were dying in droves.

Dogfights led both sides rogue pilots away from the center of the action so there was no one to chase after us -- in the air -- once we fought our way through and got back on Highway 14. With Casper and Wendy out of action, it fell to Wes Prince to take command.

"We are making for the Shoshone Forest," she ordered. "We'll have to double back after dark, if we can."

Mind you, the city of Cody had been witnessing the carnage outside their humble burgh. The GNN affiliate had recorded it for posterity with the footage soon going around the globe with the accompanying question of... 'why?' Why were so many women fighting and dying to control that small piece of real estate? And why was this one small segment of that fight, cutting their way through and racing for Cody?

Well, it didn't take a retired reservist to understand there were friendly ~ the 90th and the Rangers were flying in on Federation equipment ~ and enemy units beating each other to death out there, and the good citizens of Cody began organizing to provide assistance. Some gathered up their firearms, and even their bows, to go 'help out' the friendlies, while others prepared to offer succor to the multitude of wounded sure to be left behind.

The local police chief stopped her citizenry from rushing out pell-mell toward the crisis; instead, building up a sizeable 'militia' to sweep out as soon as she felt enough women had gathered. Inside of thirty minutes she had rounded up two hundred, then she moved forward, her own small group of civilian drones leading the way. It was no maddened charge. There were a lot of aircraft up there that still constituted a threat, and the land between Cody and Eagle Pass was wide open with little in the way of cover.

As we were racing toward Cody, the mass of vehicles swarmed out of our destination city and formed into a loose vehicular skirmish line, nearly a kilometer long. The biggest question in our minds was what would we do if they tried to stop us. They didn't. They got out of the way and let us flee into Cody, unmolested. Once there, Wes slowed us down so that we could talk to someone in charge to pass on what we knew about the danger we were fleeing.

That turned out to be the Chief of Surgery for the Park County Hospital, one Dr. Tasha Abernathy. She offered to take our wounded off our hands, but Wes declined. A few people looked at me and Pierre when we got out of our Hummer to stretch our legs, and to allow the medical staff and a gaggle of Girl Scouts examine our fallen.

We were armed and armored, yet still were tall and not overly feminine. Of course, putting a gun in a man's hands was tantamount to insanity, yet no one called us on it. Only Jethro drew an inordinate amount of stares... him having a beard and all. Even with Carpi and Kuiko by my side, eventually some woman approached me.

"Hi. Welcome to Cody. I'm Lisa Shaw, head of local Girl Scout troop 3078. Who are you, exactly?"

"What she is -- is tired," Capri moved between us.

"Your friend needs a shave," Ms. Shaw smirked, "and a cup."

"Cup of what," I let my fatigue expound upon my ignorance.

"An athletic support cup," she studied me. "I've seen you somewhere before."

"No, you haven't," Kuiko spouted, nervously.

"What my friend means is I have one of those faces and 'yes', I am a man with a gun, my friends and allies are not insane, and unless you want to see just how serious my friends are about helping me keep it, I suggest you keep your mouth shut about what you suspect," I somehow found the inner strength to say.

"A whole lot of women are out there dying for you," Lisa said, instead of backing off.

"No, what they are fighting and dying for is to keep men enslaved," I bit back, angrily.

"Why I live and breathe -- Mr. Jensen," she eyeballed me.

I looked around at the number of women present with firearms of some kind -- too damn many despite the 'non-violent' purpose of them having gathered here.

"Scream that from the rafters, and living and breathing will be the least of your worries," I bit back.

"What does that mean?" she countered.

"I mean, they will roll into Cody and level it, trying to capture me. And they will level it. And not just these foreign fighters, but Federation forces as well."

"We are part of the Federation."

"I'm not. Not anymore."

"Why do they want you so bad?"

"I'm not going to tell you. Suffice to say, if you squeal, all you will bring to this town is death. Not at my hand, but at the ruthless hands of the women back East who think they are in charge."

"Those women are in charge," Ms. Shaw stated belief as fact, despite the solar array having crashed into the capital and the JCS being out of contact for the past several hours. Who was really in charge of what at this point? Who knew?

"Not of me. Not anymore," I frowned.

"That's treason -- especially in times of war."

"Fuck you," snapped Capri. "Do you know what a writ of exclusion is? Well, this person is my client and that is what they hit them with just last week."

"What did you do wrong?" Lisa studied me.

"Not a damn thing," I gave off a feral grin, "except mount an effective legal defense -- with the help of Capri here. So the Federal government cheated and slapped me with a writ of exclusion -- thus terminating all my civil rights."

"Are you with the MRA?" she riposted.

"Nope. In fact, until I had my rights taken away, violent resistance was the farthest thing from my mind," I leaned in.

I had about eighteen centimeters on her, and she didn't like that.

"So now we find ourselves hunted fugitives because we all came to realize being a man in this society sucks to the point where violent resistance is the preferable option."

"Wait until the chief of police gets back," Shaw threatened.

"We'll be gone by then... and I'm willing to put as many of you women in the ground making it so," I bit right back once more.

"And you will be the first to go," Jethro announced, having snuck up on us. The way he held his assault rifle was far more menacing.

"What's your story?" Lisa still failed to back off.

"I am the last member of the MRA alive today," he really turned on the lethal charisma of a professional killer.

Lisa's eyes flitted to me for a second.

"Not him," Jethro scoffed. "He only goes after those who threaten him, or his coterie. I hunt Feds for sport and I have to tell you, today has been a real blast. Better than the old times, even."

"Spokane, you butcher," Shaw seethed.

"Not me and that was the reason I left back in the day," Jethro shrugged. "I could kill cops and Feds all day long and into the night, but a busload of kids -- nah, that shit was more than cruel and pointless, it gave you ladies a real reason to fear us -- you regular citizens."

"If I had been in the cell which plotted that out, I'd have killed the lot of those bastards. And I'm vindicated in thinking so right now," he continued. "What is your one and only comeback? Spokane. I'll counter that with the Gender Inequality Act and forty years under our yoke, bitch," he snarled. "Be a hero for your gender and raise the alarm. The first shout is free... then I'll kill ya."

"You'll die, too," it finally dawned on Ms. Shaw the sort of individual she was facing.

"That's what he's here for," I answered for him. "To go out in a blaze of glory taking as many of you... bitches with him before he goes."

"You say that as if it is a bad thing, Israel," Jethro laughed.

"You're crazy," Shaw clued in.

"Yeah. Watching my gender dragged down in chains will do that to a man," he grinned. "I'm waiting."

"You'll kill me... and kill my girls," Lisa backpedaled.

"Without a hint of remorse," he confirmed.

"No! Please don't do that, Jethro. Most of those young girls don't even have weapons," Kuiko pleaded.

Actually, the majority of them either had a rifle of some kind, or a bow.

"Kuiko, go tell Wes we need to be leaving." I placed my hand on her shoulder, "Pronto."

I looked around for Pierre and Barabbas. Barabbas was nowhere in sight, but Pierre was, and he had somehow engaged two Girl Scouts in conversation. They apparently realized he was a guy -- with a gun -- and didn't mind.

"Pierre, we need to be leaving -- like RIGHT NOW!"

He nodded, said something to the two girls, then raced back to our Hummer.

I also then noticed the three copulas were again either occupied, or 'actively' scanning the crowd. Most of the women were still paying attention to the battle going on beyond their town's border. One plane strafed the oncoming skirmish line, but before it could rise to a safe height, Zara sent a MANPAD its way. The hit was marginal, the plane's pilot activating her ejection seat and escaping it before the crash.

"Thanks for that," the doctor waved to Zara. She was already dropping the spent casing for the missile and resuming her watch with her sniper rifle in hand.

"Mount up," Jethro chuckled, adding, "I got this one," pointing to Ms. Shaw.

None of us hesitated, sprinting toward our ride. Two nurses were exiting our Hummer so it took a second for the three of us to locate somewhere to sit.

It wasn't easy because both Wendy and Casper were both erect and alert. Casper had my seat and Wendy had Capri's. Pierre was in the final seat, so the rest of us had to wedge ourselves into spaces on the floor. This time around, Capri was sitting in my lap, while Kuiko was stuck sitting on Pierre's -- not that I felt he minded all that much.

The thump on the head caught me totally off-guard as our ride got rolling. For an instant, I thought something had fallen on my helmet. I looked around only to discover it was Casper glaring unhappily at me, instead.

"I recall you dragging me out of my overturned vehicle while in a free-fire zone, you idiot," she grumbled. "What did I say about you and acting brave?"

"Shove it," I sort of blurted out. "I'm not your slave, or even your property, so just back off. I'm going to do what I feel is right and you are no longer in any shape to stop me 'Captain' Casper."

For a moment, I thought she might actually try to inflict more violence upon my person, but then Wendy started snickering, which broke the tension.

"He's fighting for his freedom, Casper," Wendy chortled. "I think the time for chaining him to anyone has passed. Besides, now he has Pierre acting bravely, too."

"Fine... what were you and Jethro talking about with that Scout Leader?"

"She realized who I was... then Jethro told her he was ex-MRA."

"Oh... fuck," Casper groaned. Over her headset she passed on the warning. "Locals could turn hostile at any moment."

I had to do something to change the subject.

"Pierre, what were you talking about with those two Girl Scouts?" came to mind.

"Oh, those were the twin Silverhorn Sisters -- Rose and Constance," he grinned. "I got their home address and sort of promised to stop around next time I was in the neighborhood. They even gave me directions to their ranch house."

"Just my luck I got the ball-buster," I groaned.

"What are those directions?" Casper demanded, so Pierre regurgitated what those two teenagers had told him.

"The Silverhorn ranch is down Highway 14 to Southfork Road aka Highway 291. Then it was all the way down 291 past Buffalo Bill Reservoir, all the way to the Mower Creek Road. That was their home and they are the only Silverhorns in the valley. It's about thirty-five minutes outside of town."

After a minute, Jen chimed in.

"I think I can figure out a way we can look like we are going into Yellowstone then backtrack to the outskirts of Cody after dark and make that place -- no problem."

"Let's do it then," Casper responded, through gritted teeth. She was still clearly in a bad way despite her brave front.

"Oh, and Israel, tone down the heroics. We are desperately trying to keep you both free and alive. We truly do have your best interests at heart -- understand me?"

"I'll do my best," I conceded.

I was too worn down to argue the point at this juncture, though knew I would try to save her life again if things came to that. Sure, I had been afraid, but those fears had taken a back seat to my sense of loyalty and comradery. I was proud of myself and that would never go away.

{***}

By the time we took off again, the Cody 'militia' had linked up with the remnants of the 90th Security Group and the Rangers, and began slowly pushing the Condors back and to the south. As for the Condors, they realized they had failed in their mission and it was time to cut their losses and begin their own exit strategy. In their case, a second wave of Vortex VTOLs -- actually a Federation model sold to Bolivia when a previous administration had tried to 'mend fences' with them.

Here they were using the Vortexes to confuse the Federation forces trying to roll up their position from back in Texas. Off they went come nightfall, leaving a small number of Federation military -- the 90th, the Rangers and the SEALs -- to figure out where we had disappeared to. Pursuit only led them back to the center of Cody, where they could, indeed, identify me as having been in the convoy, alive, slightly wounded, but definitely kicking.

On the other hand, the Herculean task of hunting our tiny, six-vehicle convoy within something the size of the Yellowstone Park, plus the chance we had deviated into the Shoshone National Forest... west of the Missouri, there simply weren't the troops to spare, despite the necessity of grabbing the source of the Israel Cure. Their few remaining satellites, and even fewer drones, kept looking though. Jen and the girls back at the National Reconnissence Office (NRO) continued to confuse the powers-that-be. By the time the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS) had reasserted their authority that evening, I had pulled off my own vanishing act -- at last.

The JCS still had the incursion in Texas to beat back, the plague beginning to pop up all points west of the Missouri-Mississippi quarantine line, and the devastation to over twenty of the Federation's largest cities -- and that was with their space defenses shooting down over half of the incoming ICBMs. Bolivia had about the same success rate, but the Federation simply had more ICBMs to throw at them.

{SILVERHORN RANCH}

All the energy we had garnered back in Rapid City was mostly spent by the time we rolled down the road not far from the Mower's Creek turnoff. Even as desperate as our circumstances were, we had to be cautious. Zara led her three-woman team out to scout the Silverhorn Ranch, while the rest of us waited at a convenient turn-off. The eastern sky was turning grey, so we had to be quick about things as well.

What they discovered was only one person in residence in the main house, and the bunkhouse to be empty. Farther afield, they spotted six women riding herd on... well, a herd of cattle. They sent back a picture of the lone woman in the main house. It was my old boss, Francesca. I nearly passed out from the sigh of relief I gave off. We'd made it. Angel was at the wheel of our Hummer so she, along with the other drivers, pulled us over, lights out, into the front gravel drive.

Francesca actually put on the lights, and then stepped out to see if it was, indeed, me. I had to be pulled back from doing so. It fell to Dimples and Vibishi to make the introductions.

"Hello," Francesca greeted them with the classic 'hand behind the back holding a pistol' way.

"Former FBI Special Agent in Charge Enola Treyvon and former Special Agent Vibishi, also from the FBI," Dimples began. "We have some special people in our motorcade who would like to reacquaint themselves with you, but we need to search the house first."

"You have Israel with you? Wait, aren't you the agent who arrested the now former-President?"

"I am," Enola nodded.

"Israel?"

"I cannot comment on the nature of our motorcade, Ma'am. Do we have your permission to search the premises to make sure it is safe?"

"Yes. Yes, of course. Please come in," Francesca stepped aside.

With that, came the ten-minute search of the main building of the Silverhorn Ranch. As it turned out, the majority of the ranch hands, plus the Ms. Silverhorn and her two twin daughters, had gone to Cody, when the call went out for 'every able-bodied woman' to assemble for a 'sanctioned militia'. None of them had come back yet, so Francesca was terribly worried.

The six women watching over the herd were the minimum necessary to protect the cattle from predators and their own stupidity, or so Francesca related. Since she had so little firearms experience, they had felt obliged to leave their 'city cousin' behind. Like everyone else, this side of the Rockies, they had heard the jets flying by for hours, as well as the cacophony of weaponry being discharged.

Dimples gave us the 'all clear' sign, so we immediately went about hiding the three Hummers in the car park. There wasn't enough room for the ATVs, so they were rolled under some trees on the property. That would have to do. After all, ATVs on a ranch were perfectly normal. There was no disguising the military nature of the Hummers, though. Jethro parked his ride there as well. While not completely uncommon, motorcycles weren't as prevalent as they had been sixty years ago.

Secondly, we all pitched in to bring as many supplies inside as possible. Then we deposited Casper, Davia (aka Silent), and Wendy onto a sofa in the living room, and finally, there was time enough for introductions. Francesca was so used to seeing me semi-clothed, or in business attire, she didn't immediately recognize me in my military outfit. In fact, she almost rushed Pierre by accident.

"Hey, Francesca," I sighed, worn to the bone by today's events. "Glad to see you took my advice and headed west."

Then she came to me and gave me a breathtaking hug.

"Good to see you too, Israel. Glad to see you have surrounded yourself with some rather dangerous women."

"Purely accidental, I assure you," I joked. "Let me make some introductions." I then began to name off everyone by either their names, or monikers. Those, who had monikers, were then identified as Vanishers.

It was a great deal for Francesca to take in. Our quiet moment was broken by Francesca's phone ringing.

"Wilma?" she answered it, letting us all know the person on the other side of the conversation should have been her cousin.

Thanks to whatever divine presence was looking after us, it was.

"I'm safe," Francesca answered. "These are the friends stopping by I told you about."

There seem to be a whole lot of them.

"My friends brought friends as well."

Are they all armed?

"Yes, they are all dangerous friends."

Is one of them the individual who talked to my girls earlier today?

"Yes, I imagine I am staring at one of those individuals right now."

Then finally, "My cousin is coming in with her contingent," she addressed the room.

Sure enough, five jeeps rolled into the front of the ranch house and began disgorging nine armed women and two rather exhausted Girl Scouts. Two ranch hands waited outside with guarded vigilance, while we were introduced to the other seven -- Wilma Silverhorn and six of her ranch hands, including her head wrangler, Danika Orsini -- a blonde Amazon nearly as tall as me.

Wilma, on the other hand, was of a more reasonable size, but possessed, even at this early morning hour, a sense of boundless energy and hard-boiled determination to have her way. Within two minutes, I found myself in a pow-wow with Capri (still my legal counsel), Casper, Danika, Enola, Flame, Jethro, Wendy, Wilma, and a ranch hand name Pearl Thundering Water (a Shoshoni lass named for the nearby Buffalo Bill Dam).

It turned out over half of the ranch hands were Shoshoni, indicating a close tie between Wilma and the tribe. In exchange for their help with the herds, she gifted the tribe with several heads of cattle in the fall (along with paying them, of course).

"Hi all," I found myself starting this rather tense meeting, "I am Israel Jensen. I have the cure to the oncoming plague inside of me."

"The fuck you say!" Wilma reacted first among the newcomers, clearly doubting my claim.

The rest were either in doubt, or stunned into silence by my revelation. They wanted to believe, but to be honest, what I said sounded like so much fantasy wish fulfillment.

"I'm deadly serious. Women I have sex with have an extended immunity and, it is hypothesized, a transfusion of my blood grants roughly a year's immunity. I plan to share this 'gift' with as many people as possible, but I don't want to do it in Federation custody," I continued.

"Right now, I am free and that is mostly due to the efforts of Enola," I indicated Dimples, "and Casper's," I indicated the Vanisher leader, "efforts. Currently I am taking firearms lessons so that one day, I will be able to defend myself... as my ancestors in the Federation intended. By that I mean I am reasserting my right to bear arms."

No one said anything for several seconds.

"Okay that I believe and have no problem with," Wilma nodded, "as long as you put that firearms expertise to work guarding my people and my herds. Don't be selfish."

"Gladly," I exhaled, so much tension.

Men with guns was a terrible weight in many women's minds.

"Oh, it appears one of the guys -- Barabbas Chebaya -- doesn't want to use a firearm. I hope that is okay."

"What kind of sissy is he?" Wilma frowned.

"An independent-minded one," I fired right back. Wilma grinned over the ferocity of my retort. Later she would tell me it was my fierce defense of my brotherhood which she found both quaint and amusing.

"Also, he is a journeyman plumber -- a skill, I imagine, will be quite handy as we dig in for the foreseeable future," I added.

"Oh, that is useful," Wilma agreed. "He is still going to need a pistol, though. Plenty of diamondbacks like to crawl underneath buildings in the summer months."

"I'll warn him," I accepted her version of reality.

"Okay -- numbers?" Wilma took us in, in our superior numbers.

"Thirty-eight," I virtually groaned.

"Some of us might be moving on as well as be expecting company from time to time," Casper spoke up.

"Likewise, once me and the ladies get the cure, we would like to use our own expertise in crime fighting to help out the local communities," Dimples volunteered. "Of course we would leave Freya and Narfi with you ladies."

"Freya and Narfi?" Wilma asked.

"Former Metropolitan Police Officer Freya Passey and her nine-month-old son," I explained. "I suspect she will be looking for a new career after what happened to her back in the city."

Wilma merely nodded.

"We could always use more ranch hands," Danika suggested.

"What about the Tribe?" Pearl Thundering Water inquired. "How soon can some of that cure be coming our way?"

I looked to Casper, who seemed to be mulling over her response.

"We have a small amount on ice," she confessed. "As for spreading out our cure base, let's wait up on the other ladies for about a week -- give them a chance to regenerate the blood they gave to the Rapid City casino and to the Crow physician there."

"Also, Israel, I don't want to treat you like a sex machine, but if you could have sex with two women a day for the foreseeable future -- that would go a long way to alleviate the stress the surrounding groups are having," Casper groaned.

Exerting herself, even in this safe environment, was beginning to wear her down.

"Sex machine, eh?" Wilma shot me a carnivorous look which took just about all of my dwindling courageous reserves not to shiver from.

"Part and parcel of my freedom is listening to my community," I accepted.

"My two girls are seventeen and you are clearly over sixteen so how soon for them?" Wilma asked.

"Let's wait until they are eighteen -- old enough to be allowed to join your militia -- and I can do it then -- for them?"

"Hopefully, we can wait," she shrugged. "Danika goes to town pretty often, so I would like her 'covered' as soon as possible. There was a lot of exposure to foreign sources of this 'bug', so I don't know how much time we have."

"Three days to incubate then four days to kill you," I reminded everyone.

"Just like the Gender Plague," Danika sighed. "Just like with my son."

"Oh... any daughters?" I wondered.

"Two -- both with friends in Cody because I wasn't sure what sort of reception we'd receive coming home," Danika related. "They are fourteen and eleven."

"We will inoculate them as soon as possible then," Casper beat me to the punch.

"Thank you," Danika nodded her appreciation of the gesture.

"Also, I would like to get back to Rapid City to help them out some more," I recalled. "That will be a dangerous trip, I know."

"I know a pilot close by, who owns two aircraft -- both STOLs. They can make the run to Rapid City and back in about four hours," Wilma informed us.

Danika's nod supported that advice.

I could also tell they were slowly softening their approach toward me after I revealed I really wanted to save as many people as possible. Sure, they still saw me as a guy, thus weak-willed, but I had two firearms to counteract that old way of thinking. As Angel would tell me, I had the look of a man hardened by extreme events and ready to fight for what I believed in.

While her words bolstered me, I still had that niggling feeling she was lying to me merely to help me get through the day.

We also strongly expressed the necessity of not letting anyone outside this room know who I was, and why I was here. Even neighbors might turn on them if they felt threatened by the oncoming plague. We didn't have enough guns on the ranch to keep me protected twenty-four/seven, and still run the ranch the way it needed to be run. Besides, I was embracing my own risks ...

"Well, we can keep in touch with Rapid City," I looked to Casper, who nodded, "so we can stay abreast of how bad things are getting for them and behave appropriately."

That bit of decision-making sort of stunned the other women, but made Jethro grin. He pulled out his flask, took a swig then handed it to me. I steeled myself for the effects of his rot-gut whiskey so when it hit me, I was prepared. I still wanted to vomit it back up though, even then. I handed the flask to Wilma, who was kneeling next to me. Standing around Casper was both a chore and put her at a personal disadvantage.

Wilma took a hit of Jethro's homebrew, coughed loudly, then handed it to Danika.

"Stiffens your spine," she joked with Jethro. Danika's reaction was more like mine -- she nearly spewed the contents.

"Strong," she managed to get out after a few moments. After that, the flask made its way untouched back to Jethro. I looked into his face. He was openly smiling then.

"Men lead," he mouthed to me. Louder, he added, "You done good."

"We need to build this man a still," Wilma joked. "Have him perfect this. Right now, we can use it for rocket fuel once we've had our fill."

"Funny you would say that," Jethro mused. "I started up my still to create fuel for a pre-plague ferry... and it worked."

"When did you serve?" Thundering Water inquired.

"US Navy then Federation Navy... exited service forty-five years ago."

"Wouldn't it have been a hoot if they re-enlisted you when calling out the inactive Reserves," Pearl chuckled. "Would you have gone?"

"Hell yeah. Damage control technician, fireman and shore patrol -- all before I was kicked out by the GIA (Gender Inequality Act) and the Congress which passed it."

"Yeah, I could see how you became bitter," Pearl nodded. "Air Force -- five years -- became an air traffic controller with the 3rd Air Support Operations Group, Fort Cavazos, Texas. I heard they got clobbered by those damn Bolivians."

"Well, we clobbered them back, or did you miss all those ICBMs going up?" I snorted.

GNN had yet to report on the overall damage both North and South America had sustained during the missile exchange. I had to wonder how many brave reporters and studio personnel had perished covering the events as they unfolded -- right until the bitter end. If there was any saving grace in all of this, at least neither side had used nukes to settle the matter... just big, fucking bunker-busting bombs.

"We did? I missed it -- too far away, I guess," she smiled at me. "What about you... Casper? You serve?"

"As of three days ago -- officially no longer. Before that -- no comment. My service record was one of the Federation's dirty little secrets. Israel was right, though. I had a rank. It was Captain. Could have been higher, but our operational units were never larger than platoon sized, so 'captain' I remained."

That quadrupled the knowledge I had about Casper. The whole 'captain' thing had been an educated guess on my part -- I had heard her called that, but still. In hindsight, it was the deference shown to her by the other women, who I knew were Special Forces, was only confirmed.

"All that is fine and dandy, but I think Casper and I need a med-check and some serious bedrest," Wendy stated.

There were nods all around.

For the time being, we all knew what we needed to do. For me, before I could gain some sleep, I had to fulfill -- not an obligation, but a directive as old as the human race itself. I kept close to Capri, ignoring Angel and Zara tagging along. Capri... she had done so much and was, in her own way, very special to me. I had to make sure she survived and even prospered. Besides, with her quirky sense of humor, being in bed with her was just what I needed -- to laugh, and shed the tension of the past two days with someone I truly cared about.

I would not let this epic tragedy my people were experiencing weigh me down. I would surge forward against the gathering darkness and say 'No more!' And this time, I had a gun in my hands and hope in my heart for a better tomorrow than all the brutal yesterdays I had fought my way through, just to get this far. Yes, tomorrow would definitely be a better day.

[END CHAPTER THIRTEEN]