One in Ten Ch. 15

Chapter 15

By FinalStand

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

(This Fractured Federation)

*How does that old song go? You don't know what you've got til it's gone*

{THE SILVERHORN RANCH -- ONE YEAR LATER}

[A BIT OF BACKGROUND]

Combined Federation Population: ~ 5,613,194 06/01/2091

[Splinter Faction: Capital/Population of Capital]

Federation Civilian Government [FCG]: Mexico City 268,503

~largest overall population base

~largest industrial base

~largest standing military

~controls the Panama Canal

~having trouble hanging onto the north-westernmost provinces of Mexico

~faces simmering rebellion in the southern provinces as well

Federation Military Government [FMG]: Atlanta 74,369

~ Second largest population base

~ Second largest fleet in the Atlantic

~ Second largest industrial base

~largest land area (the Southeastern US plus Southern and Central Alaska, the Yukon Territory and Pacific Islands)

~largest intact professional military

~largest energy infrastructure

~largest fleet in the Pacific

The Northeast United Provinces [NUP]: Halifax 30,178

~New England east of the Hudson River plus Maritime provinces, portions of Labrador and Newfoundland

~largest naval fleet in the Atlantic

~largest merchant marine in Western Hemisphere

~controlled access to the Saint Lawrence Seaway

~suffered from sporadic pirate activity out of a shattered Europe

The Great Lakes Free State [GLFS]: Chicago 173,133

~most aggressive in its 'foreign policy'

~controlled much of the shoreline of the Great Lakes

The Quebec Free State [QFS]: Montreal 58,001

~as that moment was fighting wars with both of her neighbors

~ had annexed much of eastern Ontario

~resisted independence movements by the First Nations in her north

The Pacific People's Republic [PPR]: San Francisco 160,729

~most fractured leadership

~controlled the West Coast from San Diego to Vancouver

~raided neighboring political entities continuously

The Great Plains Free Zone [GPFZ]: nominal Capital Omaha 23,464

~a loose coalition of towns, farmers and ranchers for self-defense

~known to cooperate with the Federation Military authority in Denver

~as the GLFS moved into Iowa and Minnesota sought stronger ties with the FMG

In general most countries were at 58.5 percent of pre-Gender Plague levels when the new plague hit. Only approximately two percent of that population survived the new plague. Many cities and towns had become ghost towns as survivors fled into the countryside seeking food and protection. The cities which had their acts together took in new people with the proper skills thus have populations above that two percent mark. Too many cities had nothing except warring gangs fighting over the dwindling stockpiles of food and clean water.

Also taking into account during the ICBM exchange between the Federation and Bolivia, several key cities took one, or more, MOABs (Mother Of All Bombs), suffering severe damage to their city's core. Bridges, subways and even conventional bomb shelters had collapsed. The Federation capital (once upon a time known as Cairo, Illinois) was doubly flattened though the Joint Chiefs of Staff managed to survive.

The old states of Arizona, western New Mexico and southern Nevada had become 'badlands' caught between the Pacific People's Republic, the Civilian Government and the Great Plains Free Zone. Worse, as most of its power was going to Southern California, a military strike force took out Hoover Dam, flooding the Colorado River Basin downstream to the Gulf of Baja. The PPR had vowed vengeance, so Denver, the isolated, westernmost outpost of the FMG, was preparing for the worst.

As a final note, conflict between the various factions had rendered much of the former states of Ohio, Pennsylvania and New York barely inhabited wastelands. The northern part of what was once Canada was a largely lawless area where the strongest forces for civilization tended to be the remnants of the First Nations who had established homes there. Above the Arctic Circle, the surviving approximately 3,750 Inuit were The Law and they brooked little interference from outsiders.

[PRELUDE ONE]

"I knew I would find you two here," Kuiko admonished me -- us. I knelt by the grave, pulling away the few weeds which were attempting to get a toehold on the soil and marker which outlined her final resting place. Mirrors Bear, my Eastern Shoshoni 'bride', stood over me. Already, her belly was beginning to swell. She could have gone back home months ago, but she had chosen to remain a while longer.

Kuiko came over in her rolling gait, her artificial leg -- which she had crafted herself with her welding talents -- and her own expanding belly giving her this unique walking style. As she came to my other side, I stood then slipped an arm behind her, cupped her right buttock and gave it an appreciative squeeze. She hummed contentedly.

"Hey you two," Mirrors Bear teased. "Don't forget me." So I reached around and began scratching her back just the way she liked it. As more women fell within my sexual orbit, I had the task of recalling what each preferred so I could make each of them happy in turn.

"So, Kuiko, how is the new forge coming along?" I inquired.

"Not nearly as challenging as learning to ride a dang horse," she hip-bumped me. She knew I didn't want her doing any more horse riding until after our child was born. The new forge was in Cody and was being built so multiple smiths could utilize it, as well as being trained by Cody's Master Smith, Kuiko Sano.

"You know I don't like you mounting up this late in your third trimester," I scolded her.

"You let Mirrors Bear ride," she play-pouted.

"She's been riding a horse since she was nine," I countered, "and is a whole trimester behind you. Please be safe for all our sakes."

"I'll think about it." She twisted slightly, so she could run her right hand over my chest. Her left hand snaked behind me and pinched my butt for good measure.

Mirrors Bear was part of the 'Secret Deal' the Shoshoni had made with the Great Plains Free Zone when they 'joined up'. Now a group of Shoshoni women rode with other patrols bent on repelling raiders and keeping our homesteads safe. They were also instrumental in getting other Native Nations to join up as well; mainly the equally endangered Navajo to our South, the Southern Arapaho, Cheyenne and Sioux to our East, and the Blackfoot, Cree and Crow to our North.

Each got the same deal. One woman each year for five years, was to have a child with me to insure the 'Israel Cure' was passed down into their lineages as well. My two codicils to this agreement were that all restrictions on Male Rights be lifted in sixty years -- three generations roughly -- and I have unrestricted visitation rights to my offspring and their offspring, too.

Sure my offspring would still be in the vast minority, but we had to start somewhere and Equal Rights were my final condition. The Indigenous Peoples had agreed with hardly a dissent among their tribal councils -- all hands were needed to just survive. Apparently, few minded me being a father and grandfather to my kin. In fact, they seemed to welcome it. So far, no two tribes took the precise same approach in deciding who would be the carrier of their hopes for a plague-free future.

One was a flinty woman -- the Crow/Apsáalooke Deborah Clears the Moon Kerr -- in her mid-thirties with enough outdoor lore to make Zara jealous. She liked to make love outdoors under the moon and stars. Others were much younger and youthful in their outlooks on life. One was even younger than me -- eighteen years old -- and one hell of a mistress of the loom. I had a new winter wool jacket to prove it!

The Shoshoni, Mirrors Bear, was somewhat in between -- a superior huntress, yet adept at home lore, too. She was odds-on favorite to be our best cook on the ranch as well. Here, on the Silverhorn Ranch, the other ladies had started teasing me, calling these Native women my 'brides' even though such talk kinda scared me -- that level of emotional commitment to, well, anyone -- except Angel, Kuiko and Zara.

As it was, the women chosen by their tribes -- there were currently twelve of them -- helped work the expanded ranch with the aid of other newcomers of African, Asian, and European descent -- over fifty souls working the largest cattle-and-horse operation in a two-hundred-kilometer radius -- mainly between the Shoshone River and the Bighorn Range. So much of the Bighorn Valley had been otherwise abandoned by then -- thus 'free range'.

I had come out to the graveyard as I was want to do, whenever I felt for all those who had given their lives, making sure I could remain free... as well as the others. I would often spend a few minutes talking to Jethro's tombstone. He had gotten his glorious end, stopping the armored vehicles of the 157th Infantry at the bridge over Mower Creek. There was even a brand-new painting downtown commemorating his final stand.

Flame had nearly perished there, too, but was too mean to die, I would guess. Afterwards, she was riding with the baddest of the bad -- the 'Free Zone Rangers', our only official military force. Elsewhere, we relied on the militias for local defense and the occasional posse which ran down raiders who slipped through our rather porous frontiers. It had been a year after the outbreak, and we remained one of the geographically largest yet least populous members of the fractured Federation. At least we weren't officially at war with any of the other political entities... yet, or again.

Davia was a policewoman in Cody these days, and an officer in our militia -- still a certifiable killing machine and all-around preeminent gunslinger. Freya Passey had joined her on the Force -- her son looked after in a growing daycare center. The Vanishers had decided I was staying put in Cody, so they moved more of their nearby operations, and more of their men, into Cody. They still kept their own council, but helped out when called upon so no one complained... too much.

Dimples -- Enola Treyvon -- still led her FBI girl posse... along with her mother, Flora, of all people... and two other rather spooky women -- who no one much went into the background of -- and who called Mama Treyvon 'Boss'. Enola's group was the sole governmental investigative body for the Great Plains Free Zone. They were called the Free Zone Bureau of Investigation responsible solely to our Supreme Court.

They didn't have arrest powers (yet) -- they went to the local law enforcement for that -- but were widely trusted because of both their professionalism, and the fact that the Civilian and Military Governments put them on a 'Most Wanted' list when everything first went to crap for both sheltering me and for bringing down the 'evil' Civilian Government in the first place.

Angel had joined Davia and Freya as a Cody policewoman and had become Chief of Detectives with all of three women (Burglary, Homicide, and Special Crimes) working underneath her. Capri, when she wasn't nursing the first of my brood (Tennyson O'Hara), had hung her shingle in Cody as an attorney at law. She acted as City Prosecutor when the necessity arose, as well as professor of law two nights a week. She was loving it, this, her new life.

Samantha and Venus had created their own thriving, seven-woman business -- restoring neglected homes in Cody and the surrounding area for habitation -- Cody was a growing burgh. Roni had graduated to being a full-fledged doctor after being vetted by the head of the local hospital. She also taught paramedic classes two nights a week and rode with the militia when it was summoned. She rode out armed these days. Angel had seen to her firearms' training.

Aniqua had graduated to becoming the Silverhorn Ranch official accountant, and part-time babysitter. She was due to deliver any day as well, thus me visiting the graveyard. Why this particular grave? Here rested my own peculiar demon, Verona 'the Aurora Slasher' Sauvage. Every time it rained, or snowed, my left shoulder ached where she had shot me.

In return, I had put two bullets in her vest... and one in her throat and the final one in her mouth which exited out her skull, killing her instantly. If it hadn't been for Zara's training -- and my own instincts -- I would have been the one to die. Speaking of Zara, she was hanging around the ranch, she having given birth to little 'Venice Jensen', another of my offspring, four days ago.

All those successful lessons had really paid off in knocking her up. She was talking to me about leaving the Vanishers and becoming a full-time rancher... so she could go back to watching over me, no doubt. Only two of my children weren't at the ranch. Aria Ripley had my offspring (Sabrina Ripley) two months previously and then headed east to find her mother and sister. She promised to be in touch once she found them. I wished her all the best.

My other offspring, a son of the Piegan Blackfoot tribe to the north, had just been born and word of his arrival into the world had arrived this afternoon. I needed to make plans to go up there and see him -- if I could find the time. Jessup Thunder Cloud Holden had been born during a violent storm, thus his name.

I was also looking down the barrel of over twenty other pregnancies. I even had one Silverhorn in the oven. Francesca, when she wasn't complaining about her age, was setting out to be an exemplary entrepreneur -- running Cody's internet medium news center. She had even gathered up two antique -- circa 1950 -- printing machines to run some hardcopies for those insistent on using newspapers for all sorts of uses. Her two younger cousins were jealous and constantly hungry for my time -- oh boy.

Finally, there was me and I had my own ambitions. Beyond spreading the Israel Cure around as much as possible, I planned to be a part of the local cattle drive from Cody to Cheyenne. Once we gathered all the other herds from across the Central Plains, we would drive them down to the railhead at Laredo, Texas, which was nominally still under the control of the Civilian Government.

They were in desperate need of food to feed their displaced populace and were willing to pay in 'kind' for the cattle -- namely in petroleum products (plastics), electronics, and ammunition. Zara 'agreed' to come with me the moment she realized I was dead set on going on the cattle drive and Angel had already set up a leave of absence from work to go along as well. Carpi was coming along to handle any legal difficulties we might run into... yeah, right... oh well.

Meanwhile, the gravestones -- they had no answers for me. Wilma wanted me to run for office as if being a politician would otherwise occupy my time. Certainly, if I achieved higher office I would be risking another raid in an attempt to seize me. Women on both sides would die. If I had a choice, I would go down swinging.

I had no desire to take all the progress I had made as an individual, and toss that out the window. Likewise, I had to accept that violence wasn't my only means of obtaining my ends -- freedom for my fellow males. As long as my body held the answers, so much the better. I could trade upon that to get what I wanted.

[THE WILD FRONTIER]

According to our seventy-three-day schedule, we were to head out on the cattle drive on August 18th and weren't expected back until October 30th. As predicted, every population blip in the area was driving at least a hundred cows along with the roughly six hundred Wilma Silverhorn was heading to market. Even the cows were cooperating with our itinerary -- to begin with.

This kind of activity was new, even for Wilma, our trail boss. Before this, cows were driven to the closest market -- Cody, in this case -- and the buyers transported them to the slaughterhouses from there via automated trucks. The whole idea of an open range was both exhilarating and daunting. Water courses were both a necessity and a hazard. Cows could stampede into a river and drown in droves if we weren't careful, yet were in constant need of something to drink, too.

Likewise, we were counting on the local farmers and ranchers to either keep their herds out of our way, or have adequate fencing to keep the cows from trespassing. If some damage was caused, arrangements would have to be made to indemnify them. Such legal agreements were a huge reason to have Capri along. Like Capri, I wasn't along as a cattle hand for which I had minimal training.

No, I was along, as was Zara and Angel, to defend the herds from rustlers and other such dangers in this dystopian landscape. It abounded with motorcycle gangs, tribeswomen who practiced banditry on the side, and rogue military units from any of our supposedly non-hostile neighbors. As the world continued to slip ever closer toward oblivion, coming up with ways to pay wages was increasingly difficult for the 'Great Powers', in this case the Civilian and Military Governments as well as the Great Lakes Free State and the Pacific People's Republic.

A final hurdle on our trail was the metropolitan area of San Antonio. After huge non-nuclear warheads fell on Austin, Houston, and the Dallas-Fort Worth metros, San Antonio became the capital of Texas. The Civilian Government seized control of the city after it was ravaged by the plague since it was the seat of government. The idea was by seizing the city, the whole of Texas would fall into their laps.

It didn't work out that way. When the FCG drive on Louisiana was bloodily repulsed by the FMG last winter, San Antonio rebelled, calling on all Texans to rise up and drive out 'the invaders'. Well, the FCG managed to scrape together enough forces to surround the city... and then annihilated it. The surviving San Antonians were declared 'prisoners of war' and taken away in bondage, also known as slaves, though few enough wanted to call them that.

The cost of the campaign was so financially prohibitive, and the behavior of the poorly-trained Civilian Army so outrageous in the atrocities they committed, the FCG was eventually not only driven from most of Texas, but out of much of the old states of Coahuila, Chihuahua, and Sonora too, due to both a poor response to the plague outbreaks as well as 'independence fever'. The natives were attempting to create El Estado Grande in the north of what had once been Mexico.

When the FCG forces were compelled to withdraw by the end of spring, the once vibrant metropolis of San Antonio had been reduced to a ghost town, haunted by -- no two rumors were the same -- ravenous, cannibalistic tribes and/or savage outlaw biker gangs. That meant we had to maneuver around San Antonio on the road to Laredo, which none of us were looking forward to.

An alternative had recently been offered by the FCG. They still controlled the isolated cities of Ciudad Juárez and El Paso and could lend us Compañía C del 4º Regimiento de Infantería Independiente Voluntaria Juárez -- for a price to be paid in gold. While not a 'regular' army formation, it was supposedly a veteran (thus reliable) unit mostly equipped with armored vehicles, whatever that meant.

From Ciudad Juárez, we would then, in theory, travel across southern Texas keeping close to the Rio Grande part of the way to keep our herds well-watered. This would diminish the risks coming out of San Antonio, but add the difficulty of first marching through the 'Old Southwest' province -- what had once been the eastern part of the old state of New Mexico -- to get to Ciudad Juárez/El Paso in the first place.

I was glad I wasn't making that call. Better yet (sarcasm), we were moving through the lands claimed by the resurgent Mescalero Apache (Naa'dahéńdé) who reinforced their own quarantine zone with great savagery and dedication. It was hoped, via translators, we might cut a similar deal with them that we had with the other aboriginal populations.

Just like previous times, I was consulted concerning this deal, which I truly appreciated. Knowing I could easily say 'no' made it easier to say 'yes', because I felt I had a true choice. As for my potency, I had over two score children on the way, and two sons out of the four already born. With those odds, it was virtually assured each Tribal Nation would have two boys to supply the group with their own source to the 'Cure'... in roughly two decades.

My two codicils always remained the same. Men having complete equal rights in three-score years and that I have visitation with my children whenever I wished. Of course, that mantra ~ we men will earn our Equal Rights ~ was expressed to every man I met. It still didn't help me sleep well at night, but at least I could look at myself in the mirror with something akin to confidence once daylight returned.

[***]

Our pathway would be similar to the Goodnight-Loving Trail cattle drives of the late nineteenth century, except in reverse. We would be joining up with other ranchers at Cheyenne, and then pushing southward past Denver and Pueblo before crossing into what was once New Mexico. We'd deviate from there and, instead of heading deeper into Central Texas, we'd cut west toward El Paso and Ciudad Juárez to pick up our armored escort.

At the same time, from the eastern parts of the Free Zone, simultaneous cattle drives would be heading toward both the city's controlled Mississippi River ports of entry, and the ruins around St. Louis before being taken into the lands under control by the Military Government. Our hope was this would mollify those two political entities, while we helped the Civilian Government feed their starving populace.

As a final note, I had to promise to be careful about where I went, and who I talked to. A man with a firearm was still a criminal in the eyes of most North Americans. To counteract that somewhat, I had to also agree to never, ever go places alone. It was a no-brainer that I never used my real name. Likewise, no woman was to use my name around 'outsiders'. I was supposed to go by the name 'Jethro MacFarlane Jr.'.

[***]

On our second day on the trail, we were still in familiar territory with more herds joining up seemingly every mile. Both the (Eastern) Shoshoni and (Northern) Arapaho sent over four extra women each, along with a horse-drawn wagon full of supplies to feed them. As I was to discover, they had heard of my pigheaded desire to be on this drive and they were there to protect me.

I guess I couldn't complain too much, though I had to suggest to them that swarming around me would only give away that I was someone important. They agreed to 'pretend' to be tending to the herds so that wouldn't be the case, though the concern remained they would still somehow figure a way to give away other people my identity to their people.

Anyway, as I was waking up the second day on the trail, with Angel on one side, snoozing away -- as long as I didn't move, she would stay asleep -- and Deborah Clears the Moon Kerr, the Crow, on my other.

"Don't move," Deborah whispered to me, ever so softly.

I obeyed.

"You too, Angel."

"What is it?" she requested to know. Damn, she woke up fast.

"A rattlesnake -- a big one -- had curled up with Israel's warmth."

That nearly made this 'city boy' jump up and start running. By some minor miracle, I kept obeying the woman who had my life in her hands and remained still.

Deborah got up very slowly and then hurled something away from us.

"Don't move," she repeated.

"What was that then?" Angel inquired.

"The snake that had curled up with me," she answered.

"What the!!! How many of those critters were around us..." I asked.

"Four," she coolly replied.

She followed up that revelation by reaching down along my buttocks, seized something and then cracked it like a whip. She'd broken the back of an EIGHT-FOOT LONG rattlesnake! Without a thought, she tossed it away, then crawled over me so gingerly, I barely noted her movements. She snatched up the first one around Angel and threw it out into the dawn.

Both Angel and I remained frozen. The final snake was between myself and Angel. I wasn't sure how she even noticed it had curled up there to absorb our combined body warmth. Even in the middle of summer, the nights could get quite chilly here. One more quick snatch and another serpent went sailing off into the pre-dawn darkness. Only then, did she give us the all-clear.

"Thank you," Angel and I said, simultaneously.

"How did you know where they all were?" Angel had to know.

"Once I realized the tingling sensation between my legs wasn't Israel's hands, I figured the rest of you were in the same dilemma. Since there wasn't that sensation between Israel and me, I figured there were four, instead of five."

"Oh," Angel nodded.

Like me, she was an urban dweller with little inherent lore concerning the multitude of threats in the 'great outdoors'. All three of us knew the next safety tip. We took each boot and knocked it upside down a few times to make sure a spider, or scorpion, hadn't crawled up there while we'd slept. I certainly didn't want to test my super-immunity against their venom, that was for sure.

"Thank you," I repeated to Clears the Moon.

Angel chorused my thanks a moment later. After we all had our boots on... and jackets and long coats -- it was pretty freaking cool (around four degrees Celsius anyway) after all. That accomplished, we hurried over to the chuck wagon -- an ATV hauled the wagon -- and got our breakfast chow. The three of us would be riding point for the herd today, looking for signs of movement and possible ambushes.

We used not-potable water to clean off our tin-wear, packed it up in our saddle bags, and we were on our steeds heading out before the sun cleared the horizon in the east. We spelled the fine ladies, who had stood watch for the latter part of the night. It was time for them to head back, get their own food and then prepare to ride herd come daybreak.

Wilma had the cattle moving out about eight AM -- they were already a sizeable body and prone to do their own thing -- like grazing and getting water from a convenient stream -- instead of heading out, as directed. Perhaps, they sensed they were heading off to become beef for someone's palette. To help them mosey along, we had all been given intricate woven quirts -- short, thick, whip-like devices -- along with some advice like 'never hit them in the face' and 'don't use it on your horse'.

"Clears the Moon," I called out, as we began to meander southward, "why did you only kill the rattlesnake on me?"

"Does that bother you?"

"Not really."

"Good. Not only was that one filled with extremely effective toxins, it was on you. I had to let the spirits of the snakes understand to leave you alone -- no matter what."

"Oh... okay."

"I figure I must kill four, or five, for more of them to get the message."

"As long as you don't get hurt," was what I finally came up with.

"The day I can't snap up a rattler, is the day I give up life on the saddle, Israel -- I mean 'Jethro'," she grinned ever so slightly.

Normally, she was much more guarded with her emotions. This morning, though... I liked her smiling. Angel had ridden ahead with two of the new Shoshoni to check out a possible ambush point, only to come back with the knowledge it was clear.

She returned leaving the two Shoshoni on the high ground watching over us all. Our current trajectory was pretty easy. We were heading south with Highway 120 to our left (looking south) most of the time, only occupying the roadway when the ground became too narrow, or we needed to cross a bridge. We passed through Meeteetse in the early afternoon, yet pressed on until sunset. Sixty-five kilometers a day was our goal.

[***]

Meeteetse was a ghost town with the few survivors of the new plague having moved up to Cody for the safety the Cody area provided. Seeing how small a town it was, I could understand the sentiment. Along the way, we stopped at Grass Creek so we could again water the herd. Night number two would see us at the burgh of Thermopolis. It was also where we would meet up with our old friend, the Bighorn River, as we prepared to head south along Highway 20/789.

Thermopolis was noted for its hot springs. I made a note to experience those on the way back if we had the time. Day three had us moving through the Wind River Canyon. That afternoon, we'd made it to the Boysen Reservoir so we could water the cattle once more. We couldn't do it along the canyon because the drop off from the highway was too steep. We had to keep moving until we could water the herd if at all possible.

Day four saw us exit the Wind River Canyon, and camping way east of a ghost town named Hiland. The next day (number five), saw us stopping in the middle of nowhere. The cattle were damn thirsty and made plenty of noise throughout the night. Day six saw us passing through Casper (post-plague population: 1,410) and picking up even more steer for our cattle drive. We then jumped on Federation Highway 25, and were camping in the middle of nowhere, yet again, that night.

Word quickly spread out of Casper to our fellow trail hands that there were two guys in the main group. They just had to go over and take a look... and sure enough, some were a bit indignant we were armed as we were.

"So, can you shoot with those," a rather boisterous and buxom blonde came our way with two companions. They didn't give a damn about the ladies supporting me, either.

"Absolutely. Care to lose something about the size of your fist so I can prove it?" I grinned.

"Well, you had better go fetch it once you finish making a fool of yourself," she snorted. She produced a bottle of half-finished beer, drank it down then said, "Ain't you going to draw your piece?"

"Ain't necessary," I drawled. "What do I get when I win?"

"It doesn't matter because you are all talk, no action," she sneered.

"Fine then," I chortled. "You'll learn soon enough and I'm going to steal a kiss from you as my reward."

"Ain't happening -- now draw, damn it. I don't want you having any excuses."

"What's the purpose of having a pistol if you can't quick draw it?" I chuckled.

Her eyebrows flickered, her lips pouted and then she threw it up high, in the sun, without warning. I did exactly what Zara had taught me, not panicking. The automatic pistol flew into my gun hand, my left came up and cradled it, providing stability. Her throw, while in the sun, was high enough to allow me to take aim.

BANG!

And my steed began circling around, yet I was still able to retrieve the reins while holstering my piece. I certainly wasn't going to be giving Davia a run for her money anytime soon, but I thought I did damn fine as bits of busted bottle rained down onto the ground. I gently applied pressure with my knees and ankles while providing my horse with guidance with the reins once more.

I spun around one more circuit before I could guide my mount over to hers. She was saying something to her companions so missed me coming up. She turned around just in time to witness me grab her under her underarm and pull her to me. She could have resisted the kiss, but didn't. Man-o-man was she hungry for that sexual contact, though. When I finally broke free, she was panting passionately.

"He's even better," I head-tossed toward Pierre.

That was an utter lie. Any number of factors could have made him miss -- the flying bottle, the sun, being mounted, or not having his pistol in his hand in the first place, but having that I had impressed them, I figured I could make him safe during the confusion concerning me.

"You are sleeping with me tonight." She sent a famished look my way.

"You should have made that your condition if that was the case," I shook my head in the negative. "I just might have missed on purpose then."

"We'll see about that."

"No. No, you won't," Angel pushed her horse forward to separate us.

"Who are you?" the woman stranger scowled.

"She's my number-one gal," I answered first, "and when I'm being smart, I listen to her advice -- like now."

"We'll see," she repeated, then turned her horse away and back toward her own herd.

After she was gone, the rest of my girl posse closed in and congratulated me for such a well-placed shot. It felt good -- really good -- like I belonged here on the wild frontier.

[***]

Day seven of our ten-day trek to Cheyenne had us making it to the North Platte River. After getting to the southern bank, we let the cattle drink up, as they had become quite thirsty. Also, roughly five hundred more cattle joined up. Day eight saw us outside the struggling town of Wheatland. The plague had hit it hard and we were very late in supplying any aid whatsoever. Here the fifty-eight women and five men -- the survivors -- struggled to keep the key agricultural and irrigation concerns going.

They let us pass around the town to the west because those had been the farms abandoned during the Great Die-off. It was such a sad sight to see, and a precursor of what awaited us as we moved farther from Cody and the emergency cure myself and my mates had been able to provide. The sad reality was we simply couldn't save everyone. 'Sacrifices' had to have been made. Wheatland was one of those sacrifices, as was Casper.

Day nine saw us going down Highway 25/87 ending up come sunset in the middle of nowhere again. All night, the cows were restless. Before the moon set, we picked off a few coyotes who had begun stalking us. Day ten saw us within sight of our goal -- Cheyenne, and camping out on the then-abandoned Francis E. Warren Air Force Base (AFB). Cheyenne, like Casper, had been severely depleted by the plague, having been reduced to one thousand-six hundred and seventeen women and one hundred and fifty-four men.

It wasn't quite a ghost town yet, and civic leaders were desperately trying to stave off extinction by any means possible. They greeted the arrival of the cow herds with great enthusiasm. We spent the whole next day (number eleven) being part of the festivities. The inclusion of myself and Pierre was noted by many, though no one made a big deal about us walking around armed to the teeth because, as agreed, we never went anywhere without an escort, or three.

[***]

The next day (number twelve) ranchers from the far side of the Bighorn Range to the north, and as far afield as the old states of western Kansas and Nebraska to our east, showed up. After another fun night, we headed southward at first light -- next stop, Denver, population eighty-one thousand, three hundred and twenty-eight women and seven thousand, eight hundred and forty-eight men. Unfortunately, due to our mission -- driving cattle to the Civilian Government -- we had to avoid this thriving metropolis, which was still controlled by the Military Government.

[***]

They might try to stop us. Worse, they might try to take our cattle herds utilizing deadly force and the garrison in Denver and the ladies from Cody still had some bad blood between the two, dating back to their attempt to kidnap me roughly eleven months ago. For Cody, it had become 'Independence Day' for the city as well as the birthday in the Shoshone River Valley for the Great Plains Free Zone. For Denver, it had been a military catastrophe.

Since then, we had sent their captured soldiers back, while keeping their equipment for the Cody Militia plus shared some of the cure -- they had already reported seeing me at the Silverhorn Ranch -- so that the whole garrison didn't rot and die due to a whole number of factors, starting with the plague itself. In gratitude, they had declared a 'truce' with the GPFZ and not come north since then.

Besides, everyone knew the PPR was gunning for them since the destruction of Hoover Dam. Their masters back in Atlanta might want the 'Israel Cure', but the Amazons in Denver simply wanted to survive long enough for winter to close off all the easy access mountain passes to their fair city. If the PPR struck early, Denver would be calling on the GPFZ for assistance as well as Atlanta, or so everyone predicted.

[***]

Day thirteen saw us heading out of Cheyenne, with a far larger herd of cattle to drive before us. At least the ladies from the north and east had brought along their own bands of 'defenders' to join with our own. There were about a hundred of us along with nearly a hundred and fifty trail hands, creating quite the force of arms heading south -- more women than many of the small towns we passed along the way. We spent the night close to Fort Collins -- three thousand, eight hundred and forty-four women and three hundred and fifty-seven men.

Fort Collins was struggling, but her proximity to Denver kept her safe -- still in the fight to keep civilization alive in the shadows of the Rockies. That evening, a delegation from the Regional Military Commander showed up, and had a chat with Wilma, concerning her intentions. She was forthright -- the Great Plains FZ wasn't going to play favorites in the ongoing civil war.

We were already driving herds to market in both the Military Government and Great Lakes Free State. Not only was driving herds to the Pacific People's Republic not feasible, no one in the FZ wanted to do a damn thing to help those bastards survive. It was suggested what Wilma was doing was treason, to which Wilma responded to the leader of the delegation,

"It is only treason if your side wins, Captain Linklater."

"This is the time for patriots," the captain countered.

"Tell it to my dead," Wilma riposted. "This all started because you came into our backyard and tried to steal our very lives... and we haven't forgotten that."

"This isn't over." The captain then saluted, turned and abruptly left.

Her two guardians hurried to keep up. Her visit wasn't quite over yet, though. As she rapidly quick-stepped it to her Hummer, she suddenly stopped and stared at me, before coming my way.

"Captain Bethesda Linklater," she introduced herself, first with a salute, then a handshake.

"Jethro McFarlane Jr.," I replied, rapid fire.

"Jethro... odd name. You look like a certain fugitive from justice I am aware of," she studied me -- and the ladies surrounding us. "Israel Jensen. Heard of him?"

"Of course. He and I look a great deal alike, but his hair is darker and his skin is fairer."

"You have seen him... recently?"

"Yes, Captain. He remains in Cody with a great deal of personal security, plus he is constantly dodging your satellites."

"You have a great deal of personal security as well," the Captain pointed out.

"Well, after you murdered my Grandfather -- Jethro Sr. -- they have become somewhat overprotective... so his sacrifice wouldn't have been in vain."

"Of course," she didn't buy my obfuscation for a second. "Well, goodnight then."

"Captain, did you survive the plague?" I had to know.

"Yes. It was hell and damn scary, but I pulled through. That is why I get the fun detail of meeting outsiders, until as such time a cure becomes readily available."

"Oh. Israel would want to know that -- tales of your suffering would bother him."

That seemed to catch her off-guard.

"Really?"

"Yeah. The guy's got a big heart. Maybe on the next drive, or if you get attacked by the People's Republic, something can be done for you and yours." I kept steady eye contact.

"Oh... okay. We'll keep that in mind," she nodded. "Goodnight." She then shot me a wink, turned and resumed her departure.

"You shouldn't have engaged," Angel frowned, once she was out of earshot. "She's going to run straight home and tell the regional commander you are here, amongst us."

"Yes," Zara studied the tail lights of the retiring Hummer, "but now he has given her an option, which doesn't involve another bloodbath and the squandering of even more of their precious resources."

"By now, we could fly down fifty pints of blood," I stated. "That is well over twenty-five hundred troops currently trapped in quarantine freed up to face the world."

"We have that blood earmarked for communities in the east. You know that," Angel reminded me.

"Plus, I could come down for a long week and have them secure twenty-seven sources of their own cure," I persisted.

"Kuiko isn't going to like that," Zara teased me, baby in a sling, suckling on a tit, and with her sniper rifle slung over her shoulder.

"I'll deal with Kuiko. I might even bring her along. I heard a rumor that the good citizens of Denver are going to reopen some of their shopping malls."

"Who else is coming down with you?" Deborah inquired, in a soft voice with an undercurrent of displeasure.

"Well, Angel has a job which needs her back soon and..." I got out before our gathering was disturbed by a sentry riding hell-for-leather into the camp.

Conversations died, as we all craned our necks and ears to hear what they had to say.

"Rangers!" the woman exclaimed. "The Rangers are here!"

Soon enough, the camp was buzzing with the good news. I headed over to be closer to see what more I could catch.

"Lowell's Detachment of the 1st Rangers," the sentry related, "and they brought a cannon, too!"

A cannon? What the hell? I headed back to my mount and took to the saddle in one fluid motion. The women around me followed suit.

We had barely started working our way around the outskirts of the herd when we spotted them coming our way -- a passel of hard-riding women, faces covered with scarves, or kerchiefs, to provide some relief from the choking dust, leading a string of pack horses along with them. Sure enough, they had with them a disassembled cannon of some kind (an antiquated yet still functional World War II 75mm Mountain Howitzer actually). Of greater importance to me...

"Sgt. O'Connor," Ranger Lieutenant Lowell called out, "find a place for us to set up our encampment, while I see what's going on with the trail boss here."

"Brigit... BRIGIT!" I called out to Flame.

She spotted me, waved and then began to direct the forty-eight women in her command to setting up a camp. I hurried her way.

Right off the bat, I realized she had this humongous rifle strapped to her back. She was giving off her orders rapid-fire, and with practiced ease. I stood out of the way, until I sensed she had a moment.

"Flame?"

"Israel! Well, fuck me silly, Israel Jensen, what the fuck are you doing this far south?" She pulled down her kerchief and grinned.

"I'm a cowboy," I answered. "Riding protection for the herd."

"Good for you -- now kiss me, damn it!" She closed with me and began to rearrange my tonsils. What a kiss!

"You are a sergeant in the Rangers now?" I couldn't quite control my surprise.

"No one else wanted the job," she joked. "Besides, I normally get to do my own thing with my group of nine misfits -- equally insane bitches just like me."

"What the hell is that?" I pointed at her 'long arm'.

"Anti-tank Rifle," she beamed, full of pride and joy. "Shoots a discarding sabot 14.7-millimeter shell. Magazine holds five and my bandolier holds another twenty-five."

"Where did you get that from?"

"Some Texan no longer had a use for it, so I took it." She winked.

Meaning she'd killed the Texan in question, I had no doubt. I also noticed she still had her big-ass pistol, as well.

"Glad to see you," I grinned.

"So, who's the new pussy posse you've collected," she said, loud enough to be heard over the sounds of the Rangers digging in as they made their camp, the neighing of our steeds, and the passel of cows all about.

"Deborah Clears the Moon Kerr with the Crow People and Daniella Parker with the Comanche People," I pointed them out. "Zara and Angel, you know. Capri is around here somewhere, too."

"Howdy psycho," Angel said, by way of a greeting.

"Howdy Law Dog," Flame responded snidely.

"Brigit," Zara's response was more polite.

"Zara. So Israel, tired of living yet? Can I shoot ya?"

"No -- still loving life. Man, I've got so many kids on the way -- there is no way I could think about checking out now," I slapped her upper arm.

"Well, let me deal with my Rangers and then we can talk. Boy, do I have some news to share," she eyebrow pumped -- then she punched me back.

She resumed relaying orders and making sure everything was set up the way their lieutenant liked. That took all of twenty minutes. They unpacked the cannon -- and three.50-caliber machine guns with detachable gunshields -- but only set up the machine guns for immediate use.

By the time the lieutenant returned, the camp was set up, resplendent with shallow firing pits and machine guns covering all angles. They also had set up a small mortar to add to their firepower.

"Expecting to be attacked?" one of the cowgirls jokingly inquired.

"Every day," she answered with aplomb, "ending in 'y'."

"Sergeant, who are your friends?" the lieutenant asked Flame.

"Only one's a friend -- this one -- Israel Jensen," she backhanded my chest.

"THE Israel...?"

"Actually, on this trip, I'm going by the name Jethro MacFarlane Jr.," I interrupted.

"Keep it that way," she eyeballed me.

"Well, Rangers, we are going to stay with this cattle drive for the next few weeks, so start getting used to who belongs where, got it?"

"Yes ma'am," the forty-nine women chorused.

"What's going on?" I asked, "If I may inquire, that is?"

"Seems like we have three Texas capitals now -- and that's only the beginning of the bad news." She motioned for me to follow along with her.

Flame came along, too.

"Three Texas-es?"

"The one whose capital is Lubbock is the one we are most likely to recognize, though they aren't likely to join with the 'Free Zone'. Then there are the two back east, fighting one another -- Tyler and Beaumont -- over who gets to be the 'true' Texas. The Military Government has recognized Beaumont, but I don't know if that will help, or hurt them."

"Beyond having Texans killing Texans, the group in Lubbock has been raising five infantry battalions, and another of artillery, with the goal of driving the rest of the Civilian Government garrisons out of El Paso and points east along the Rio Grande," she continued. "Then there is news for you of a more personal nature. Brigit?"

"Back in the city, it turns out Isobel Diaz is in charge behind the scenes, and she still has a hate on for the three of us. By the way, how is Davia doing?"

"She's a cop now in Cody," I shrugged, unsure of how Flame would take the news.

"Go figure," she chuckled. "I can't blame her, though. Besides, we finally located Big M -- you know, Mama Keverich?"

"Oh shit," I muttered.

"Seems like she's come out on top in San Antonio. Runs the place like her own private fiefdom and I doubt she has not forgotten you either, Is -- Jethro."

"That's horrific news. I better go warn Wilma. If she learns I'm with the drive... should I turn back now?" I frowned, failing to hide my worry.

"Here you will have a freaking army around you, plus my fifty Rangers are to stick with you as far as the road takes you -- back as far as Cheyenne anyway," Ranger Lieutenant Lowell informed us. "If you head back in a small group... I don't trust the Texans that much. They might just sally forth and kidnap you."

"Aren't there supposed to be more of you?" one of my Shoshoni ladies inquired.

"There are. The other four detachments of the 1st Rangers are strung out along our southern border. After all, not all 'Civilized' Indian tribes are all that friendly -- yet -- plus the Military Government keeps trying to make the land around Kansas City theirs again."

"Where are the other Rangers -- I mean the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th?" I asked.

"The 2nd faces off against the PPR in the Rockies and Great Basin to the west, the 3rd is spread out along our Northern Frontier in case the PPR, Military Government, or Iron Confederation gets feisty, and the 4th faces east, just waiting for either the Military Government, or the Great Lake pukes, to attempt another run at us. In all honesty, the 1st and the 3rd have detachments close to the dividing line of responsibility in case either the 2nd, or 4th needs the help."

"The thing is we know a new Comanchero is forming up, but not where their base of operation is," Lowell informed us.

"What are they up to?" I just had to ask.

"Trading guns, armor and ammunition in the Olde Southwest area -- west Texas in the east to the Death Valley Corridor in the west and as far north as Salt Lake City."

"I thought the Great Basin had been devastated... and where are they getting the guns and ammo from?" Angel resumed being a cop once more.

"Well, after we burned Reno to the ground last spring, the surviving Mormons from as far afield as Massachusetts and Florida returned to rebuild the Temple in Salt Lake City... and most of them are armed and have survived the plague so..."

"As for where they are getting everything from -- my bet is corrupt arms manufacturers in both the People's Republic and the Civilian Government. The military has their shit battened down too tight for anything to go missing -- yet."

"That can't be good for us," Zara opened up a bit.

"You can say that again."

"We are hearing some strong rumors the Great Lakes' Fucking Shitheads are importing artillery, missiles and mortar shells seeing as how they don't produce enough themselves," Lowell continued. "Most of their homegrown shit isn't worth a damn anyway. Too many misfires and explosions in the breach. You couldn't pay me enough to be a Great Lakes' artillery-woman."

At that moment, all our phones went off with a very familiar tune. The Rangers, unused to it, all tensed up. Before they could ask, I clued them in.

"That is the signal for 'dinner'," I let them know. "Want to join us? There is always plenty. Wilma wants to sample some of the local produce so we need some empty wagons by the time we reach El Paso-Ciudad Juárez."

"We can get behind that. O'Connor, detail twenty-five Rangers to go get us some chow -- two plates each!" the lieutenant bellowed out her order as if Brigit wasn't within arm's reach.

Later, I would learn this was done to inform all the Rangers what was going on, not meant as an insult in any manner. The Rangers detailed for food duty meandered that way while my group -- funny how I could so easily assume they were my group -- no fear -- headed to our camp to retrieve our tinware.

An hour later we were well fed and, as was commonly the way of things, women began teasing me about my expected bed partners. It was suspected it would be Deborah and Angel, but I could always handle a third, or so the mockery went. I was leaning toward Lieutenant Lowell when the trail hand, who challenged my right to bear arms, showed back up... with her two buddies.

"Yes?" I said, as I looked up at her.

She had washed up a bit and unbuttoned two buttons on her shirt. Her bra was clearly struggling with its heavy load. Her blonde hair had clearly been washed up a bit, too.

"I'd... ah... like to take you up on that offer," she stumbled through the words.

I could have made it more difficult and embarrassing, but chose not to. After all, I had faced a lifetime of humiliation in my past six years until I began learning what it meant to be more than a male of the species, but a 'man'.

"Sure," I hopped up.

Her face blossomed into a bright, toothsome smile.

"Well, let's get started." She came right into my personal space.

A year ago, I would have recoiled instinctively. But -- as Jethro taught me -- I took charge. Undoubtedly, I had slept with far many more women than she had slept with men. She tried to dominate me, but I was taller, stronger and willing to use those assets to assert my dominance. Both arms started encasing her only to migrate down until I could cup and fondle each luscious ass-cheek.

She responded by humping against me and rising up as high as her boots would allow her to further delve into our French kiss. I picked her up by her ass, she wrapped her legs around my upper thighs, and off we went toward my primitive bedding. War whoops followed our departure -- we were still kissing feverishly. Long gone were the nights where I demanded solitude and privacy when having sex with a woman.

By that time, as I had once told Kuiko, this was how men and women were supposed to be. Just the two of us ignoring the constraints of polite society and modern convention. Once we got to my bed -- really just a tarp laid upon the earth and a blanket placed upon that. My saddle was my pillow. I set down the woman only to hear her piteous whine.

"We have to take our clothes off," I pointed out.

"Oh," she appeared caught off-guard.

I was figuring four, maybe five, tussles with a male before me. Odds being most of them being prostitutes. Hey, everyone had to make a living, right? She shed her clothes with surprising alacrity. She did shoot me an appreciative look when I set my rifle down beside me and my pistol under my saddle. She kept her pistol beside my saddle.

Then the lovemaking began. I slipped my right hand around her hip to her pubic area and inserted one finger into her snatch. She was dripping and very hot!

She humped up against me and whispered in my ear,

"Give me that dick."

"All in due time -- what do I call you?"

"Amy. Amy Collier."

"Well, Amy, I'm in charge now so you are going to have to cool your jets and let me sex you up," I outlined my plan.

"Because you're bigger and stronger than me? I am woman, damn it," she frowned.

That was the old way of thinking -- the mold I would have to break.

I hauled off and spanked her left butt cheek -- hard. For a moment, she scowled, but then she couldn't help herself -- she smiled.

"Turn around," I demanded, falling deep into the mental state of the dominant male. I wasn't emulating Jethro, but he remained my guiding light -- his actions, words and lessons he had shared over the short time we had been together.

I brought up her vaginal secretions to her erotic nub and began twisting and squeezing it ever so gently. I slowly pulled her closer to her first orgasm of the night. Having been so gentle after the spanking, my hard twist and pull on her clitoris caught her totally unprepared. She rocketed off, her fluids running down her legs -- her trembling legs -- and oh, how she howled.

Before she could even begin formulating the words to demand my 'dick', I had her down on all fours, was behind her, spanking that ass and giving it my all from behind. Though I had been taught in therapy 'doggystyle' was a regular and acceptable means of intercourse, Amy seemed to never have experienced it. The second she stopped trying to buck me off, I leaned down on her back, moving my hand from her wide hips to her buxom mammary.

As Amy's head dropped down, her hair cascaded over her shoulders and left her neck vulnerable. I wanted her trail-mates to tease her over my marking the victim of our sexual congress. Sure, she had offered herself up, but in this case, the man had taken her, not the other way around. Our viewing audience commented as much -- my female companions and the women Amy had brought along.

It turned out after our parting of the ways earlier, they were of the opinion I would turn her down -- with the support of my coterie, of course. They had come to bear witness to her failure and to collect on the bets they had made. She would have been quite in debt had I clued into this and indeed refused to have sex with her. The reality that I was an independent-minded man, was another thing they were working through.

Capri had stopped by because the noise was scaring the cattle, or so she claimed. Then she turned into the peanut gallery, critiquing our performances, concerning matters of style, stamina and vocal quality. I swear -- that woman. Sometimes I would wonder why the two of us are such close friends, much less lovers. I did understand she missed her siblings and mother.

The older sister had been in New York City when it got bombed -- no word from her since -- and her mother and younger sister were in Cincinnati, Ohio Valley Province and still under a 'shoot-on-sight' quarantine, but alive. Every so often, she questioned me on when we were going to go rescue them. I think she was halfway serious, too; this ironclad belief my dumb luck and her smarts could accomplish anything.

Since I had women sleeping on either side of me, I made use of their pallets as well, rolling us around and letting her be on top from time to time. She was fighting for every breath by the time I unloaded my sperm into her womb. She shuddered through her fourth orgasm as I did so. Romantic that I was, I didn't have it in me to tell her the blood coursing through her body was worth its weight in gold. She'd find out if she wasn't careful enough.

Amy's body crashed down on top of me, her breasts pancaking out, and her nipples digging divots in my pectorals.

"Glad you came by?" I taunted her.

"Oh... oh fuck... oh fuck yeah," she gulped her air desperately.

"I'm glad you came by too, Amy Collier," I whispered in her ear.

"Fuck," she wailed. "You're still hard."

"That's my signal to jump in," Deborah beat Angel, Capri, and Zara to the punch.

As she came my way, still as silent as the mountain lion, she began stripping out of her clothes. I worked a sticky Amy over to the side so I could have access to my pallet once more.

I liked the way Deborah looked at me. Once upon a time, not too long ago, that level of emotional investment would have terrified me... but no more. Oh, I could feel the demons in the back of my head stirring, yet in that moment, I had far more recent memories of the wonders of love to hold them at bay. I'd deal with them in my nightmares later -- no doubt.

I had come to live with that, too -- never being the 'perfect' me. Always being damaged somehow yet carrying on because that was what us survivors did -- survived and overcame the demons late at night. I could open myself up to being loved and loving others. And it was so damn awesome! In retrospect, I could barely comprehend the young man who wanted to shut women out of his life forever. I was glad it wasn't that 'me' anymore, that was for sure.

[***]

It was late at night, a three-quarter gibbous moon in the sky was providing plenty of illumination. An odd visual disturbance was provided by the lights coming up from the south -- Denver and Aurora (where the Space Forces Base was located). They dimmed the light of the stars coming from that direction. I tried hard not to get distracted. Clears the Moon was close by, but I would have been foolish to think she was my only guardian within sight of me.

Whereas, the protectors rode a circuit around the exterior of the herd, the cowgirls moved carefully though the cattle themselves. Instead of my pistol in my grasp, I held a flare gun. I was to shoot it off if I spotted something trying to penetrate our perimeter -- the color of the flare alerting the camp from which direction the threat was coming. My color tonight was lime green.

Out here, were perhaps two-dozen women keeping a wary eye out, plus a backup force of ten Rangers were at their camp, on a nearby hillock, waiting and ready to respond to any signs of trouble. Still, this close to habitation we expected trouble -- both the two- and four-legged variety. Wild dog packs abound, plus some people were simply hungry for some good beef and didn't want to pay for it.

A coyote howl disturbed my ruminations. I tilted my Stetson up so I could better home in on where the coyote was coming from. I noticed Clears moving closer to me, concern written large on her face. A second coyote noise was heard. This one about a hundred yards to the west of the last noise. That could spell trouble, just not of the flare variety.

I wedged the flare pistol into my belt then drew my.45 Henry 'Big Boy' lever-action rifle from its sheath, making sure to chamber a round as I did so. Mind you, I got endless teasing about the 'big boy' label, but I learned to live with it as I came to admire the medium-range rifle. I had even had the rather worn barrel replaced with a brand-spanking-new one before coming on the cattle drive.

I began to spur my mount toward the sound of the first coyote. I was about to break free of the peripheral cattle, when Deborah propelled herself off of her saddle and jumped on me. We both went crashing to the ground -- hard. So hard I almost missed the report of the rifle aimed our way!

"Those aren't coyotes," she hissed then, "Can you move?"

"I think so," I replied, shaking myself loose of her.

I didn't stand up, though. That would have been stupid in case they were aiming at me instead of Deborah. She carried her rifle on her back, held in place by the weapon's strap. A second later, I heard another shot followed by the sounds of electric engines quickly coming our way. I went into a kneeling firing stance and waited for a target to present itself, even as I readied my flare pistol. Deborah did likewise.

Gone were the days when I was so squeamish I worried if I could shoot at a fellow human being. These days, I fought not only for myself, but for my women and children. The first vehicle was coming on fast, so I shot off the flare high into the night sky. Next I drew aim at the spot about a half-meter above the lights, where I imagined the driver to be sitting and fired. I was greeted by the sounds of a ricochet.

It was an ARMORED, fucking vehicle! Deborah was busy getting her rifle ready so I popped off three more shots merely to distract the oncoming ride with my nuisance fire. I was unsure what effect it was having on us because seconds before they arrived, one of the.50 calibers from the camp lit into it -- pounding away with a mixture of armor-piercing rounds and tracers.

The vehicle -- a modern-day Hummer -- swerved then rolled over. Deborah placed herself kneeling perpendicular to my right side and then began banging away at another noise. I covered the downed vehicle -- it had ended up on its side -- bottom facing me -- waiting for any movement to betray the survivors. Sure enough, someone threw open the rear, drivers' side door and attempted to crawl out, weapon in tow.

"Drop it and live," I screamed at the woman.

For an instant, she froze. Then she leapt over the far side, but not before I put a bullet in her general direction. I had started out with seven bullets in the Henry. Then I was down to two, so I decided it was time to go to my pistol -- a.45 Colt M1911. It was just in time too, as I noticed another figure coming around the front of their ride, aiming our way.

I didn't bother with the warning this time. Instead, I took a whole second to carefully aim and put a bullet in her exposed leg. She screamed as she fell into the open... so I went over into a crouched run trying to get to her before she did anything even more stupid. At the moment I was about to lose the race, the woman rolled onto her back and aimed her assault weapon at me.

"Jensen?" she grunted.

"Yeah," I replied, even as I jumped on her, knocking her primary weapon aside.

We began wrestling in the dirt. Being wounded only made it more difficult for her to defeat me and soon enough I had my pistol underneath her chin.

"Surrender," I hissed under my breath.

I could see she wanted to keep fighting, except she didn't want to die and I had her dead to rights -- her mortality was one of the reasons she was here trying to kidnap me after all.

"I give up," she said, as she suddenly relaxed.

I rapidly dragged her around to the bottom of her ride and not a moment too soon. Another soldier limped around to the front, just as I was trying to drag my prisoner to safety.

A shot from back in the camp hit my latest assailant dead-center, knocking her on her ass. My guess was that it had to be Zara. A moment later, Clears the Moon was at my side, covering the rear of the vehicle. Just like that, the skirmish ended with the other two Hummers running off into the night, their mission a failure. From all directions, horses were making noise as the women rallied to my position.

Of the five women in the Hummer which had crashed, one was dead -- the driver -- and two were wounded -- by me of all people. The other two were knocked unconscious by the wreck and were in our custody before they regained consciousness. It was a resounding victory for our side -- zero casualties -- and many a woman came over and slapped me on the back, or stole a kiss, in celebration.

My ladies were far less kind, though. Once more, I had left a guardian behind while running off into danger. They were going to call Kuiko in the morning, just so she could bitch me out, while crying even more. The one woman who didn't give me an ounce of hell was Deborah. From her point of view, I did the right thing in moving on the downed vehicle, thus denying the two active shooters the use of it as cover.

Just for that kindness in a sea of recriminations, I banged her again while Angel and Capri scowled with their backs to me. I couldn't see their faces, but I knew the tenseness of their backs and what that meant facially-wise. Only Zara wasn't giving me anymore shit after our shift was over, and others took the lead in protecting the herd.

Zara had rolled over from a deep sleep, but then engaged the enemies in their copulas with dedicated sniper fire. All the while she was dispensing death, Zara had baby Venice by her side, who made nary a sound. She was so quiet, just like her momma.

That morning, over breakfast, I suggested to Zara that when we returned to Cody, she open up a sniper school so that her art form didn't die out with her eventual passing. She gave me that wonderful trademark smile, then added a single nod of her head.

[AMONG THE APACHE]

They had been shadowing us since daybreak. First two, then five, and becoming over twenty of them, mostly mounted on horses, but with one ATV and two motorcycles/dirt bikes joining the rest around ten in the morning. They gave no indication they wanted to talk with us, and we knew, through previous encounters with the Free Zone Rangers, they didn't like to be approached first.

Since they tended to shoot at people in order to maintain their quarantine, we respected their wishes. This was the border of their lands we were crossing through after all. Still, they looked at us through binoculars for some time before two finally detached from the main group and came our way. I ratcheted up my mind to recall their name for themselves.

Outsiders called them the Mescalero Apache, while they and other Apache and Navajo tribes called them the Naa'dahéńdé. We knew from their neighboring tribes they were aware of the deal made to gain the 'Israel Cure', though they had never approached any of our representatives before this. Because of their militant stance here, in what was once central New Mexico, none of the surrounding cities and towns belonged to any of the major players in the southwest.

As some early afternoon thunderheads were moving in from the west and the wind began picking up, two of the Apache gathering separated themselves and came our way. In response, myself and seven of my closest companions moved away from the perimeter of the cattle herd and moved to intercept them. At a safe distance, one of them called out.

"We are looking to speak with one of the native brides of Israel Jensen."

We looked at one another, uncertain as to what this might pertain to. Deborah Clears the Moon Kerr decided to take the chance and go forward. Instinctively, I went with her which brought Angel along as well.

"I am Deborah Clears the Moon Kerr of the Apsáalooke (Crow)," she answered, once we had come close enough to make out their partially covered faces.

"I am Angel Kristi, and I am also a bride of Israel and have been since before he fled the city and came to Cody," my number-one gal announced.

Before I could even put the words together, the lead Mescalero Apache lowered her scarf and studied me intently.

"That would make you Israel Jensen then?"

"Yes," I kept things simple and succinct.

"Good. We need the cure among our People," she proclaimed. "What is your bargain?"

Deborah looked to Angel. Angel briefly looked at me, then Deborah. I had to think about this -- a new bargain with a critical player along the southwestern frontier as well as a great ally for the Diné -- the Navajo Nation -- our anchor along this whole section of frontier. If we could get the Naa'dahéńdé to join up, then that would secure our borders all the way down to west Texas.

"The same bargain we make with all the other aboriginal peoples -- five women over a five-year period, plus full male rights after three-score years and I have the right to see my offspring, and their offspring, whenever I want, in perpetuity," I explained.

"No. We want a better bargain. Fifteen women over five years and only you, alone, can visit with your children," the lead Apache woman bargained.

'Yikes', I recoiled slightly.

"Who are we bargaining with?" Deborah challenged right back. "Who are you to demand so much more than the other Peoples?"

"I am the Chieftain known as Victoria de noche to outsiders," the lead woman answered.

Her name was Spanish and meant 'Victory by night'. Rumor had it the Mescalero Apache had become quite adept at night fighting, thus making the most of their small population by attacking their enemies when they had a clear advantage.

"How is this --" I was about to question when Deborah interrupted.

"No. You do not get a better deal than all the other tribes," she declared, while making a chopping motion with her hand.

"We have what you and your people need, Crow. Besides, it seemed as if Israel was about to accept my proposal."

I saw her point, though. Would I have to renegotiate my bargain with all the other tribes if I accepted the Naa'dahéńdé demands? I wasn't sure I liked that... still.

"You are correct. You have what we need -- a strong southwestern border, but you ask so much more than the other tribes have. If I do this with you, I must accept the other Peoples will want to renegotiate as well. That is a whole lot of 'native brides' for me to entertain. Would you accept two women each year for eight years, instead?"

"Ten years," Victory kept bargaining.

"Done," I announced, before either of the women at my sides could speak up.

I could tell Deborah was angry with the negotiations, while Angel was more contemplative. After all, she was my number-one gal and could have time with me whenever she wanted. That was our own personal bargain, if you could call our relationship that.

"Yes, Deborah," I stated calmly, "I accept the other Peoples will want to have more women sent over to the Silverhorn Ranch because of this, and I'm okay with that ~ five more women over five more years would seem fair."

"Two women," Deborah demanded.

"One woman," I shook my head. "After all, I will need to sleep upon occasion."

"There will be enough sleep for you when you eventually die, Canaan," she teased me, all of a sudden.

That was when I realized her hard demeanor and challenging attitude had all been an act for the benefit of the Apache. She wasn't really angry with me because, deep, down she knew I would agree to an expanded bargain the moment I agreed with Victory.

Victory pulled out her phone and texted, with one hand, her women upon the high ground, then looked over at me.

"I will go with you as will my oldest daughter here, Camila la puma."

"Are you sure you want to be the one, of two, coming along?" I worried... about her age more than anything else.

A less stoic person would have laughed, but not Victoria de noche. Instead, she let her eyes bore into my soul until I felt decidedly uncomfortable. Only when I looked away did she relent.

"The Pueblo People are likely going to want to contact you for a similar deal," Victory enlightened us.

We already had a deal with the Hopi from the time we had been contacted by the Navajo, so this wasn't totally unlooked for. Still, most of the Pueblo Peoples had a small population in the three to four thousand range... unless the plague had, somehow, gotten in. In that case, we were looking at, perhaps, seventy to eighty people left alive.

"Has the plague touched them yet?" I had to know.

"Not so far. The second the outbreak was spotted in California, all the native groups in the southwest sealed their borders and didn't let anyone in -- even members of the tribe, who had lived off the reservations, had to go through a lengthy quarantine before they were allowed inside."

"Hell, Israel, when I saw you do the takedown of the President on live television, I knew something was up and sealed our borders then. Put up a shoot-to-kill order and hunkered down for the upcoming storm," Victoria added.

"I'm glad my spasmodic efforts had some positive effects," I shrugged.

"Thank you, GNN," she said, finally giving up a ghost of a smile.

"Oh, by the way, on this cattle drive, I am going by the name 'Jethro MacFarlane Jr.'. For the short time we were together, Joseph MacFarlane Sr. was my guide on what it meant to be a 'man'. I am on this cattle drive for the same reason, too. Men need to take charge and head toward the danger so that their families stay safe and sound," I reiterated.

"I was curious as to why your womenfolk let you do this insane stunt," she smirked.

"I am a free man, and that means I need to make my own decisions and live with the consequences of those decisions," I explained. "I certainly listen to my ladies' advice, but the final call remains with me."

"There are definitely worse ways to live one's life," Victory allowed.

"So, we have enough food to feed you and your daughter, but what do you plan to use to eat with, or sleep on?"

"I have my saddle, blanket, and waterproof poncho for such contingencies and my plate and utensils are in one of my saddlebags," she replied.

"Welcome aboard. We should go tell Wilma -- she's the Trail Boss -- so she can set you straight as to what your obligations with the herd are, and where she wants to put you."

"I was planning to stick close to you," Victory stated.

"Doesn't work that way. If I have too many people hovering around me, then others are going to figure out I'm someone important and try to steal me in the dark of night," I shook my head. "Besides, this is a cattle drive and we need every woman either guarding the herd, or driving the cattle to market."

"Speaking of which, where are you headed?"

"El Paso / Ciudad Juárez to pick up a military escort, then down to Laredo to sell the herd at the railhead there," I outlined.

"Coming back this way?"

"Nope. We are going to skirt San Antonio on the return trip and make for Cheyenne in all due haste," I responded. "The military escort will stay with us as far as San Antonio, then cut back to El Paso."

"If El Paso is still in Civilian Government hands," she snorted. "My sources tell me a heavy force of Texans is coming out of Lubbock with the intent of driving out all the 'foreign' presences out of their province, starting with the forces spread out along the Rio Grande. After that, if they still have the necessary forces, they are going to settle the hash of those two pretenders in east Texas and the few feelers the Military Government has there."

"For someone who claims to live in isolation, you are rather well informed," Angel remarked.

"It is called 'radio chatter', Ms. Kristi. We have some serious radio arrays in Ole New Mexico. We are using them to ascertain just what our neighbors are up to. For some reason, the ladies in Denver thought Mr. Jensen was in the cattle drive... so here we are, waiting on him to make an appearance. Honestly, I thought it would be more difficult contacting him."

"Just a reminder, on this cattle drive, I am Jethro MacFarlane Jr. It will cause less disruptions that way," I reiterated to Victory. "For that matter, how do you want us to call you? Victory, Victoria, or Victoria de noche?"

"Victory will do," she decided.

"Victory it is then," I nodded. "Welcome aboard."

[***]

That evening I received a rude awakening to both what the Mescalero Apache thought of me as well as what they expected out of our bargain. I was getting ready for bed -- with one of them -- because I had the pre-dawn watch shift guarding the herd. Wilma had been impressed with my coolness under fire, so she nixed the others' attempts to have me stay in the center of the herd during the daylight hours. I truly appreciated that level of trust and confidence in me.

"So, how are we going to do this?" I said to Victory and Camila. Camila reached into her stuffed saddlebags and produced four stainless steel cylinders and some bottled lotion... labelled 'lubricant'.

"We are going to jack you off into these four containers first," Victory informed me. "We have a fertility clinic on the 'res' and we figure we can impregnate ten women per cylinder this way."

"Wait -- what?" I jerked to a halt. "Does that even work?"

"Oh, we aren't doing in vitro fertility methods. We simply monitor when our womenfolk are ovulating and introduce your little swimmers to the uterus via a syringe. The cylinders are surrounded by liquid nitrogen and we possess the facilities which allow us to harvest about eighty percent of the semen from the freezing process."

"I thought we were going to have sex?" I queried.

"We are... in a day, or two. After all, we want strong streams of semen going into each of the containers. Strong swimmers provide us with better results."

"Oh," I replied, somewhat deflated.

"What kind of primitive circus did you think we were?" Victory studied me. "We have our very own space port, university campus, and top-notch animal husbandry outfit. We are not primitives, Is -- Jethro."

"Oh," I repeated. "Sorry for thinking you were less able to deal with the situation than Cody."

"Mescalero Apache have been worried about our declining male population for over two decades and came up with this method, in order to maximize our fertility numbers."

"You are going to 'turkey baster' his sperm?" Capri chuckled, sarcastically. "That's rich."

"Well, time's a-wasting," Victory smirked. "Camila, let's get to it."

With that they waited until I had lowered my pants to pass my knees and sat down on my 'prairie pallet' before she liberally applied some lotion to my groin area then began to jack me off.

Admittedly, I had some trouble performing in this manner. The last person to jack me off was the Aurora Slasher. In the early days, as her prisoner, she would harvest my sperm so she could 'analyze' it -- making sure I was a viable candidate for her 'child'. Eventually, out of fear, I was able to perform for the serial killer and thus got to keep living. Only later, did she start having sex with me.

After a while, I finally got ready to shoot off. I warned Camila who dutifully applied a cup with tubing over my glans so when I shot off, it all went down the tubing into the cylinder. In less than a minute, that part of my ordeal was over.

"You are twenty-two, correct?"

Camila actually smiled at me.

"Yes."

"Then I'll try this again before we go on shift," she informed me. Then, she added, "Don't worry. We've been doing this for decades."

"You do realize this is more than a bit dehumanizing, right?"

She just stared at me without true comprehension.

Victory stepped up though. "We need to survive as a People, Jethro," she countered.

"I've heard of that excuse before, too.

"Enjoy it while you can," I glared. "In sixty years, this bullshit stops. Men will have totally equal rights and comparable numbers to put an end to this crap."

"If the situation warrants a return to more primitive methods, that is what we will do."

"No. You gave me your word this shit stops in sixty years, or you leave tonight -- without my sperm."

"That wasn't part of the bargain," Victory shook her head.

"Yes, it was. It isn't my fault you didn't ask me what equal rights meant to me," I hardened. "This is degrading in the extreme. You are treating your men the same way you treat your bulls and stallions. Tell me I'm wrong," I challenged.

At the very least, she hesitated before attempting to lie to me.

"This matter is not of your concern," she repeated her claim.

"Do this and I will convince every other tribe I have made a bargain with to gather up a posse and fall down upon the Mescalero Apache like a bolt from above -- thunder from the heavens, and all that crap. In case you missed it, that is twelve tribes currently to your one."

"I'm am not afraid of that childish threat," she riposted.

"That isn't a childish threat," I virtually snarled. "Oh, you mean flee into the Civilian Governmental territory with your belongings and your enslaved menfolk, but you will have lost your homeland -- now and forever."

"Again -- an empty threat. The other tribes will laugh at you if you request this."

"No -- no, we won't. Israel hasn't asked for much of anything before now we wouldn't have done ourselves given enough time. If he comes to us and states, along with witnesses, you have broken the bargain, we will come," Deborah spoke with deep conviction.

The Eastern Shoshoni and Northern Arapaho both nodded in agreement.

"If you think you can survive a war with the likes of the Navajo, Lakota and Comanche, so be it," Angel piled it on. "I have talked to their representatives as well as seen how much they respect -- Jethro -- around their council fires. They value individual freedom free from outside pressures. They were going to give their menfolk equal rights -- including the 'right to bear arms' as well as the right to say 'no' when they feel like it. You would keep your men as slaves."

"Oh, and we will be keeping that container, too. If you want it back, just come up to Cody after November 1st and we will return it to you then and there," she added.

The long silence was deafening.

"Fine," Victory conceded. "I imagine the next time we cut a deal with the Great Plains Free Range, we will make sure we have every definition clearly outlined. Just because you have gotten your way this time around don't think you haven't earned our resentment as well, Jethro."

"No amount of suffering is comparable to the pain I would feel if I left any of my brethren in bondage in the 'free range'. I may not have any ability to influence the greater polities around us, but don't think I don't want to."

"I see that now. You would risk much for this imagined freedom you would be providing our menfolk. After all, if they aren't willing to obey the dictates of the majority, they could easily be expelled."

"You may deny them a roof over their head and provisions to live with, but you will never break their Apache spirit," I cautioned Victory. "You wouldn't be exiling them. You would be creating a civil war among your own folk. Those men would have mothers, sisters and mates who won't agree with your stance either. Beware -- you are behaving just like the old Federation... and that made me the crusader for justice you see before you today."

"I am unafraid."

"You should be. After all, those men would be Apache and the Apache have never bent willing before the tyranny of numbers nor been easily swayed by golden promises. They will know you see them as little more than animals and react accordingly."

"Those men failed, if you recall your history," Victory scoffed.

"This time, they won't be alone though, Victory," I reminded her. "Men among all the tribes of the First Nations and Aboriginal Peoples of North America would hear their Apache brothers' peril and rally to their cause."

"Again, with the empty threats. You don't speak for any of those Peoples."

"You don't think so? They will all have my blood inside of them and possess the 'Israel Cure', or most likely been saved by one of them. If they would be my sons and daughters, they would come to know you for what you are -- tyrants. Worse, you would be actively denying freedom to those of their blood."

"You are really irritating."

"I get that a lot," I nodded.

"Fine... in sixty years, we will find another way to ensure our people are not in decline, but prospering. It is a long time for us to find another way."

"That is all I'm asking... for your doctors and scientists to find another way which doesn't dehumanize a growing segment of your population. After all, if some force was enslaving your daughters, what would you do?"

She had no answer to that.

"You would do whatever was in your power to free them. Don't forget your men are your children, too. Currently, they need your succor and protection, but in time, they will be enough of them to make themselves heard where it counts."

"You still want to interfere in our internal affairs," Camila frowned.

"No. I want to ensure my sons, grandsons and great-grandsons will live free, or at least die seeking freedom. Having never lived as slaves yourselves, you can't comprehend the ire you will earn from them... and in sixty years, they will have the guns to go along with that smoldering hatred... of their own people."

She looked away, still royally pissed with me.

"Okay, this has been a fascinating conversation concerning events sixty years in the future, but most of us need our sleep. Israel, set your watch to wake you up an hour before you need to go on watch," Angel said.

"My watch doesn't do that," I reminded her. "It's old fashioned."

"Right. Set you phone then."

"Okay... and done," I informed the crowd.

"Sixty years is a long time... odds are good, Jethro, you won't even be alive when that time rolls around."

"He never gets sick, his wounds never become infected, and he has plenty of bodyguards around him at all times," Angel snorted in amusement. "Odds are wonderful he'll be around in sixty years. He would only be eighty-two, after all."

[***]

I wasn't quite sure what Camila thought she was doing when she tried to climb into my pallet early that morning. Perhaps, she thought that Deborah was getting old and Angel was just a 'city girl', but both such notions were quickly dispelled in that moment when both turned on her, pistols ready.

"What do you think you are doing?" Angel hissed. Deborah was already scanning about, seeing if she could locate Victory... who was still lounging in her own pallet close by my feet.

"He needs to get up in an hour, so I thought I could convince him to start a little early... with his 'donation'," Camila answered.

That woke me up, though I had the presence of mind to place my hand on my.45-caliber pistol before moving to respond.

"Oh yeah," I sighed. "The second donation." Which I followed immediately with, "Where's the container?"

"I thought I could get this one using the natural method," Camila confessed.

"Now you want to have sex?" I was too tired to be surprised by the statement.

"Yes."

"Okay then," I shrugged, holstered my pistol then began undressing while sitting upon my blanket, my poncho pooled in my lap.

"You two wake awful fast," the younger Mescalero Apache noted.

"Yes. Yes, we do, and we are far-less understanding than -- Jethro -- is," Angel stated.

"Far-less understanding," Deborah chimed in. She also made a hand signal to a few of my other guardians, who were farther afield, yet ever watchful.

Seeing as how I was unveiling my body, Camila began doing the same. Right off the bat, I realized her breasts were bound instead of caught up in a bra. Likewise, her 'underwear' was of a native design, not some modern contrivance. I imagined this was because the Naa'dahéńdé were more practical in what they could produce, and reproduce, within their community being more important than any clothing they would have to seek from external sources.

"Your body reflects the moonlight," she commented, after I opened my shirt.

Mind you, I went around shirtless from time to time, but always wore body armor, except when I made love to a woman, or showered. On those rare occasions, my chest was, indeed, white enough to give off a soft glow under the light of the moon.

"I virtually always wear body armor," I told her. "Only when spending time alone with the women I like, do I go without."

"That's smart. You are kind of valuable to your people."

"He is kind of important to global humanity," Angel riposted. "Until his sons hit puberty, he is the sole source of the Israel Cure."

"Did you name the cure after yourself?" Camila chuckled, quietly.

"No. It sort of just ended up being called that," I shrugged again.

Camila had opened up her shirt then lowered her pants and underwear down below knees then crawled up my body until we could initiate a kiss. She didn't want to French kiss, though; she just wanted to start with a number of smaller kisses over much of my face instead. I replicated her efforts and decided I enjoyed the frivolity of the act.

Then she took my penis in her hand and positioned herself above it. Camila slowly lowered herself down on my tool, quickly exhibiting her wetness, as I easily penetrated her; though the movements remained a bit awkward. I had a feeling she had worked this stance out in her mind, but never actually experienced it with an actual man.

I did her one better by maneuvering my left hand underneath her bindings, loosening them as I sought out a nipple to play with. She rewarded my actions by shimmying her hips around, thus allowing my rod to touch all sorts of places within her vagina. Her breath took when I coaxed out her G-spot, then doubled back on it again.

"Bed many women?" she teased.

"Plenty, but none quite like you, Camila la puma," I replied. "Your clothing placement makes this terribly awkward by the way."

"Getting naked out here in the middle of the cow herd, and among all your other women, didn't seem the wisest course of action," she explained.

"They get naked when we make love," I countered. "You would be surprised how fast you can get dressed when you really have to."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Now you are just playing with me," I shook my head, not believing her for a second. Her upbringing with a healthy dose of tribal paranoia was at play here. Our current circumstance, in comparison, meant little.

"You don't believe me?"

"Not for an instance," I snorted. "Mind you, we could both use a bath -- me especially since I haven't bathed in two weeks... since I was last in Cheyenne."

"That's some distance away."

"Yeah. So, what's your excuse?"

"For not bathing? Do you think I smell bad?"

"No, you smell fine, actually. Earthy with a hint of charred wood and trail dust."

"Was that an insult, or a compliment?" She studied me.

"A compliment. You don't use any perfume, or scented deodorant, I am aware of, which is pretty much what I'm getting used to here on the cattle drive -- real womanly odors, which are obvious without being overpowering."

"Oh... you have a way with words, Jethro MacFarlane Jr."

"I was educated back east -- a four-year university, which I doubt is in operation anymore. Pity, I didn't get to enjoy it much, though. Long story -- bad memories."

"Yeah... your history is a bit muddled. Plenty of one-night stands, great reviews, but never a return performance... until Ms. Kristi. How come she never tied you down?"

"Well, you can ask her if you feel like it," I mused, "but most likely because I didn't want the artificiality of such a commitment on their -- our old society's -- terms."

"You are more than a bit bizarre." She hinted at something else she wanted to say.

"I remain bizarre, Camila," I grinned. "Some might even say I'm more than a bit crazy, but I'm okay with that because that's who I am."

"Yes, more than a bit bizarre," she reiterated.

We were really getting into the movement by then, her rocking back and forth, her hands resting on my pectorals, while my right held my up at an angle which allowed me to either kiss her, or suckle upon her exposed nipple. My left hand ran lines upon her face, playing with her hair and touching her throat and ear when the mood struck me.

She rocketed off first. Her orgasm was vocally contained and left her hissing out her restraint, as she minimized the noises she was making.

For a while, she grew still upon me, catching her breath and studying me and my own still form. I was, indeed, in marginally better physical condition than she was and I could tell this surprised her. Finally, she broke the silence by speaking.

"You are in really good shape."

"That, I am," I answered. "I work out every morning and again before bed. It is one of the few things from my 'old life' I have carried forward. I also watch what I eat and what I drink as well. Sure I could do more now of either, but I see no reason to do that to my body at this late date."

She nodded in her understanding of my words, if not the message behind them.

I pushed my hips up into her groin, letting her both know I was ready to continue and still very hard within her. This earned me a smile on her behalf.

Camila was by no means gorgeous, but attractive and very competent, which I found beautiful in its own way.

We kept at it for more than fifteen minutes this time around, the savagery of our movements and thrusts finally driving me over the top when I gifted her with a powerful explosion of my semen inside of her vagina. Her resulting second orgasm undoubtedly moved some of my seed up into her uterus. If she was ovulating, she just might conceive this time around. Otherwise... she was sated and I had to get ready for my turn guarding the herd.

We parted in silence. No words were necessary. She had done what she had done for her own reasons, not out of any sense of attachment to me, and I had responded because my seed would grant her a safe and hopefully long life, free of the fear of the plague.

[***]

Over the next three days, I would fill up the other three containers as well as have intercourse with Victory and then Camila again. We never talked about what might be the results of those efforts on my behalf. I wouldn't threaten them anymore nor would we talk about the remote possibilities of sharing an offspring. They would depart on the outskirts of El Paso and I would wave them goodbye.

The other women kept their own council about those interactions, though I suspected they didn't totally approve. If I did have children among the Naa'dahéńdé, I would have to figure out a way to learn about their existence because I couldn't trust their mothers to remain honest to me about it. It just wasn't in them to be so open about such matters to an outsider such as myself... even with the gifts I had given them.

I didn't have much chance to dwell into those grey areas of my own actions. Why did I do what I did with so little trust between me and the possible children I might one day have there? I had to put my faith in my ability to move among the Mescalero Apache at a later date and in my dumb luck to chart me a path which would reunite me with the children of my seed.

[DR. DELILAH FREMONT AGAIN]

Bethany sat poolside with two of her Sorority sisters, catching the last rays of the Sun before it took itself below the horizon. This resort, on this tall mesa in the middle of the damn jungle, was a bizarre anomaly. Suddenly, they went silent as a sinister shadow settled over their little gathering. Bethany, shades on, craned her neck around to see which one of the servants it was. It was the She-Wolf. She nearly wet herself in a panic.

"Your mother wants to see us -- now," she demanded.

Bethany wanted to be brave, to put up a strong front with her friends about, but instead, she acquiesced sheepishly. Her minor victory was she didn't pee on herself. After all, whereas the menace the She-Wolf radiated was seen as a subliminal threat by her 'friends', Bethany knew better.

They had been so close to capturing Israel last time, when that nasty Keverich mobster woman broke free, killed one of their surviving mercs and wounded another. They were lucky to break free to the south, along with the few military women not caught up in the Cody Militia's encirclement. They had been forced to return home empty handed.

Since then, Bethany had been used as a brood mare -- her sole value being the antibodies Israel had given her oh-so many years ago, when they had really been boyfriend and girlfriend. If there was any consolation for Bethany, it was that her mother told her she was special ~ many more parts per billion in her bloodstream than a woman he had only had sex with once.

Bethany hopped-to and began walking into the main apartment structure adjacent to the pharmaceutical complex. When she attempted to deviate toward the apartments to get dressed, the She-Wolf stopped her.

"Time enough for that on the flight," she smirked.

"Flight? Where are... we going?"

"We have an Israel sighting and this time he's way south of his Vanisher protectors -- and heading more south every day," the She-Wolf cruelly enlightened her.

"Is he defecting to the Civilian Government?" she worried.

There were places too numerous to name for the FCG to hide him. If he vanished there... what could she do? Even then, if he was on his own and got to the jungles of Ole Mexico...

No, she had to think positively about this whole expedition. Sure she would be at the tip of the spear, or point of the sword. She would make her mother proud and teach those East Coast urban girls a thing, or two.

"Where are we going?" she sort of squeaked.

"Your mother's informants suggest Israel is no longer in Cody, but with a cattle drive heading toward the Civilian Government."

"Is he, or is he not, defecting?" Bethany repeated.

"Not hardly. Just being stupidly pig-headed would be my guess," the She-Wolf (real name: Matilda Van Hattin) said.

"Isn't that area of the Federation a real mess right now?"

"Yes -- it is. That is why we will be carrying firearms and grenades."

"Do I have to go?" Bethany knew she sounded far too petulant.

"By all means, Ms. Fremont, tell your mother 'no'. See what that gets you."

"I... ah... okay." She bowed her head, already defeated before the confrontation.

"Besides, we might just get another crack at Maria Keverich," the She-Wolf chortled. "She did beat you up, then used your PDW to kill one of my people."

"I -- sorry about that," Bethany moped.

"Sorry won't bring back the dead," Matilda grew positively chilling. "That woman was worth twenty of you -- and don't you forget it."

This time, Bethany nodded. To do anything else would be to invite tears and she knew how much her mother despised teary-eyed blubbering.

The two women walked down chilly halls past two checkpoints -- a combination of both automated defenses and female guardians. Dr. Fremont wasn't taking any chances. In fact, she had chosen this remote jungle location in the Caribbean Federation because she foresaw a time when she and the CFS government would have a 'falling out'. It was her ability to foresee these 'difficulties' which kept the She-Wolf at her side.

That and Dr. Fremont didn't shift the blame for failures onto other women's shoulders. That mental acumen had allowed the She-Wolf and Bethany to escape the North American Federation territory last year, instead of being left to rot. Better yet, the moment she strode off the long-range transport aircraft, the first thing Delilah had done was to inoculate her chief warrior as well as the other five surviving mercs.

That had been a gift from one of those otherwise useless sorority sisters of Bethany. Here, with a small team of equally inoculated mercenary women, she was returning to the site of her only failure -- the hunt for Israel Jensen. The She-Wolf knew why as well. The young boys of those sorority pukes were a decade away from granting anyone else immunity.

Right then they were juggling about the antivirals Israel had gifted them during one weekend-long orgy -- thus not the most effective ones of the breed. So, if Dr. Fremont's little fiefdom was going to survive, it needed either the source, or the answer to the mystery of how he had survived Carbolix-37. The She-Wolf suspected Fremont was in secretive communications with people back in the North American Federation looking for the answer to that equation. She might have even been in communication with the Vanishers.

"Mother," Bethany greeted her progenitor, as they stepped into the main lab area.

As they entered, two lab assistants were rolling out a gurney with a corpse, in a body bag, on it. It was on its way to the crematorium. The assistants would be back soon enough. There were simply too many failures (read: dead males) in the rush to find a cure these days. At any time the CFS's leaders would renege on their promises of support and attempt to seize this facility as well as ones closer to their battered capital.

Recent intelligence had it that the remnants of the Bolivian Special Forces were moving an under-strength, mixed-force battalion into Amazonia, en route to this supposedly secret base, too. Well, they did have some dedicated satellites still in use.

"Bethany, I have an assignment for you. You and a hand-picked team are heading to southern Texas to capture your former boyfriend," Mother Fremont said, in such a congenial tone, it was difficult for Bethany to tell if her mother wanted her to succeed, or not.

"I won't let you down, Mother," Bethany stiffened into a poor facsimile of coming to 'attention'.

"You had better not, Bethany," the parent scolded her. "Otherwise, all you are useful for is that of a blood donor... and you don't need to be conscious for that."

"Wh-what?" Bethany gulped.

"Fail this time Bethany, and I am going to put you and your friends into comas and milk you twenty-four-seven of all of yours 'Israel Cure'. Clear enough?" she explained in a mothering tone, only her words standing in testimony to her true menace.

"Please!" Bethany bleated. "I'll find him. We'll bring him back!"

"That's the positive attitude I am looking for in you. Now, go get dressed."

"Ya-yes ma'am," Bethany's head bobbed. Then she turned and all but fled the room.

Once she was gone, Dr. Fremont continued, "Ms. Van Hattin, please bring back my daughter. She really does have the richest source of the Israel Cure currently available and if we are going to survive this calamity, we will need her for her blood. Understood?"

"Why send her with me then?"

"I want to give my child one more chance to not disappoint me," Dr. Fremont explained. "I am still her mother and I want to see her succeed... even if you and I know you will be the one doing all the heavy lifting."

"Of course, Dr. Fremont."

"Now, I have been able to salvage our GlobeMaster [V*] from where the Bolivians had her impounded plus our Ilyushin [Il-83*] so you will be touching down with all the supplies and support you requested [(*) fantasy variants given sixty years of gradual advancements]. She-Wolf grinned over hearing that bit of unlooked for good news.

"Won't that leave this base rather under-defended?" Matilda inquired.

"I have that well in hand," the good Doctor smiled... and that was the end of that discussion.

The She-Wolf understood she was just one tool in the arsenal of Dr. Fremont. She had traitors, spies and other force multipliers already set up, and it wasn't Van Hattin's place to question her employer concerning such things. All she was truly worried about was having a safe haven to fall back on.

As Van Hattin was leaving the compound, she passed through the underground airport Dr. Fremont had built into the mesa the complex sat on. Inside, they were preparing over a dozen road-capable missile systems -- payloads unknown. One of Dr. Fremont's far more capable daughters was overseeing the project -- Dr. Winona Fremont ~ PhD. in Telecommunications and Satellite Telemetry, she recalled.

She edged over to one of the unattended computer tablets. There, right on the locked front page were the words, Operation Jericho. The She-Wolf's own operation in conjunction with this one had the far more grandiose title of Operation Ragnarök. Van Hattin already knew that along with her part of Operation Ragnarök, there would be global actions taken -- bridges burnt -- which would damage world-wide recovery efforts -- if not kill them entirely.

Somehow all those actions, along with 'Jericho' were interconnected. Figuring just how so was, for some reason, important to her. Not right then, though. She had to make sure her women were ready for this assignment -- which came with its own inoculation -- and their equipment was ready to roll out. That equated to one platoon's worth of Russian-made armored vehicles.

They would include a command-variant IFV, a heavy-mortar variant, a battlefield-medicine variant, and a drone-launcher variant as well as two, up-gunned IFVs and two more APCs to carry her combat-ready half-squad of four each into the fight. Since she could expect neither air support nor naval artillery back-up, every woman was packing one anti-armor rocket and MANPAD for, well, air defense (MAN Portable Air Defense). This mission was indeed going to be a tough one, but she knew she was up to the challenge. Next, was to locate this 'Farias Ranch Airport'.

[EL PASO/CIUDAD JUÁREZ]

You could sense the desperation amongst the crowds of people watching over us, as we came out of the afternoon haze, the dust cloud kicked up like a giant calamity plume. We were thirty-two days out of Cody, but a world away. Initially, the people in El Paso assumed ours was the sign the Texan military had come to do battle with the garrison of Ciudad Juárez -- possibly even driving them out.

Unlike the vast majority of the citizens of Texas, these women were the ones who had thrown in their lot with the Civilian Government, and were then going to pay the price for abandoning their fellow Texans and Chihuahuense as this border conflict developed. At that moment, they were surrounded. Every supply convoy reaching them ran the gauntlet of bandit raids... and not every convoy was getting through as the 'Resistance' forces got their acts together.

And recently there was word we could only confirm that three thousand Texans from Lubbock were, indeed, coming their way. With what -- we had a few ideas. Wilma met with some of the representatives of El Paso, selling them fifty head of cattle at a reasonable price -- mostly paid in other foodstuffs. Next, she met with a member of the Ciudad Juárez garrison. We handed over the box of gold coins and they introduced us to Captain Filipa Alfonzo Calderón, who commanded Compañía C del 4º Regimiento de Infantería Independiente Voluntaria Juárez.

'C'-company of the 4th was a mixed command of vehicles and mounted troops. It seemed after the twin disasters in Louisiana and Texas, and the ongoing insurgency in northern Mexico, the Government in Mexico City didn't have the resources to fully rebuild all of its old units. On the 'plus' side, the 'Independent Volunteers' were considered politically reliable units -- thus, their independent status and less likely to turn bandit on us.

The 4th, itself, was a mostly intact veteran unit with a smattering of new recruits to fill out the ranks after its participation in the Louisiana Campaign. Captain Calderón herself had been decorated for bravery twice and risen up the ranks from sub-lieutenant to captain. Instead of being grim and humorless, she was rather upbeat and full of useful information about the local area, both cuisine-wise as well as what sections of both cities it was best to avoid after dark, or all together.

Neither she nor her adjutant recognized me, with a scarf over my lower face -- nose on down -- which was a good thing in my book. Oh, she immediately realized I was a male, but along with Pierre, she didn't hold that against Wilma's command. We didn't stay in fields outside El Paso for long. A day after we arrived and once we had finished watering all the steer, we headed southeast down Federation Highway 10, driving on the Pecos River.

Day two out of El Paso saw us move away from the Rio Grande and the threat of cross-river banditry. It was then that we only had to worry about the bandits north of the damn river. Day and night, we were scouted out by various riders (motorcycles, ATVs and/or horses), but couldn't take any action against them. It wasn't against the law to sit on a hill and watch us move by.

The next night (number three), we camped out in the ghost town of Sierra Blanca. Day four saw us beat off our first serious rustling attempt, with two of our ladies getting wounded bad enough to be placed in the medical vehicle. We killed one and wounded as many as eight, driving them off. We may have lost three, or four, cows in the general confusion, but that wasn't too bad according to Wilma.

That night, we slept in the open chaparral country, all nice and quiet. Only later, did I learn Wilma had sent a ten-woman detachment of Rangers and fifteen herd guardians out to set an ambush at the only terrain feature to our north. Sure enough, about twenty vehicles with rustlers in them -- mainly ATVs and motorcycles -- showed up. Since the civilian army wasn't present for this little nighttime encounter -- our side put them down. Killing sixteen and wounding God knows how many others before the remainder escaped. There were four lightly wounded on our side -- no dead.

Strangely enough, it was Capri who was incensed by this action, not me. I sort of understood the need to send a sharp lesson to the locals that our herds were not to be messed with. From Capri's viewpoint, what we committed was premediated murder. Wilma countered with the reality that there were no courts to try the rustlers in, no jails to hold them in, and no communities capable of paying adequate restitution for our dead (zero), our wounded (four) and our lost cattle (zero).

In essence, we were the only effective law in the region. Capri looked to me to support her. After all, I had lobbied for the return of those 'rogue' soldiers outside of Denver. I did so because there had been an authority to hand the outlaws over to -- the Military Government was alive and well in the Denver area. We had no place to keep prisoners and we didn't need the continuing ill will from the military.

Even if the soldiers weren't 'rogue', but operating under orders, I saw no way to prove it, and we certainly couldn't hang around any longer to see them tried. I had even sent them off with a pint of my blood... which earned me some scowls and a day in the medical vehicle due to the heat and my general fatigue. This time, though, I sided with Wilma. Capri left the morning campfire in a serious grump.

That night (number five out of El Paso), we made a bump in the road named Scroggins Draw. Nothing untoward happened so I fell into a deep sleep, did my guard duty, then went back to sleep the moment my head touched my saddle. I was getting used to the scents too -- the saddle leather oil, the horse blanket, and even the huge amounts of cow manure which permeated... everything. No one else complained so I kept my mouth shut, too.

Day six saw us literally drain Lake Balmorhea. The nearby town of the same name was a ghost town with some signs it had gone down swinging -- unburied skeletons and bullet holes in the buildings not already burned down. We pushed on into the rising dusk. We drove the cattle to the north of Highway 10 because the hills to the south looked unfriendly. Still, nothing came at us that night.

The next day (number seven), we reached Fort Stockton and got a rather bizarre reaction. See, Fort Stockton had pledged their allegiance to Lubbock, Texas, yet had a minimal population to hold us off ~ one hundred and thirty-six women and eighteen men -- all armed.

Why? Because a new law in (West) Texas required ALL able-bodied citizens sixteen and up to be trained in the use of firearms and to bear arms at all times in accordance with the dictates of an armed militia... for situations like when we rolled into town.

Wilma sent Capri and two others forward to make sure the town/village realized we came in peace even though we had an escort of nearly two hundred Civilian Government troops replete with IFVs, APCs, and towed artillery. I argued that I should get the opportunity to go forward as well, but Wilma nixed that. When Capri came back, she had worked out a deal.

We would allow them to cut out twenty steer. They would allow us free grazing rights and promised to not send word to Lubbock of our disposition for two days. Somewhere out there to our north was the army from Lubbock three thousand strong, aiming to clear the western part of Texas province of all Civilian Government influence. They were on the warpath and could easily roll over us with great loss of life to both sides.

Thus, we got to see our first armed men outside of Cody. They were equally surprised to see me and Pierre, equally armed and of a firm disposition. The good citizens even invited us to join their little city. We deferred, claiming we had a job to do, and pay to collect once we were finished. They accepted that then quietly grinned over the new direction the world was taking.

Sure, this might be the End Times, but at least we finally had true equal rights and the ability to go down, guns blazing in defense of those rights. Jethro -- he must have been grinning at us fools, all smiles, from either heaven, or hell. It appeared we men hadn't forgotten who we were after all, despite all those years in bondage. Hugs went around and back-slaps, too. One of them even punched me in the upper arm -- all playful-like. I wasn't sure what to make of that.

We headed out the next day (number eight), twenty head lighter, but in much higher spirits. We left Highway 10 behind, and took Texas Provincial Highway 285 heading due south. That night, we set up camp in the middle of nowhere once more, but it no longer disturbed me -- this lack of civilization -- the way it once had. Just as I was more in tune with myself, I was becoming more in tune with the world at large.

The next night (number nine), saw us a few kilometers west of the ghost town of Dryden on Texas Provincial Highway 90. A few of us rode to it close to dark to check it out and to be sure there were no outlaws using it as a camp. It was truly abandoned by all humanity. The night of day ten saw us hustling the herd over a huge dry river bed down Highway 90. Two stumbled off the bridge somehow, and fell to their deaths. Oh boy.

We set a strong watch on a high hill to our north, including one of the Ranger's.50 calibers. They reported signs of observers to the northeast moving about, while using binoculars to scout out our disposition. Due to their caution, Wilma saw no opportunity to drive them off -- whoever they were. The next day (number eleven), we took the risk of dividing our forces in the face of our enemies by having one herd water in the Pecos River, while the other group did the same in the Rio Grande.

We crossed over a high suspension bridge which had miraculously survived the war to this juncture, ending up fifteen kilometers south of the ghost town of Comstock. At least she seemed to have been abandoned sometime during the Gender Plague's outbreak sixty years ago. Day twelve saw us meandering south to the Rio Grande to water the cattle once more because they needed it.

That night bandits from across the river made a serious run at us, trying to drive a wedge between the western half of the herd and the main camp. This time, both the Rangers and Company 'C' jumped in and really settled their hash, but good. Even then, we suffered our first casualty -- a guardian named Caitlyn Ross from Cheyenne. Caitlyn went into a body bag and that went into our mortuary wagon -- another ATV. We also had eight wounded badly enough to be put on either 'no-', or 'light-' duties.

We were all tired when the dawn finally came, but we still counted ourselves lucky to not have suffered a worse outcome. We buried eighteen of them after all, plus there were blood trails leading away we didn't bother with. We had to hustle because our next obstacle was Eagle Pass, Texas ~ population four hundred and fifty-two woman and forty-two men -- on one side of the Rio Grande and Piedras Negras, Coahuila ~ population two thousand, six hundred and twenty-four women and two hundred and forty-four men -- on the other and a rebel stronghold.

Thankfully, all the bridges had been blown linking the two sides together and the river wasn't too easily forded this close to the Gulf. For whatever reasons, the cows agreed to move with some alacrity so we were already due east of the two towns before they realized we were in the vicinity. It was dark by the time we made camp roughly ten kilometers down the road.

Two groups of horsewomen trailed us come sunrise (number twelve) -- most likely Coahuilense rebels and 'Loyalist/Pro-Lubbock' Texans. Neither seemed ready nor willing to attack us quite yet, or even cooperate all that much. Still... we continued down Highway 277 which we had jumped onto outside of Del Rio the previous day. The next night saw us at Carrizo Springs -- another ghost town. It was most famous for Highway 277 becoming Highway 83 for no reason I could comprehend.

We traipsed down Provincial Highway 83, with the understanding our journey was about over. We also received word via HAM radio operators that the Army of Texas had arrived at El Paso and had begun its attack almost immediately. It was clear the defenders were in a bad way with reports coming in of whole companies throwing down their rifles and fleeing across the Rio Grande.

The civilians were panicking, unsure just what reception they would get from the invading Texans. Worse, there were some reports of double agents among the defenders spreading chaos and ruining their already fragile morale. Then, just before dark, a Chihuahuense army showed up and began attacking the defenders from the southern shore. This smacked of collusion between the Texans and rebel Chihuahuense militaries.

Wilma asked Captain Calderón if she wished to return back to her comrades in arms, who seemed to be in a rather bad way. The captain told her she had her mission and besides, she didn't have the juice left in the engines to make a rapid run back to Ciudad Juárez. She would recharge once they made it to Laredo, then examine her possibilities then. We pressed on after dark, despite the risks.

Not only did we feel we owed Captain Calderón and her women, we had to sell those cattle and get the hell out of this war zone before the Texans turned their focus downstream from El Paso. We spent the night at La Moca Ranch. It had been abandoned for some time, but the plumbing still worked. We watered all our equines and as many of our cattle as we could. It wasn't enough, but it was all we could do.

On our final day, the groups trailing us decided to make an issue of things... right up until the Civilian Government troops decided to make an example of them. Their 'tank destroyer' using a high-velocity fifty-millimeter auto-fire cannon opened up and -- oh God, what a mess -- and then their 120-millimeter mortars dropped some air-busting shells amongst the remnants of that direct-fire carnage. The survivors fled in all directions -- those lucky few.

If anything, that devastation hurried our cattle on, just a little faster and I couldn't blame them. We didn't go back and police that 'battlefield', either. If the enemy wanted to do so, that was on them. We had more critical things to take care of. Already, the garrison of the city across the Rio Grande was getting set to abandon Laredo -- according to Zara, it was indefensible.

The people? They were left to fend for themselves and for most, that meant migrating either across the river, if they were permitted to, or trekking downstream toward the final city in Texas still under Civilian Government control -- Brownsville. For us -- we moved our cattle onto the runways of the Laredo International Airport. It was day number fourteen. From there, the delegates from the Civilian Government counted heads and bargained -- rather rapidly -- for what they could get.

We took some rather odd things in trade, too. Things like sports bras, tennis shoes, rubber-soled boots and the like. We couldn't make plastic in Cody, so that was our number-one concern. Another one was commercial electronics -- we barely had the industrial base within the Free Zone's borders, though we could cannibalize needed metals from the abandoned homes and businesses in wake of the plague.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly -- at least to me -- was ammunition and military hardware. They tried to sell us some MANPADs missing a key, but rather tiny, component. Zara spotted the 'deletion' within a minute of studying the samples. Wilma was downright glacial in her fury after that. She said they would keep the shipment on the tarmac while they went back to Laredo and came back with the missing components.

'No', they couldn't take the MANPADs with them because we then felt they would simply try another trick, which we might not catch next time. Off they went -- without our cattle.

"But we've already paid for some of them," they'd protested.

"Yes, but we didn't try to rip you off," Wilma retorted.

"You need our equipment," they tried next.

"Your people need to eat and future cattle drives need to believe you won't rob them blind the way you just tried to sucker us."

So, they tried to take the cattle anyway -- by accident -- yeah, right.

The Rangers responded by mowing down the front ranks of cows with a.50-caliber machine gun. Flame was on the trigger, and she then pointed it at the delegates.

"We won't pay for those!" they protested.

"To hell you won't," Wilma snarled. "Keep fucking with us and you will have to drag every damn cow carcass off the runway instead of having us help you drive them into the waiting cattle cars."

Defeated, the Civilian Government delegates fell back and made some calls.

Half an hour later, a truck with the missing components showed up. Then came the laborious process for the few women, who knew how to operate this particular MANPAD, and to fix them. With that -- finally -- accomplished, we completed our negotiations and drove the cows into the railyard, as promised. While doing so, I saw some women messing with the nearby railroad bridge.

"They are wiring it to explode," Clears the Moon explained. "They don't plan on even fighting the Texans for Laredo. Sucks to be a collaborator."

"Is it a long march to Brownville?" I asked.

"A bit under 350 kilometers," Zara shrugged. "Seven days of steady walking."

"You don't like the Civilian Government much, do you?" I wondered.

"They are led by a traitor -- the former Defense Minister -- and she tried to have you kidnapped, Israel. So 'no', I don't like anyone who serves her much. Mind you, both branches of the government supported 'The Big Lie' which placed us in the position we are in right now. I'm not a fan of either. In comparison, I like Texas much more than the Great Lakes Free State, the Pacific People's Republic, or Quebec."

"Not too put out by the United Provinces?" Angel joked, as they were half a continent away, and had never threatened us.

"They are just trying to survive. Besides, I know a few people there and they say it isn't too wretched. If everyone would just leave them alone, life wouldn't even be so bad."

"Amen to that," I added. "This close to a total collapse, we should all be giving peace a chance."

Before sunset, word came in that Ciudad Juárez was about to fall. The last few intact units were launching an attempted breakout before it was too late. Captain Calderón and her ladies listened in, until the radio signal died. The breakout was a success, but the city had fallen. After a brief consultation with her officers and NCOs, she elected to stay with us as far as San Antonio, as pledged -- despite the real risk of being trapped on the wrong side of the Rio Grande if the Lubbock Army arrived at Laredo first.

[FARIAS RANCH AIRPORT]

The She-Wolf contemplated once more the last, critical warning given by Dr. Fremont, "Use only your shielded systems for the next two days and lie low.

"You will know the opportunity when it arises -- then make your move. The planes will return for you in precisely one week," Delilah had cautioned her.

That order didn't make too much sense. After all, once she had the package, wouldn't it make more sense to call for immediate pickup?

Only two possibilities came to mind. Either the planes wouldn't be capable of returning for a week -- a rather weak reason -- or all communications would be down. And that would have to tie back into Operation Jericho. The implications were terrifying... if all communications satellites were rendered inoperative by some world-wide event.

"Oh, by the Goddess," Matilda muttered, "Damn, what has the Good Doctor gone and done this time?"

By a fifty-year-old treaty, near-Earth space had been reaffirmed to be a neutral and non-nuclear environment, but what did Dr. Delilah Fremont care about some dusty ole UN Treaty? In the She-Wolf's experience -- not much.

No, she had spent a lifetime skirting, breaking and then covering up all sorts of things all across the globe. One would realize, she had travelled all across the globe putting bodies of those who pried too deeply into her affairs, in the ground. A specific incident ten years ago in the Congo River Basin came to mind -- a mine reopened, a UN committee member digging in a tad too deep into just what a pharmaceutical mega-corporation was doing with the land around a sealed uranium mine... and that nosy UN member being 'killed by native insurgents'.

Why Uranium? The She-Wolf had barely spent a moment worrying about it... until then. That and Augsburg purchasing a few failed telecommunication satellite companies, spending billions upgrading them, but with no precipitous increase in market share despite numerous satellite launches. Satellites -- in orbit -- which served no function -- until the Walls of Jericho came tumbling down?

"Oh fuck," she murmured.

If she had figured this out while in the room with Dr. Fremont, she just might have shot her right between the eyes. This was madness. The human race was already teetering on the brink of utter collapse. What would happen to it if all their combined technologies simply ceased to function? What would happen to the automated agro-businesses, which still managed to feed tens of millions in North and South America alone? World-wide?

Factories would grind to a halt. GPS -- gone. Weather prediction -- gone. Travel by anything without four legs -- history. Any modern medical effort to combat the plague would grind to a halt. There would be mass starvation on a global scale. Only the most rural of backwaters would carry on at all. Anything which wasn't a shielded war machine would cease to function. It would indeed truly be 'The End Times'.

Unless you had a shielded fortress in the middle of nowhere and were prepared for this event to happen -- had been preparing for this eventuality for decades. Oh, the Good Doctor wasn't planning to sally forth and reconquer the world. No, that wasn't her style. She would let the world spiral into its own destruction, letting future generations pick up the pieces. And then... who really knew how Delilah's mind worked?

Even as the She-Wolf was looking up to the stars, the satellites had received their final instructions and were taking their predesignated positions over various areas around the globe. The Northern Hemisphere was about to get hammered -- Europe, Asia and India, too -- but such was the strength of humanity above the equator so this had to be the case. The Republic of South Africa still had three dedicated just for it and its once vast African Empire. For most places where modern civilization mattered, it would indeed be 'The End'.

[THE GREAT BLACKOUT]

Our group was three days out of Laredo, and putting in excellent time as we rapidly moved our way north. Following an old (1st) Civil War pattern, Wilma moved the horse herds three days straight -- covering a hundred (plus) kilometers a day -- then rested on the fourth day so the horses could graze and water as necessary. Every rider had started out with one, or two, remounts and encouraged later additions to do the same.

It was, by then, fall, but in most cases, the first days of fall were much like the last days of summer in Central Texas. Day one on our return trip had us going back over the ground we had grazed our way thoroughly along Highway 83. If anything, the speed of our transit didn't allow any of the local bandits to do more than make note of our passage.

This time, Captain Calderón didn't at all mind us running off the watchers with her own vehicles. This, by then, had become was all essentially hostile territory to her. Day two had us passing through another ghost town -- Asherton -- and entering Uvalde just before sunset. The citizens, all two hundred and sixty-seven of them -- we had stopped counting men and women separately -- welcomed us despite having Civilian Governmental forces amongst us. Bandit attacks out of San Antonio were getting worse, or so they related.

We brought them up on the latest news out of Laredo and El Paso which made them hope the Lubbock Army would be coming San Antonio's way once they finished making the Texas borderlands safe for Texans again. They grudgingly accepted our desire, as citizens of the Free Zone to keep our noses out of Texas matters.

The next night saw us at the Highway 41 crossroads... and not much else. We grazed off the rich grasslands, all unclaimed domesticated animals having long since exited this region of Texas too close to San Antonio. Wilma wanted to push on right away, but it was clear the mounts needed the rest.

Day five saw us ending up outside the fortified town of Menard. Like the folks at Uvalde, they were happy to see us in our numbers and gladly accepted our willingness to make the bandits lay low.

We couldn't stay, though. Come sunrise, after watering again in the San Saba River, we were taking off ever northward. The one hundred and six people in Ballinger came out to sell us all sorts of things, from baked bread to leather-worked goods. As much out of a desire to make good neighbors as any want for their goods, we purchased what we could, paying in silver coins and ammunition.

Outside of Ballinger, we took Provincial Road 158 as far as Rural Road 2111 which we took to Provincial Road 153 which joined Provincial Highway 70 -- again, ever northward. Highway 70 took us to Sweetwater that evening, which allowed us to camp around the town as they had open range not being used to the west, near the ghost town of Roscoe.

Since the next day would see us going through Lubbock, we spent the night painting the Civilian vehicles in Free Zone 'colors'. All and all, it had been an excellent ride so far and we should have been worried about our good fortune escaping the neighborhood of San Antonio.

My first indicator something was wrong was when I got off my guard station and went to lie down after my exercises. Feeling a bit awake still, I pulled out my small radio and began looking for anything which wasn't a religious or country-western channel -- sorry, but just my preferences.

I couldn't get anything -- not even any static. The battery was still in it and should have kept its charge. Something about it made me cautious. I roused Angel. She told me to not worry about it... then checked her watch. It was dead, too. My watch, an heirloom from my mother's side of the family, was an old-fashioned, spring-powered mechanism, not battery powered. Our mutterings caused Clears the Moon to stir.

She got on her walkie-talkie which she shared frequencies with my Shoshoni and Arapaho guardians. Nothing.

"Wake the camp," Angel counselled. "This isn't right."

Clears went to rouse the other Shoshoni and Arapaho while Angel and I went straight for Wilma.

We arrived to find the Rangers had just beaten us to it. Much of their gear was experiencing the same problem -- no power -- so we went to the captain to see if she was in the same state. Wilma was already rousing the rest of the camp because her gut was telling her this wasn't right, also. The captain reported, after a quick check of her equipment, that we had been hit by an EMP (Electro-Magnetic Pulse) roughly twenty-one minutes ago.

"Just us?" I blurted out.

Calderón had her communications specialist test the airwaves -- nothing. Nothing at all. Not even on the command frequency for the Civilian Government. One by one she had her vehicles turn over -- they came to life. Our vehicles though weren't so fortunate. Not one worked -- all our electronics were dead, too.

The captain explained her rides were all shielded from such an attack following protocols created back when males rode these kinds of contraptions to war.

"We can't stay here," Wilma announced. "We need to move every bit of equipment we can salvage onto the pack horses and head out at daybreak. Captain, if your vehicles can tow our medical and supply ATVs, we would be most appreciative."

"On it," she said, after a long second.

Her big concern was we had recharged her vehicles at Ballinger... so they had roughly seven hundred kilometers of range left in them. That couldn't take her command to any place good, so her best bet was to continue along with us until she exited Texas. By daybreak, even as the worrisome news snaked through the horsewomen, we were on the road once more. Our wounded had to be carried by Compañía C because they weren't yet fit enough for saddle duty.

"How far out do you think this goes?" I rode up next to the captain's open hatchway shortly after we headed out again, while she scanned about for trouble.

"Well, Mr. Jensen," she looked down at me, still grinning, "I can't raise Mexico City, much less Matamoros with its population of sixteen thousand, plus the thousand-woman garrison. Hell, I've been scanning for any frequencies from Military Government channels. What I have been able to pick up is total confusion. They don't know what's going on either."

"But they are still on the air?"

"Most of their gear is shielded from this kind of attack, but not what the standard citizen uses. That means no serious recharge capabilities, no businesses, no railroads, or airplane travel outside of a few fighters and military transports."

"Oh fuck!"

"Yes," she jested. "Oh fuck."

"Who would do this?" I had to know.

"Well, no one should have the weaponry to accomplish this. EMP weaponry, because of its disastrous effect on modern civilization, has been outlawed for more than fifty years."

"Well, we can start by examining which nation hasn't been utterly fucked over by this and go from there," I guessed.

"Israel, I can't raise any of our satellites, even the GPS and weather ones. Those are normally left alone because of their critical necessity. Now we are going to have to go back to landlines and 'weather prognostication' -- real Stone Age stuff."

"Well, thank God, you and yours are surrounded by a herd of horses. I hope we can drag you as far as Cheyenne."

"And here my soldiers thought you were slowing us down," she chortled. She had a truly irrepressible personality.

"When we get you to Cody, we are going to have to find homes for you and your troops. I assume the Great Plains Free Zone will hire you as the start of their own standing army -- now that we truly need one."

"How will we recharge our vehicles?" she wondered.

"We have a dam built back in 1910 and restored just a few years back, so it might just have remained functional," I said.

"It just might. The principles of a water-driven turbines means we could fix it with the right amount of worked iron and copper."

"We can cannibalize the now useless generators for such an effort," I shrugged. "We also have a forge in town to help with that."

"Hmmm... my mother is an electrical engineer," she informed me. "Paying attention to what she was talking about around the dinner table just might pay off. Hell, I was studying to follow in her footsteps -- in my case I was studying to be an aerospace engineer -- when I was drafted last year. Funny, I wonder how Mom is doing. She's in Veracruz right now."

"I hope she makes it out to someplace safer," was all I could think to say.

"She's an avid runner and hiker," the captain snorted. "She has a backpack for overnighting it in the provincial parks, plus she has my younger sister -- a senior in high school -- at home with her, so the two of them will be safer than going it alone."

"Any firearms?"

"No. She wasn't a believer in such things," she sighed.

"I wish you could get a message to her," I stated.

"I tried. None of the regular telecommunication satellites are functioning, which leads me to believe these were a series of airbursts along with some anti-satellite bullshit," she let some frustration and anger shine through.

"Who, outside of the major powers, would have that kind of pull?"

"I don't know," she confessed. "I've been racking my brain and no such nation with a suicidal death pact would do such a thing. Certainly, the Federation Military didn't use all of their ballistic missiles, did they? Those would still be able to function and I bet they would be retaliating right now, if they knew who to hit."

"Okay... that makes sense, but why are you sticking it out with us? I'm sure Ms. Silverhorn would release some horses to you if you asked. You could ride..."

"South? Who knows what the Army of Lubbock is going to do now? I could run straight into them and I wouldn't be expecting too much mercy from the Texans after this stunt. Texas needs its telecommunications more so than most provinces. Keeping it together now... is going to be tough for them, plus they truly hate us."

"And then there is San Antonio. I guess their rumored biker gangs are equally fucked."

"There is that, but they will be out and about, raiding for every horse they can get their hands on -- which is another good reason for me to keep heading north. Cheyenne is looking better and better."

"I'll do whatever I can to make sure you are as welcome as possible."

"Thank you, Mr. Jen -- I mean Mr. MacFarlane," she smiled. "Task one for me is ally building now."

"Welcome to the Great Plains Free Zone. We are always looking for allies in this otherwise hostile world."

"Mind if I bring your name up in any negotiations which come up?" she laughed.

"I would be honored."

"Funny, some of my officers and NCOs wanted us to drop you off at Laredo and make our way south just a few days ago," she informed me.

"If that had happened we would be stuck in Monterrey by now with its ninety-four thousand (eighty-five thousand and seventy females, and eight thousand, nine hundred and thirty males) people -- all in chaos. Now we have options. We may take our pay in horseflesh and after a few years, head back 'home' to see what we can see," she mused. "Right now -- we need to find a sanctuary we can safely recharge in. Then we have to figure out where within 800 kilometers we can reach without a major fight so we can safely springboard into Civilian Government-controlled territory."

"Any large hydroelectric dams under Civilian Government control?"

"A few, but we are really big on solar energy. We even have -- had -- a solar array in space dedicated to the Central Province of Mexico City. I imagine that is pretty screwed up now."

"Wouldn't that be shielded?"

"Normally, I would agree with you, but the batteries on Earth are not... I don't think, and that means there is no way to get the power from the Earth station to the city. Might as well try to shut it down while they still can."

"Unless our enemy already took that into account, too," I shrugged.

"It would make sense to take those out, just to be sure we were utterly screwed," she agreed.

"Look at the bright side," I tried to cheer her up, "We got the cattle to Laredo, which means it was most likely to market by the time the rail network got shut down. That is food for some of the people, who will really be needing it now."

"Absolutely. You have plenty more cattle on the ranch you work at?"

"The Silverhorn Ranch and 'yes', we do," I exulted. "Largest cattle and horse concern in a two-hundred-kilometers radius."

"Let's just hope your pumping systems have mechanical backups," she reminded me. "Otherwise, water is going to be a serious concern."

"We have a river running through our backyard -- Left Branch of the Shoshone River and she has plenty of water. Cody sits right up against the Yellowstone Range. That means plenty of streams and creeks feeding into our rivers."

"Sounds like a nice place to call home. What are you doing out here then?"

"Ooohhh..." I let my grin blossom, "this is what men do, Captain Calderón. We head toward danger, handle the crises, and keep the homestead safe."

"Who told you that bullshit?" she chuckled.

"My mentor, the Last Real Man on Earth -- Jethro MacFarlane Sr."

"Why isn't he here with you?"

"He got his heroic send off last year when the military tried to kidnap me. There is a painting of him in City Hall ~ 'MacFarlane at the Bridge'."

"But, he's dead?"

"He was sixty-eight and had lived a life full of adventure before he met his end on his terms, Captain. No growing old, alone, and sick for him."

"Live a long, full life too, Israel Jensen," she leaned over and patted my hand. "I get a feeling you are still needed."

"God, I hope we all are. I've got a passel of kids on the way, plus four already here, who I want to see grow up," I nodded. "I have plenty to live for and see nothing wrong dying of old age with all of them, their kids and grandkids around me when I go," a vision to which all she could do was laugh.

[END]

[POSTSCRIPT]

[YEAR ONE -- WHAT WENT WRONG]

Right off the bat, in hindsight, it was clear to see regional identities and rivalries had not disappeared despite nearly sixty years of unity. Priorities created by the civilian and military governments during the plague only exacerbated these factors. Then there was the result of the Bolivian missile strikes. Texas and the Mid-Atlantic seaboard were hit hardest.

In the east, only Baltimore remained as a functioning shipbuilding center (resurrected nearly fifty years ago) in the Mid-Atlantic, thus it being the northernmost outpost of the FMG. The rest of those cities, from Boston to Richmond, had been flattened in the exchange of ICBMs. By the time the outbreaks started, the few remaining hospitals were already being overwhelmed by this first round of human tragedy. A complete and utter collapse of civilization in those regions followed.

The Joint Chiefs of Staff weren't idiots, mind you. They were trying to save what they could of Federation society. Within the former United States and Canada, they were able to establish many localized quarantine zones, slowing, or in some cases, stopping the spread of the plague. There became a problem of an ever dwindling pool of resources spread over a vast amount of separate territories.

They had to 'temporarily' cut some places loose. Thus the Northeast United Provinces [NUP] was born. It was intended that once the plague burned itself out, the wayward entity would rejoin the FMG. It didn't work out that way.

Why? Quebec. When Quebec saw the writing on the wall, they chose to embrace their independence, then began trying to assert authority over the Great Lakes and the NUP.

Since FMG had cut them loose because they couldn't afford to maintain them, much less defend them, the NUP had to defend itself. For better, or worse, the NUP was able to call upon the naval resources of the Atlantic to their aid, including a smattering of Federation Marines. They beat back the Quebecois that first fall, then asserted their own independence.

Likewise, right after Quebec declared its independence, the western Great Lakes Regional Military Commander did the same for her own provincial districts. She drove north and east, gobbling up the surviving towns and cities until close to Ottawa they collided with the Quebecois marching westward. Skirmishes on land and water followed with no decisive winner in sight.

Before either side could reach that critical military decision, a First Nations revolt caused Quebec to shift forces back into its interior, while a FMG drive on the Ohio Valley caused the Great Lakes Free State [GLFS] to redirect forces away from the Quebec front there. Besides, it was winter by this time, and neither wanted to squander precious resources fighting a winter war in what was once (southern) Canada.

Worse for the GLFS, by the time she finally drove westward, the Great Plains Free Zone [GPFZ] had come into being. The eastern towns and 'cities' of what was once western Iowa and Minnesota quickly joined up for the very purpose of keeping the GLFS at bay.

In the end, no serious fighting broke out -- the GLFS was already fighting a two-front war -- with the Free State controlling both banks of the northern Mississippi, but the Free Zone controlling the Missouri all the way down to Kansas City, where they linked up with the railhead which fed into the FMG rail network.

Mind you, there were rail lines everywhere, but the problem was finding one which went for any distance without its bridges blown up, or burned down. At this point in time of our civilization's collapse, every power was cannibalizing various rail lines to keep the most crucial ones open and functioning in their interiors. There simply weren't the time, resources, and skilled labor to restore everything, so sacrifices were being made.

When both sides of the civil war (often called the Second Civil War) abandoned California, it was with the intention of when a cure was found, or the plague burned itself out, they would return to assert authority over the wreckage. What was overlooked was the roughly two percent of the population would somehow survive... and once galvanized by strong leadership, organize.

From the Baja Peninsula to Vancouver, the Pacific People's Republic [PPR] took over from the feeble hands of either administration. Driving north had them running straight into the First Nations of the Pacific Northwest. Those ladies resisted mightily the incursions of the PPR, stymieing them for the time being. Then the PPR began driving inland and only two things stood in their way -- the Utah Free State [UFS] and the GPFZ.

The UFS was in the midst of a Mormon religious revival, whereas the PPR were generally militant atheists. By the time the PPR ground down and scattered the Mormons, the GPFZ had crossed over the Rocky Mountains and began recruiting towns, tribes and villages in the Great Basin. What the GPFZ lacked in a large military, they made up for in the effectiveness of their Rangers.

In early spring of this year, the PPR decided to make an issue of our expansion over the Rockies. They invaded with a large conscript army (approximately 20,000 women) and began taking towns while driving on Denver. The GPFZ went Scorched Earth on them, instead of offering themselves up for a stand-up fight they knew they would lose. Instead, they raided supply convoys and strangled the invasion force until starvation and a lack of ammunition put the whole force in peril.

That's when the militias from a dozen different towns in the interior, as well as over half the Ranger units, closed in for the kill. And kill they did. After the atrocities visited upon their fellows within the Great Basin, they had little interest in taking PPR prisoners. Less than a thousand of those conscripts made it back to their jumping-off point of Reno. So many plague survivors' lives wasted to no end.

And then the Free Zone attacked and drove the PPR out of Reno, Nevada, as well.

They then burned Reno to the ground, so it would be a constant reminder of why the PPR shouldn't fuck with the free peoples of the Great Plains. We avenged our own -- with interest. For a few weeks, it looked as if we would attempt to drive the PPR back beyond the Sierra Nevada entirely.

That wasn't 'us' though. Our militias wanted to go back home, their mission accomplished, and the Rangers simply didn't have the numbers (each command numbering approximately 250 women) to sustain an offensive war. Whether, or not, the PPR had learned their lesson was yet to be ascertained. What was certain was we were keeping a watchful eye on the west that was for sure.

A final note -- much of the Pacific territories, provinces and units remained loyal to the FMG. They based their fleet out of Anchorage in the warm months and Honolulu during the cold ones. Zara told me they would have liked to stay in the Hawaiian Islands year round, but the expense of feeding all those women couldn't be met by the islanders year round -- thus spreading the love/expense.

When the PPR made a move on Alaska this spring -- at the same time they were invading our Free Zone -- the FMG scraped together roughly twelve thousand troops -- namely Marines and Airmobile troops (also known as 'light' infantry) with a sprinkling of Federation Army Rangers and a tiny number of Special Forces / Green Berets trained in counter-insurgency operations -- sending the Marines around the Northwest Passage, while the airborne troops flew from bases in the western provinces of the FMG over air corridors permitted by the GPFZ. Both arrived just in time to push the PPR back down the island chain to Juneau. That fell after the Federation Navy leap-frogged their troops around and threatened Vancouver and Seattle, instead.

Currently the Military Government forces were sitting on Vancouver Island, trying to figure out what to do next. Their very existence tied down five times as many PPR troops out of fear the small task force (down to around eight thousand by then -- our intelligence people really knew their stuff) would either invade Vancouver, or Seattle, or incite the First Nations/Salish Peoples to enter a complete state of rebellion.

All this meant our leadership in the GPFZ were bouncing around the idea of going over the Rockies once more, and knocking the PPR out of Yakima, Washington (population: two thousand, seven hundred and forty-eight females and two hundred and fifty-five males), and perhaps the majority of the Columbia Plateau. Ever since the last invasion, we were leery of the PPR having a base of operations too close to our mutually ill-defined borders. Since this would be a war of aggression, many of the larger communities balked at the very idea.

'Me'? I was all for it. This meant kicking a cruel, vindictive enemy when they were down, as opposed to waiting around for them to strike at us through the Snake River into Idaho when they felt they had adequate forces for getting their job of conquest done. I bet Jethro would have been proud of me for making my voice heard in our councils on this subject, even though I eventually lost the argument.

The more I felt I was growing into the man I was meant to be, the more I missed the old, murderous bastard. Flame understood, but was rarely around to help me articulate my stance. Wilma suggested I run for office. I reminded her I remained a wanted fugitive for a damn good reason. She suggested I could have Davia and Zara as bodyguards. I said I would think about it... so I did, or, I was when I was so suddenly interrupted -- by Kuiko. No higher office for me... yet. I guess I had to give peace a chance -- one more time.

[END OF CHAPTER FIFTEEN]