Chapter 30

As the helicopter lifted off the ground, the whole school was on high alert, bustling with activity. Max and Miles could see boys running, taking their positions on the perimeter, or going to complete their assigned tasks. Gunshots erupted close to Bear House at the back of the school, and Miles counted on Louise to tell the boys to hold their fire in the absence of a direct menace and save ammunition. They would communicate on the radio and he would be back soon; it would be a short flight, just enough to assess the situation.

"Could you go around the school once? I want to see if there's many ferals in the area that would pose a direct threat." It was always reassuring to see things with your own eyes, he did trust their surveillance devices, but a double-check could do no harm.

"It will just be a rapid sweep, we have to save on fuel, and then we'll go directly to the fire. Open your eyes wide."

Miles could immediately see from that height that the counter fires and clearing they had done around Saint Xavier's main buildings had been quite effective and gave him the opportunity to have a much better view of the school surroundings. He was relieved when he did not spot any hordes close to the school, only a few isolated groups made of a few individuals that seemed to be testing their defenses. Where did they come from? Were they chasing the Doc and Algood and come upon the school? Of course, a little bit further and they were flying over dense woods that could be hiding any number of feral. Still, he supposed the few movement detectors put in place there worked fine and would have certainly revealed their presence. That was reassuring. He decided that most of the ferals that had come their way had simply been following the refugees and were not part of the army seen at the mall. He gave a tap on Max's shoulder, indicating they could go to their main objective.

The sky darkened as they approached the main fire front, the smoke overhead gradually blocking out the sun until the only light came from the fire ahead of them. The front itself stretched the length of the horizon to the north with what looked like a tornado of flame hundreds of feet high forming some distance off, in its heart.

"A monster indeed," said Miles, "and it's heading for the school." Everything from ground level to the top of the canopy was on fire.

"This is as close as I can get," said Max, "the winds are too unpredictable. Do you think we stand a chance against that?"

"I don't really know, we took precautions against a normal fire, but this is something different. How far is it?"

"I would say thirty-five miles from the school. We've got two, maybe three days, depends on the wind."

"It could change direction."

"That would only slow it down or slightly change the path it's taking, but we'd still have to deal with it; nothing will change that. Only rain, a lot of it would make any real difference."

"Right now it would be kind of a miracle. The sooner we use the grenades, the better then. The best way to keep that monster away from the school is to rob it of fuel by the time it arrives, burn the forest ahead of it."

"If you see it that way," said Max, unconvinced.

"Fact is: I have no experience concerning wildfires. We did some research before starting the existing firebreak around the school, but I'm not sure it would cope with a fire this size. We should ask Fisher to check the library for any information on this subject, not the same as a real experience, but the best we can do."

Fisher had organized a semblance of classes, assigning boys to the study of different topics he judged necessary to the welfare and future of their community. Medicine, agriculture, farming, carpentry, electronics, mechanics, and many other subjects were on the curriculum.

Max remained skeptical, "Don't know if we have the time for that."

"Let's go back; we need to check how and where to use those incendiary grenades for maximum effect without endangering the school more than necessary."

As the helicopter veered to the left, it hit turbulence, a side effect of the gigantic fire in front of them even if it was still quite a distance away. After a few bumps and jars, the helicopter stabilized and Miles could now focus his attention elsewhere: on the ground. He could see a few vehicles on different roads that were obviously aware of the menace and trying to escape. They spotted two large hordes of ferals. Those he would gladly burn without remorse.

***

Tools saw the gun but too late to do anything about it. Chandler was pointing it at his head.

"Go away or I'll shoot you."

"You'll never have the nerve to do such a thing Chand, not to your buddy Raymond. Be reasonable, put it down, and come with me. No one will get hurt."

Tools took a step forward and Chandler pulled the trigger. He intended to fire a warning shot first, hoping that someone would hear it and come to his aid, but there was only a click as the hammer hit an empty chamber.

Raymond's face lit up with an evil smile and he jumped forward, missing the boy by inches as Chandler threw himself over the bed and tried to reach the door.

"HELP!" he shouted, "Someone help!"

Raymond lunged after him managing to grasp a leg, toppling him. Free falling, his head hit the door with an ominous bang.

"Chandler?"

There was no response. A trickle of blood appeared at the boy's hairline, soon pooling on the ground.

"My God, what have I done!" exclaimed Tools, falling to his knees beside the boy, cradling his head and trying to stop the flow of blood with a tee-shirt found on a chair.

"Don't tell me he's dead." The man was desperately looking for a pulse, a sign of life, "I never wanted that! I'm so sorry. How selfish and stupid I have been to put us in such a situation!"

Eventually, the boy emitted a small moan. He was alive! And with that, Tools' regret evaporated.

Tools attached the tee-shirt around Chandler's head to stop the flow of blood and then quickly rolled him in a rug, making sure his feet and hair did not stick out. He swung him onto his shoulder, adjusted the weight for balance and comfort, and then he was out the door with his prize. Tools nonchalantly headed to the exit, passing a few boys on his way out, who did not stop him or question his presence and load.

Reaching his apartment in the Teachers' House, he unrolled the rug, and after a perfunctory check of the child's injuries–his scalp wound still leaking a bit–he placed him on the bed, manacled him, and slipped a gag into his mouth.

"There, you'll be quiet now."

Touching the boy's body was arousing and he was tempted to remove his few clothes, but it would have to wait. He had duties to perform and his absence would be noticed. He also knew it would not stop there and he would end up raping the boy. There was no time for that and he wanted to savor every moment, every minute, every second of the boy's deflowering.

The boy opened his eyes, looking around in terror.

"Don't worry, Chand, you're safe here with me. What a night we'll have, my lovely, just the two of us." Slipping a hand up the leg of his shorts, he grabbed and squeezed one of the boy's glorious twin mounds. "You'll be all mine, at last."

Reluctantly, he detached himself from the boy and left, locking the door.

***

During Dunn's absence, Carl decided to visit the new arrivals in the makeshift dormitories. They now numbered more than fifty and occupied several classrooms. He was with the Doc and Algood.

"How come so many people have suddenly found us? That fire cannot be the only reason," said Carl aloud.

"I fear I may have something to do with it. I spread the word on our way here. It seems many followed my advice," said Burt. "Is there a problem with that?"

"Well, that's a rather good thing just now. We'll need as many people as possible in the coming days." As Carl spoke, his thoughts were quite different, Cannon fodder and a free workforce. After that, it might be another story.

"We're very grateful you've taken us in, but as soon as this crisis is over, I might go look for my friends from Okatie, not that I have great hopes but I want to know what became of them. Perhaps if I find them, I could bring them here if you would welcome us all," said the Doc, not quite sure he believed in his own words. Still he could not let go of that feeble hope.

"Everything in its time, my friend. This is something we will need to discuss when we are done with our present and serious problems. Do you know any of those that came with you?"

"Not really, we just met with Burt on the road. I'm with my son and a few boys from our town."

"Your son is here with you, how nice," Carl's brain was already at work, finding ways to force the man to stay at Saint Xavier. He would never let go of him for obvious reasons. "What about you, Burt?"

"More or less the same story with us. You'll have to ask those we picked up who they are, they just asked where they could go, and I gave them the school's name. Some followed us; others said they would think about it or try to get out of the fire's path first."

"That's what we tried to do, at first," commented the Doc, "We were stopped by the ferals and had to go south till we met with you. We were the last to leave Okatie and lost contact with everybody else; I hope they made it through." He still felt resentment for having been left behind; things might have been different. Perhaps Martha would still be alive or perhaps they would have all been caught by the ferals, an even greater disaster. Life was unpredictable.

They arrived at one of the dormitories where a small crowd had gathered. There were more adults than Carl expected, which was not a bad thing in itself. They were the first on the road, with the fastest means of transport. They had been the first victims of the flu, but one could think they were better fit for survival now.

Everything was in order and well taken care of by Arthur, helped by Lewis. The fact they had started distributing a few guns and ammunition from the school's stock certainly helped soothe the worries and build confidence among the new arrivals.

As they entered the building, four boys detached themselves from the group to meet them halfway. Two embraced the Doc, and obviously, by his looks, one was his son, about seven or eight years old, the other was older and more reserved, a pretty boy, dark-haired with a deep tan, he seemed tense and on his guard, relieved to see the man reunited with them.

What really caught Carl's eye was the Latino boy who came to meet Algood. This one was especially stunning, dark raven hair that caught the light, perfectly proportioned body, smooth golden skin barely covered by a tank top and skimpy shorts, the face of an angel, the one boy in a thousand every boylover dreamed of possessing. Carl had little doubt about the nature of their relationship by the way he behaved towards Algood; there was no hesitation, he wanted him in his bed as soon as possible and he would tell Algood that it would be the price of their stay at Saint Xavier. The second boy was rather nice too, in a more traditional way and certainly not a virgin either.

Carl already planned to benefit from the new situation and remain in control. It would require Greg to take the necessary steps and organize what he had in mind over the next twenty-four hours. Not many resources would be required.

All eyes now turned toward him and it was time for a speech.

"Ladies and gentlemen, young ones, welcome to Saint Xavier. I am Carl Fisher, the headmaster. I'm in charge of this school. As you'll see, we were able to preserve some of the luxuries of the old world here. We will fight to keep them and protect our school from the looming threats you've warned us about. Of course, everything comes at a price and if you wish to stay with us, you'll have to conform to our rules, nothing too difficult, mostly common sense, involving participation in our defense and the upkeep of the community according to your abilities. Later in the day, we'll interview each of you to see how you can contribute to the good of Saint Xavier. As you well know, there are many problems that require my immediate attention, so I will not detain you any longer. You can be sure we will have many other occasions to meet and get acquainted."

Once done, he exchanged a few more words with the Doc and Burt.

"This must be your son, judging by his looks."

"You're quite right, Mister Fisher. This is Jeffrey, but we call him Jeffy, and this boy here is Sasha; he has not been with us for long, but my son and I have taken a strong liking to him that I believe is reciprocated."

"A good thing for that young chap, certainly. Please call me Carl and if you permit, I'll call you Doc, and what about you, Mister Algood, who are those boys with you?"

"This is Ethan, the first that came to live with me brought by his mother and the one that each day brought home more strays that he found on the streets. I ended with close to fifteen of them and it's been a nightmare to feed them till this day. He was never afraid; a daredevil, he could not stay in place and went outside the house daily despite the danger and my warnings. I love him dearly."

"I can see that, but what about the other one?"

"This one is another special case for different reasons. We found him trying to escape ferals with his sister; you can see her standing over there." Algood was clearly embarrassed to go into details as to why the boy was so special and Carl had a good idea of his reasons. It would need a more private conversation later to put him at ease concerning their common sexual orientation.

"You did not tell us his name." Carl could not resist asking the name of the beautiful Latino boy, whom he craved for and whose sight provoked an immediate stirring in his loins.

"Sorry, he is called Esteban; you could have asked him; he's not shy."

I can see that the boy, all sensual smiles, thrived from their attention, god, how I want him!

"Well, as I said, duty calls, but I'll be back shortly," Carl then added, "I'm going to send Greg and a few boys to interview the newcomers; make sure they get all they need to accomplish their task."

"Certainly, sir," Arthur answered while wondering why he was not given the job himself.

***

Carl hastily left the administration building when he heard the helicopter returning. He had to find Greg and give him his instructions to prepare the interviews, but that would have to wait until after he heard Dunn and Max's report. If only they could say that damn fire was not such a problem after all and could be missing the school altogether, that would be the best news of the day, besides, of course, the presence of that young and delicious boy named Esteban, soon to be his exclusive property.

Unfortunately, for his peace of mind, he heard, as soon as they touched ground that they had been told the truth, the fire was a reality, and it was improbable it would change course. They were sure to be impacted, and they would have to fight it as well as the feral hordes coming their way: they had no guarantee of being able to save the school.

As soon as Miles and Max had loaded the grenades into the helicopter, they went to Dunn's office to look at the maps and determine their strategy. Carl went with them, not wanting to be left out of any decision they might make.

There were several questions they had to answer. First of all, at what distance from the school should they start the fire to create one they could somewhat face with a good chance of success while burning a large enough area to stop, or at least seriously hamper the gigantic one that would follow. Their knowledge on the matter was very limited, which made any decision they took more of a bet than a rational choice.

Miles wanted to leave open roads as an escape route for the people fleeing the flames and the ferals; one more thing to take into consideration while Max's idea was to use this occasion to burn as many of the ferals as possible.

Miles thought of sending someone to warn the Shein's at the food depot in a car before the roads became impassable, or as a last resort, going there with the helicopter. That was not Carl's priority, who did not want to waste any of their limited resources needlessly. Miles insisted, despite the dangers, they had to keep in contact and show their goodwill. No one knew who would be in need of help in the end. Finally, Carl agreed to have two boys drive there.

They also considered going to the nearest towns to find fire trucks, which would be quite helpful in any case. Problem was, where to find them, how long to bring them back and what of the ferals roaming the countryside in large numbers that could pose a notable threat? They had fire hoses and fire extinguishers in each building, but those were meant to be used while waiting for the firefighters to arrive, and certainly could not compete with the equipment they had.

Then there was the problem of the grenades themselves. The helicopter was not well adapted to such an exercise. They would have to throw them out the window, but wondered from what height, and at what speed they should do it, for them to work and start the right kind of backfire?

There were many questions with only cautious answers, as no one had any real experience in setting and controlling backfires on that scale.

Carl did not want his dream, his vision, to go up in smoke or overrun by ferals. He pushed for the most extreme solution.

"If we start that counter fire far enough, we can also hope to get rid of most of the ferals you saw. How many were there?"

"A few hundred, less than a thousand, but it's only an estimate, there could have been many more hidden by the trees, and that's probably the case. It won't be that easy to burn them and I'm not sure that we need to burn that much of the surrounding forest to be safe. Don't forget the wind will push it our way and we'll have to face this one too with no dedicated equipment or training. We are surrounded by dense and thick forests," said Miles, "and the ferals will be running ahead of it. They're not going to wait for it to catch up to them."

"What if we create two lines of fire with them in between? That could work," proposed Max.

"That's something to consider. Get rid of both problems at once," said Carl, finding his smile again. "I like it."

"We might have enough grenades for that. We were lucky to find incendiary ones when we looked a second time. We would need to hit them soon, before they have a chance to disperse or get too close to the school," said Miles.

"It's late in the afternoon already. Those ferals were four, perhaps five miles from the school. If we do it now, when would the backfire reach the school?" asked Max.

"No idea," answered Miles.

"I would say it could be here in the morning. We'll have plenty of time to get ready," suggested Carl.

"Early morning would be best, less heat," concurred Max.

"We'll watch it closely. We also need to be prepared if some of those ferals get through somehow and let's not forget we might have missed other large groups closer to the school, those trees could hide an army around here," warned Miles, "We're low on fuel and we might not even be able to spot those we saw earlier."

"Do your best. We'll take the chance. It's decided then, let's get rid of whatever ferals are coming our way and stop that monster fire at the same time." Carl's tone was definitive.

One hour later, they were flying again, looking for the ferals. They finally found two large hordes of several hundred individuals and started dropping the grenades evenly to cover as much ground as possible about five miles away from the school. As they finished and before the ferals could react, they started a second line of fire closer to the school and again far enough from their targets to give the fire time to become impassable and trap them.

As Max made a turn to go back to Saint Xavier, they could see the fire spreading fast and igniting everything in its path for several miles.

"Let's hope it works," said Miles, while thinking, and also hope that we can stop the fire we created.

"We can check the results tomorrow; I have enough fuel for one or two more of those short flights. Look there, more ferals, we missed them!"

The helicopter was flying low and they could see perhaps two or three hundred ferals running between the trees trying to flee the flames that Miles and Max had created, progressing toward Saint Xavier.

"Even if they survive the fire and reach the school we can easily face such a number. Now, if they would just pass us by, it would be even better."

Max had a thought for Ivor. Was it possible that he was down there too? He now regretted his glee at the idea of seeing all of them burn.

***

Arthur could not avoid a feeling of malaise at seeing the interviews take place. He did not know why, but it recalled him of a scene of Spielberg's Schindler's List. The movie had marked him profoundly: he had seen it only a few months before with others on the same subject for a history report. The Nazis were emptying the Krakow ghetto of its Jews and making a selection of the inhabitants. They had installed tables in the town's main square and armed soldiers brought people to them; sometimes they separated families, sometimes they shot them for no apparent reason. It was like an ordained chaos. It was chilling and inhuman.

Certainly, Greg and his minions were not going to those extremes but Arthur found enough similarities to feel uncomfortable. Even more so, when he tried to know what they were writing down concerning each refugee, they told him it was none of his business.

Fisher had come for a moment to see if everything was proceeding as he wanted and seemed quite satisfied after looking at some of the notes taken for him.

Like in the movie, a few tables had been set outside the building and the newcomers were brought to them, either alone, with family or constituted groups, to answer some questions. It went further than name, age, and profession though, considering the time they spent answering them. In charge were Shirley's boys, not the friendliest ones, with Greg supervising it all and seemingly giving a score at the end of each evaluation.

Arthur had seen he was particularly attentive when the boy or girl was attractive, coming closer to examine them as if he were buying goods. Of course, when Nancy's turn came, as he watched from a distance, he was revolted and tempted to intervene. In the end, he judged it useless, what could he say or do?

***

After going to see how the interviews were progressing, Carl moved on to take charge of the first necessary preparations before they lit the backfire.

The few fire hoses in the school, despite their low water pressure, would be used to wet the roofs and front of all the buildings that would face the fire. Every container and structure that could hold water was ordered to be filled and ready for use. Brooms and blankets were prepared to fight any fire started anywhere on the grounds. As the night was descending, everyone could smell it in the air, and see the fire halo to the north that was coming closer.

Boys charged with the task of fighting the fire and those off duty were ordered to go to their beds and sleep once finished with dinner: they would need all their energy and strength in the morning or earlier if the fire paid them a visit during the night. Others would ensure the defense of the school against any ferals that would try to attack it. Shifts were organized so that they would always have enough fresh troops available for each task. The people that kept arriving all day were immediately integrated into the different teams after their interview, the evaluation of their abilities, and according to the needs.

Miles did his part when he got back and during all that time, he did not have one minute for himself when all he longed for was to have a whole night with Matthew to share and enjoy their mutual love in all and every way they could conceive. He felt ready for it. This new crisis proved to him that they still had little control over their lives. It could all end in the next few days or hours. You had to seize upon any occasion to fulfill your desires before it was too late.

Waking up with Matthew and Brett that morning had been awkward. He did not really know how to behave. He wanted both of them to feel loved and important; he did not want to see any kind of competition set in between them. It had been avoided with Sven and Anthony, but with two more boys, he expected such problems to arise one way or another; it was just human nature. Even Sven, who had accepted all of his transgressions so far could find it a little too much this time, mostly because of Matthew: he knew he had a special place in the man's heart. Miles pushed away all those thoughts. If the school burned down or the ferals took it over, and even if they escaped and survived, all this would be of little importance.

Miles had no choice; once he completed all his tasks, he went to bed and tried to sleep, comforted by the presence of his boys, Sven, Brett and now Matthew beside him. It was a bit crowded but for good reasons. He needed those few hours of rest while knowing he could be awakened at any moment because of the fire or the ferals. It had been decided that Louise, Greg, and Tools would be in charge during the night.

Against all odds, he did not hear his radio before five in the morning. It was still dark outside but he felt rested and ready to face the day. He dressed fast, imitated by the boys with barely time for a good morning kiss and quick caress.

As he left Bear House, he saw the first glowing embers brought by the wind reach the school. He could see the flames in the distance, perhaps a mile away.

Louise, with drawn-out features, was waiting for him at the door.

"How was the night?" asked Miles.

"Not too bad, just a few isolated ferals that tried our defenses. I think the fire will be here in the next hour or so. Should we sound the alarm?"

"Certainly, we want everybody at his post; those flying embers can start a fire wherever they land, so they must be put out as soon as they touch ground. You should get some sleep; I'll call you when things start to get serious; you look tired."

"I am and I'll do that; I'll leave you in good company," she added with a smile.

As Miles had demanded, all four boys would stay close by his side, and he did not want them to leave his sight in the next hours, in fact, for as long as he judged necessary. Soon they had taken their positions with him in front of the administration building. Anthony, Sven, and Matthew held a gun. Brett seated in front of his laptop, had left his own weapon on the table, and close by two drones were on the ground, ready to take flight.

As the fire was getting closer, sporadic gunshots erupted along their line of defense: the ferals, single individuals, or little groups of five to ten were throwing themselves at the outside wall. So far, it had been rather easy to stop them. Miles knew that soon they would lose some of their movement detectors and the possibility to anticipate a larger attack. They had placed the two Bradleys facing north and the oncoming flames. It was logical that the main attack, if it came, would take place there. One factor that would help them, in that case, was the false dawn that came with the fire and lighted that front.

Miles suspected the ferals to be wiser by now and took every precaution he could think of to have the south, west, and east perimeters well guarded and defended. Max was in charge of those perimeters, and Louise would be there too after her short rest. The three Humvees guarding those directions were ready to go into action whenever necessary.

Miles saw Carl holding a gun, a rare occurrence, walking by the administration building with Greg, probably going to ensure that everything was in place or simply showing himself and staying in character.

Nerves were put to the test and thirty minutes later, they already had two casualties, fortunately, nothing too serious. One boy had shot himself in the foot, another boy with a broken wrist from a bad fall: self-inflicted injuries. It was disappointing after all they had gone through without a glitch, but it was bound to happen. They were lucky to have the Doc who took charge of them.

The school gates were facing northeast. From the administration building terrace, Miles had a good view and perspective of the action taking place there. For the rest, he had to rely on his radio and the messages sent from Max, Louise, and a few others like Walt, Greg, Cruise, and Arthur. The later assigned the new recruits that had arrived that day. Most of them had been tasked with fighting the fire since they lacked training with weapons and military tactics as taught by the school that were to be used at the school in the next hours. No one had showed up at the gates for the last two hours and a little less than a hundred had entered the school so far. The proximity of the blaze was the obvious explanation, as all of the access roads were probably impassable by now.

Half of the boys were positioned all over the school grounds and buildings, including the roofs to watch and warn of any smoke or fire. Many were equipped with whistles to call for help were they not able to contain and manage it by their own means. There were two fire hoses in each house and other buildings but they had low water pressure. There were also fire extinguishers on each floor, and those would be used only as a last resort, they could not be replaced. More of both had been found in the facilities storage rooms and distributed in different locations. Buckets, and every container that could be used to hold water, was dispersed everywhere, and every bath, sink, basin, and fountain filled. A human chain had been organized to use the water from the swimming pool, ready to be put into action with a simple notice when needed.

They had done their best and tried to think of everything that could happen even if Miles knew that it was impossible. Another flying ember fell at his feet and he crushed it under the sole of his shoe. The main fire was now less than a mile from them and you could feel its heat. They saw the taller trees in the distance suddenly burst into flames. Smaller copse of trees just beyond the perimeter and into the woods started burning as dropping embers touched them.

The radio suddenly crackled to life, "Movement on the main access road, people, a lot of them." Miles took it and answered.

"We're on it. Stay on alert. Brett, show me."

The boy pressed a few keys and the images appeared on the screen.

"There, it's the number four cam, less than a mile from here."

Among the shadows, you could see a bunch of kids: some running, some on bikes, perhaps twenty or thirty of them, it was hard to tell, bike lights and flashlights that some were carrying danced in the dark. Night was not quite over yet.

"They're not ferals! They're running from the fire," said Matthew, who had come closer to watch.

Suddenly, flashes appeared on the screen, echoed with muffled gunshots heard in the distance.

"Not only the fire, Matthew, there are ferals too," answered Miles, his arm around the boy's shoulder, "We have to do something." Miles spotted Walt and his team near the main gate and pushed the button on the radio. "Walt, get in the Bradley with your team. There are kids on the school access road. They're under attack. Go and bring back as many as you can. "

"Yes sir," answered the teen.

Miles, from his position, could see in the next minute Walt and six boys get in the armored vehicle, pass the gate, and drive straight ahead until it disappeared into the relative dark of that glowing night.

On the road, the group of boys was stretched, most bikes supported two kids, one was riding it while the other watched the surrounding forest anxiously, holding his weapon tight and ready to wield it at any feral that would try to stop them, a few of them were on foot, running and losing strength. Armed with clubs, knives, and sometimes guns, the boys used anything they could to defend themselves. They had been moderately successful and killed quite a few of their assailants on their journey, they also lost eight of their friends, snatched or hit by the ferals. Their last hour had been a nightmare, in the dark, but for the flashlights, the ferals had come out of nowhere, crossing the road at full speed, stabbing a boy or catching a small one and dragging him off into the woods, never to be seen again. The fire was catching up with them. Flaming debris was everywhere, igniting a tree here and there. They wondered what could be worse, die at the hands of the ferals or choking on smoke and engulfed by the flames. Hope was rapidly leaving them. They were not even sure of where they were going and if there would be anything left of that school they had heard about a few weeks back. It was perhaps their last chance but they doubted they would get that far.

Sully Barnes was their sixteen-year-old leader and a feeling of dread had gripped him for hours now. His younger brother Brian was clutching at him behind his back, he had fired his last bullet, like many of the others. What would become of them? What was death like? Did it hurt? He felt bad for those he had lost and wondered who would be next.

When Sully heard the motor engine ahead and soon after saw the Bradley's headlights, he had a moment of disbelief–it could not be true. He had a moment of fear too, for in this world he had learned to be wary of everyone. Still, in this instance, he knew they had nothing to lose, so it did not last and he felt among his troop all their hopes rekindled. The cavalry was here!

Walt saw the bouncing lights in the distance before he could discern the desperate boys pushing on their pedals in a last ditch effort to get to whatever security he could offer them. They stopped the Bradley and lowered the back door. Walt manned the machine gun in the turret. As they approached, he shouted:

"Keep going boys, you're almost there, the school is within reach. We'll cover you on the way. Try to stay together. Those on foot can get in."

The armed boys in the vehicle came out and took up positions on top with Walt, who ordered them to use short bursts into the woods for suppression fire, shooting over the heads of the boys passing by on bikes. The cover fire was probably rather ineffective concerning the enemy but its main goal was to give reassurance to the fleeing kids and perhaps bring some fear or caution to the ferals. Still, some ferals showed up from time to time but none reached the boys, shot on the spot. Dunn had done a good job and Walt's team was among the best.

On the ground, one of Walt's boys, M16 in hand, packed the boys into the Bradley like a can of sardines. There were shouts and shoving to get them all in. It would be a hard ride back, but thankfully a short one. Once all the cyclists passed and regrouped behind the Bradley, they closed the door, turned around, and escorted the cyclists toward the school. Walt's boys rode up top, watching every direction and slapping off embers from each other as they headed back. Luckily, their battle gear provided good protection. It took them only a few minutes to reach the gates as the first rays of the sun stretched across the eastern horizon, competing with the halo of fire to the north.

Arthur and the Doc were waiting for them there.

"Good job, Walt. We'll take charge from here."

"There are a few injuries among them."

"The Doc is here; he'll see to that. Get back to your position. Kids come with us, I'm sure you'll all welcome a good bed and some food. I'll not offer a shower yet, water pressure is too precious right now, but it will come, if everything goes according to plan. Welcome to Saint Xavier."

Arthur was rather happy to go back with them to the classrooms assigned to the refugees. Nancy, the pretty blond girl, with some nurse training, was there, recruited to help the Doc. She appeared to all those concerned much more dedicated and even efficient compared to the official school nurse. Arthur had had a few occasions to talk with her earlier since he was in charge there. It seemed to him they were getting along quite well together and he had great hopes for the next days. His wishes might come true in the end and he might find again some normalcy, at least for himself, as he would not be condemned to celibacy or have to accept the gay sexual behavior he considered unnatural and unsettling, so common now at Saint Xavier.

Nancy was not only charming and desirable, she also showed kindness and goodwill as he could see in the way she took care of the boys he had brought, some of them in bad shape with stab wounds and other injuries. She set to work right away, helping the Doc by treating the superficial wounds while the Doc tended to the more serious ones. She did it in a sweet, warmhearted way, keeping her lovely smile in every situation, which brought reassurance and calm to the boys. The Doc had immediately seen the soothing effect she could have and often asked her to assist him when he knew the required treatment of an injury would be painful or difficult. There was no question that the Doc was doing a great job too, thought Arthur. He was fast, considerate and efficient. He certainly had come at the right time for them.

Outside, smoke and glowing embers filled the air, landing all over the campus. The wind had picked up. The boys tried to put the falling embers out the moment they landed. They wore wet neckerchiefs, long sleeves, trousers, and hats, but burns would be inevitable. The ferals that had escaped the flames were just behind the fleeing boys, with more attacks now on the perimeter– it looked more and more like hell on earth. Everyone was at their station and the school was holding: for now. The low vegetation was so dry that the slightest spark would ignite it and those were a multitude, brought by the wind now that the fire was closing in. The situation had been well under control at first but soon most of the water containers were empty with no way to refill them fast enough. Across the campus, trees erupted into flames. Even with the two hundred boys deployed, many areas could not be watched at all times, the school grounds were vast and with many structures to protect. The two drones were now airborne, flying over the school to locate any fire not under control and send reinforcements. Stuart had joined Brett to fly them with more drones available when the batteries needed recharging. Still, little by little, they were losing ground and choices had to be made, the priority being to save the main buildings.

Even the exhausted boys who arrived in the early morning on their bikes and judged to be in good enough shape, were recruited to fight the fire.

It was a race against time with the constant temptation to send more boys to fight the flames and lessen the defenses against the ferals whose attacks were random, but becoming more frequent. Miles had lost his eyes: all of the cameras facing the north had ceased to function and quite a few of the others since the fire was moving on, passing the school and now burning the woods east and west of it. It was becoming less likely but Miles thought there could still be hundreds of ferals hidden out there and waiting for the best moment to attack.

The first burn victims started to arrive at the infirmary to be treated, putting the medical resources of Saint Xavier to use. Fortunately, Senator Forest had sent them a large stock of medical supplies, and they now had the Doc to use them appropriately. Not all the boys used their neckerchiefs to cover their face: some found it difficult to breathe through them and some suffered from smoke inhalation. Many of the boys were exhausted and dehydrated, seeing no end to this ordeal.

After a few hours, it appeared that the work accomplished previously in preparation for such a fire had been priceless and determining. Without it, Miles did not doubt that they would have lost the school. The heat was an issue with the fire at their door. They had to organize a rotation for those that were closest to it and move the ammunition and grenades away from the front line as a precaution.

Sven and Anthony had left Miles' side a long time ago now. He had not been able to hold them back, it would not have been reasonable in such a situation where everyone had to contribute. Matthew was still with him, though, on the pretext that he could be helpful, which was rather true. You never knew what could happen, he needed someone to bring his messages in case a radio malfunctioned or he lost contact with a part of the school for some reason. The boy was not pleased, he wanted to do his share and felt overprotected by Miles but this was not questionable.

Sasha Bronski with five other boys was in charge of the roof of the administration building. For three hours now, they had been on alert and had smothered many spot fires that occurred. The others called him "refugee," bossed him around, and told him what he should do, but he did not mind. That way he had no time to think about Vicky's fate and he did his best to show his value. If they were successful, this could very well be his new home. The boys with him were more or less his age, the older ones were defending the school with guns, and only a few were supervising the fire squads. Elias Reyes was directing the little group on the roof and had a radio. Sasha was perhaps more at ease than most of them, as he had already had a recent brush with fire when he escaped Harold and his cousin.

The roof had a mostly flat structure made of terraces with four small square towers situated at each extremity. Posted on two of them, were Reyes and Claudio Rigli to give the instructions for those under them as soon as they spotted a problem; from their position, they had a general view of a large part of Saint Xavier and its surroundings. Their role appeared far easier than for those on the ground, dealing with trees and shrubbery over a much larger area. It was hot and the temperature was still rising. The jeans and long sleeve shirts they wore to protect their skin and avoid burns stuck to their skin as they sweated profusely, their hair was matted, and salty rivulets kept falling into their eyes. They saw the fire reach the edge of the woods facing the main entrance and then progress to the east side of the perimeter more than the west. Without a doubt, the fast-moving flames would soon completely surround the school. Their throats were hurting because of the smoke, and they were often coughing and their breathing becoming difficult at some moments, the makeshift neckerchiefs did not work that well.

They used blankets and brooms to smother the flames as soon as they saw them or were directed to them, water was saved as much as possible for more serious occasions. There were few pauses as the wind brought an unending flow of burning debris that landed on the roof. The stress was high and it seemed there would be no end to their long night. Two more hours passed with more of the same and now the fire was raging on three sides of the school, it was not going to abate soon. The boys had red and watery eyes, Sasha avoided rubbing them even if they were itching; he knew it would only worsen if he did.

Unnoticed, a large piece of burning debris landed on a second-story windowsill, and the fire that took hold of the window frame quickly reached the underside of the building's large cornice. Now the wooden understructure of the roof was burning. The boys on top of it did not see it start, nor the drones. Anyway, with the air filled with smoke and embers, it was not obvious and it was difficult to notice with itchy and teary eyes. It had progressed fast, eating up the dry wood of the framework.

Sasha, after taking out some flames near the tower on the west side was retracing his steps when he felt the roof give under him, a whole portion of it was sagging downward, deep red cracks had appeared, and soon flames erupted. Luckily, he pulled back at the last moment before the roof caved in, exposing the underlying flames.

"FIRE! FIRE!" he shouted, feeling stupid with a simple broom in his hands.

Reyes assessed the situation right and before anything relayed the information with his radio, they needed reinforcements, a lot of them. When he was done, he ordered everyone:

"Flood it with all the water we got."

All six of them were then throwing buckets of water at the fire, being careful not to get too close to it at the risk of falling through the damaged structure. It was clear that soon the top floor would catch fire too and that the whole building was in danger.

Fortunately, the response was strong and effective with the fire attacked from the roof and the lower levels by twenty more boys, using fire hoses as well as the fire extinguishers to stop the fire's expansion, they used axes to cut away the still burning parts. The building's fire sprinklers were activated, but with the low water pressure, they were of little use. They fought for two hours before considering that they had won the battle. Looking up, they saw the school fully surrounded by flames, kept at a distance thanks to the work done only a few weeks earlier.

Miles was watching the images sent by the drones and the spectacle all around, shocked by the thought that if they lost the battle with the wildfire, there would be no refuge or escape route for them and it would be a miracle if any of them survived.

Made exclusively of wood, the stables were the first they abandoned to the flames. Fortunately, Louise, expecting it, had taken away the horses a long time before.

As the fire moved on, leaving a lifeless and desolate landscape behind it, more and more boys could be assigned to fighting it.

By the end of the afternoon, they were all exhausted but the school was still standing. Scattered fires were still active all around the school but were not a menace anymore, the beautiful woods replaced by blackened, charred trees, most of the vegetation gone. A few patches of green throughout had survived by chance but they were few. Everyone could feel the taste of ash in his mouth and even if the air was again breathable and the temperature bearable, it was not quite over yet. Some spots inside the school were still smoldering with their burning embers clearly visible. Each treated with buckets of water dumped on them when the fire hoses could not reach them. The stables had burned to the ground and a hallway of the administration building had lost part of its roof. Lesser traces of fire damage was found in the other buildings but nothing that could not be fixed. Trees and vegetation had suffered the most with large stretches that were charred. The welcoming and beautiful landscapes of the school, for the most part, were gone. Despite all that, it was a rather satisfying result. It was even kind of a miracle when you considered the few resources at their disposal to fight the fire.

"So, what do you think?" asked Fisher, his face blackened with smeared ashes like everybody else.

"I think we may have overdone it with the backfire, it certainly wasn't the kind of controlled burn I've seen them do on the nightly news, but we made it alright and we're safe from the next one, look all around." Miles pointed with a finger at the blackened and ruined scenery in every direction. "There's nothing left to burn for miles."

"I must say that's reassuring, considering I haven't seen with my eyes that monster of a fire that you've all been talking about. Wonder what it will look like? The one we fought last night wasn't a brush fire either."

"What we saw from the helicopter was perhaps ten times that big and intense if you can imagine that?"

"And you think we're safe from it now?"

"I do believe so, yes. We might feel it when it gets close, but again, there's not much left to burn here, and for miles around. We should be safe by keeping it at a good distance. There's the fire itself of course but you also must take into account the heat it produces, the smoke and the oxygen it burns. I fear we could all be dead just by being too close to it."

"Very well, anyway what other choice do we have but to believe in what you say? What's next?"

"Next? We all go take a shower, if the running water still works, and then get some much-needed rest. I would say none of those ferals could have survived the day; I'll keep a reduced watch for the next hours. After that, we'll clear the debris, repair what we can and wait for Mother Nature to do its work, perhaps hope for some rain, that would be very welcome."

"I approve of that plan, Miles. A shower and bed, that sounds good, and I'm too tired to add a boy to the equation, can you believe that? See you later," concluded Fisher taking the direction of Eagle House on wobbly legs.

"Okay, boys, you can pack it all and go take that shower. We won't have need of you anymore," he told Brett, Stuart, and Matthew with Sven and Anthony now back with him, "I'll join you as soon as I can."

"Ain't you coming too?" asked Sven.

"Still have a lot to do, sorry, that's the problem when you're in charge. I want to take the helicopter one more time and see if the job is done, as it appears to be from here. I need to make sure that a few of us stay on watch, I want to avoid any surprises."

"Such as?" asked Louise, that had just joined them with Max in tow.

"Make sure the fire doesn't flare up again, whether inside or outside the perimeter. Also, that some ferals didn't somehow find a way to escape it and decide to pay us a visit."

"Highly unlikely, I would say."

"But still possible. Louise, can you begin to see to that while I'm gone? I'll take over when I return. We would need at least forty boys to stay on watch the next hours and organize a shift by midnight, to finally let those get some rest."

"Thank you for leaving me all the work guys," mocked Louise, "Come on Bob, let's go see Walt and get that job done." The boy had followed her all day like a shadow.

"We can help too. We're not that tired," said Sven and Anthony in unison, soon joined by Matthew.

"That's brave of you boys, but that won't be necessary and I promise to call you if you're needed. You all did a good job. Yes, even you Matthew, your role was less spectacular but did save lives, believe me." He took all three boys in his arms, holding them close, relishing in their presence, their youthfulness, their enduring willingness, and enthusiasm. He kissed each of them, sending them away with a caress or a gentle pat on their behind. Even in their sorry state, matted hair, faces smeared with ashes they were so beautiful, each in his own way, so desirable.

"You're a lucky guy, Dunn, I envy you," said Max.

"Might be. What of going with me to check the results of our operation with the helicopter?"

"Now? Sure you don't want to go taste one of those boys first, you certainly earned it."

"Yes, duty first, the shower and the boys will have to wait … well, I'll certainly need some rest before thinking of anything else."

"Sure thing then, let's be done with it."

***

Roy Neary was looking at the devastation after the passage of the fire, they were very lucky, the fire missed them by only a few miles, had the wind not changed slightly to push it farther west all their gains of the last week could have been lost. As a precaution, he ordered all their vehicles loaded, ready to leave, with as much equipment as possible but still leaving a lot of it behind, under the tents. The fire had been spectacular indeed, they felt its passing miles away, and it left almost nothing behind but cinders and a desolate landscape.

At first, Roy thought they might find some valuables in the wreckage of the houses and towns after it had passed them, but now he very much doubted it.

What the fire brought them were many people trying to flee from it. They captured eighty-three people at the last count, besides those that resisted and were killed or escaped. In Roy's new frame of mind, they offered two things. First, they would provide information on communities, and places of interest they knew about, as he wanted to find one more suited than this camp made of tents as his base of operations for the next months. Next, the Ravagers needed new recruits and he hoped that some of them would be interested in joining his group.

When he returned to the camp, he asked Red how many of the captives had accepted his proposition to become Ravagers.

"There's eleven of them among the adults and older teens, and as you said, 'we're not interested in the younger crowd.'"

"Yes, those are good only as pleasure toys. Eleven, you say, not a bad number but we'll have to make sure they're up to it. Where are they?"

"We've separated them from the rest. I'll take you there."

A few moments later, Roy was facing the new recruits, seven men, three teens and a woman.

"Lady and gentlemen I'm Roy Neary, I've led the Ravagers since we left Lieber when everything went to hell. It's a prison, and that should give you an idea of who we are, if you didn't know yet. We plunder, we kill, and we take; that's been our motto since the beginning but things are changing and we have to adapt as best as we can to this new world. So, we've decided to accept new recruits from now on, a very rare occurrence previously. Red, tell them again what they can expect if they join us."

"If you hold your place, do your job and obey Roy and me, no less and no more than any other Ravager that preceded you, our rules are quite simple in fact. We share everything, the food, the boys, the girls, the weapons, the kills, and let me tell you there will be plenty of each. No taboos, you do whatever you want as long as it doesn't come into conflict with the group."

"I think that sums it rather well, Red. So, are you still with us?"

Roy watched with interest the reactions of the men, teens, and woman facing him. He tried to guess what was going through their heads, who they were, and what he could expect from each of them. From their looks, their attitudes, the way they were dressed, they had all obviously gone through a lot to survive, done things they were perhaps not too proud of. Still, it was a long stretch from what would be their new life. Roy needed to be sure they would not chicken out later and be a problem.

"I am," said a teen about fifteen, soon followed by all the others.

"Very good, there's just a small test you'll have to pass before becoming one of us. Nothing much you'll see. You can free their hands now, Red."

"With pleasure, Roy." The man knew what was coming and could not hide a large grin, as he removed their bindings.

"Done, boss."

"Good, come with me now. Boy, what's your name?" he asked the teen that had spoken first.

"Nate."

"How old are you. You look a bit young."

The boy hesitated and almost lied before getting over it.

"Ss… fourteen, almost fifteen."

"You made the right choice, lying to me would have been a big mistake. All of you should listen to that."

It took only a moment to go to the enclosure where the other captives were held, most of them mere children. It was set away from the camp with six armed guards securing it. It was rather small for so many people and they were packed together, some were standing and others sitting side by side, others lying on the ground trying to find sleep, all waiting anxiously to know their fate. The approaching men caught their attention.

"As Red told you before, almost all of us has a pleasure toy to keep him warm at night and play with, personally I have three but I'm the boss, if you want you can take your pick once you've passed the test. Want to be first, Nate?"

"Sure, why not?" said the boy with a cocky expression," What is it about?" he added, swaggering to show he was not afraid.

"Very simple, I give you a gun and you shoot someone in the enclosure."

"Really?"

"Really, it will be the same for all of you. I want to know if you have the guts to pull the trigger if you're told to, without asking any questions."

"And I can shoot anyone in there?" asked Nate.

"If you could avoid killing any of the cute ones that would be better, the men haven't taken their picks yet, but you're free to make your choice. They are cattle; we are the predators; their only worth is the price we put on their heads."

Roy was sure the boy had killed already and would not wimp out, one or two of the others were pulling a face and would probably fail the test.

"Give me the gun."

Red handed him a 480 Ruger Alaskan that was small and fit well in the boy's hand, and then he opened the gate to the enclosure.

"Wait!" one of the volunteers said at that moment, "My son is in there, let me take him out first."

"Why didn't you say that before?" asked Red.

"I had no idea what you were planning. We were told this concerned only adults and older teens, he is only eleven, and you said we could take one boy among the captives after the test."

"I see your point. You'll go first, only then will you be able to get your son back," said Roy.

Inside the small enclosure, the gathered crowd was looking at them wondering what they were talking about and intending to do. Roy had been careful to lower his voice so that, until the first shot, they had no idea of what was coming.

"Give me the revolver, boy," the man said to Nate, and as soon as he had the gun, he entered the enclosure and went close to a group of unsuspecting people. He raised the weapon and pulled the trigger, blowing the head off a middle-aged man standing close to the gate. "Come, Francis," he called to his son standing a few feet away. At first, the boy was rooted in place but soon he ran to his father who embraced him with one arm while keeping the crowd at bay with the revolver as they retreated toward the entrance.

People all around were petrified with fear, they had nowhere to go, putting as much distance as they could from the man, they held each other for reassurance, many of the children were crying, a few were shouting insults, some others on their knees apparently praying. None tried to fight back. They had learned the hard way what happened to those who did and knew they were helpless against armed men.

The sandy haired boy was clutching his father as they left the enclosure and the man gave the gun back to Nate without a word.

"May I have your name," asked Roy.

"Cliff Meynard; and my son is called Francis."

"Well done, welcome to the club, Mister Maynard. Your turn Nate. Try not to miss."

"No chance," replied Nate with confidence.

As the boy came closer to his targets they now tried to escape him, which was understandable, they knew what he intended to do. Still, it was impossible, as they had nowhere to go. Some tried to hide behind the others, while a few on the contrary offered themselves as a shield for a friend, or a younger sibling. Red found the scene hilarious.

Nate showed no more hesitation than Maynard, he even perhaps took some pleasure from the terror he created and took his time. Soon a chubby kid was falling to the ground, the back of his head blown out.

"Great show," said Red, "and nine more to go."

One by one all the volunteers took the gun to execute someone randomly when the woman's turn came she had a question.

"I'm Lucille; Can I kill more than one?"

"Be my guest," answered Roy who handed her the gun after reloading. He had thought at first of leaving empty slots in the barrel, to make it look more like a Russian roulette, it could also have been a way to prevent any of them from turning the weapon against him or Red. In the end, he had abandoned the idea, as it would have hurt the test. All of them knew what would happen when they pulled the trigger, and it was better that way. He also had one of his men to cover for him and shoot them dead if he had the slightest doubt on their intentions.

The woman was searching for her victims, she obviously knew who she was looking for and had a grudge against them. She pulled the trigger three times and did not miss once.

"Feels so good!" she said, when she gave the gun back to Roy.

He did not care what her story was. He liked her already.

The next man in line turned chicken, as Roy had predicted.

"Sorry, I can't do that. It makes no sense. I can do many things, I can fight, I can kill, but for a reason."

"That's honest on your part to say so but you'll have to join those in the enclosure and hope that no one shoots you."

"What will you do with all those people once your little game is over?" asked the man, the gun still in his hand.

"Probably let them go, keep a few for our entertainment as I said." Roy was watching him closely, two of the guards held him at gunpoint waiting for his next move.

"So be it," he said finally, giving back the gun and turning to enter the enclosure empty-handed. Roy held him back.

"Wait, you'll stay with us, you showed some guts in your own way. I'll give you the opportunity to show your valor in the next days."

"I'm Bronson, I promise you won't regret it," he said in a firm voice.

"I sure hope so."

Of course, the second man Roy thought would not pass the test was tempted to use the same ploy, though when it was his turn, he did not dare take the risk and finally took the gun with a trembling hand.

He could not hide his qualms for long, turning his gaze away when he shot at his target, which resulted in wounding another kid. Roy had to enter the enclosure and pull the revolver from his hand to finish the job with a bullet to the boy's head.

"Do I need to say you failed the test," he told the now trembling man. "You're staying in here."

There was one last teen about eighteen left to prove himself, and with the gun in hand, he went to the guy and shot him twice in the chest to everyone's satisfaction.

"Well, lady and gentlemen the show is over, congratulations to you all. Red will take you to choose your weapons and then you'll be able to participate in the sharing of the goods, boy or boy unfortunately, there's no girl to be found in there. Red, have our men get rid of the bodies. I think this idea of mine was rather good." He was quite satisfied with himself: this showed he had not yet mellowed, as he had feared.

"You're the best, Roy, always making it enjoyable as well as useful."

"Thanks. We need to discuss the few places we learned about, thanks to our guests quite a few seem of interest or intriguing."

***

Sergeant O'Malley now understood the reason the ferals went on the move but he was still wondering how they knew the fire was coming. He noticed the smoke, quite a lot of it, long after he started following them. They were certainly right not to wait for it.

The ferals somehow knew Sergeant O'Malley was on their trail and following them, and when a small group surprised him, he was able to escape and evade them. It spoke a lot on how they were changing and evolving, he was not only a hunter, but also the hunted.

There was now another fire ahead that had started last evening, trapping himself and the ferals between the two. With his all-terrain vehicle, he could go wherever he wanted and he could certainly outrun both fires but he had to act now. That's when he heard the helicopter coming from the south, a sleek, high tech one: he thought it was an X4, expensive too. He took out his binoculars for a better look at it, when he saw it slow down and move closer to the ground. The passenger opened a window and started throwing out grenades, one by one and well spaced, they were of the incendiary kind and obviously directed at the ferals. Were they the ones that started that second fire? to stop the ferals? Did they want to burn them now? That did seem logical. The only problem was that he could be part of the package.

Sergeant O'Malley was on a small hill with a good view of the mass of the feral army, that is the best words he could use to describe what it looked like, he was about to drive left and try to find a way out of danger when he saw them, as one man, surge forward at a run. The helicopter had seen their move too and tried to change its course to block them with more grenades but it was too late. They were fast and from his vantage point, he could guess their intentions. After the green of the woods, he could see the gray patches where the fire had already been at work perhaps half a mile away, one mile at the most. They were trying to reach that area where they would be more or less safe from any attempt to trap and burn them. The helicopter had come too late to avoid that issue. The grenades were quite effective but would not have the time to create the required wall of flames that could stop and engulf them. A few were caught but most of the perhaps five or six thousand went through unscathed.

The helicopter's pilot and passenger had come to the same conclusion and he saw the aircraft, after a few moments of hovering, leave, and head south.

Sergeant O'Malley hesitated, taking out his binoculars again to assess his chances. Ahead of the ferals lay a burnt out territory that he could use, like them, as protection against the fire they were fleeing from. It would mean getting there with them without an easy way out and he did not really know what awaited him further on. At the same time, it was only logical that it was the route to take if he wanted to meet with the helicopter guys and discover where they had come from. He could suppose they had been the ones to start this new counter-fire with the purpose of saving their town, not a bad idea. Only problem was that they now had a few thousand ferals descending on them. The alternative was to take a large detour and wait for that fire behind him to pass and only then come back and follow their trail, which could take quite some time, and he would arrive long after the battle … He changed direction and went down the hill, where he would easily avoid the brush fire started by the grenades and reach the relative safety of the burnt out area. His main problem now would be the ferals but he had learned how to face them and he was confident they would certainly push forward, not waiting for him.

Avoiding most of the fire danger, Sergeant O'Malley was careful to take his time and try a less direct route than the ferals to get there. As he entered the burnt out and charred black area, his tires lifted clouds of soot, and he did not have the visibility on the ferals position as he had before. He stopped and would wait for some time before moving on. It was hot; the fire here had done its job, there were some areas still burning or smoking but he was out of danger or so he thought.

***

Miles closed the helicopter window, the ferals were coming, thousands of them and only a few miles from the school, certainly more than they could manage–his second worst nightmare after the fire. They had tried their best but there was not much more they could do now. They had to return to Saint Xavier and sound the alert. He had to think of something.

"Looks bad," said Max.

"We burned a few hundred ferals and missed their main army; we acted too fast. Everybody is exhausted after fighting the fire; this is the worst time for a feral attack of this magnitude. Our boys barely had time to learn to use our new weapons, and I fear the ferals are too close for my attrition strategy."

"We have the explosives found in one of the trucks," was Max's reply.

"Yes, we have some but it will not be easy to use them on such short notice and I'm no explosive expert."

"Should we call for an evacuation?"

"That would be the most sensible thing to do but I hate the idea. What would you do?"

"Haven't been here long, but I learned the hard way that you have to fight for what you have and what you care for. Do we have a chance against that many?"

"There's always a chance but I wouldn't bet on it."

Miles sent a message on the radio to have Fisher, Louise, and the other committee members meet them at the landing area. He did not want to sound the alarm yet, every minute of sleep the boys could get would be beneficial when the confrontation with the ferals came. What they needed right now were the drones to keep an eye on the enemy's advance.

In the few minutes left of flight time he conceived several strategies they could try against the ferals, none really satisfying, still they had no other choice but to prevail. When he set foot on the ground again, he knew of a few options they could try.

***

Holed up in the pool building for a long time now, Cole could only think of one thing: escaping. He had been observing the comings and goings, and the increase in activity during the previous day.

Boys, accompanied by Greg, had come inside and he had overheard their conversations. A fire was coming and they wanted the pool water to fight it. He thought that what was happening was his best chance to leave the school, no one would notice him in the confusion: it was the best diversion he could hope for. The first gunshots and the coming raging fire soon dissuaded him from trying anything. He simply dared going to the deserted kitchen to take some food, and looking for some discarded weapon on the way without success. He had been right, no one had taken notice of him, and when he got back, fires were starting all over the place, and he just had time to reach his hideout again before boys overran the pool area, drawing out buckets of water and passing them down the chain.

Nonetheless, with nothing else to do, Cole slept fitfully for a few hours, and now at the end of the day, he discovered the school almost deserted with very few boys left on watch duty. He went up on the roof to observe his surroundings. All the fires in the school seemed under control; outside the perimeter there was still smoke and some flames but nothing compared to what it had been. He was certain that no feral could still be lurking there. They had fled or burned. This was probably the best chance he could hope for. Nothing good could happen to him if he stayed, eventually they would find him. Even if he had no idea where to go, or what dangers he would encounter, he had to try.

After gathering what food he had left, Cole put it in a bag with some more clothes, and cautiously left the pool building. What he really missed was a real weapon. He had tucked a knife in his belt, found in the kitchen, but it was far from enough to face the world as it was now.

Cole was able to reach the parking lot unnoticed where the bikes were stored. He picked one, went to the fence, and jumped it in no time. He checked that no one was looking and started pedaling, taking the direction of the wasted forest. It would be some time before he would be out of sight from the school and he realized the foolishness of his action even if the dusk helped him. He had chosen a spot without apparent fire or smoke but all around him he could feel the heat, see the red of the still burning embers on trees and on the ground. The air he inhaled was hot and made him cough. The ground was uneven and treacherous and he had difficulty handling the bike. He veered right, he needed to get on a road if he wanted to put some distance between him and Saint Xavier.

Suddenly, in the distance, Cole heard the sound of a helicopter and renewed his efforts to get some speed. They would not catch him again, ever. He felt free at last but also terrified, he had no idea what was awaiting him in the next days or even hours.

***

Tools had been obsessed the whole night and day by only one thing, Chandler, whom he had left alone in his apartment. He had to face his duties and could not find a moment to enjoy the boy. He was able to make only two short visits, one of them in the morning, to check on him and see to his primary needs. He was well aware he had put the boy's life in jeopardy. First, there was that knock on the head, was it serious? Then there was the fire, it had been decided, if necessary, not to fight for the Teachers' House and let it burn like the stables. Was he capable of letting the flames consume the boy without telling anyone? He had put himself in an impossible situation. He could not reveal his actions, and he probably could not save the child if something happened. He realized the horror of his actions and their consequences, wondering how he could have let it happen.

Exhausted and completely spent when it was all over, he returned to his apartment. He had done his best to avoid the worst, with discretion, protecting the building as best as possible while filling his other duties. He went to the bedroom, where Chandler was as he had left him, beautiful as always, there was a bloodstain on the pillow, and their eyes met– Chandler's angry green eyes fixed upon him, unblinking.

"Chand, I see with pleasure that you're your proper self again and you've recovered. Sorry to have missed our appointment but you must know I've had a very busy day with no time to take proper care of you, as I had intended. Now I'm back and all yours. Isn't that wonderful?"

All of his previous good intentions and scruples were immediately forgotten and despite his tiredness, a raging boner as strong as the earlier fire was tenting his crotch.

Chandler was trying to talk through his gag but nothing understandable came out, still it was clear he was not pleased and he was pulling on his restraints to no effect."

"What are you saying boy? Don't think I would listen to you anyway and I can tell you, you won't go anywhere. I've never wanted it to come to this but you left me no choice. It's all your fault."

Tools pulled out a large knife and started cutting away the boy's shorts and tee shirt, he had to sit on him to keep him in place, he did not want to draw blood or damage his new and very special pet.

Once the boy was naked, he thoroughly enjoyed all the soft skin and gorgeous exposed flesh. He would have gladly deflowered the child but he still wanted that to be a great moment and make it last. Right now, he needed immediate relief and he simply rubbed his hard tool on the boy's face and lips as much to humiliate him as to get satisfaction before coming copiously, smearing it with glee all over the child's lovely features, and not bothering to clean any of it.

"Just an appetizer," he whispered in his ear as he licked and nibbled at it.

Then he undressed and joined the boy on the bed, cuddling with him while waiting for sleep.

***

The first thing Miles set to do when he touched ground was to send the drones and assure himself that one would always be flying and keep him informed of the ferals moves. He gave that very important responsibility to Stuart, Brett, and their tech expert friends, there would be no rest for them.

Awakened moments after falling into a sound sleep, Fisher awoke in a clearly angry mood, but it did not last when he learned of the coming horde, and for once, showed fear and embarrassment instead.

"We should sound the alert now if they are that close," he kept repeating since he had heard the news.

"No, the boys need their rest. We are well prepared; they'll know what to do as soon as we tell them. There's no hurry for that. What we lack is numbers, we will be fighting one against ten, and I'm being optimistic."

They were all in the meeting room, Miles with his radio beside him, waiting for Brett's call as soon as the drone sent images of the ferals.

"Then let's evacuate," said Fisher, "What other option do we have?"

Louise was quick to answer, "We do not have enough vehicles to carry everybody. Many would have to go on foot."

"Where would we go?" Tools asked, while adding, "There's also that other fire, the main one, we could end up in its path again."

Greg thought he had the solution, "Perhaps we could simply avoid the confrontation, let the horde move on, and once it has left the area, come back here. What can they do to the school? They'll lose any interest in Saint Xavier if we're not here."

After a brief pause, everyone's attention turned towards Miles, "The problem is that those ferals are quite unpredictable, no one can really say what they're going to do and why. Their behavior keeps changing all the time, it has become much more rational, but their goals still stay a mystery."

"What if they decided to use Saint Xavier the way we saw them use the mall?" said Louise.

"Don't you think that fighting them would be suicidal?" asked Shirley.

"I would say there's a slight chance of success," replied Miles.

"You'll have to tell us more," said Max, "you did not appear that optimistic when we saw them."

"True, this is not a sure thing, but still, there are quite a few strategies we could try."

"Such as?"

"With our new weapons, notably the Bradleys and Humvees we can attack them, perhaps even lure them away from the school. The longer they stay away from here the more we can hope to diminish their numbers, even make them abandon the idea of coming here."

"That seems preposterous," said Fisher.

"It is but that's the kind of thing we need to be successful. What I want to do is to delay a direct confrontation here at the school for as long as possible. If we can keep them at bay for some time we may significantly raise our chances."

There was a long silence in the room, interrupted by the radio.

"Brett, here. We got the images."

"What can you tell us?"

"There's a lot of them for sure, thousands as you said. For now they're not moving."

"What do you mean they're not moving?"

"Best would be for you to come see it for yourself."

"Okay, I'm coming," replied Miles, standing up.

"No," said Fisher, tell the kid to come up here with his laptop. We're all interested in seeing it with our own eyes."

"Very well. Brett, come to the meeting room," said Miles.

"Coming," was the laconic answer.

Brett was at the shop where they kept all the drones. Helped by Stuart, Sun, and Wilson, he had started to organize a rotation to always have at least one in the air at all times. Sven and Matthew were there too, roused up from sleep when Brett had been called to man the drones, they wanted to do their part even if they all showed sunken eyes.

Brett arrived at a run, laying down his laptop on the table of the meeting room, and in minutes was ready to show the videos.

The committee members and Max had been silent while waiting for the boy, lost in their own thoughts. They all knew they had a lot to lose, their life, first of all. The news had come as a shock, as the menace of the flu in its initial form had receded, with death becoming a distant possibility, but now the ferals were at their gate and for each of them death was around the corner again. None of the choices they were about to make were easy, fighting could be suicidal but leaving was perhaps just as risky. Nothing was worse than uncertainty. Much, if not all, of what they had preserved or gained in the last weeks could be lost, nothing would be the same, and all of them felt anxious. Saint Xavier had enriched their lives as no other place ever could, in a unique way, and now, they may see it destroyed in a few hours. Fisher had the most to lose with his grand schemes; Tools, who had left Chandler naked and bound in his room, his obsession of the last days; Shirley, who had earned an unexpected status as the leader of her dedicated boy brigade; Miles, whose life had taken a totally unexpected turn, who had finally been able to express his feelings to discover and enjoy a sexual life he had never thought was possible; Louise, who through this crisis had come out of her shell and found a new goal to her life.

Max was probably the only one who felt like he had lost it all already with the death of Ivor, he had a more detached way of considering the coming of the ferals.

They all gathered in front of the screen looking at the images.

The multitude was impressive. It was difficult to give a number and that fact alone showed the dire situation they were in. The only good news was that they had stopped, as Brett had said, after entering the already burned area, perhaps judging they were now safe from the fire Miles and Max had started. They perhaps did not know what to do, where to go from there. A mad hope that the school could be safe in the end suddenly grasped many of the spectators.

"See, they're not coming for us, with some luck they may miss us entirely," said Carl, with great relief. "Do you really think it wise to go attack them and risk getting their attention?"

"They'll start moving again, that's for sure, if only to avoid that monster fire coming. What we did, I fear, is provide them with a refuge from it. There are many remaining active fires in the area and slow burning cinders. Going through it on foot can be hazardous. I would say they are just waiting for the area to cool down before moving forward again."

"Still, nothing says they'll come straight to us, they have no way of knowing there's a school ahead. They could simply pass us by."

"That's a possibility but not very likely and if we wait for the answer to that question we will lose whatever advantage we have. With such numbers, we can't stop them all; they'll get inside our perimeter, which means heavy losses for us. Keeping them at a distance is our best strategy."

"I agree with Dunn but still you have a point Fisher, kicking a bee hive can be deadly," said Max.

"Well, we need to decide now. Once they are on the move they are three to four hours from here at the most. Once again my goal is to kill as many as possible while luring them as far away from here as we can."

"What will you need?" asked Carl.

"I'll take the Bradleys and two Humvees, leaving you with one, just in case. We'll mount the MK19 grenade launchers to the Humvees. I want to inflict a lot of damage. The ferals are packed together at the moment, and that's the best situation we could hope for. If we're holed up in the vehicles, there's not much they can do against us. Our only risk is falling into a ditch, as Max did, and getting stuck, or hitting a tree. We'll need our best drivers, boys for the machine gun and MK19s, and three more boys, with M16s for close in protection. That's six of us for each vehicle."

"Why not hit them harder, with all we've got," asked Louise.

"That is an option and it could happen later but first I want to lure them away from Saint Xavier, it would not be as effective and much more difficult to improvise in the short time we have. Also, sending a great number of mostly inexperienced and exhausted boys is not something I would do, we should stick mostly to a defensive strategy with them."

"I trust you, Miles, do what you think is best," said Fisher, knowing that the committee would accept and follow his decision, "Perhaps I should have listened to you more often. You may have been right when you said we should welcome more refugees. We would have a better chance of winning this battle."

Miles was as surprised as everybody else was when he heard that. Fisher rarely admitted to being wrong, whatever the subject.

"I'll drive one of the vehicles," said Max.

"And I'll be taking care of one of the machine guns," said Greg, with a wicked smile.

"You'll both, with Louise, help me pick out the crews. We must be ready to go in the next half hour."

"So soon? It will be night shortly, we'll have to fight in the dark," said Max.

"I would love to have the ability to postpone it, if only to get some rest myself, but there is no time to lose. We must try to draw them away from the school, and kill as many as we can doing that. Otherwise they might be at our gates in a few hours."

"Am I coming too?" asked Louise.

"No, I don't want to put all my eggs in the same basket. Those ferals are full of surprises; we have to leave some of our best fighters here. You'll be in charge here. I'm going and I'll take care of everything with Max. Tools, I would like to have you with us too."

"Certainly, Dunn. It's not like I'd had anything else on my agenda," replied Raymond, who saw his precious time with Chandler pushed back once again.

***

Burt fell down on his bunk bed exhausted like everybody else around him. What a day it had been! All of his kids were there, alive and well except for a few superficial burns, they had fought the fire together for hours and hours without a pause, all of them were already sleeping and quite a few had not had the energy to go take a shower first. He had not dared fulfill his wish and ask Esteban to come sleep with him. That was certainly the one thing that would make their stay here at Saint Xavier one big problem for him when all the others appeared to be solved. His sex life would have to change drastically and he was not sure he would be able to adapt. Even if he could maintain his close relationship with Ethan and Esteban, it would have to be in secrecy, they would not be able to spend their nights together and he would have to drastically limit the number of fucks he needed each day. Perhaps he could compensate somehow with Margarita but that was improbable and far less appealing, or if he had a room for himself and did not have to sleep with everybody else in a dormitory, like now.

Burt was hard as a rock, and despite his tiredness, all he could think of was fucking one of the boys. If it at been at night, in the dark, he could have tried something. As a last recourse, he could always use his hand. There had been times when it had been enough.

He definitely could not sleep. He had to find a way to get some satisfaction. How he regretted his lost paradise! It had lasted only a few days, life was cruel to him. Could they go back there? Maybe the fire had spared the mansion and it was still standing. Could they take the chance, was it worth a try?

Esteban was there to his left on another cot, almost within reach, with his smooth skin, wonderful shape, and willingness. He had never known such a perfect partner for sex. He had to do something. He sat on his bed facing the boy peacefully sleeping, with Ethan, Raoul, and Joe on other cots all around him. He could pick one up and take him to the toilets or even better the showers, where they would have the place to themselves. He would get some relief, and it would help him think more clearly, perhaps get some sleep.

He looked right and left, all around him there was the snoring of some of the men and the sweet breathing of the many children, no one was stirring or moving. There was only a tired boy by the door smoking a cigarette, his gun leaning against the wall. Burt stood up and bent above Esteban, who else? He placed his hand on the child's mouth and woke him up. The boy did not need words to understand what it was about, he had a perfect knowledge of the man's constant needs. Burt lifted him in his arms, brushing his lips on his golden skin. In silence and with swiftness, like a thief with his prized booty, he took the direction of the showers but never got there. As soon as they passed the door and reached the locker rooms, he found a bench and used it to lay the child down on his back, pulling off the boy's shorts and his own slacks, their only garments, and was at work in the next moment, pushing in, using his saliva for lubrication. Esteban, still half asleep, did not show his usual enthusiasm but Burt did not care, it was a need that he was fulfilling, nothing more. He came fast and good in no time and was ready for a second, more pleasurable fuck in the next minute, turning the boy over to better enjoy him, filling his hands with the youthful flesh of the offered twin mounds, delighting in the delicate feel of his marvelous golden skin.

"This one will make up for all those we missed in the last twenty-four hours," he said in the boy's ear, realizing the child was dead to the world, sleeping peacefully, not caring about the man's shaft planted in his rear. It did not discourage Burt who plowed away for the next twenty minutes until he reached his second climax.

Should I do three? he wondered, maybe I shouldn't chance it, I can always come back later with Ethan or Raoul, for the sake of diversity. As he returned to the dormitory, he passed a boy probably going to the loo who did not seem to react to the strange sight of Esteban sleeping in his arms. He realized with fright that he might have been caught in the act. He decided he would have to be more careful for the next round. Dead tired himself, he was following a logic dictated by his dependence to sex that left no place for morality or sentiments. Like any drug addict who needed his fix, nothing else mattered at that moment.

***

Arthur was in love, or at least he felt like it, this feeling was rather new for him. He had been with many girls before and had done more or less all that could be done with them, but this time his feelings were different.

Nancy was seventeen, in high school and like everybody else, she had gone through a lot in the last weeks, but when he talked with her, she always kept her optimism and her smile.

"You should rest for a while, look, even the Doc has gone to lie down. I'll watch over the kids for you and call if needed."

"That's very kind of you Arthur. You must be awfully tired yourself."

"I just took a shower and feel as good as new. Believe me."

"Very well, I'll do as you say. Watch little Frankie more than the others, he got an extensive burn on his back and was in pain earlier."

"I'll do that, don't worry."

"I trust you; you seem to me a very good man." As she passed him to go to her cot, she gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek. He blushed like never before. He sure would not be able to sleep for some time thinking about that kiss and what it meant, and as he watched her navigate the beds all around, he tried to push away the more lurid thoughts that came to his mind at the sight of her exquisite silhouette.

Arthur went to the door, the smell of burnt wood and ash was everywhere and overpowering, there were blackened patches in some places but fortunately, the green was still largely predominant, no one really knew if they were out of danger yet while he personally wanted to believe so. He could think that he could have a future again. Forty boys were walking the grounds making sure that no fire could start again in the school. Two of them looking weary were passing in front of the windows taking the direction of the shop. He recognized Furst and Holt who for once was apparently silent, good for Melvil. He waved to them but they did not notice him, before going to sit beside young Frankie.

Silence reigned in the classroom around him, which was rather strange with all the people gathered there. It looked quite different from what it had looked like before cots replaced the desks. Those classrooms were modular and with the partitions folded away, it created a large dormitory that could accommodate most of them. He had started to put names on some of the new faces of the one hundred and eleven refugees that arrived in the last twenty-four hours, or was it more than that? He had some difficulty keeping track of time. His shift would end at two and he wanted to be awake and ready for Nancy later. He would sleep only four hours and catch up the following night. He was young, and he was quite capable of splitting his sleep like that. Dunn had told his warriors that it was the way it was done in the military, four hours of sleep at a time, when they were in combat operations.

"So, how is it going here?"

A man had come to sit beside him.

"Fine, but you should go to sleep, Mister Algood."

"Don't know why, sleep is escaping me."

"That can happen; it was quite an exciting night."

"You can say that. Also it feels strange to be with so many people when you've been isolated like we were before."

"You were far from alone, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yes, you're right, I was with the kids. Still, it was quite different."

"I can understand that."

"So this is an all-boys school?"

"It is, and even now there are only a few girls among us with the refugees, the result of the flu."

"Yes, don't you think it will be a problem later, so many boys and so few girls."

"I see what you mean, many of us have adapted to the situation though." Arthur had had ample time to observe the man with his kids as he called them and he knew that he would not feel bothered by the promoted unnatural mores of the new Saint Xavier.

"Adapted? What do you mean by that?"

"Well, you know, when there are no girls, you do with what you have … boys, aplenty."

Burt, against all expectations was shocked.

"But this is a school, it can't be! What did the headmaster do to prevent it? What about Mister Dunn?"

The man's reaction amused Arthur, as he tried to hold back a smile, yes, indeed it was very shocking and what he was about to say next was the most shocking of all.

"You won't believe it, but, in fact, they were the ones that led the way and sold the idea. Incredible isn't it? And everybody followed. Well, most everybody."

Burt was dumbfounded and very much relieved. Could this really be true? Things were getting better by the minute and if confirmed would be worth celebrating. Now that he had one less worry, his mind could wander to other territories. He had seen that pretty girl talking with the boy earlier, now that he could hope to see the satisfaction of his sexual addiction guaranteed with the boys, nothing prevented him from looking elsewhere too. Yes, he was truly sick and never had enough.

Chapter 31

Cole was pedaling as fast as he dared; the fire was still all around even if you did not see it right away, in the trees, in the ground, there was smoke, the air was tainted, and breathing was difficult, he was coughing, and fine ash covered his skin. He now regretted his decision to leave the school, and night would fall in the next hour. He had been stupid, legs and arms unprotected, wearing only shorts and a light tee shirt. His initial joy was now replaced by dread. He could not leave the road, the rubber of his bike's tires had almost burned earlier, and even the pavement was still hot with tar sticking to the wheels.

He could feel the heat through the soles of his sneakers when he set foot on the ground. How far would he need to go to leave this desolate and dangerous area? What direction should he take?

The wind was picking up, and the sky for the first time in weeks, perhaps months, was filling with clouds. Rain would certainly be welcome, but right now, flying debris, falling embers, and cinders were hitting Cole regularly. There were fallen trees that littered the road that he had to circle or jump over many times. He was seriously considering turning back when a new problem arose.

On his left, two silhouettes appeared like out of a nightmare; they were naked and black with soot, moving forward with determination. They passed him by as if he was not there. He saw two more on his right, those still with some clothes on but as blackened as the others. They stopped and looked at him–a strange sound came out of their mouths.

Cole's body filled with terror, and in a panic, he doubled his pedaling only to be blocked once again by fallen trees; the bike was useless; he got off and started running, pulling the knife from his belt, not even daring to look around to see if he was being chased.

Unexpectedly, the sound of a motor slowed Cole to a jog. It was not coming from behind him, from Saint Xavier, but from ahead. He sped up again. What did he have to lose?

Cole saw the vehicle ahead, skirting around more fallen trees; he threw a look behind him; he was sure the ferals were pursuing him. There was no one, he was all alone, and he stopped, catching his breath and coughing some more. Whoever was in that car had seen him by now. All he could hope for was some luck. Would they stop for him? Would they be good guys or bad guys?

The car door opened and a uniformed man appeared. He wore the blue of the police, and Cole thought he had no choice but to trust him.

"Come on, kid, get in, and hurry; there are ferals all around us."

Cole did not hesitate and ran to the car, jumping inside. The cop sat back up behind the wheel and said, "Close the door, boy."

"Thanks–for–taking–me–in, sir," said Cole in a halting voice.

"My pleasure. Catch your breath, and then tell me what you're doing all alone at night on this road. What's your name?"

"Cole, Cole Anderson."

"Nice to meet you, Cole; I'm Sergeant O'Malley. You're safe with me. At least as safe as one can be nowadays. What are you doing out here all alone?"

"I escaped from Saint Xavier, and then I met with ferals. I don't think they followed me – I was lucky. Can't tell you how relieved I am to have found you."

"I can understand that, though lucky is not the word I would use. Saint Xavier? What is it?"

"A school, a boys' school."

"And why did you escape from it? What happened there?"

"It was hell. They held me captive and they did … did things to me, bad things. You know what I mean?"

"No, not really, sorry. You'll have to tell me more. Who did what to you?"

"The headmaster, the new one. You see, he um … he likes boys, and then he gave me to Shirley, and it was even worse."

"Seems like you have quite a story to tell. Where is that school you're talking about?"

"Not far, but I'm not going back there!" Cole had his hand on the door handle, ready to jump out.

"I hear you, but the problem is, there's a whole lot of ferals coming this way, and we don't really have the time for a conversation. To be honest, I'm looking for a place where they have a helicopter, but perhaps, first, we should warn that school of yours that ferals are coming. How many people live there?

"There were about three hundred. I'm not quite sure anymore. There's a helicopter at the school, so that must be the place you're looking for. You can go warn them if you want, but I'm not coming."

O'Malley was keeping an eye out, looking around. He knew they should not linger too long in the same place. It started to rain, and the visibility was not that good. He needed to get more information from the kid before making a decision to either go to that school or avoid it.

"Let's get moving. I'll go East for the moment and try to find somewhere safe where we can let the bad weather pass while you tell me your story. Is that ok?"

"Yes, sir."

"You can let go of that handle then. It seems like my plans have changed; I crossed another road not far from here going in the right direction to get away from the ferals, I don't mind, and I'm curious to hear what you'll tell me."

Cole, who had held his breath while listening to the man, finally found it again, and took his hand off the handle to join the other in his lap.

"Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome. It looks like you've been through a lot. You can relax now. You're safe with me. I promise."

***

I should have done it the other night! How stupid of me! Now it was too late, and the chances were great that it would never happen.

Miles did not think they could win the next battle: the odds were against them. At best, a few of them would still be standing when it was over. He could feel the heat of the small boy's body in his arms, the softness of his skin under his lips, the inebriating smell of youth, stronger than the one of burning wood and ashes that was everywhere and covered everything. Matthew was clinging to him as if his life depended on it. Could he postpone the attack for an hour and dedicate that time to the boy? To do with him all he had dreamed of doing? To add one more notch to the long list of boys he had possessed so far? No, that was unjust to say it that way; he was not like that anymore, he loved them all; he made love to them–he did not just fuck them! He wanted them to feel as much pleasure from the act as he did.

"I'll be back, Matthew; I always do."

The two Bradleys and Humvees were parked in front of the administration building, ready to go with as much ammunition as they could carry.

"Brett's going with you? Why not me?"

"I'll need him and his laptop to follow the ferals' moves."

"You don't need me, then," said the boy with a sullen voice.

"I'll need you when I come back when we celebrate our victory." After hesitating, Miles dared squeeze one of the child's buttocks, "I sure don't want to miss that."

He kissed him once more, but this time on the mouth. There was no doubt as to the meaning of his words; he did it in front of everyone, he was beyond that, and he did not care what they thought of it.

"You promise? Only me and you this time?"

"I do; there's nothing I could want more at this minute."

"But you have to go and do your job."

"Exactly. I see you are getting to know me very well, Matthew."

"We're ready," announced Greg.

"I'm coming," replied Miles separating from the child with a last caress. He embraced and kissed Sven and Anthony standing close by, exchanging a few tender words with each, and then saluted Louise and Carl. He looked at the sky; no one had really noticed it at first, occupied as they were, but the weather was definitely changing, there were clouds, and the wind had risen.

"We might get rain in the end," said the headmaster with a bit of enthusiasm.

Louise was not keen on the way the weather was changing; indeed, with furrowed brows, she let everyone know, "I would have preferred to have it yesterday or even before that, anyway, I don't like it, makes me think of the last hurricane we had."

Miles expressed a mixed opinion, "We certainly don't need that on top of everything else. For myself, I would welcome some rain, even a brief thunderstorm, but not the resulting mud. Well, let's not delay our departure anymore; we'll keep in contact on the radio."

Miles joined Brett in the Bradley to have a last look at the ferals on the laptop.

"They haven't moved since the last time, but I fear more groups have arrived. Their number has grown," said the boy, pointing with a finger at the screen.

"As long as they stay close together, like that, it's good for us. Each of our bullets can kill several of them. We might even use the grenade launcher, which should bring devastating results, at least before they scatter. Let's get on the move, all vehicles, follow me," he said on the radio.

The two Bradleys and two Humvees passed the gate going to battle as the first drops fell from the sky.

Miles' hunch that things could go from bad to worse was reinforced as the weather changed.

Stuart brought Miles the first of bad news, "I'm sorry, but the wind and rain might impair our control of the drones. We could lose them if it gets stronger."

"Do your best to keep them in the air till we get in position; we should be there in thirty minutes," replied Miles, while looking at the unstable images on Brett's laptop. Now that they had left the road, the debris littering the ground and the fallen trees impaired their advance. The ride was jarring as the vehicle cab rocked and shook, with everyone holding tightly onto the handrails inside.

"I fear they're going on the move again," Brett said between bounces, knowing the implications of his words.

Miles could only confirm with his eyes what the boy had just said. They were too late. There would be little time to develop a strategy; at best, a head-on meeting with the mass of ferals was still possible: they would hit them hard and kill as many of them as possible.

"Let's try to see where they're headed," he told the boy, fearing he already knew the answer.

"Stuart, go a little higher we want to have a good idea of the direction they are taking," Brett said on the radio.

"It's difficult enough to control them as it is. If I go higher, I'll risk having the drone blown away and losing it," answered the bespectacled boy concentrated on keeping his drone in line.

"Just do it, Stuart, just for a minute. I need to know where they're going," ordered Miles.

It did not take long for them to answer that question. The ferals were heading straight toward them, toward the school, and just as suddenly, Stuart lost his drone: the wind swept it away and then slammed it into the ground. They had two more still in the air driven by Sun and Wilson, who could barely control them, one of them following the convoy.

"You're almost there. You should be facing them shortly," said Stuart.

"Stop all vehicles and get ready. We will start firing at my signal and keep on firing as long as possible while driving backward. We will try to lure them away from the school, but I don't think it will work. So hit them as hard and fast as you can. We must use the fact that they're all together for maximum effect. If they disperse, try to concentrate your fire on the larger groups. Louise, are you listening?"

"I am."

"Get ready to sound the alarm and have everyone in place to defend the school. What we feared is happening; they obviously know where we are, and they're coming for us."

"How long do we have before they get here?"

"I would say three to four hours; we'll try to give you more time and hold them back and away from you for as long as we can. Anyway, that's always been the plan to kill as many of them as we can before they reach the school."

"We'll be ready, no question about that."

"I know you'll do your best, like us. Keep in contact."

The night was falling, which would not help. Fortunately, they had night vision working on the drones, and they were using night vision goggles to drive the vehicles. The wind and flying debris would not help. The rain had stopped, that was good; the hot spots and occasional fires still raging would slow the ferals.

"I can see them," said Greg, in the turret of the Bradley.

Miles joined him, wiping the rain from his eyes to use the field glasses. They were both equipped with helmets like everyone else.

"Wait a little bit more. They probably didn't see us yet. I want to have the maximum impact on the first round. With luck, we might get them to turn back. Who knows?"

Miles waited five more minutes, observing the mass of ferals getting closer. During the day, it would have been very easy to observe them, the blackened trees having lost their leaves and most of their branches, and with most of the fires sputtered out by now, only wisps of smoke rose from an otherwise barren landscape. It was dusk now with a cloudy sky.

This was their chance to hit the masses with the MK19 grenade launchers. With its 5-meter kill radius, it was a most effective weapon against enemy infantry formations. In full auto, they would empty the 32-round belt in under a minute with devastating results.

Miles gave the order, and both MK19s mounted on the Humvees opened up, spraying the mass of ferals with death while wounding countless others outside the kill zone.

The effect on the impressive mob ahead was spectacular. Whole ranks of bodies mowed down like those crop circles in wheat fields. Balls of fire exploded in the middle of the moving mass, sending whole bodies but also severed heads and limbs, viscera, flying in a geyser of blood. It was quite terrible but also formidable.

In only a few short minutes, more than a thousand ferals had fallen dead or severely wounded. Still, they did not react as expected; they did not rush at the vehicles or stay in a mob. To Miles' dissatisfaction, the ferals dispersed like a flock of birds, going in every direction, or lying down close to the ground, diminishing the effectiveness of their weapons greatly in the next phase of the assault.

"Give them hell!" came the order.

The Bradleys moved forward using their main weapon, the M242 Bushmaster along with the secondary M240 machine gun with 7.62 mm ammunition against the fleeing ferals. The staccato of the guns was deafening and the battlefield lit with the M792 High Explosive Incendiary with tracer rounds. The Humvees followed and flanked the Bradleys after switching out the MK19 for the 50-caliber machine gun.

The objective to stop the ferals progression toward the school was met, but it would not last; they would sooner than later be out of ammunition without having had a sufficient effect on their numbers.

"Do not waste your bullets; each one has to count," Miles announced, as he watched their adversary for once retreating while trying to offer as few targets as possible. Fortunately, it was not that easy considering their numbers.

Greg, beside him, already had difficulty finding high-value targets, his spurts of fire from the machine gun getting fewer and shorter. The canons on the Bradleys were now silent.

Miles's only hope was that the ferals would be deterred from pushing toward the school and turn back to go elsewhere.

"Greg, I'm going back inside; join us if it becomes too dangerous here in the open and close the hatch; we'll keep doing the job using the gun ports once we're in the middle of them." Miles was speaking on the radio at the same time, "Everybody heard what I told Greg?"

"Roger," the reply came from the three other vehicles.

The tank tracks were now moving over the dead and wounded ferals, crushing them, while those inside kept shooting at the few moving targets left. Night had fallen.

"Seems they are running away," Tools said between bumps, "How far should we pursue them?"

"Not too far. In fact, I propose that we regroup and go west while we take an inventory of our ammunition and fuel. Then we'll see if they regroup and follow us or are still heading toward Saint Xavier. We can try to hit them like that a second time and even a third."

"Are the drones still working? I heard there was a problem with them."

"We have two still in the air, but we'll send more. We need them to know where to find the ferals. Our night vision will be priceless from now on. It seems the wind has abated some, and the rain has stopped. All good news, the hotspots and fires still ongoing will slow them down."

As Miles was talking, they all felt a strong and loud shock against the side of the Bradley.

"What was that?" questioned Brett, who had abandoned his laptop to man one of the gun ports. Only three of the six available were occupied. Miles should have brought more boys, he now realized, he had not anticipated that the ferals would disband and disperse; they had not behaved that way at the mall. Once again, they were adapting, getting to know what could hurt them.

The ferals had used a blind spot to batter the tank's side with a tree trunk. Melvil had to change his position to be able to shoot at them, and Greg finished the work from the turret as they fled, soon abandoning that position, feeling too exposed. Ferals that had lain on the ground were throwing rocks and other projectiles, some jumping on the tank to get to him. It was still slippery due to the rain, but they were tenacious, and some did make it.

"It's getting hot out there," Greg said as he took his place at a firing port.

"Yes, let's not take unnecessary risks. Let's get inside and move out, everybody," ordered Miles on the radio. "Follow me."

The four vehicles still in formation turned around still firing at the few menacing ferals in their sights.

"I'll need the drones, Stuart. Can you manage that?"

"We'll try, Mister Dunn, but there's still enough wind for it to be tricky. We have two more on the way."

"Do your best, boys. Brett, open your laptop and show me some images; I want to see what those ferals are doing."

***

The sudden attack shocked and infuriated Ivor Thorvald, who lost that name as well as many other things when he turned. He was having some difficulty bringing calm to his fellow ferals and making sure that they spread out to avoid such a disaster happening again. They had been surprised, they had been careless, and they knew they were facing a dangerous adversary who had attacked them twice already.

Thanks to the rain smothering the fires and cooling down the ground, the ferals no longer feared moving forward. Scouts were again sent out to warn them and give them time to prepare for another attack. They would not move as one; they would be many and far apart. Like with the fire a few days past, they felt a storm was coming, they were in a hurry, and instinct told them they had to find a refuge, a place that would protect them from the winds and the rain. They knew of such a place nearby; they would reach it in time and wipe out the enemy that lived there; that was their goal. They had been too confident in their numbers, and they would not make the same mistake twice.

Ivor had been lucky, as he was at the back of the horde, away from immediate danger. He had passed the last few hours playing with his two captives, whom he did not tire of, and had worn them out: it had held him back. Otherwise, he would probably have been at the front, among those that had been killed.

The urge to kill those that were not like him was still strong but the pleasure the boys gave him was stronger. He loved their soft skin and pitiful moans when he plunged his member in them, holding them tight, feeling their slight bodies shaking. He wondered why he was the only one doing it. They would need a few more captives to restore and keep the fire going when the storm was gone; they were easy to catch and even easier to kill. The two boys he had kept with him were huddling by his feet; he could feel their fear, their pain, but he did not care anymore. In this new life, they were nothing and only destined for death.

He gave the signal, and the two thousand ferals with him surged forward at a run spread out over a large area; they were going east for a time. All the hordes now followed a different path; they would later converge again before the attack.

***

Saint Xavier had woken up early again, before dawn. Darkness was not helping the still sleepy boys, standing, stretching silently, their youthful bodies put on display, most were only wearing underpants, and some slept in the nude, as the hot season in South Carolina was still underway. For a good many of them, those angelic faces were showing the stigma of the horrendous and exhausting previous day but with a few hours of sleep, and at that age, they were recuperating fast. Only the howling of the wind and the rain pelting the windows, stronger than before, broke up the quietness of this early morning.

The call to arms was sudden; the mood and activity quickly changed from lethargic to haste. The sounding of the bell brought mixed feelings among the boys: there was defiance, fatalism, and excitement.

Louise knew from experience that guns and boys made for an explosive combination even if there had been very few accidents so far. This time, they would arm everyone, including the youngest of the boys. With a heavy and worried heart, Louise gazed upon the young, sometimes eager, sometimes teary faces: the guns they were holding nearly as big as they were.

Then there were the newcomers, having arrived in the last days, she knew little of their capacity to handle such weapons, but they had no choice; they needed everyone–they could not afford to hold anything back. This would be a battle for survival and to keep what they considered vital for an acceptable future.

The logic and strategy was simple, keep the enemy as far away as possible from the school, and make it pay for each step forward. They were to avoid direct contact at all cost, the ferals could throw sticks and stones, but if they did not get to you, there was little risk for casualties.

There would be three lines of defense. One outside the perimeter with the best of their troops; the second at the wall, and the last one inside each building with everything possible done to prevent the ferals from entering. Each line would fold and retreat to the next when the pressure was too great. If the situation were judged too desperate, an evacuation of the school would intervene before the second line of defense was broken. At least that was the plan. Miles hoped to be able to use the Hummers and M2 Bradleys to harass and push away the ferals before anything like that could happen. The problem was the numbers. At the last count, he estimated they were one against twenty, at least, and had no idea of how many casualties the ferals were ready to accept before retreating.

It would not be easy, it required excellent coordination and adaptability, and as they had had a very short time to put everything in place, there were no practice drills. The ferals' own strategy, if there was one, was unknown. Would they rush at them all at once? As they seemed to have done at little Will's community, or would they do otherwise? They had to be ready for every scenario, but they did not have knowledge of all of them.

Then there was the weather that looked like it was getting worse by the hour. It was reported to Louise that the drones would not be able to fly if the winds became stronger, and it was already more or less the case, as it was, having lost three already. They needed them to know where the ferals were and get hints of their intentions. If they did not have them, their only means of information would be Miles and the armored vehicles that could make contact without too much risk. At the same time, losing one of those would be a terrible blow. They could move fast and had formidable firepower, and they would be indispensable to give a fast response to any unexpected event or come to the aid of a failing defense.

Almost all of the boys had gathered in the gymnasium and after a quick speech by Fisher were picking up their weapons and ammunition. Walt was giving the latest arrivals a fast course on how to use them effectively.

Bob was by Louise's side with most of Dunn's warriors, they were the best trained and would be in the front line outside the school perimeter, very much exposed to danger, and she hated that. So far, everything had been proceeding in order. There had been no sign of panic with only a certain restlessness.

Everyone had been equipped with waterproof hooded ponchos to protect them from the rain, giving the gathering the look of a strange sect: they were of three colors, one for each house. It was still hot, and with a high level of humidity, the boys wore skimpy clothes under their ponchos as sweat made the cotton tee-shirts and shorts cling to their skin, with more sweat droplets running down their eyebrows.

They formed smaller different units with each given their orders. As soon as the information concerning the ferals' advance and localization were known, they would go to their assigned positions. Logically the attack should come from the northeast, but Louise needed confirmation before sending anyone out. She would have liked Dunn to be there to supervise this operation, as she had no experience conducting warfare and felt completely inadequate. The atmosphere all around her was filled with tensio – everybody was waiting with anxiety for what was to come.

"Louise?" It was Miles' voice on the radio.

"Yes, I'm listening."

"We're coming back to the school. We played cat and mouse with the ferals for the past thirty minutes with no real result. They obviously understand that we can hurt them badly. They dispersed into much smaller groups. We'll position ourselves all around the school and wait for them. Are the explosives in place?"

"Not yet; I wanted to be sure to know where the attack would come from first."

"Difficult to say, and I'm afraid the drones will not be able to fly much longer, the wind is still getting stronger and the rain is coming harder. The best is to deploy them on the North, East, and West sides; I don't know how much time we have left. Anyway, I'll be back with you shortly."

"You don't know how relieved I'll feel."

"I'm sure you're doing a great job. Is everything going according to plan?"

"No problem so far."

"Very well. Give the order for the explosives; the boys need time to do it right and safely. We were lucky to gain all those hours before they could reach the school. The boys were able to rest, and we'll fight with the light of day. If we did not have this wind and rain, it would be even better. We hit them hard but not enough to discourage them so far. I'll be with you within the next thirty minutes."

The radio went silent and Louise had a word with Lewis, telling him to take his unit to place the explosives according to Dunn's instructions. Twenty boys left the gymnasium carrying the crates and bending over slightly due to the pouring rain. Their task was delicate but rather simple, as the C4 was quite safe without detonators, which they lacked, they would use grenades for that purpose, stitched together with the C4 and to a tree trunk. They would set them off by pulling on a wire attached to the pin, from a distance. In theory, it was indeed quite simple and as safe as it could be on paper, but with boys and with this weather, she feared the worst.

"Miles is coming back!" piped Matthew with a large smile.

"He is," she answered with a smile of her own.

"Wish he would come with us to meet them," the boy was gripping his gun with a determined expression.

"He would love to do that, but we'll need him to be in charge of the defense as a whole. I'm the one that will go with you."

"I wish it was time already; the wait is killing me," said William, his arm around Sven's shoulders.

"I understand that very well and I'm feeling exactly the same, William, like probably all of us here. It may not be easier once it's started, but at least we will finally see what we are facing and fighting it all together."

"Do you think we have a chance?" It was Matthew again; he could not shake away the images of the mass of ferals rushing at the Humvee at the mall. There seemed to be no end to their numbers, and no matter how many fell dead, more took their place, getting ever closer to them.

"Of course, we have a chance and a good one. We have the weapons, we have Miles Dunn, a good strategy, and we have all of you who showed more than once your courage and value.

"How many are they? Did Dunn tell you?" questioned Bob, always practical.

"No, he did not say, you saw them at the mall, there's a lot of 'em, a lot more than us, but they don't have weapons. They have to get to you to be a menace and we will not let that happen. What we aim for is to keep them at a distance for as long as needed, until they decide they've had enough or until we've killed them all. We have plenty of bullets for that. We just need time.

Standing close together, Sven felt the distress of his friend William. Since the boy had burst into tears during dinner, he had shown more signs of trauma, and no matter what efforts Sven and others made to appease him, he could not shake away the dread that had taken hold of him.

William had no idea how he would behave in the coming battle. His worry was not only for himself but for his friends as well. They were counting on him, needed him. He still did not understand. Why him? Why now? He had faced Omar and his cohort at the shop, his hand holding the gun firm and unwavering. He had faced the ferals at the Conner farm, where he had taken the lead without hesitation. It made no sense. He was all sticky and sweating; it was not only the ambient heat and humidity–it was the fear.

Sven was not feeling that great either, feeling the weight on his shoulders of being kind of the unofficial leader of the warriors. Miles had told him again and again that he should not feel responsible for them, that he or Walt would be in charge, but he saw the look his friends gave him, their trust and expectations, and his close relation with the Marine did not help. He knew he would do his share like everybody else, but he was not sure he was capable of doing more than that. Like many, he was impatient for the action to start, and then he would have no more time to try to find answers to those questions.

Close by, Anthony had young Mikey pressed against him, their ponchos slightly raised in front and back so that he could gently rub his not so little and very hard boyhood against the child's unfortunately covered sweet bum. He had promised the kid he would give him the fuck of his life as soon as the fight was over. There had not been many opportunities or much time for those things lately. Now, they would be separated at the beginning, Anthony with the warriors in the front line and Mikey behind at the wall, but he had promised him that he would not leave his side after the first line had folded.

Anthony had a smile watching Johnny, whose eyes were sending daggers at Ke. The resentment between them was strong, and peace not yet a sure thing it appeared. The chubby boy was standing beside Fisher with his two young charges: the man's catamites, they were all wearing weapons. There were also Enrico and Ivor's houseboys. This could be considered quite surprising, as he knew Fisher was quite wary of them. It meant that no one had been left out and even those last two had been given a gun. The coming battle was definitely a serious matter with an uncertain outcome. Perhaps he should take Mikey away for a bit, to a private place and give him that fuck right now, just to be sure.

The Edwards twins were there as well; it appeared they had lost their sense of humor for the moment. Mike and Lukas holding each other by the hand, were quietly talking with the Muller brothers.

Carl Fisher, as usual, was rather satisfied with the speech he had given. Still, he could not shake the feeling of uneasiness that had been with him since the alarm bell sounded. He had thought, until the last minute, that the ferals would never attack the school and that his vision would not be compromised. He was feeling very alone and vulnerable, with only Louise and Shirley by his side. He could not say it otherwise, but he would have liked Dunn here at Saint Xavier and not chasing ferals. The Marine, more than Max or anyone else, was the man for this situation, and without him, the school might as well be defenseless. That sentiment would not last. Once this crisis, like so many others, was behind them, he would get back his footing, but for now, it was there and resisted all his attempts to push it away.

Carl had refused for a time the idea of giving a gun to his catamites, they had certainly some griefs against him and could want to take their revenge, but the situation was too serious for such considerations. He was not completely stupid either: his catamites would be given no ammunition until they got in position at the wall and away from him, a sound precaution. He had also to say that, strangely, he was somewhat attached to them. Who would have thought that possible? He was talking of Enrico, Paul, and Peter, the two more exotic ones Chanchai and Joao were of no importance. Well if any of them were killed he would have no difficulty finding replacements, he reasoned, and the only one he would really regret losing was that extraordinary new Latino boy, Esteban, the perfect replacement indeed. He sure wanted to taste that one. Carl had taken a gun himself and he was determined to do all that was necessary to defend his hard-earned territory.

Shirley had taken two pills of alprazolam and had a few stronger ones ready in case of need. She had not slept well and all she wanted was to lie down and close her eyes. With some luck, it would soon be possible. She would be back at her infirmary with that young stuck-up girl, Nancy, and the Doc watching over the little kids. Those two were of the do-gooder kind, she had decided, and she would gladly let them do the job while she went to rest in the examination room, perhaps take a pretty little boy with her for his education, that could be fun and help her pass the time, and forget everything else. She was lucky with all the fuss going on, and with Cole's escape forgotten, her status would soon be restored. She had told the boys in her brigade to be careful and let the others play at being heroes. She was confident they would listen to her advice.

Burt Algood was beside the weapons crates listening attentively to Walt's instructions on how to use the new gun at his disposal. The group was large, with Esteban, Ethan, Raoul, Bradley, and all the others in his bunch, as well as the Doc and all the refugees who arrived in the last two days. He was feeling insecure and not in great shape. The last day fighting the fire had taken its toll, he was sleepy and felt aches all over. Fighting ferals was not one of his skills either; after all, he was an insurance man, nothing more, and with reason, he had as much as possible avoided confronting them in the last months. He was not sure either that his kids were ready to face all-out warfare. Those ponchos made it nearly impossible for him to get in direct contact with his boys' skin, which would have soothed his worries some. He could only have access to their necks, and with one hand, he played nervously with Estban's soft black curls.

The other option of fighting was to get back on the road, but where would they go? To Dellway and the villa? Burt knew there was probably nothing left of it, and going there would bring them straight into the ferals. If they tried to drive around them, they might meet up with other menaces and obstacles. The weapon he had been given was an M4A1 carbine, it looked ominous and quite deadly, and there did not seem to be a shortage of ammunition for it. Perhaps they could win the day, beat those damn wretched creatures? Then it would be the good life again. He would keep Esteban and Ethan to himself and let go of the others if it came to that.

He had seen the look that Fisher guy had for him and all the other refugees as they called them. He did not doubt staying at the school would have costs, besides having to fight to defend it. The headmaster's attitude had been different with the Doc, which was quite understandable, as he could not compete with him. On the good side, he had noted a few interesting new opportunities: there was Nancy, the young girl he had seen taking care of a few burned kids, and in a totally different way, the school nurse, that had made a few appearances, that one was a sexpot without any doubt. Also, now that he knew their appeal, there were the boys, plenty of them. His compulsions would find all the outlets he needed.

Nancy and Doc had been given a gun too, but they were not meant to fight. They were meant to join Shirley at the infirmary, the one in the administration building. There, they would watch over the little ones, the kids under ten who would not be sent to fight, about twelve of them. Of course, they would be charged to treat the wounded that were brought to them. That building was not the easiest to defend with the many doors and windows. Still, it was next to the dining hall, where most of the food reserves were located. It could not be left to the ferals. Nancy had heard the refugees would be defending it if it came to that, with Dunn and his warriors, said to be the best fighters, and she did not know what to think of it.

Nancy was a little lost, embarrassed with her own weapon; she hated guns. She had witnessed an ugly incident with one a few years back, and it had marked her for life. They were awful things and dangerous; she felt a strong anguish building, surrounded by all those kids, each holding one. She was trying to persuade herself that they were a necessary evil in this world, but she was not convinced. She was looking around, wanting to see that nice boy Arthur again, she was sure he would help her. She feared he had gone in one of the Humvees to attack the ferals. She wanted all this to end; she did not even listen to the instructions given, letting her mind wander instead. Fortunately, in a short time, she would be alone with the younger kids and Doc, the guns out of her sight, and her thoughts would be on them only.

Sasha Bronski, with one hand on little Jeffy's shoulder, was also listening intently to Walt's instructions. He was afraid but mostly eager to fight. He wanted to make the ferals pay for Vicky's death and for all the others they had lost on the road that he had cared for at Okatie. He wanted to participate in the first line of defense, but due to his inexperience with weapons, he would have to content himself with the defense of the fence at the back, which should not see much action. Jeffy was too young and he would stay with his father. Sasha would fight for them; he felt so thankful to Doc, who had welcomed him without reserve as if they were family, who soothed some of his pain and guilt toward Vicky, with words and most of all with consideration and real affection. What had he done to merit such kindness? He wanted to repay what he considered a debt and show his valor.

Walt was getting to the end of his fast course on the M4AI carbine that would equip most of the novices around him. There would be no second chance or time to check that they had retained what they had been told and shown to them. Bob was now beside him, having left Louise, he was standing very close, almost touching, and Walt wanted nothing more than to take him in his arms, feel his slender and wonderful body against his, and let his hands touch his satin skin, his soft curls. Perhaps they could have a moment together before it really began?

Anyway, they were to fight side by side to the end. He was ready to give his life for that boy and wished that they would both come out of it unscathed. He knew the odds were against them; he had seen the look on Dunn's face when he had entered the Bradley, and it did not bode well. Maybe they would have to flee the school? He did not like that option either, but at least they would be alive. The only question was for how long?

***

"Our attack was not as successful as I had hoped. Instead of charging us, they disbanded at once and scattered." Miles was telling Louise and Fisher, "In those conditions, once the surprise effect had passed, our weapons were not as deadly as we wanted. I did not think of using the gun ports on the vehicles at first, but that's the way to go now. It will not be as devastating as the machine guns but more effective in that new configuration."

Fisher, feeling greatly relieved, replied, "Still, from what you say, I would think you scared them away, we should be safe now; all this has been for nothing,"

"I'm afraid it's not that simple. They learn fast. They knew they did not have a chance against the Bradleys. Still, they tried using tree trunks as rams to hit us on the side and jumped on the vehicles, trying to get in. Having them avoid a direct confrontation with our armored vehicles doesn't mean the school is not their goal anymore. We saw they were trying to go around us. They are still on their way and coming here. I'll send back the Bradleys and Humvees with six boys each to fill the gun ports. They'll be our vanguard and warn us of the ferals' progress while holding them back as best as possible. I'm afraid the drones are out of the game for now in this weather."

"Should we get the boys in position?"

"Not yet; we'll wait until the last moment. I want them fresh and rested before the fight, not drenched and muddy. You spoke of a hurricane earlier. Do you think it could be what we are facing now, Louise?"

"I've been through a few. It could be. First, you get the rain, and then the winds intensify. Well, without a weather report, honestly, I cannot tell. We also could be on the fringe of it or right in its path; it's too early to say."

"I've seen a few myself, and in my opinion, it's way too early. They usually show up in late August till November," added Fisher.

"Would it be good for us?" asked Louise.

"I don't think we could fight outside in those conditions; the wind and driving rain would be too much, if necessary we can keep safe by taking refuge in the buildings. The ferals will not be so lucky, but they might get desperate."

"If it's a hurricane, the worst of it could still be hours away."

"For now, the best we can do is stick to our plan; there's no time to lose, let's get the boys in those vehicles and out of here first," concluded Miles.

"Are you going back?" asked Louise.

"I'll try to get an hour of sleep, which will be better than nothing. I put Max in charge."

It was not too difficult to find volunteers; quite a few of the boys yearned to fight, and to ride in the Bradleys was quite appealing. It was also a way to cut short the wait and the anxiety that came with it.

Most of the warriors were among the first to raise their hands, Sven and Matthew notably, but Miles had to turn them down.

"Don't worry, it's not to keep you safe; on the contrary, you will be facing the ferals shortly on open ground, in the first line of defense. You're among the best we have, and with some experience, I'll need you to hold the line and be an example for the others, like I taught you. Going in those vehicles is much more fun and easier than what you'll have to face."

There was a look of disappointment on many of their faces, not the least Sven and Matthew, but he trusted them to understand his reasons and find some pride in the trust he granted them.

Miles spent the next few minutes going through the ranks of boys, giving words of encouragement and reassurance, giving counsels, before joining Brett at the command center where he reclined onto a couch, motioning and telling the boy to do the same, it was not long before both dozed off.

The command center had been set, at first, on the roof of the administration building. From there Miles would have a good view all around, but for obvious reasons, it had been moved to the meeting room. Brett and the tech team had set up cameras taken from the drones and linked in the same way with the laptops. Next, they set up multiple large displays, taken from the classrooms, to provide a realistic military field command center. It would give him the possibility to see the action with his eyes besides listening to the messages coming through the radio.

Thanks to the still working GPS they had a precise location for each of the vanguard vehicles and consecutively an accurate knowledge of the ferals' progress.

Logan, with the dog Ginger and two others, had been recruited as messengers, like Matthew previously, in case of a communication problem with the troops.

Miles knew that exhaustion could soon be a major issue, and he was the first concerned. He had not slept in more than thirty hours, except for a few short periods, and he was not the only one. It came after many days of stress; despite his training and experience, he certainly was not in the best shape to be in charge of the school's defense, but there was no alternative or choice. He would have to do his job. He had asked for a large supply of coffee to be available.

Brett was the one to wake him, gently shaking his shoulder, as he did not hear the radio.

"Some of the ferals have been spotted less than a mile from here."

"Yes, it's time. Louise, send the boys to their assigned positions," he ordered into the radio, "I'm afraid we will have to fight on many fronts. From the reports of the vanguard, the ferals are scattered all over the perimeter and coming from all sides, except the south so far."

"Very well. We will do our best to hold them back for as long as we can."

"Do not hesitate to order a retreat if they get too close; take the weather into account. Don't let them take you by surprise."

"I'll do what has to be done, don't worry."

Miles did worry. He would have much preferred for the ferals attack to come all at once and from one direction. There was the risk of being overwhelmed, of course, but at the same time, their weapons would be much more effective and devastating, as well as the explosives that Lewis placed around the perimeter. How determined was their enemy? That was the question for which he had no answer. It was a major problem, as he based his strategy on the idea that he could repel the ferals if their losses were big enough.

The defenders' firepower was impressive and it would have discouraged any human opponent. They could kill or incapacitate a few thousand individuals in a matter of minutes, but when you faced ten thousand ferals, even if only thirty to forty percent got to you, you were as good as dead. They would still be one against six to eight.

Miles had to adapt his strategy to the weather and the ferals' new behavior. He decided to concentrate his forces in front of the main gate facing northeast; his warriors would be there, ninety boys in all with only thirty more East and thirty North. The ferals had shown they feared and avoided their armored vehicles, and he would use that to scare them away from his least defended positions and try to have them concentrate their attack where it could be better met. Miles directed the two Bradleys and Humvees to be placed in support and defense of the East and north while harassing the ferals coming their way, fuel and ammo were checked. He kept the third Humvee in reserve, ready to come to the aid of any of the groups outside the perimeter when needed. If Miles' trap worked, when the attack was in full swing, they would all converge on the horde and make use of their firepower while the boys retreated as they had been taught.

There were many pitfalls to this plan, not the least being the extent of ground they had to defend with only four hundred combatants. The south and west would be almost defenseless, with mostly the new arrivals holding those positions and sending more troops there would be difficult and take precious time.

Miles had no better choice if he wanted it to work; he had to concentrate his forces to inflict onto the enemy as much losses in as short a time as possible. His advantage was that the ferals could not use guerrilla warfare. Their only chance was to concentrate all their forces and charge to try to topple the school's defenses. Mounting a surprise attack would mean going around Saint Xavier and be time-consuming; he hoped this was beyond their imagination and capacities. Still, he would have felt much better if he still could use the drones to survey their actions. The cameras set on the roof were barely second best, with only three with a zoom capability, they were far from the battleground and this did not take the weather into account. The wind and rain did not seem to want to let go for the moment. Would they have a respite later? It sure would help them.

***

As the rays of the sun barely pierced the cloud barrier and cold rain fell continuously, each unit made of thirty boys left the gymnasium, each following their unit's flag. That had been Fisher's idea to boost their spirit, he said. Flags looked good on a battleground, he could have added music, drums, but this day the rain made everything miserable and difficult. The temperature outside had dropped noticeably giving everyone a chill down their spine after the humidity and heat of the gymnasium and they regretted their choice of light clothing. Dunn's warriors had soon reached their position facing what was left of the forest bordering the road that led to the school. The fire had destroyed most of the thriving vegetation, with scorched trees the most common sight. The barren landscape would have provided a good view ahead if not for the dim light due to the weather. The rain created rivulets on the ground too dry to absorb it in such quantities.

"Sharpshooters only," shouted Louise, as the first ferals could be seen running parallel to the line of boys, sometimes seeking shelter behind a tree a few hundred feet away.

The sharp sound of the M107s erupted sporadically and they saw the first ferals fall. They were the vanguard or, more likely, scouts. They could also hear, in the distance, the much more persistent detonations of firearms and the occasional staccato of the machine guns to their right and left and the faint rumbling of the Bradleys – it was quite reassuring in that desolate environment.

Twenty sticks were planted on the ground at their feet with wires that were tied to the grenade pins at the other end.

William was holding his carbine tightly, careful to avoid exposing it to the rain as much as possible as he had been told. So far, he did not feel too bad; he could even say he was better since they had left the gymnasium, and his strongest wish now was to see the real fight start shortly. That way, the wait would be over and he would stop thinking.

Bob was there with Sven between them, firing with regularity and not missing once, it appeared. He was calm and concentrated. A complete opposite of his reputation as the boy who could not stay in place, he had changed a lot in these last weeks, like all of them.

Louise was close too, listening to her radio, her face grave and withdrawn. Sending glances at the remnants of the forest in front of them, trying a comforting smile each time her gaze crossed one of the boys.

They were forming two lines of forty-five, one behind the other with a staggered positioning. William had seen the movie Zulu and had been quite impressed. The story showed a small troop of English soldiers that faced with courage and method several thousand Zulu warriors in South Africa and survived. They would apply the same principles here, the goal being to keep constantly firing, one line at a time, while the other reloaded. In large part, something they had already done at the Conner farm, this time on a much larger scale and without a truck coming to pick them up and carry them away at the end. They had brought crates of ammunition with them and they were to hold their position for as long as possible and then retreat in good order after pulling on the wires to set off the explosives. William also remembered that at the end of the movie, the Zulus, who were certain of being victorious, had left the battleground to honor the courage of their adversaries. He doubted the ferals would imitate them.

Against all expectations, a strange silence, apart from the rainfall and the rattling winds, took everyone by surprise. The sharpshooters had stopped firing for lack of targets and the distant detonations and staccato coming from the armored vehicles had ceased too.

"What's going on?" asked Chad on his left as he himself turned toward Sven on his right with the same question.

"No idea," answered the blond boy, looking at Louise with a questioning expression.

There was a murmur among the ranks. Had the ferals turned back? Had they been scared away? Relieved smiles were appearing on many faces with a slackening of the postures.

"Keep on alert boys, we're not done yet," warned Louise, walking behind the lines, "That would be too easy." She clearly did not think it was over and she was right.

Soon a mounting clamor came from ahead, made of the strange cries the ferals produced. Matthew recognized it at once as the same thing that had met them at the mall, but ten times stronger and louder.

"Get ready, they're coming," ordered Louise as the staccato of the machine guns rang out again and this time constantly.

They were coming like an endless wave. It was too soon to know if Miles hopes would be met but to those who faced them, it looked like the whole ten thousand or so ferals were there running at them. A few of the boys took a few steps back before returning to the ranks, helped by Louise's orders.

"First line, open fire!"

The sound was deafening with the reverberation of detonations issued from the forty-five carbines, all magazines were emptied on full auto.

The front line of the ferals fell, but they did not stop, still gaining ground.

"Second line, fire, first line reload."

The kneeling first line quickly reloaded as the second line, standing behind them, sent bullets whizzing overhead. The boys were scared; some struggled to get the next magazine in place, their eyes on the onslaught of ferals, as they fumbled trying to reload their weapon. At that moment, the Humvee in reserve joined the fight positioned right behind the boys; the Browning M2 machine gun entered in action with its five to six hundred rounds per minute.

The ferals were not discouraged, heads exploded, limbs were ripped from bodies, they were cut in two, one bullet, sometimes felling three or four at once, but they still charged, their ranks as compact as before.

Each line had time to fire only four times before Louise decided their position was jeopardized.

As the ferals were about to reach the trees where the explosives had been placed, she ordered the retreat. She did not need to say more. Twenty boys at once pulled on the wires releasing the grenade pins. Everyone crouching down as they waited a few seconds for the coming explosions. They all felt the blast followed by the debris raining down on them. Among it all were blood and body parts. The first ranks of the ferals were swept away; it was as if they had never been there.

At a run, the two lines of boys retreated, stopping halfway to the outside wall. They would make a second stand there. As they were getting ready, they heard a second round of explosions to the North. They were not the only ones to have engaged the ferals and it meant that there too, the ferals were gaining ground. Still, after the explosions, there was a moment as if time had stopped with no ferals running at them. They could hear their cries of pain, too human to discard or gain comfort from, but the wave soon rose again, coming for them.

The boys emptied four more magazines before retreating again, this time inside the perimeter. As they passed the gate, the boys behind the wall, the younger ones, started shooting to cover them as the older boys joined them climbing on the school desks, chairs, and all other means used as scaffolding to be level with the six-foot wall. Louise was the last with Bob to pass the gate, closing it right after. As she turned, she could see the ferals, despite terrible losses, still advancing fast toward them. Their numbers did not seem to have diminished.

William took his place between two very young boys, one he recognized as Logan's friend, the shy Ken Allender. He was trembling and unable to replace the spent magazine of his gun, the stress of combat had made him forget all he had been taught, that and the slick weapon in his hands with the rain that had not abated. He was certainly not the only one having that same problem. For others, it had been the recoil, which had made them fall back to the ground or hurt their shoulder. William helped the poor kid reload, taking an extra minute to try to reassure him and show him again how it was done. As they resumed firing, the ferals had gained a lot of ground, and the boy started to think that they would never be able to stop them.

In the Bradley driven by Henry, the sense of security provided was countered with the acrid smell and taste of the residual gunpowder; it was a cramped space and the smoke visibly hung in the air. Spent shells littered the floor; they had been firing almost incessantly for over an hour, first chasing the ferals and informing Dunn of their position and now participating in defense of the school. With the hatch closed, it was unbearably hot inside. They had been too slow to move back and the mob had caught up with them, the ferals jumping on it and endangering Greg, who had to abandon the machine gun. A cluster of them was now glued to the vehicle, not wanting to let go, knocking on the armor with rocks or anything else they had brought with them.

"Get closer to the wall," said Greg to Henry. "We need to get rid of them, so I can get my hands on that machine gun again."

It was the right thing to do. The boys on the wall had just to shoot a few bursts of bullets to rid them of the extra baggage. Greg reopened the hatch right away, finding back his prized position behind the M2.

***

Dunn was listening to his radio and the reports from the several lines of defense while observing the screens with the images of the cameras on the roof.

It was all going too fast, while nothing had really stopped the ferals in their progress. He saw the main gate closing as the explosives in the East went off and the little troop of boys there hurried back to the wall, not trying a second stand. They climbed the wall where ladders had been placed for that purpose and then the ladders were pulled up as soon as the last boy was over the wall. From the East to the North, now, all the boys positioned behind the wall were firing relentlessly, close to three hundred of them, helped by the MK19 Grenade launchers and eight of the ten M2A1 machine guns defending the wall. The Humvees and Bradleys had taken a step back to avoid being overrun and incapacitated in any way. They were now firing at the flank of the feral horde with some chance of wreaking even more havoc and casualties in their ranks.

Despite all that, nothing seemed capable of stopping the mass that was rushing toward the school. Miles could not deny that fact and now came the time for hard decisions.

The launch window for an evacuation was small and getting smaller by the minute, the captured trucks were ready and filled with everything they could stack in them while leaving room for the boys as well as other vehicles, an escape route had been planned.

Miles took one last look at the screens and out the windows that faced the main gate. He did not doubt that the order would have dire consequences. He was sure that quite a few of the boys would not make it. He knew that as soon as the retreat order came, there would be panic and confusion. For everyone, it would mean they had lost. It was said that a marine never left anyone behind, but today there would be other priorities, the survival of many had to prevail as well as the preservation of the content of the trucks. Getting out of here would not be easy either, once the perimeter had been breached.

The other option was to take refuge in the safest buildings and continue the fight of attrition from there with the hope that they would be sturdy enough to hold against the ferals assaults.

"What did you decide?" asked Fisher, who had joined him after the explosions. "They are not turning back; they're still coming at us."

Brett was looking at him with a strange expression on his face, trust but also confusion and fear.

Miles was about to answer when Arthur's voice screeched on the radio from the south.

"We have a breach, I repeat, we have a breach. They're passing the fence, at least a few hundred. We're trying to hold them back as best as we can."

Miles did not hesitate one second and gave the order.

"All units must retreat to their assigned building now. I repeat, retreat now in good order and as you've been instructed."

The time for an evacuation had passed. Now they had to stand their ground.

***

Ivor had broken the neck of the two boys with some regret, but without hesitation, it had been swift, painless, and surprisingly easy. They had been sweet and given him much pleasure, but they were replaceable. He was sure to find new ones at the school. Yes, somehow he knew that place and what was waiting for him there. Saint Xavier, that was the name of it, and he knew how he would take possession of it. The rain had been an obstacle, slowing them down, making them slip and fall, but now it was going to be their ally hiding them from their enemies and their murderous weapons. He remembered things; they did not all have a meaning for him anymore. There were images, thoughts, and strange concepts, it was confusing, but one of them had shown him the way to victory.

Ivor gathered the best of the troops and leaders, the more rapid and able-bodied, the more aware and those with the best fighting spirit. They were many, perhaps two thousand strong, and all of them carried some kind of weapon, from shovels to picks, from knives to bats. He had taken them through the woods at a run. They could now hear the sound of battle behind them, they felt in their minds and their flesh the death and suffering of many of their people. They needed to hurry.

Ivor Thorvald had visited the school many times; he knew it well, he had ridden horses in the large expanse of land that was behind it, and he knew there was no wall there, only a fence. The open field of grass dipped down from the edge of the woods before rising again to that fence. They would be able to get very close to it while still out of sight. The rain would even help them get closer, he was certain of that.

The boys in that school were quite special, the best ones you could dream of having. They were athletically fit, trim and supple, their skin perfect, at an age that was easy to tame. They were waiting for him, those coveted prizes, and he would pick the best as his playthings. They would keep a fire burning for them too, although they feared it, all ferals had a strange fascination for fire, perhaps as a reminder of their past lives. As he ran, his erection preceded him, he was naked like many of those running beside him, and nothing prevented his manhood from expanding and hardening at the thought of the luscious creatures he craved for and were now almost within his reach.

***

Arthur was in charge of the south fence or rather, since it was made of wood, what was left of it and had not been burned. One could think it was a rather simple task since the vast and empty expanse of land beyond it was easy to survey as well as being a priori, away from the main battleground to the North. On the other hand, it was also a trickier one. There was no wall there, and his troops were almost exclusively made of the refugees who arrived in the last few days. He did not really know them or their abilities and reliability. He did not doubt most of them were good people and that they knew how to fight. How could it be otherwise if they had survived so far? Still, even if he had been put in charge of their group since the beginning, they were mostly a blank page, and he believed they each had their own agendas and loyalties, none of which extended to the defense of Saint Xavier.

The sounds of fighting in the direction of the main gate had been intensifying, followed by the detonation of the explosives, muffled by the pouring rain and distance. All was quiet here, and as Dunn thought, the ferals had followed a more or less direct path to the school and concentrated their attack there. They had certainly evolved but not to the point of using any military tactics. Arthur expected at any moment now he would be ordered to send more boys and men to the north wall as reinforcements.

In front of him, beyond the remnants of the fence, there were only open fields reaching as far as the Conner farm with dark patches of burnt grass and a few copses of blackened trees. The fire had left its mark. The woods, what was left of it, bordered that expanse to the East and west. Small groups of defenders were scattered all along the perimeter, huddling and hunched together to forget the rain, composed of men and boys with only a handful of women or girls.

Nancy was not there; he was happy to know she was safe at the infirmary. He knew a few individuals by name, like Burt Algood, his boys, Bradley, Esteban, and Ethan, with whom he had had the most contacts. He would have liked to know them all better.

When Arthur heard the first shouts and gunshots, he turned his head and saw the ferals rushing towards the fence: he knew at once that they would never be able to stop them. He was himself quite a distance from them and not in direct danger. How they got so close in such numbers without being noticed was of no importance anymore. He had the worst gut feeling of his life, he was responsible, and lives depended on the decisions he would make in the next minutes, perhaps the fate of the whole school. He had to tell Dunn first thing; he pushed the button and started talking into his radio while trying to keep calm and be as precise and concise as he could.

***

Burt had tried to resist the urge but had not been very good at it. After all, they might not see the end of the day. It was only natural to want to practice sex with his preferred boys one more time before it was too late, perhaps for the last time.

Fortunately, he was alone with his boys and far enough away from the others. He was in charge of the left flank, positioned in the ruins of the stables. This, helped by the pouring rain and low skies, ensured his actions would not be noticed. No ferals were in sight and Burt could think it would do no harm if they used the next few minutes for one last loving embrace. The rain was a bit chilly after the heat of the last weeks and some exercise would warm them up.

"Esteban, come here," he told the boy who was facing away, taking support on a broken wall, with his gun at the ready. "No one's coming yet. I think we got time for one last fuck. I know you want it as much as I do."

At these words, all heads turned toward him. There were smiles.

"Are you serious?" questioned Bradley.

"Yes, why not? What else is there to do?"

"You're crazy," said the boy, "it has to be a joke?"

Esteban had left his gun against the fence and was pulling off his poncho.

"Can I join?" asked Ethan, following suit.

"Yes, certainly," answered Burt with enthusiasm.

"What the hell," said Bradley, "Joe, come over here." He did not pull off his poncho but simply raised it to get to his pants and open his zipper.

At that moment, they heard the first shots coming from the northeast.

"It's started," said Raoul.

"Let's not lose any time then." Burt had taken off his poncho and had his pants and underwear to his knees, oblivious of the rain and the absurd situation they were in, considering the circumstances.

He grabbed Esteban, and after a passionate French kiss, set him on the ground in front of him, on all fours, to unceremoniously enter him in one go.

"You're really crazy," repeated Bradley, as he pushed Joe's open mouth down his own erection. "By God, it's true, it feels good, never thought I'd have an opportunity to do that today."

Ethan, not wanting to be left out, strode over to Esteban to present his cocklet to Burt's attention. The man did not refuse the proposition. While pursuing his motions up Esteban's chute, he brought the offered hard morsel, one hand steadying the Latino under him, the other over Ethan's firm mounds pushing him forward to his welcoming lips.

Margarita had turned her back on them, clearly disapproving.

The other boys were watching, dumbfounded. The scene lasted a few short minutes before the first shots and shouts, this time much closer, brought an abrupt end to the incongruous sex.

"They're here! They're here!" The shout came and was repeated over and over by Raoul, pointing his finger and joined by others.

After a second of realization, Burt, Esteban, and Ethan separated in a hurry to pull up their pants and shorts.

In the middle of his climax, Bradley held Joe's head in place a moment until it subsided, his cum filling the boy's mouth, then he pulled him off his cock, not bothering to zip up before seizing his gun.

"Where did they come from?" he exclaimed, watching with dread the advancing menace already very close to breaking the line of defense.

"No idea," answered Burt, "no one in sight around here, though. Perhaps we should leave this position to go help them."

Led by Ivor Thorvald and coming from the southwest, a large number of the ferals had progressed out of sight and in silence, first by using the dip in the ground and then by rushing forward in silence. The pouring rain, the dispirited atmosphere, and the false sentiment of security felt by the defenders, far from the supposed main battleground, were all factors that helped them get only a few strides from the fence before the alarm was raised. By then, nothing could stop them from reaching it and enter the school perimeter, simultaneously another party was attacking through the woods in a more direct way from the west, and both were converging toward Bear House and the sports field.

The ferals surprised the defenders and were upon them before they could organize a coordinated response, the groups directly in the path of the oncoming wave started firing, but without conviction, they almost immediately abandoned their positions to flee in total disorder.

Arthur ran to the closest of the two M2A1 machine guns facing the fields, ordering it turned toward the oncoming wave of assailants and using it as an anchor to rally as many of the men and boys as he could. He needed to organize and establish a line of defense that could hold back or at least slow down the attackers until they received the reinforcements of the Humvees Dunn was sending over. The objective was to gain enough time for the boys defending the other sectors to retreat and take a position in the school's barricaded buildings. The ferals were now under heavy fire, but they did not stop, ignoring Arthur and the thirty or so fighters with him. They were pouring into the school grounds, some already passing the bleachers to enter the sports fields and cross them, the others moving straight ahead along Bear House and heading toward the gymnasium.

***

Sasha Bronski was in total confusion. Like all those with him, he had not seen them coming.

To forget the rain, Sasha had been quietly talking with Wallace and Ben, who had arrived, like him, with Doc, from Okatie. Their position was behind Bear House, almost where the fence made a corner and later joined with the wall that circled two-thirds of Saint Xavier, when, suddenly, shots from behind Sasha startled them, followed by shouts of alert. He turned around and saw the ferals, appearing as if from nowhere, right in front of them. They were running in silence, which made that vision even more terrifying, and then he heard more shouts and discovered more ferals attacking, this time through the woods to their right. Like everyone around him, he started firing at them, emptying his magazine at once. As he was reloading, he saw most of those with him abandoning their position, finding himself suddenly alone with Wallace to face the enemy.

"Let's move!" he shouted, as he heard the click of the new magazine getting in place, "There!" he added, pointing at the line of defense forming around Arthur perhaps four hundred feet away.

As he started to run with Wallace by his side, he slipped and almost fell, Wallace catching him by the arm just in time.

"Thanks, bud," he simply said. The rest of their group had gone in several directions, a few were ahead of them gone to join Arthur, but most were running away from the fast advancing ferals, who, at this point, had nothing and no one in their path to stop them.

That is when he heard the staccato of the machine gun and realized there were bullets whizzing past them directed at the ferals behind; he just had time to throw himself to the ground, this time willingly, pulling Wallace with him. It was too late for the boy. As Sasha turned his head toward him, he saw that half his face was gone: he was dead.

Sasha stayed pinned to the ground for what seemed a very long time but only mere minutes, in fact, not daring even to raise his head, there was still heavy fire coming from ahead, Arthur and his group trying to stop as many of the ferals as they could from entering the school grounds. He tried to swallow but did not find enough spit left in his mouth to do that and started to crawl forward and to the left with his gun held tightly, hoping to get away from the firing field and that no bullet would find him before then. At least the ferals, for the moment, were ignoring him, pushing straight forward; their only objective is to invade the school.

The two Humvees arrived at that moment, crashing through the fence to engage the ferals and try to block their progression. They were moving fast toward Bear House, mowing down the ferals before taking up position on the other side of the sports fields to block the alley that ran between the dormitory and the bleachers, the most direct route to the gymnasium and the school. As they crossed, there was a very welcome pause in the firing that Sasha used to get up and run, closing the gap left between him and the improvised new line of defense.

He was just in time as more ferals were pouring over the fence and now facing the Humvees, a good number finally deciding to take some interest in Arthur and the now over forty or so boys and men with him.

"Get in line, boy," said Burt to Sasha; he had finally decided to leave the barns and join Arthur. "I fear you're not quite out of trouble yet. Sorry for your friend. I saw him fall. What's your name? I saw you with the Doc."

"I'm Sasha. I'll need some ammo; I left it all behind."

"I can't blame you for that. There are a few crates behind us. Go get some and hurry; we sure need you and everybody else."

More people were joining them coming from the barn area with the second machine gun. They were welcomed with strained smiles. The ferals were gaining ground and getting closer no matter how many had fallen.

Arthur, still on the radio with Dunn, was giving him the best description of the situation that he could. The Marine in the administration building was blind as to what was occurring at the back of the school, which was their Achilles' heel; the camera views did not reach there.

The ferals swarmed and surrounded the Humvees. Despite the vehicles' firepower, they did not hesitate to strike them with whatever weapon they held, trying to wound those who fired at them through the slightly opened bulletproof windows. They climbed onto the roof and reached the boy manning the machine gun, distracted by the melee around him. Indeed three ferals were finally able to grab him from behind and pull him out before throwing the poor lad to the ground, where a mob immediately tore him apart limb by limb.

"Look!" exclaimed Sasha, who had watched the scene and now observed the three ferals trying to get inside the Humvee through the hatch.

It was a first victory for the ferals: the Humvee made completely ineffective with its occupants simply attempting to close the hatch to save their lives, with more of the assailants jumping on it. The driver decided to take a step back and leave the battleground until they were able to regain control of their situation.

Suddenly the balance gained with the addition of the Humvees and Arthur's men was lost. Their firepower was not sufficient anymore to repel or at least contain the ferals. Arthur knew they had to pull back and find refuge in one of the buildings. Miles had told him to stay and delay the ferals for as long as possible. That limit seemed to have been reached. The difficulty would be to do it in good order and without losing anyone, which was unlikely.

"We can't hold them back anymore, we lost one Humvee, we're moving out," he told Dunn on the radio.

"Very well, you did great Arthur; I trust your judgment, good luck," answered Miles.

***

The ferals clambered over the walls giving chase to the fast retreating boys, with Sven part of the last group to retreat, quickly closing the distance to the trucks ahead that were forming a barricade to close the large space between Puma and Eagle Houses. It evoked a western image with a wagon train attacked by the American Indians and was meant to slow down the ferals who were not far behind. There were some already in the faculty parking lot to his right, cutting a few boys' retreats. While on the run, Sven was ducking and dodging bullets coming from those that had taken up position behind the trucks.

Running beside him were Anthony and William, followed by Rolf and Melvil, carrying one of the precious Browning Machine guns. Hugh and Greyson were taking care of the heavy ammunition crates. The younger boys had left the walls first, a few minutes earlier, which was not very reassuring, as they were in charge of the cover fire right now.

"Anthony," he shouted, "there!" pointing with his finger.

The boy turned his head to the indicated direction and slowed down. He had understood the message.

"Together!" They stopped and opened fire at the ferals in the parking lot, helping the stranded boys there to find an escape route to the trucks. They were partially successful, quite a number of them making it through.

"Move on," Louise ordered as she caught up with them accompanied by Bob and Matthew, "they're right on our heels."

It was true: the ferals had taken the wall and felled the gate pouring through it in great numbers.

There were only two options to pass the barricade, under the wheels or squeezing through a small gap at each extremity. Those carrying the machine gun and ammunition did not really have a choice; crawling under the trucks was not an option. It was different for Sven and the others who, as they reached it took the place of the boys already there and started firing to give the rest of the retreating boys more time to enter Puma and Eagle Houses where they would make their last stand.

As the first wave of ferals starting overtaking the trucks, it was their turn to leave this position and go to the administration building at a run, with that heavy rain always a hindrance.

***

Miles watched the meeting room's action on the second floor, feeling the last minutes' stress but was rather satisfied to see his boys coming to him, Sven, Matthew, Anthony, Walt, and Bob. He saw Louise turn and leave them; she was in charge of Puma House. Now he would know if his idea of a bottleneck to ensnare the ferals was about to work.

The decision to defend only three buildings, the Administration building that Miles was in, along with Puma and Eagle Houses, made it much easier to distribute resources such as food and ammunition instead of having boys dispersed across the entire campus. No one knew how long the siege would last.

The disposition of the three locations was also perfect. Once the ferals had passed the truck barricade, they would be under fire from all sides. Of course, some could skip it, go right of left and attack the houses from the back. There were also those coming from the south; the Bradleys and Humvees were put in charge to deal with them with the help of the boys defending the administration building.

So far, the boys had done a great job, there had been no panic, and the ferals' losses had been substantial. He could see the boys that had left the barricade enter the two houses in good order to get in position to defend them. In the end, they might survive the day and rid themselves of the ferals. He was more confident now than at the beginning. The rain and wind were a serious nuisance making everything more difficult and outing the drones. His greatest worry was for Arthur and those defending the south, they had been surprised, and he felt responsible for it. He never thought their enemy could use the battlefield terrain in such a way. He had known of the dip in the land but had never considered it a problem and, worse, never thought of warning Arthur of it. It might have been prevented if they still had the drones, but that was no excuse for his mistake.

The number of ferals that entered the school grounds was impressive, and it seemed there would be no end to them, but everyone did their job, stayed calm, and followed their orders. Yes, they could win the day. There had been a small number of casualties, a sad reminder of this conflict's bitter cost. If the ferals had no more surprises up their sleeves, they might be able to hold them back. The big question was still the same: how many more would they have to kill before they decided to withdraw?

***

Brad and Sam Edwards, the twins, had not been lucky.

When they left the wall, a large group of ferals had already invaded the parking lot behind them cutting off their retreat. They had been stuck with five other boys trying to make their way through the aggressive attackers. They failed, outnumbered one to ten with more ferals coming from all sides. Now they had no other option but to fight and die.

"We're not going to make it," said Brad, the eldest by a few minutes.

"And all of that because you wanted to show off."

"Do you think this is the moment to start bickering?"

Brad felt guilty, first because he had taken his brother with him away from the rest of the warriors, second because he had taken risks for what appeared now as a rather futile reason. He was infatuated with a pretty Eagle boy and ready to try anything to impress him. Sam had told him that with his good looks, probably half of his house prefects had already fucked him by now, which was probably true; it was Eagle House after all. Still, he had wanted to be beside him on the wall and stayed to cover for him when the bells sounded the retreat, staying far too long.

The twins would not die right away; it appeared, the ferals were not rushing at them: it seemed they knew the boys were cornered and so moved with caution using the parked vehicles to get closer, or perhaps they were waiting for their number to grow sufficiently for a direct attack.

"Do you think someone will come to help us? Like at the Conner farm?"

"No, I don't think so."

"How much ammo you got left?"

"Not that much," said Sam.

"What about you guys?" Brad asked the other five boys.

The answers were the same: they would not be able to keep the ferals at bay much longer.

"There's more near the wall; I saw it, a crate full of it. Let's go there," said Brad.

"Cover us," both twins shouted as they jumped up and raced to fetch the crate of ammo.

At that very moment, Sven and Anthony decided to start firing at the ferals, joined by three others, and try to give the cut off boys an occasion to escape the trap they were in, not knowing the twins were racing away, back towards the wall.

Bullets zinged and ricocheted everywhere; Sven paused momentarily to yell out to the trapped boys, waving his arm as he did so. The five boys saw their opportunity and realized this was their last chance to escape. All five boys ran for their lives toward the barricade, Brad and Sam forgotten, with Sven, Anthony, and the three other boys laying down cover fire.

The ferals, enraged at seeing their prey break free, made one last attempt, throwing everything they had at the fleeing boys, before ducking back down again.

The boys reached safety behind the barricade, one slightly wounded, grazed by a ricocheted bullet with two other boys hit in the back by the thrown projectiles to no effect.

Brad and Sam reached the ammo, only to turn and see the fleeing boys and their own occasion to escape gone. They were cut off from the others and on their own, their situation now even more desperate.

With the feral's attention on the fleeing boys, they looked at each other and were twins; they knew what they had to do without using words. Crawling towards a school van parked a few feet away, they silently opened the sliding door and entered, locking it immediately behind them. A partition separated the driver's cab from the cargo deck, leaving them in the dark except for a small aperture that did not let in much light. They were holding their guns tight and did not dare to breathe. All they could do was wait and hope the ferals would forget about them now that they were out of sight. They had no way of knowing what was going on outside. They were still helpless but perhaps had a chance to survive. The sounds of the battle raging outside did reach them but were muted by the pounding rain falling on the van roof.

Without really thinking about it, they held hands, listening for any noise indicating the ferals were looking for them, or worse, had found them.

So far, they could consider they were lucky to be still alive and together.

***

Like Dunn and Max, Tools had left the armored vehicles for some rest that did not last long. Shortly after falling asleep, he was called back to defend the wall.

The order to retreat came across the radio from Dunn, and a moment later, the bells rang across campus; everyone knew what to do. Tools and the boys left the wall, headed to Eagle House.

The Teachers' House would be left undefended, and no one but Tools knew that Chandler was held captive in his apartment. Should he risk going there? The boy had been nothing but a problem these last days, even longer than that, when you thought about it. Why would he bother? He had wanted to move him to Eagle House, earlier, hide him in Carl's whorehouse, but he never found the opportunity, as he had been very busy these last hours. He could not justify an absence, as it would have raised questions for which he had no answer. Moving him now would be a complicated task too; he was sure the boy would not be willing to cooperate and would try to bring everyone's attention to his condition, yelling for help.

Tools had to decide now and could not wait any longer. He knew he could count on the support of most of the boys at Eagle House–Carl had made sure those kinds of scruples were obsolete there. Still, it would put him in an awkward position with them, and Carl was sure to ridicule and rile him for days. If he decided to rescue Chandler, he would need to get there quickly.

Following the boys who had left the barricade and arriving in front of the Eagle House entrance door, Tools suddenly bolted to go to his apartment, passing in front of the Administration building and crossing paths with more boys who had left their positions to take refuge in the buildings, intending to defend the school from there.

Shirley and Tools had spoken about his problem with Chandler while they were in the gymnasium. She had known the same kind of difficulties with Cole and had given him a small bottle of chloroform just before he left for the wall. She had been quite talkative, telling him she had used it from time to time with some of the boys staying at the infirmary to get what she wanted without any effort or their knowledge. She used it during their sleep and had her ways with them, and they showed not the slightest recollection of it the next morning. You just had to be careful with the dose you used. The bottle was in his pocket, and she had told him it would knock the boy out long enough to do whatever he wanted with him.

Unfortunately, he was not going to have time for that. It would have to wait some more, and anyway this did not apply. He wanted Chandler to be quite aware of what he did to him; that would be a large part of his pleasure. Now he had to hurry if he did not want to find himself trapped in the building with the ferals between him and his destination.

The house was locked to keep the ferals out. His heart was pounding and his hands sweaty as he fumbled with the keys, not getting one to fit three times in a row. He paused for a few seconds, he had to calm down, or he would not make it. He took a deep breath and tried a fourth time. This time the door opened without a glitch and he ran up the stairs, opened his apartment going straight to his bedroom, finding an empty bed.

The little bastard has escaped! No, wait, it cannot be. I trussed him good. The door was closed. He must have fallen on the other side of the bed.

He went around, but there was no one there.

"That's not possible," he said aloud, going through the small apartment in search of the boy.

"He couldn't have gotten away and no one's entered the place. Am I going crazy?"

He went back into the bedroom and looked under the bed.

"There you are, you little cunt. You made me lose precious time. Stupid bitch!" Those words in his mouth were totally out of place, but they came to him naturally.

He was in a fury as he pulled the poor boy viciously from under the bed. He picked up a pillow and spilled the contents of the bottle of chloroform on it while a foot was pressing painfully on the boy's belly to prevent him from moving.

"Let's see if you're gonna still be a pest after this. Hope your ass is worth all the trouble you're giving me." He then sat on the boy pushing the pillow against his face. "Here we go, and with that dose, you should not last too long."

The boy tried to resist moving his head to the side, stretching, twisting his body, moving his legs as much as he could, but the man's weight, the manacles, and the ropes were too much for him. He soon felt the effect of the chloroform; even Tools smelt its strong emanations and was bothered, certain that he had used too much of it. He was finally relieved when he felt the child's body slackening under him. He left the pillow in place for a few moments, just to be sure and was himself dizzy when he stood up. He pulled Chandler by his hair across the room as he did not feel in a good enough shape to carry him on a shoulder right away. He needed to clear his head, content to simply drag him over the floor till they got to the door. Once there, he let go of him and went to the window looking toward Eagle House. What he saw did not surprise him: the sounds of intense firing had warned him already that he was too late. The ferals were everywhere. Not yet in large numbers, but getting out of here would not be easy. More annoying, going to MEagle House was out of the question now; he could only hope to find refuge in the Administration building, which was not his assignment and occupied notably by Dunn and his boys. Going there with Chandler was impossible, but it was the only safe place he could hope to reach alive.

***

Max was in charge of the reserve, one unit of thirty boys whose role was to go where reinforcements were needed.

Miles knew that one unit was not enough, but he had no more to spare and counted on the armored vehicles to do most of that job. It was expected that Max's part would come once their defenses were breached to give the other units time to reach their assigned destination safely.

That was exactly what he was doing at the moment. They were moving at a fast pace to take positions at the center of the school around Saint Xavier's statue and more or less facing the gymnasium. That was where they had to stop the ferals that had crossed the fence and were coming their way. Two of the boys were carrying a machine gun that they set up where it could spray with gunfire the whole area in front of them between the pool building, the gymnasium, and the shop.

They arrived as the last boys fleeing from the fence or retreating from the wall close to Bear House passed through. They did not have long to wait before the first ferals came in sight.

"Hold it, wait for my signal," Max said; he wanted to have enough targets for a maximum effect against those creatures.

Despite his order, one of the boys to his far-right opened fire immediately, followed by others; it was impossible to stop the contagion.

"Shoot to kill boys, don't waste your ammo," he shouted to bring back some focus and order.

The boys listened, which was a good thing. The ferals they were facing did not react like those that had attacked earlier in an indiscriminate, unstoppable wave rolling forward. As the first shots rang out, these ferals sought cover and used every opportunity to progress in safety. There were many ways to find cover, as this area had a plethora of stone walls and stairs going up and down to follow the different paths going in different directions that led to the shop, the gymnasium, the pool, and to the left, the barns, now smoking ruins. There were also hedges and trees aplenty that had not burned during the fire. Those damned ferals were using it all to move forward, hidden, aiming to get close enough to be lethal. The rain and weather did not help.

Max's advantage was that they held the upper ground with a general view of the area ahead, that, and the machine gun that did not care about hedges and trees or wood fences with its bullets stopped only by stone.

"Concentrate your fire in the space between the pool and the gymnasium," he told Silva operating the machine gun," most of them are coming that way."

At least their primary mission to gain time for everyone else to get inside and ready to defend the chosen buildings, barricade doors and windows should be achieved thanks to that novel feral strategy, Max thought. Even if they killed fewer ferals that way, they would stop them for a time. He hoped that the Humvees and Arthur with what was left of his troops on the other side of the buildings were also doing some damage among the attackers. He could not see them but could hear the now well-known sounds of the different weapons used.

Max thought it was time to use the MK19 grenade launcher he had brought and dislodge the ferals moving toward them. Out of sight, there could be one or two hundred right in front of them and maybe more. He targeted the areas more likely to hide them as they progressed, places where they could be furtively spotted. He did not really care if he was mistaken, as the noise and explosions should be enough to give them some more precious minutes.

"Arthur is coming back and should be with you shortly. Can you still hold them back?" he heard Dunn say on the radio.

"Should work, tell him to hurry through. There's a lot of them, and they are cunning ones. They might cut his retreat shortly."

"He'll be arriving from your left, passing in front of the library. Watch for friendly fire. Once he is with you, you can all withdraw. Go in through the dining hall; we're leaving that door open."

"Nice of you."

"My pleasure."

As they were talking, shots started to ring from the second floor of the Administration Building behind him, as boys took their positions to defend it, a very welcome help.

Max did not waste time and started to choose his targets to conform to Dunn's words. He sent grenades to prevent the ferals' progress further on his left, trying to keep a corridor free of them to be used by Arthur. He also sent word to his troops to watch for the retreating boys and be careful not to confuse them with ferals.

Harvey and quite a few boys from Shirley's brigade were part of Max's reserve. A few words to Carl had secured them that assignment. She thought they would be less exposed to fighting that way.

Harvey thought it had not been very wise on her part. He had been the one that had fired the first shot. Not really out of fear, he had told those beside him, but for the thrill of it, which was not really a lie, anyway, no one who knew him would dare to contradict him.

Whatever, the ferals were getting decidedly closer and he did not like that one bit. He was turning his head toward Max every other minute in the hope of hearing the order to withdraw, but it did not come. And now, the instructions were to wait some more.

For what! For the boys responsible for letting the ferals pass through! Most of those were not even Saint Xavier boys but a ragtag bunch of refugees he did not care about. Did he dare pull back on his own with those of his brigade? He certainly had the authority for it; he was sure they would follow. Had it not been Max as the commanding officer, it would have been done on the spot, but there were some considerations to take into account with him. He was to be Saint Xavier's strong man in the near future, once Dunn was eliminated. Better not to have him be cross with you, he decided, so he bid his time.

As the machine gun's incessant staccato wore on, more ferals invaded the area leading to the sports fields and entered the gardens in front of them. They were probably a few hundred now stalking forward, not yet ready to rush the defenders. Many were falling under the bullets but not enough to make a difference.

That is when Max saw him. A fleeting image, at first, when he crossed one of the paths, but it was enough for him to recognize Ivor. His finger left the MK19 trigger that he was about to pull and that would have sent a grenade and probably killed his lover. He stayed indecisive for a few moments, hoping for one more glance at the man he still loved dearly, now lost to him but still alive. He saw him again, dodging bullets and getting closer, too close for comfort. Max did not react.

Ivor was not alone; twenty to thirty concealed ferals sprung forward at once, reaching in a few steps, the first boys facing them. They killed four boys and wounded two. More than half of the ferals had fallen before they reached their prey. Ivor watched with intensity, pacing back and forth, staying behind as a general commanding his troops.

This was the excuse Max needed to order the retreat, not waiting for Arthur. He would not be the one responsible for Ivor's death, whatever the cost, and under these conditions, no one would blame him for it.

Chapter 32

The ferals were now overrunning the school grounds and had reached the truck barricade installed between Puma and Eagle Houses. Miles was watching the screens, trying to get a general view of the situation. The strong winds had dislodged some of the cameras, and the heavy rain reduced his visibility to just inside the school perimeter, which was enough to see the action all around the inner campus.

Their destructive firepower had decimated up to one-third of the ferals and Miles thought that should have been enough to turn them back: a hope he had held on to until now. As he watched the ferals moving forward and overwhelming the school's defenses, it seemed less and less likely. His military training would have called for close-in support, but there was none to expect.

The boys defending the wall had retreated to their three designated buildings, closing the colonial-style hurricane shutters on the first-floor windows, with the door shutters rolled halfway down as a few boys, notably the so-called Dunn's Warriors, were still running toward the administration building.

The boys were progressively taking up their positions at the second-floor windows, creating a kill box between the two houses that faced each other, the administration building that formed the third side and the barricade facing it on the fourth side of the box. On that front, despite the retreat, they were still in control.

The situation at the fence on the opposite end of the school was not at all the same: the ferals had breached the perimeter with a surprise attack, forcing a retreat that was chaotic and disorganized, leaving a number of boys cut off and in serious danger, including Arthur. The two Humvees sent in support were unable to overturn the flow of the invaders. Dunn went into action.

"Greg," he called into the radio, "I want you to join with Arthur's group and escort them here; the Humvees will help you; it's our priority. If it's not possible, have them take refuge in the library and wait for an alternate rescue plan."

"I'll do that, but we're low on fuel, those Bradleys are thirsty beasts, and our ammo will soon be gone too at this rate."

"I know. You'll refuel once it's done and you'll have to save on ammo like everybody else. Arthur, did you hear what I just said?"

"Yes, I heard. I'm quite busy at the moment. We're moving back as fast as we can, but I fear it will be messy soon. They're getting closer every minute and some of us are starting to panic. Greg, please hurry up; we need you!"

"On my way."

"How many are with you?" asked Miles, who had no images to help him visualize the action there.

"About sixty, I would say."

"I'm sending the Humvees to shield you. With those numbers, the option to have them all get in the vehicles won't work."

Sven, out of breath, burst into the meeting room at that moment, followed by Matthew, and despite the ponchos that they had discarded as soon as they had entered the building, they looked drenched.

"Is everybody here?" asked Miles, who, of course, spoke of the warriors first of all.

"Almost, we're missing the Edward twins."

"Did you see what happened to them? Weren't you all together?"

"No, they went their way, you know how they are. With some luck, they chose to go in one of the houses, Puma or Eagle."

"Let's hope so, anyway; there's not much that we can do about it right now. Have everything locked up but tell the boys checking the first floor to be ready to open the main door to the dining hall for Arthur and his group if they get there or any other strays that got lost during the retreat, provided there is no risk of having the ferals make a breach."

"I'll do that." Sven left right away, Matthew on his tail.

***

Raymond Tools stood by the stairs listening; the ruckus below was louder than the one outside and left him no doubt. How stupid of him, he had not closed the entry door after him. The ferals were inside now. How many, he did not know, but it did not sound good, not good at all. There were few options left, use his gun and force his way to the administration building, which meant leaving the boy behind, or stay and barricade himself with Chand in his apartment in the hope the ferals would not find them and wait it out. Neither one was particularly satisfying.

Raymond looked at Chandler by his feet and resisted an urge to kick him with spite, as he felt contradictory emotions build-up a strong resentment for the boy. Without him, none of this would have happened, while at the same time, he was still irrevocably attached to him. Most of his thoughts of the last days, weeks, had been focused on the little tart and on how to win him over. Was it love? What else could it be? A very strange kind of love interspersed with bursts of hate. Anyway, he now realized he could not resolve himself to abandon the child.

Careful not to betray his presence to the ferals, Raymond picked up Chandler and carefully retraced his steps to his apartment, where he placed Chandler on a couch and started to pile all kinds of furniture behind the locked door, not sure it would be enough to stop the ferals. With the howling of the wind, the rattle of the rain, and the heavy gunfire outside, he thought he would never really know when they were behind his door.

Raymond had his handgun at his belt with two clips for the carbine, doubting it would be enough if they decided to pay him a visit. The best would be that the ferals stayed downstairs. He had two jugs of water that he always kept in the apartment and there was some food in the kitchen; he and the boy could stay there for a few days, and if necessary, they would just need to ration themselves a bit.

The apartment was hot, but fortunately, the outside temperature had noticeably cooled down after that thunderstorm, or whatever it was, and Raymond thought perhaps he should open a window to let the cool air in. Grabbing the lift on the lower sash of the window, he suddenly stopped … it was too risky. The ferals might see him, and leaving a window open with the raging strong winds and rain would not work. He could open it later, at night, when it had calmed down–if they were still alive.

Raymond had a clear idea of how he would pass the time until then; he went to the door one more time, trying to decipher if there were suspicious sounds that would indicate the presence of the ferals on the second floor but to no avail. He would know they were there only if they tried to force an entry. He returned to the living room, to the couch where he had left the boy.

Despite all Chandler had gone through, the traces of blood on his face, a trickle of saliva at the corner of his mouth, his vacant expression due to the chloroform, he was still beautiful.

Raymond had wanted him to be fully conscious when it happened, but this would have to do. He was about to enjoy his body in all the ways one could imagine. If he was to die here in the next hour, it might be the man's last opportunity to do so and he had no intention to let it pass.

The boy's breathing was shallow, probably the effect of the drug, and Raymond worried he had used too much of it. He would certainly not get out of this torpor before many hours, but for Tools, the most important thing was that he was still alive and that nothing could stop him from doing everything he wanted with him. He checked his pulse and raised one of the boy's eyelids, just to be sure. Could it be lethal? Or was it the fall on his head earlier? Those things could have delayed effects, as well as bleeding in the brain.

In a span of a few hours, and on two occasions, Tools almost killed the boy he said he loved, but he did not care about that now. His hand coursed over the soft skin of a cheek, a well-shaped naked thigh, enough to start a frenzy of sexual desire that nothing could stop and that demanded an immediate release. He turned the boy around on his belly and pulled down his shorts, almost ripping them off, exposing Chandler's round and firm buttocks and giving them a resounding slap with one hand, liking the sound it made while harboring a wide grin on his face. He took out his raging erection and straddled the limp body, rocking the couch, and then pushed up the boy's tee shirt to bare and grab as much of the satiny skin and tender flesh as possible.

Without further ado, he pressed his glans against the tight and virgin pucker: there would be no other lube than his leaking precum. He entered the boy in one go, pushing relentlessly forward until he could go no further, letting go a deep sigh of contentment. There was not the slightest reaction from the child who was dead to the world.

"At last," Raymond said aloud, seizing the boy's head and turning it around to bring their lips together as he started to fuck Chandler with force. "This will have to be the best fuck of my life. Nothing short of that will satisfy me."

Only two minutes later, he was having one major orgasm and his seed spilled copiously up the boy's chute. After a few more thrusts, he slumped down and caught his breath, reveling in the feelings that coursed through his whole being after this intimate contact with the boy he… loved?

"Not bad for a beginning, but we'll see what else can be done."

Raymond raised himself up and undressed: shedding away his shoes, jeans, shirt, and boxer shorts, and then, unceremoniously, did the same to the boy, taking away his sneakers and socks followed by the child's ripped shorts, underwear, and tee shirt. Some white goo was coming out of the boy's ravaged hole, but no blood. In his state of mind, Tools had lost all concerns for the boy, and it was a miracle he had not done serious damage, or perhaps it was because the boy was unconscious and the sphincter muscle fully relaxed.

Raymond threw the boy over a shoulder, picked up the belt with the handgun and the clips, took the carbine, and marched to his bedroom. He left Chandler on the bed and went to close the door, moving some of his furniture behind it to block it.

"Now let's hope we won't be bothered while I take care of you. Look at me! I'm quite ready for a second round, I would say. Seems I've tamed you in the end, and there's nothing you can do. With some luck, we've got hours to ourselves, just the two of us. We'll try everything, every position, every trick I've heard of. I'm sure you won't mind if it hurts a bit. Right now, I'm tempted for a vigorous face fuck with some deep throating. We'll see if you're better at it than Riichi; he's the best I've had so far."

It was at first a bit annoying for Raymond to have to make the conversation alone, but after some time, he was thinking that it was not so bad. No more bickering or resistance from the kid was even restful.

"Open wide, little bitch, and take it all." Raymond proceeded with no less savagery than he had at the other end: a strange kind of love, indeed.

***

Arthur and his group were now in full retreat, but perhaps not fast enough. The ferals had invaded the sports field and were progressing fast toward them. These ferals were not the usual fare: they were faster, stronger, in better shape and smarter. They were not blindly rushing at them, they were moving in zigzags, using every tree or shelter to try to avoid the bullets.

The wind and the rain made it look like a living nightmare, but it was all too real. The urge to let go of everything and flee was mounting. You could feel it, see it; people were fidgety, sending frequent glances to their right and left and even more often behind them. One or two more casualties would be enough to bring panic.

Arthur, the guy in charge, obviously knew that very well, pacing along the line continuously to give encouragement and help make sure no one lacked ammunition while dictating the tempo of the retreat.

"Keep the line," he repeated again and again, "Help is on the way; make every bullet count!"

They needed to preserve ammo and hold out for as long as possible. Weapons were set to fire a single shot; automatic was forbidden. Their machine gun still functioned, firing quick 3-round bursts, they still had quite a distance to travel and if they ended up being cut off from the school, it would be a slaughter.

Sasha was standing close to Burt, Margarita, and his boys. They were a close-knit group that seemed to care about each other and it gave Sasha some comfort. Suddenly, Sasha felt the blade of a knife pass inches from his face; the ferals were now close enough to throw all they had at them. Two boys, not far from him, had fallen wounded or perhaps even dead and more would certainly follow.

That is when Sasha saw it. Not wanting to believe his eyes, one feral came at them with a gun in hand and squeezed the trigger, a gun he probably found on the ground, left behind by one of the fleeing defenders. It was on automatic with most of the bullets missing but not all, some of them finding a target and four of the defenders falling to the ground.

Sasha, oblivious to the panic it started around him, could not detach his eyes from the feral who, out of ammo, uncomprehending, kept pulling on the trigger without any result before he finally fell himself with a string of bullets across his chest. But there was more; another feral beside the fallen one instantly picked up the gun to try to make it work, emitting strange sounds when it did not fire and another was soon seen brandishing another weapon, trying to shoot at them, sending a few bullets over their heads.

Arthur gave the command, "Fall back to the bleachers."

They had finally reached the bleachers, but the effect among the defenders was devastating, panic this time had gained the upper hand and the line was breaking with a good third of the boys and men starting to run for their lives.

"Stay in line; we haven't got a chance otherwise." Arthur's voice went hoarse, shouting orders with little result as one more boy and man fell; he saw with relief they were not seriously injured, as they were able to get up with help from their friends who lent a hand.

"We move back toward the library, now!" ordered Arthur while checking the two light casualties to be sure they could move. Everyone took fifteen paces backward as they had been doing for the last twenty minutes, reforming the line and resumed firing.

At last, the sound of the Humvees coming towards them with their machine guns mowing down the ferals lifted everyone's spirits, and as the vehicles moved past their position, they began to run over the ferals before stopping and continuing to inflict heavy losses with their machine guns.

"Fall back to the pool building," shouted Arthur, accelerating the retreat as much as possible.

Hurrying towards the pool building, they heard the loud rumble of the Bradley ahead, coming to meet them, with the staccato of its own machine gun alternating with the Humvees, but it was not firing ahead…

It was clear the ferals were now also behind them, cutting off their route to the administration building, and the pool building now looked dark and ominous. Would Arthur and his group have the firepower and stamina to get there nonetheless?

That is when the balance of power was broken again as the ferals, with their crushing numbers, rushed forward without any caution. They jumped on the Humvees, forcing the boys manning the machine guns to go back inside and close the hatch to save themselves. One boy firing through a side window had his gun seized and pulled away. Nothing could stop their onslaught, the ferals were taking the advantage and everyone had to flee.

"Pick up as much ammo as you can and follow me at a run," shouted Arthur, giving his last order before the stampede and trying to rally as many of the defenders with him as he could.

They started to run toward the Performing Arts Center, hoping to be able to make a last stand there and meeting halfway the Bradley and Greg.

Sasha, Burt, and his group, and a few others were about the only ones with Arthur, as some of them decided to take their chance away from the school. They jumped the fence to go straight ahead to the south, passing the barns, burned to the ground, and running to the forest beyond, what was left of it at least.

"Why don't we go in there?" asked Burt to Arthur between breaths as they passed the pool building.

"Not a good idea; it would be a trap. We must try to get closer to Dunn."

The fence had given way to the wall from there and with the space being narrower between it and the pool building. Greg's machine gun was able to be more effective in stopping the ferals who were giving pursuit. He fired two shells from the cannon for good measure and the ferals started pulling back.

Arthur and his little troop used this much-needed head start to go up the incline that would bring them to the Performing Arts Center, now in sight, and from there, they could hope to reach the library beside it. It would not be an easy task: ferals were everywhere, coming from their left and in front of them. They had already invaded the alleys around the statue of Saint Xavier despite the heavy fire meeting them from the administration building.

"Let's follow the wall and try to find a way inside through the back; we won't be able to use the main entrance."

Without the Bradley, they would not have had a chance to survive, but thanks to it, they were able to get up the incline. They progressed all together behind it to get some protection from the wind gusts and the multiple projectiles thrown by the ferals. They were keeping them at bay as much as possible while being careful not to stumble and fall because of the slippery ground until they were at last level with the Performing Arts Center.

Like all the other school buildings, even if it was unoccupied, it had been locked up to prevent the ferals from getting in, with all the metal shutters closed and all the doors locked. At the back and away from the ferals was an alley leading to a service entrance that Arthur had decided to use to get in. They ran the short distance, passing the Bradley and as soon as they were in front of it, he shot at the lock and pulled the heavy steel door open, hurrying inside. The Bradley had stayed back to block the passage and prevent the ferals from following.

"Let's find something to barricade the entrance," said Arthur, once inside in the near dark. They were in a large room filled with boxes and all sorts of paraphernalia with stairs at the end. "We are backstage; we'll find all we need here but let's get some light first."

Battery lamps had been placed in every building to be used in case of need since the electricity was out. One was beside the door and its light was very welcome.

"This is not the library," said Burt, as they heard the Bradley leaving along the alley on the other side of the door.

"No, but we can get access to it easily. The two sit side by side with doors from one to the other. Once there, we'll be just across from the dining hall and the rest of the troops."

"What about the others that fled to the forest? Do you think they have a chance?"

"I would not endorse it, but honestly, they might make it. Far as we can tell, all the ferals want is the school, and they don't seem very interested in anything else at the moment. I did not see any running after them, but I could be wrong."

"So we might have made the wrong choice," said Burt, half-joking.

"We'll discuss that later; we got work to do," answered Arthur, wrapping a chain they found backstage around the panic bar on the door and securing it to a nearby post. "That should hold the door closed."

"Why not stay here?" asked one of the boys with red hair and a face full of freckles.

"Wrong choice," answered Arthur, "too many openings. The library has only a few and mostly on the second floor, books don't like the sun, it's also an older building and sturdier."

They headed off to the library, following Arthur who had briefly spoken to Dunn on the radio. They could now hear banging all around, the ferals were trying to force an entry and despite those ominous sounds, they felt relieved to have made it this far.

***

Since Arthur had spoken of it with Miles on the radio, and all those listening had heard it–they knew the ferals could use guns. It had happened. The one thing everyone feared.

"No need to worry more than necessary." Miles wanted to put the event in perspective, as serious as it might be. "From what I heard Arthur say, it was an isolated incident not seen anywhere else; the feral was able to empty a magazine but didn't know how to aim or reload. He just picked the gun up from the ground and imitated what he had seen us doing. We are still in control and following our plan."

"Still they are learning," said Carl, who was in charge at Eagle House, "and it doesn't bode well for the future."

"For once I agree with you, Carl," said Louise from Puma House, "but our main preoccupation, for now, is to repel the ferals and kill as many of them as we can. We'll think about the future once it's done."

"Of course, you are quite right Louise," replied Carl, "and I think we did quite a good job of it. We killed quite a bunch; between Dunn and us, they had nowhere to hide. Your ploy worked very well, Major."

"No, but they're not completely stupid," said Miles. "They have surrounded our houses and are now attacking from the back. They also learned to degrade the Bradleys and Humvees effectiveness by jumping on them and storming the turrets, rendering our top-mounted machine guns useless as the boys retreated to the inside of the vehicle."

"We can still manage them from the second-floor windows," said Carl, confident. "Too bad we didn't find the time to create firing ports for the shutters."

Miles was less optimistic, "I fear they'll force a way in at some point; those shutters are made for hurricanes, not ferals. I had to send the Humvees and Greg's Bradley to help Arthur. They'll need to refuel too, so it'll be some time before they can clear those areas as we had planned at first and then there's the problem of the ammo. We need to conserve it; we spent a lot already." Miles paused and, addressing Carl, insisted, "Make sure to have enough boys downstairs to be able to face a break-in even if it seems to be a waste of a resource."

"You've been right all along, Miles, do not worry, I'll follow your orders scrupulously." Carl wanted to be reassuring and in this case, he had every intention to be true to his words. Still, he could not resist a cutting remark. "Too bad we lost a few boys out there; perhaps we should have kept them all inside rather than sending the troops to meet the ferals and expose them. We've been slaughtering scores of them safely from inside Eagle House and there's nothing they can do, in fact, they are mostly hiding now."

"Yes, and that's one of the problems I wanted to avoid. We're inside and they're outside. We're trapped; they can't get in; we can't get out. What I wanted, confronted with their losses, was for them to go away and leave the school. If it doesn't happen in the next day or so we will have to drive them out, which will be a difficult and dangerous, probably impossible task."

"There's that and I fear we're not done with some more surprises from them," added Louise, "What is the situation behind the administration building?"

"The ferals are controlling the area up to the statue. We're keeping them at a distance, but they're ready to use any mistake we might make," said Miles.

"Can't we use the armored vehicles to finish the job," asked Fisher.

"That's still the plan, but it's not working as well as we expected. We're somewhat at a standoff now. Fortunately, we have ammunition and food to last us a long time if we know how to manage it," replied Miles.

"What about Arthur, holed up in the Library?" asked Louise.

"It's bothering me, but we'll find a solution. We'll certainly be able to supply their needs using the Bradleys and I'll try to bring them here as soon as possible."

With all the windows open, the wind howled through the building, rattling everything inside, making the gunfire bursts sound more like soft pops than loud bangs.

Louise shouted over the radio, "That damn weather doesn't help and it's still worsening; the wind is becoming a real problem."

"There's nothing we can do about that. By the way, could you ask if anyone has seen the Edward twins? They did not get here."

"I'll see to that right away," answered Louise.

"I'll do it," interjected Carl, "Tools is missing too; he should have been here with me. He doesn't answer his radio, and no one has seen him or knows his whereabouts."

"Bad news, there's few of us adults around. Let's hope he found a refuge somewhere like many of the missing kids. I'll ask around. Same for you, Louise.

"Certainly."

"I'll leave you to see how the boys are doing; you should do the same. Tell them again to save their ammo; we're in for a siege and don't know how long it will last. Every bullet must find its target. We stay in contact."

Miles wanted to see with his eyes how it was going because many of the cameras had moved out of position by the strong winds creating a number of blind spots. It was also a good occasion to stretch his legs and see some action for himself before the night came.

***

The RV swerved on the road pushed by the gusts of wind as the rain, pouring down on the windshield, was too much for the straining wipers. They had driven all through the night, stopping only for a few hours to rest when the sergeant judged they were out of immediate danger.

"We need to stop somewhere and get out of harm's way; this weather is becoming a problem," said O'Malley.

"Are we far enough?" Despite the chaos outside, Cole was feeling safe for the first time in weeks. He had learned to fear other human beings, not yet the weather.

"Far enough from where? The school, you mean? The ferals? The fire? Yes, I think so. Anyway, no one will come looking for us in this weather. Look there, a house. Let's try it."

As they got closer and took the alley that led to it, they saw the garage door was open with no car inside.

"Might be our lucky day, Cole. What do you think?"

"It's alright if you say so."

"At least we won't get drenched getting out." O'Malley parked the cab of the RV in the garage, leaving the rest of it hanging out in the weather. "Stay inside; I need to check the house, be sure it's safe," he said as he opened the door.

Cole, with a scared and pleading voice, asked, "Can I come with you?"

"If you want, but you stay behind me and don't take any chances." The sergeant had felt the distress in the boy's voice and attitude; the poor kid had been seriously mistreated. Cole was clinging to him, someone he was learning to trust and he did not want to be left alone.

The door leading to the house was not locked, he opened it with caution, the rays of his flashlight illuminating the kitchen, his gun ready by his side. He inhaled but did not smell the stench of death; now he had to make sure no feral was there. With the wind and rain ruckus outside, it was impossible to rely on any sound in the house. He thought he should have given a weapon to the boy but it was a habit he still had not acquired in this hard new world. For him, guns and children did not mix well. Fortunately, the place looked deserted and in good order.

They went through every room. In these times, it was better not to leave anything to chance before settling in the living room on a comfortable couch.

"Are you hungry?" he asked Cole, considering that boys at that age were always starving. His questions could wait, they could use some sleep first.

"Well, yes," answered the boy, "I have some food I left in my bag."

"I'm sure we'll find something in the kitchen; otherwise I have all we need in the RV. It will be a cold lunch, though."

"I don't mind."

"Very well, let's go see what we can find; I suppose you'll come with me?"

"Yes, I don't want to be left alone."

"That's fine with me, I can understand that, and I'm not against some company myself. I've been quite lonely for a long time."

They found canned vegetables and ended their frugal meal with a fruit salad.

"So, will you tell me your story, Cole? What happened to you at that school?" he said, deciding he wanted to hear it now.

"My mother left me and my father died," answered Cole after a moment of silence, surprised himself by that short sentence that was rather off-topic but full of sense and pain for him, certainly not what O'Malley had been expecting or asking for.

"I'm sorry to hear that; when did it happen?" The man had understood that those events had deeply hurt the boy, perhaps even more than those he had fled the school for.

"My mother, over a year ago, and my father a few weeks, from the flu … I'm sorry, that's not what you were asking about."

"It doesn't matter. I want to hear everything you have to say. If it matters to you, it matters to me."

Cole showed a tentative smile, certainly a beautiful smile, thought O'Malley, who saw it for the first time.

"My mother abandoned me, haven't heard from her in months, long before the flu and its consequences, and before he died, my father more or less sold me to Fisher; I've not been very lucky lately."

"You can say that. Sold you? Who is Fisher?"

"He's the new headmaster; he's the one who likes boys. My father was in debt for drugs, and I think I was the payment."

"What happened next?"

"I refused and the flu came, well, it was already there, Daniels died and Fisher became Headmaster, then my father died and it all changed. Fisher raped me; then kept me captive; then he gave me to the nurse, Shirley; she was even worse."

"Wait a minute, you're going too fast there. Who's Shirley again?"

"The School Nurse, she tricked me. She was in cahoots with Fisher from the beginning."

"From the beginning?"

"Yes, she was recruiting for Fisher, fetched him, boys. I fear even my father did that for him and Greg, Greg Sutton and others certainly. She kind of seduced me; I was a fool." The boy's cheeks reddened as he looked down and stopped talking. Ashamed? Embarrassed? Overcome by emotion? Cole's hands started to fidget as he squirmed on the kitchen chair.

"That's a whole conspiracy you're telling me of," commented O'Malley.

Cole looked up, the smile gone, his eyes starting to water, "You don't believe me?"

"Of course I believe you; it's just that it's a difficult pill to swallow, so many people working for that man, in confidence, in our times." He put his hand on the boy's shoulder with, he hoped, just the right show of affection. He didn't want his gesture to be misinterpreted, "I've seen so many terrible things in my job, I know everything's possible. Men are capable of the most dastardly and cruel deeds."

"Thank you."

"Wasn't there someone to help you, a friend? A teacher? How did you escape?"

"It was too late and there was the flu. Everyone had their own fate to think of, I suppose. Also, Fisher is a cunning bastard; he did not give me the slightest chance to call for help and soon after, I wasn't quite myself for a long time."

"What do you mean?"

"Shirley, the nurse, she drugged me, gave me to her boys. They wanted me to be obedient and not able to fight back; there was nothing I could do; I was in a kind of stupor all the time. They were able to do whatever they wanted with me. Then one day she stopped giving me those pills, but I knew she was getting ready for something I would not like. I had to escape. Look at my fingers, I was able to unscrew the bed frame and free myself. I left the school just after the fire, when they were resting; the school was almost deserted with few guards."

"Quite a story you're telling me." O'Malley certainly had a lot of questions for the boy. What he said so far did not make complete sense to him, but he did not doubt the boy's sincerity. He told it as he had lived it. "I heard from people I met on the road of an older woman, a professor from the same school, a good person they told me. Do you know who it could be if she's still alive?"

"That must be Miss Simons. She's strict; I saw her before I left; she was with Mister Dunn. I don't know how he did it but Fisher seems to have them in his pocket now. They were all talking on the stairs going to the administration building, smiling."

"It wasn't so before?"

"They didn't appear to like Mr. Fisher much. Mister Dunn likes boys too, though, so, perhaps they found a middle ground."

"Damn, that's another epidemic. It seems boylovers are everywhere now!"

"At Saint Xavier for sure. You're … uhm … You're not one of them?"

"No, seems I did not catch that, so far. Don't you worry."

"What shall we do now?" asked Cole, letting out a sigh of relief.

"That's the big question. Honestly, I planned to go to that school of yours to help solve the problem with the ferals. It seems out of the question now. I'm sure I'll find another horde elsewhere I can take care of. I propose we sleep on it and see what comes up after that, I might have a few more questions but they're irrelevant for now. Let's go find our beds."

"Could … could I … stay with you?"

"Kind of expected that. If the bed is large enough, certainly. I think we saw twin beds in one of the rooms, even better, don't you think?"

O'Malley was helpless. What he really still wanted was to go to Saint Xavier and help them fight the ferals. Cole had told him his story but it was probably exaggerated by his painful experience, he could not take it at face value. At the same time, he could not abandon the boy who would refuse to go back there. Was the boy worth turning his back on a school with hundreds of people? Would his presence make a real difference? He expected a troubled sleep.

***

Raymond had done it every way he could think of, front and back, from the side, upside down, the boy sitting on his lap–what a wonderful body. He savored each delicious part extensively and systematically from one end to the other. That gorgeous ass, those firm ankles, those generous thighs, the pretty mouth, and lustrous hair, the rosy nipples, the fragile neck, the flat stomach and its innie belly button, the pert nose, the clear brow, the soft and blemish-free skin.

Chandler was like a doll in his arms, under his hands, without will or feeling. His games had been rough and aggressive as if he was punishing the boy for his attitude and contempt, but now he was desperate to get some kind of response from him. The child had been unconscious for a long time and a strong desire of acknowledgment was emerging, mixed with some anxiety. The needs of the flesh could be considered satisfied, but not those of the mind. Raymond wanted them both; he wanted to conquer the boy fully.

Raymond slapped Chandler's charming face a few times, but the boy was still dead to the world. Worried, after this ruthless attitude, he checked his pulse and started to cajole the child, kissing and caressing him in the hope of bringing him back to consciousness. For a good hour, he had forgotten everything else, the ferals, the weather, his probable and imminent death. Now it all came back to him. That was the moment the window blew in from the force of the wind and shattered, sending shards of glass all over them. He just had the time and wit to lift the bedsheets over him and the boy to protect them from the rain and cutting debris.

They could not stay there anymore.

Raymond put on his shoes and wrapped himself in the sheet to go to the window and try to close the hurricane shutters. Raising the bottom sash of the double-hung window and being careful not to cut himself on the broken glass, he reached out into the wind-driven rain, unclipped the shutter, and then struggled against the force of the wind to pull one side shut, and then the other side.

Now he needed to take away all the furniture he had piled against the door. He hesitated for a moment but seeing the room with glass everywhere set to work. Once done, he grabbed his gun and put his ear to the wood panel to no avail. There was no way he could hear a presence on the other side with the howling wind and the battering rain above. He realized only then that the sound of firearms had become sporadic.

What did it mean? Had the ferals won and taken the school or on the contrary, had they been repelled and left? While fighting with the shutters he had seen nothing that could help him answer that question, too absorbed by his task.

Raymond opened the door to find the apartment as he had left it. There were no ferals ready to jump at his throat. He went to the living room window, it was dark and sinister outside, and he saw no one. Most of the windows of the administration building had their shutters closed. Who had spoken of a hurricane earlier? He did not recall but what was going on outside sure looked like at least a bad tropical storm with the trees bending from the force of the wind. Perhaps the weather had won the fight for them and sent the ferals away.

Just as he felt relieved and thought of what to do next there was a loud bump followed by a crash just outside the entrance door. His hopes were immediately crushed; he had been wrong. The ferals were still there, inside the building, and they had probably invaded all those left vacant, like this one. They were trapped and this time, the ferals were indeed on the other side of his door, probably trying to get in.

Why didn't I think of it earlier! They'll never get to us there.

Raymond could hear more banging coming from the entrance. Could the ferals know they were here? He had to hurry. He went down the hallway leading to the kitchen and with a quick jump, grabbed and pulled on the short cord, and the narrow ladder came down as the access to the attic appeared. He ran to pick up some food and two jugs of water and went up the ladder, pushing it all in as soon as he was within reach and then immediately going back down to fetch the boy. He had a passing glance at the door and stopped, it was busted open, and now only the furniture piled in front of it could slow down the ferals from entering. He took two steps backward in a panic; he had to think of himself first; there was no time to save the boy.

***

Arthur, as soon as they had secured the doors leading to the Performing Arts Center, asked for an inventory of the weapons and ammunition. There were thirty-three fighters with him, which was not much out of the one hundred or so that had been under his command at the fence. He hoped most of the others had been able to find refuge somewhere in the school as they scattered in every direction. He would have to face the consequences of this disaster, but it would come later. For now he had to do his best to salvage what he could.

Only two of the boys were weaponless, having lost their guns during the retreat, one slightly wounded, having received a projectile to the shoulder, he had some difficulty using his arm. The other had slipped and tumbled and let go of his carbine, then hurrying to catch up with the group, not bothering to retrieve it.

They probably had enough bullets to resist one or two assaults but nothing more. Their best option was to find a way to join up with the rest of the troops.

"There are three doors leading to the Performing Arts Center and the main library door that we need to defend and then eight windows through which the ferals might enter."

"Why not go up to the second floor? Look, there is only one stair leading there, much easier to defend, said a black man with a bandana."

"Yes, but if we go up and the ferals get in here, we'll be trapped. I plan to join up with Mister Dunn through the dining hall. There are no more than three hundred feet to get there from the library's main door. That's feasible if we can coordinate our efforts and get help from them."

"Why not have those tanks transport us there? That would be safer. How many people can get in one? We could be done in two trips, three at most," said Sasha.

"Seems like an excellent idea, young man. The vehicles are refueling at the moment, but I'll suggest that with Dunn; we could be out of here long before the ferals have a chance to get in."

As he finished speaking, the first banging on one of the doors startled them all.

"Seems they're here already," said the same black man. "We could shoot at them through the door to calm them down?"

"Those doors are sturdy enough to hold them back for some time; I fear that shooting through them would weaken their structure without being that effective. We'll do that as a last resort. Let's put some more heavy furniture behind them first. Get to it and watch all the accesses to the library while I talk to Dunn."

***

Roy Neary watched the disaster, not believing his eyes. They had escaped the fire, but they would not escape the wind and water. They had been taken by surprise, as no one expected a hurricane or whatever you wanted to call it. One by one, all the military tents had been shredded and swept away by the winds, leaving their contents to the raging rain. If that was not enough, a small canal close to the encampment had overflowed and sent a powerful wave breaking through the alleys, taking away many of the crates and equipment piled there. It was probable that most of their treasure trove would be lost or rendered useless even if they could recover some of it.

Not all was lost, and it could have been much worse. They just had enough time to put the trucks and vehicles out of harm's way before the wave hit. Thanks to the fire menace, they had loaded their vehicles with some of their loot, ready to leave, but Neary was pessimistic; it could not compare with what they had before under those tents. His pretties were quiet, playing cards, as silently as possible. They knew he was in a very bad mood, which usually did not bode well for them. Even young Devon was wary.

This unexpected disaster put in jeopardy his changes of policy and he knew that such events were not good for him personally. People liked to find scapegoats when things did not go well; he was sure to be among the first on the list. He needed to find a diversion, a way to avoid any reproach. Put the blame on someone else, but it would have to wait until the weather calmed down, it was far from over, and the shaking of his trailer made him think they could still meet with some bad surprises. He knew he should try to take his mind away from these problems, as there was nothing he could do about them now. Unfortunately, he was not in the mood for much, not even sex. Still, in such a situation, what else was there to do? He could always try.

"What game are you playing? Who's winning?" he asked casually.

"It's Turkish; it's rather fun. It's Devon who taught us," answered Jules, "I'm winning at the moment, but with this game, you never know; that's what makes it good." The boy knew he had strong competition with Devon and lately often tried to put himself forward even if it could have double-edged effects. Being one of Roy's pretties had inconveniences but also many advantages. Liz, as the only girl, did not feel as concerned.

"May I play with you?" asked Roy with a knowing smile. It was perfunctory; they would never dare say no.

"Of course," replied Jules, the talkative one, abandoning immediately his winning hand to please his master.

"What are the rules?"

"The goal is to get rid of all your…"

"Devon?" said Roy, cutting off the annoying Jules and addressing his silent favorite directly as he sat beside him, one hand on the boy's naked thigh.

"They are rather simple, as Jules was saying."

"Tell me while Jules takes care of me. Seems his mouth can't stay shut; it's just as well if I find it a useful occupation." Roy's hand had caught the boy by the neck and brought his head to his crotch. "Get to work, chatterbox."

The rules were simple and Devon was done before Jules had finished his task.

"Deal the cards, Devon. Jules, you'd better be done before we start the game, or else…"

The incentive was enough to bring the poor boy to double his efforts, stimulating the man's testicles, as well as letting the pulsing organ go down his throat. Just as the last cards were leaving Devon's hands, he felt with relief the first jet of sperm hit. He coughed a little but was careful not to let any leave his mouth.

"Good boy, Jules, seems you still got some usefulness in the end. Let's start playing."

The game indeed was quite pleasant and Roy was soon caught in it, forgetting everything else, despite the howling wind that shook the trailer and the rain battling its roof. He was often winning and suspected the kids let him win on purpose. His anger at the recent events had not left him altogether and he knew it was due to erupt at one time or another.

"We haven't said what the fate of the loser would be, any idea?"

Roy's pretties stayed silent; he had taken them by surprise and could imagine their brains overheating, trying to find an acceptable answer.

"The winner will decide," answered Devon, who had found an easy way out. His brother, Sean, deemed too small to play, was beside him, only dressed in a tee-shirt; all the others were naked.

"For sure, strip poker is out of the question. Good answer, Devon; you're the smart one. Looking at the scores, it seems clear I'll be the winner, but we don't know yet who's gonna be the loser. Your turn to deal the cards, Liz."

After that, the game became more interesting, the stakes had been given and no one wanted to be the loser; no one knew what Roy would decide. After a few more rounds, it appeared Devon was distanced somewhat by the other two, who were starting to feel less tense. They knew something nasty was coming.

"Sean, come over here," ordered Roy, who wanted to amuse himself with Devon's reaction to the situation.

"What for?" asked the boy, holding back his little brother.

"That's none of your business and you should rather not annoy me in your position. Now! Sean."

The little boy with a lump in his throat left his brother's side to go to the man. "Sit on my lap; you'll keep me company.

"You promised…" The words had escaped Devon's mouth, almost unintelligible.

Jules and Liz's eyes were on Roy, waiting to see how he would react.

He slapped the boy with the back of his hand.

"I do as I please, you got a cute ass and face, but there are hundreds like you out there. Don't ever talk to me like that again. And now, let's resume our game."

Devon, wiping his bleeding nose, picked up his cards without a word, keeping his head down, as Roy's hand left his thigh to rest on Sean's.

Liz and Jules could not hide a smile.

***

As soon as Miles exited the meeting room, he felt the rushing wind that had invaded the corridor and saw Max walking toward him.

"Dunn, I was coming to see you. I've ordered most windows and hurricane shutters closed, two windows have blown out because of the wind, wounding our boys, one had some deep cuts, and I sent him to the infirmary. Anyway, the ferals are hiding or gone; we can only see the dead bodies they left behind."

"You did right. I'll tell Carl and Louise to do the same. We must avoid any further injuries or damages. This is not a typical thunderstorm; it might be a category one hurricane or at least a tropical storm."

"But we'll be blind and won't see what's going on out there?" replied Max, worry in his voice.

"I'll try to have the cameras on the roof fixed and order the Bradleys and Humvees to patrol the school, try to see what the ferals are doing. They are refueling at the moment and should be operational again shortly."

"Good idea, with the night coming, we would not see much anyway. Do you think we've won? That they're gone?"

"I very much doubt it. They're not stupid; with this weather and the losses they've had, they had to pull back. Perhaps they'll wait for the night or until the winds die down. They also might put us under siege, which would be very bad for us. I had hoped that confronted with our firepower, they would let go and leave."

"Still pessimistic then?"

"If they've holed up in the empty buildings, which is what I would have done in their place, I see no reason to be optimistic. We don't have the means to get them out or go on the offensive. A good bunch of our ammo has been spent already."

"You did the right thing. We had to try to impress them at first. There's no regret to be had."

"Thank you; I know that. Have most of our boys patrol the first floor, the ferals might try something during the night and also organize shifts. Everybody needs to get some rest; we've all known quite a few difficult days and nights lately."

"I'll do that."

As he left, Miles called Carl and Louise again on the radio, telling them more or less what had just been decided with Max.

"Did you find any news about the Edward twins?"

"Unfortunately, I did," answered Louise.

"It's bad then?"

"It is. Seems they were part of a small group that was cut off from us in the staff parking lot during the assault. They went back to the wall to get ammo while the other boys with them were able to make it back behind the barricade and escape the ferals, leaving them behind. They have not been seen since."

"I see. I'll tell Greg to go there with the Bradley, try to find them if it's safe. At least their bodies, just to be sure. Sad news."

"What are our losses?" asked Carl.

"Difficult to say; we certainly lost a few; there was too much confusion at the fence. We'll do the final count when it's over. We can assess how many boys are missing from the roll call from each building; that will give us an idea. Some of those boys may have found a temporary refuge here and there or gone to the wrong place. Let's hope so."

"What should we do now?"

"Try to get some sleep when you can, like everybody else. I fear we're far from done with the ferals. Tell the boys to save on ammunition, as I said and repeated, from now on, every bullet must find its target. This situation could last several days and there will be other threats we'll have to face after this one. I'll leave you now."

Miles switched the channel on the radio.

"Greg, how is the refueling going?"

"Not bad, considering the weather. The ferals are leaving us alone. In fact we haven't seen one of them since we came here."

The tanker, taken at the mall, had been positioned some distance from the school. Close to the outer sports fields, an open space unlikely to see any fighting and hoped to be safe for refueling. A van with ammunition was there too. All the armored vehicles were protecting each other and waiting for their turn at the pump.

"I'll have a job for you as soon as you're done."

"No problem, I'm listening."

"You know the Edward twins?"

"Yes, of course, who doesn't?"

"They've gone MIA after the assault and were last seen at the faculty parking. I want you to go there and see if you can find them."

"But … they're probably dead."

"Yes, I just want to be sure. There may be other boys stranded all over the campus; I want you to keep your eyes open for them. No risk-taking though, don't try anything foolish; we can't lose you or the Bradley."

"Don't worry; we'll be careful."

"I trust you." Greg wasn't the most likable person, for sure, but he was smart and had filled his duties perfectly. "Then, with the two Bradleys, you'll go to the library. As you know, Arthur is there with some of the fence boys. I want you to bring them to the dining hall."

"There's too many of them to fit in the vehicles, there's eight of us in here already."

"You can make several trips or simply escort them. The ferals are holed up somewhere; we haven't seen any of them for some time now; seems they don't like this weather any more than we do."

"It should be easy then."

"Don't be too sure of that. They're still around and could try something."

"We're almost done here. Perhaps we should go get Arthur first? It's too late for the twins, I fear."

"You may be right, but I want to be sure of that and I want to see if there is any reaction from the ferals before you go to the library. If they let you cross the school and stay idle, it will be a good indication that we can go ahead with the rescue mission."

"You're the boss; I should be on my way there in about ten minutes."

"Tell me when you get to the parking lot and of any enemy activity on the way."

"Roger."

As the conversation ended, a strange and relative calm had fallen around Miles. You could still hear the wind and rain outside, but it was not felt and heard raging inside; it was muted, the windows and shutters had been closed, the gunfire had stopped.

At the other end of the corridor, he could see a small group of boys, among them Sven and Matthew, coming up the stairs. A sudden strong desire for them rose in his loins and he decided at that moment that he would use this time of quiet to do what he should have done long ago–by morning, Matthew would no longer be a virgin.

For once, he felt no qualms about it. That was how his new life, if he survived and defeated the ferals, would be from now on. If he wanted a boy and the boy was willing, he would take him. He was a boylover and he had learned that some boys did not mind succumbing to his desires; some of them, even, were the ones seeking such relationships; there was nothing wrong with that. Finally, he thought he could be free of all the brainwashing he had been subjected to all these years.

As soon as they were done fixing the cameras on the roof and he had supervised the evacuation of Arthur from the library, he would take some time for himself and Matthew before catching some much-needed sleep.

"Sven, Matthew, come over," he called to them.

They ran to him, smiling.

"The ferals have gone; we killed so many," exclaimed Sven, his voice clear and victorious.

Matthew, gun on his shoulder, had embraced the marine burying his face in his chest and clinging to him.

"Yes, it looks fine for now but let's not lower our guard yet." Miles said no more; he didn't want to disturb them with his pessimistic view on the situation.

"What shall we do?" asked Sven.

"There are still a few things I have to take care of before I can get some rest. Then with the weather and the night falling, we should have a few hours of respite. Max is taking care of organizing the shifts. Here comes Walt; I have a job for him."

More boys were entering the long corridor; now that the shutters were in place, towering above them all was Walt with Bob following close behind, they soon joined them.

"We need to secure and redirect the cameras on the roof, perhaps replace or add a few. I want you to take care of that, Walt."

"Certainly, I can do that."

"And we can help," added Sven.

"No, you'll come with me. We need bigger boys for that job; I don't want you to be swept off the roof by a gust of wind. They'll have to wear helmets and bulletproof vests to protect them from flying debris, each of them will be attached with a strong rope held by two others before they go out. I want it to be as secure as possible.

"Understood, sir. I know strong guys that will be perfect for that task among the seniors."

"Very well, check with Brett first, he's in the meeting room. He'll give you all you need; they brought it all from the shop. One of the tech boys will go with you just in case. I want it done before nightfall."

"Very well, right away, sir."

Bob stayed back, standing beside Matthew and Sven.

"Boys, come with me to the dining hall; I got a job for you too."

***

The refueling operations were at an end to everyone's relief. The ferals had left them alone, which was a good thing. They had had enough problems with the pouring rain and the violent gusts of wind that, a few times, had toppled the boys that were outside handling the gasoline hose.

Greg was protecting himself as best as possible in the turret, ready to use the machine gun and going back inside from time to time when it became too much. He loathed his next task of going to look for the Edward twins. He had a practical mind; they were dead, for sure, visibility was bad and there was no way he could find their bodies in the multitude of corpses lying on the ground everywhere. Still, he would do it, perfunctorily and to please Dunn.

Against all odds, Greg liked the man more and more. He was the opposite of Carl, full of old-fashioned principles and juggling with outdated moral issues, but he was reliable and would not let you down, which was invaluable in these times, and, after a frank reciprocal hostility, it appeared they had gained a certain esteem for each other.

Greg's Bradley was the last in line, and as soon as the gas cap was in place and everyone was inside, he gave the order to move. Each vehicle went to position itself at their designated and strategic location while he took the direction of the faculty parking.

Passing in front of the administration building, the mass of dead bodies lying on the ground impressed him. Surprisingly some had gotten as far as the stairways leading to the main entrance, the tank tracks crushing them as they drove on. The trap set by Dunn had worked beyond all expectations. The ferals had been mowed down as soon as they stepped beyond the truck barricade by the crossfire of the three surrounding buildings. He could see some of the wounded still moving and hear them groaning and moaning. He did not judge it necessary to waste any of their precious bullets to finish the job and end their suffering.

They reached the parking lot without any incident; the ferals stayed invisible besides their dead and wounded. Where had they gone? he wondered, with the secret hope that maybe they had won and were left with the monumental task of getting rid of all those bodies.

The light was getting sparse, and the day was coming to a close. Or was it the weather and the dark clouds obscuring the sky? He had difficulty judging how much time had passed since the fighting had started.

"Dunn, I'm here. What should we do? Do you want us to search on foot? There's been no movement, no sign of any feral activity since we left the tanker."

The answer was implied in the question.

"No, first I want you to test the water, make noise. There are many vehicles left in that parking lot; perhaps they are hiding in one. They have always been resourceful boys. Let's see if they respond, or alternately if some ferals are there too and show themselves."

Greg shouted at the driver, "Travis, do you know how to honk with that thing?"

"Let me have a look."

As Travis was searching for the horn, Greg continued, addressing the six boys behind the side ports, "Guys, I want you to call the names of the twins as loud as you can, when I tell you, and listen for any answer. Be ready to fire if the ferals show up.

"I think I got it," announced Travis.

"Very well, let's try it a few times. Boys start hollering as soon as the horn stops, we must be heard above the storm."

Brad and Sam Edwards had now been stuck for hours inside the van, which was rocked from time to time by the gusts of wind. They had no knowledge of what was going on outside.

When the sounds of firing had ceased, they wondered if they should risk getting out or simply to partially open the van's sliding door. They had not dared to, so far, hoping someone would come to fetch them, and dreading the ferals had won and they were left alone.

"What do you see?" Sam was asking.

"Nothing more than before," answered Brad.

The little light they had was coming from a small aperture between the driver's cab and the back of the vehicle where the two boys had taken refuge. They were whispering, not wanting to be heard by the ferals who they supposed were still all around. It was difficult to know if the ferals or the raging winds outside were bumping on the bodywork.

Brad was trying to discern something beyond the cabin's windshield, obscured by the pouring rain. He had been straining his eyes for some time, hoping to get a clue of the situation outside the van, but whatever his efforts, all he could see, vaguely, was the back of the Honda Civic parked in front of the van and nothing else of notice.

"I need to pee," stammered Sam with some urgency.

"You should have done that before the battle started."

"I did."

"Can't you hold it?"

"I have been … for a long time now."

"Then pee in here."

"In here?"

"Where else? In times of war, you have to make do with what you have, as they say."

"We could open the door, just a little?"

"You would risk that just for the smell?"

"We don't know how long we'll have to stay here."

"Well, I say we should try to make our escape as soon as it's dark out there. That's our best chance."

"Even if we could make it to one of the houses, in the dark, I'd say it's the best way to get caught or shot."

"We would die as heroes," joked Brad.

"Very funny, we would die without anyone noticing."

"Probably."

"So, do we try opening the door, just a little bit?"

"True, you haven't got a big one down there."

"Same as yours if you didn't know."

"And if the ferals are out there?"

"We close it fast. They can't get in here … can they?"

"I don't think so, but they'll know we're here, and they'll try."

"With this weather, they won't see or hear anything. We got to do something."

"You do, but I don't! Okay, let's try it, it stinks in here already; some fresh air will do us good. Perhaps we'll be able to see something, get to know what's going on, why they've stopped firing."

"Maybe we've won?" suggested Sam, doubt in his voice; he had seen the multitude rushing at them outside. How could you stop that?

"Or lost. Get ready, take it out and while you're at it, have as much of a look around as you can. I'll slide the door open just an inch or two. Ready?"

"Ready."

"Go!" Sam pulled the sliding door slightly open, "Come on, what are you waiting for?" he added, not hearing the expected trickle of urine.

"Can't, I've been holding it too long."

"I'd rather say it's fear."

They were still whispering, Brad trying to get some relief, one eye glued to the gap and observing the surroundings without much success. Many vehicles were blocking his view.

Finally, after a few seconds that felt like minutes, he started to pee, the spurt of urine getting stronger. At the same time, he heard a new and strange sound coming closer. When the Bradley honked, he jumped back in fright, spraying the door.

"Watch out!" shouted Brad, as surprised, not believing their luck as he now could hear voices calling their names despite the ruckus of the wind and rain. "They're here; they came for us!" he exclaimed loud and clear before opening the door and answering as loud as possible, joined by his brother, weapon in hand and all precautions forgotten.

They could not see the Bradley, which was on the other side of the van. Still, after a moment of hesitation, they left the vehicle, going around it, and saw the dark mass of the tank waiting perhaps thirty feet away. They started to run, shouting their names again and again like a mantra, smiles on their faces.

Greg in the turret could not believe his eyes as he saw the two boys slaloming around the vehicles and getting closer.

"Watch out guys! Cover for them!" Greg ordered, ready to open fire if he spotted any menace.

They were almost there.

"Open the back door," he added when suddenly he saw one of the twins fall and disappear without a sound and the other stop and fire. There was nothing he could do; the incident had occurred behind one of the hybrid cars, hidden from him, he had no idea what was going on, or rather he knew it was something bad but could do nothing from his position.

"Pablo, Paul, go get them. Hurry!" he ordered, taking a calculated risk. There were no ferals in sight but the one, he did not doubt, that had attacked the boys.

Sam's foot had been gripped, he could not catch his fall, he toppled, and then the pain came. Brad was right behind him and reacted immediately, aiming his gun at the hand that had caught his brother's ankle and made him go down. He shot at it and did not miss.

As if Brad had given a signal, ferals started to crawl out from under the cars parked all around. They had been there all along, sheltering from the rain and wind under the vehicles. Brad saw two silhouettes running at him and almost opened fire before realizing they were coming to their aid. Then, while shooting at the slithering ferals, he bent down to help his brother get back up.

At once, he knew something was wrong. Lying on the ground, Sam was not reacting. He turned him on his back; that's when he saw the blood and the knife that protruded from his chest. He shot one more burst under the nearby car in retaliation as Pablo and Paul reached them.

"He's been hurt, give me a hand, be careful, he's been hurt," he repeated at a loss for words.

The two boys coming to their rescue had by now started firing at the ferals appearing in numbers. Each one grabbed one of Sam's arms and dragged him back unceremoniously, as they retraced their steps in a hurry. The machine gun was now firing too; its well-known staccato rising above the wind's howling. For Brad, it was a nightmare come true as he followed his twin's body, not caring about anything else and barely taking into account when they entered the Bradley.

"Travis, get us out of here," Greg ordered from the turret before asking, "Is he still alive?"

"Can't find a pulse, but I'm no specialist," answered Pablo, indifferent.

"I think he's breathing," said Paul, more concerned.

Brad, in shock, knelt beside him, trying to remember a prayer; he had never been very good at that.

"Please do something," he cried.

"Travis, take us to the infirmary." Greg had left the turret and closed the hatch, "They're not chasing us; they went back in hiding."

"Should we take out the knife?" asked one of the boys.

"Certainly not," replied Greg, "you haven't seen enough movies? It can worsen the loss of blood. We leave it in place until we get there." He had his hand on Sam's neck, "There's a pulse, I'm quite sure of it."

***

No, no way," exclaimed Raymond rushing toward the bedroom.

Reaching the bed, in one movement, he picked the boy up in his arms and turned around, hurrying to get to the attic ladder. He did not dare throw an eye at the entry door to know if the ferals were through yet. What difference did it make? The satiny skin, the feel of Chandler's smooth flesh in his arms was enchanting and worth his sacrifice. He was careful going up, as he did not want to fall with his precious cargo. At any moment, he expected to see his legs grabbed or to feel steel in one form or another piercing his skin, but he concentrated only on his task one rung at a time.

"Almost there," he said as he reached the opening to the small attic. Like he had done before with the water and food, the gun and the lamp, he raised the boy and pushed him in first before hauling himself inside. "All clear," he said as he raised the ladder.

Only when he closed the hatch did he sense a presence under him without really seeing anyone. That was it; they were safe for the moment, although with no way out.

Raymond breathed in deeply; one of his hands was on the boy's firm rump, still sticky with semen. He felt relieved, whatever, he would lose himself in the enjoyment of the child, he was far from tired of taking advantage of the beautiful boy, and if it lasted days, he did not care.

There was an oval fanlight situated just under the roof that let the waning light of day pass. It was certainly too small as a way of escape but it would save on the battery lamp he had brought.

Now was the time to get organized and tidy the small space they had, make it as comfortable as possible before losing himself again in his passion for the boy. It did not take him much time to put aside whatever food, and water he had brought, push away a few boxes stored there probably eons ago and discover, with a smile, an old mattress set against the wall, that would be perfect for the planned activities of the coming hours and perhaps days. Once in place, he settled on it with Chandler.

Before doing anything else he put his ear to the floor close to the hatch, listening. There were definitely sounds coming from the apartment below but less than he would have expected. The ferals were there, for sure. Still, they had no means to get access to the attic, or did they? Had they seen him get up there? It was possible. Would they know to pull down on the short cord? How to reach it? Did they have the brains for it?

Raymond was seized by a sudden anguish that the presence of Chandler and the promise it held could not dispel. He took his gun, verified the clip was full and stood guard for a few minutes, listening, trying to decipher the sounds below. It was impossible with the rain above and the wind all around. Finally, he was able to calm down and decided he was safe, for now. He put aside the weapon leaving it just within reach and pulled the mattress forward, next to the hatch with the kid still on it. The light was dimming, playing with shadows, making the boy's shapes even more enticing; his erection was back and demanding. He was ready to enact some more epic lovemaking if you could call it that.

"Here I come, pretty one, ready or not. So sad you're not with me to better enjoy these moments. I must say, if those are our last hours or days, you've made it worthwhile. What shall I start with? Your mouth certainly, haven't brought any lube; spit is all we got."

Chandler, being unconscious, had its advantages. There was no need for preliminaries or caution. You could be rough; get it on with him any way you wanted. He took hold of the child's head firmly and entered his mouth at once, closing his eyes in appreciation of the hot and wet cavity. At first, using little jabs before going down his throat, something he had not dared do with any of his previous partners–whether willing or not, with the exception of the skillful Riichi–but with Chandler, all barriers had been broken down, the unresponsive boy being the perfect subject for experimenting without fear of any recrimination. In Raymond's mind, the poor thing was not even sure to come out of his stupor after the head trauma and the effect of the heavy dose of chloroform. Tools had to make the best of it before it was too late.

If only the boy had accepted the man's love, things would have been different. They probably would be at Eagle House with Carl defending Saint Xavier side by side. Why had Chandler rejected him in such a way? Was it his fault or the boy's? It didn't matter anymore, things were the way they had to be; you could not change the past. You had to live with the consequences and enjoy the moment, which he was doing as he plunged his cock down the child's throat. That's when he felt the boy's teeth clamp on his engorged member with force.

"To, hell!" he exclaimed, passing from pleasure to pain, pulling out fast and checking for any damage. The trace of teeth was there with just a little scratch, no blood. He had one hand raised, ready to strike in anger but finally let it fall and turned his attention back to the stirring boy. He was coming around, definitely. The effect of the drug was finally waning. Tools, his brain in turmoil, was convinced he had never wanted to hurt the boy. He had been the one ridiculed and fooled, his horrid actions justified by the wish for some retribution.

A strange relief was all he felt at the moment, relief and expectation.

Having Chandler fully conscious during the sexual acts would certainly be a first and very satisfying step in the right direction, and as before, he would be spared nothing, with or without his consent. What came after that depended on how much time they had and what would be the outcome with the ferals.

"Chandler, wake up, child. Come on, open your eyes," he whispered in the boy's ear before giving him a light kiss on the lips.

"It hurts," answered Chandler feebly, his eyes still closed.

"What hurts, your head?" Raymond could feel the bump where the hair was matted by dried blood.

"No, here, inside," he answered, his hand getting close to his already well-used and stretched anus. He blinked a few times before opening his eyes wide in fright. "Raymond!"

"Yes, my love, it's me. Don't be afraid. I fear I've been a bit rough with you, but it was so pleasurable, you can't imagine. If you let me, I'll do my best to make the next hours as agreeable for you as they are for me."

"What did you do?" said Chandler, looking all around. "Where are we?"

"This is our little love nest. No need to look for a way out; there is none. We're stuck in here, just the two of us. Isn't that wonderful?"

Chandler tried to raise himself up but fell down again, dizzy.

"What?"

"Sorry, the dose of chloroform was a bit too much; you've been unconscious for hours. I was worried."

"You're joking? After all you've done to me. I hate you!" the boy hissed.

"How charming, love, hate, that's the same. It shows you care about me and I'm certain after the next few hours when we've done all the things you refused me earlier, you'll realize that attitude was stupid.

"I'll do nothing of the sort."

"But you will. You have no choice. Anyway, as you can feel, I've already taken the lead and used you in many ways. This will only be an upgrade for me, a major one, I must say, by having you conscious and well aware of it, to see how you react."

Chandler's eyes lingered on the gun almost within his reach.

"I won't let you," he said, trying to clear his head.

"You played that game already and you lost. I'm almost twice your weight. You'll do as I say or I'll force you, hurt you. I don't want to do that, but if you don't give me a choice…"

"Yes, that's what I thought; you don't love me; you just want to fuck me."

"That, too, yes, it's not a nice way to put it, but you're right; it's part of the whole thing. I have strong feelings for you. I almost gave up on you twice, it would have been very easy to leave you behind to the ferals, but I came back for you. It is complicated, I don't understand it fully myself. Since this all began, I've been fighting with feelings–urges–that laid dormant all my life. I'm sorry if I've frightened you. Why don't you give me a chance? Let's make peace for a time, see how it works? The ferals are down there; they may find a way up. Perhaps they've won? I don't know, I was stupid and left the radio behind, came up here naked with some food, water, and the gun you were looking at."

"Where are we exactly," asked Chandler, who had paled and understood he had not only Tools to fear.

"The Teachers House, we're in the attic above my apartment, we were lucky to find a refuge here; they've invaded the place. Fighting seems to have stopped and there's some kind of storm raging outside." Raymond's hand was caressing the child's naked thigh. "Let's make love; there's nothing else to do."

Raymond was ambivalent and determined; he did not really know if he preferred the boy to comply or to fight back. What was certain was that he would get satisfaction one way or the other.

"You're crazy! Have sex while we're in danger."

"That's the beauty of it." Tools could not wait; he wanted the boy and now! "Let's stop talking; I'm fed up with it. This is the moment of truth; you'll be mine, whether you like it or not."

Chandler tried to raise himself up, to pull away, only to feel nauseous. He could not think straight, and anyway, he was no match for the much heavier and stronger man.

Tools easily overpowered him.

"See, there's nothing you can do; better accept it."

Chandler did not reply; he knew he had lost and would have to endure whatever Raymond had in mind for him. Still, he would seize any occasion to escape this situation. The gun was still there, out of reach for now. Would he have the guts to use it? He gathered his thoughts, trying to find the right words.

"I've lost, now you're free to do whatever you want with me. Perhaps it is the moment to show me that you really love me? Please let me go, leave me alone. You could redeem yourself," suggested Chandler.

"Sorry, but I can't do that. Where would you go anyway?" Tools took the boy's hand to bring it to his erection, throbbing with desire. "See how much I want you, get on your side; it will be better for you. I'll try to be gentle, I stretched you already quite a bit earlier, but I don't have any lube, so there still could be some pain at first."

Raymond was too eager to listen to the boy or wait anymore. He forced the boy to his side with his right arm holding him firmly and placed his hard rod, slick with spit, poised at the coveted entrance.

"Just relax and let me do it nice and easy. You might like it, who knows?" He knew the boy had not fully recovered yet, now was the time to take the upper hand in their strange relationship, perhaps score some points and take the advantage. Break the boy's will once and for all.

Raymond pressed his sensitive glans steadily forward. The already stretched muscle opened up without too much resistance as the boy hissed between his teeth. He popped in, pausing to let the quivering boy get used to it.

"I'm in; you see, it wasn't that much of a deal," Raymond said, savoring his victory, kissing the child's soft cheek, letting his teeth play with his earlobe, licking at it. "Calm down and try to enjoy it."

Raymond's left hand had taken hold of Chandler's unresponsive cocklet, rubbing and stimulating it. At last, he was about to fully conquer the boy, who, however reluctant he was, was not stupid and was definitely in no shape to fight back. The man felt the boy's tensed muscles and was tempted to pull away; he was also quivering in anticipation, an interesting combination. Chandler was not fighting back, but he was showing his opposition, perhaps even his disgust? How would his body respond? Which side would win in the end? Would he submit to the pleasures of sex or would he use any opportunity to grab the gun and use it, or both? This was an exciting and quite novel situation. Raymond had known the submissive club boys and the raped Alcomb farm boy and thought this would be a middle ground that could perfectly fit his state of mind and his desires.

Raymond held the silent boy in place as he forged ahead, stopping when his loins were in contact with the child's firm buns.

"It hurts," whispered Chandler.

"It will pass, you have to get used to it, and with some luck, the next part will be more pleasurable."

As Raymond got ready for the real fuck, he accelerated the stimulation of the flaccid cocklet and then started pulling out and pushing in the child's tight canal, repeatedly, slowly at first but soon faster and faster, adopting a good rhythm. "Oh, yes, here it goes!" he exclaimed with enthusiasm, appreciating the boy's grunts and moans.

"Stop … please … stop. It burns…" sobbed Chandler.

"Certainly not, you're a moaner, I love that, let me hear you some more," Raymond said as he redoubled his efforts. Taken up by his coming climax, he pushed the boy on his belly and pounded his ass relentlessly. He knew it would take him some time before reaching a peak, as he had already spent a lot of sperm in the unconscious child's yielding holes.

Chandler hated it, the pain, of course, as well as the new sensations that coursed through his body. Each time the man's rod rubbed that special spot, he was rocked by a mounting pleasure. He wanted to fight it back; it was wrong; it could not be. In fact, he preferred the pain, this he could accept. He was helpless; he could not resist it. At least the man's hand had left his dick; perhaps he would be saved the shame of letting him know of his vibrant erection. He tried to stifle his moans; he did not want Raymond to know of his arousal.

Chandler's hopes were dashed; he would not be spared even that.

"God, you're so good; I think I could keep at it all night. Let's try something else; I want to see your face, kiss you deep as I drum your delectable behind." Raymond took out his gorged member and swiftly turned the boy around and on his back and as he raised the child's legs bringing the boy's knees level with his head, he saw Chandler's raised willy and had a wicked smile.

"What a lovely sight, my love, seems that my unfaltering attention is bearing some fruits. Let's see if you're a true bottom boy and if we can go to completion."

Chandler's cheeks reddened as Raymond entered him again effortlessly and resumed his relentless fucking; his mouth was all over the boy's face, kissing, licking, his tongue invading the child's sweet mouth, his teeth nibbling his lips, his nose. He was defeated and had abandoned the fight as he felt his head ringing and a raging orgasm take hold of him.

Raymond felt the child shudder under him and a small warm jet of liquid on his belly. He saw the unmistakable signs of passing bliss on the boy's face. He had won somehow. His hand cupped the few droplets of clear liquid and smeared them on the boy's lips redoubling his kissing and his pounding as he himself felt his juices rising.

"Here it comes," he said, bringing his member as far inside the boy as was possible and spraying the satiny canal with his seed. "Ahhh, god! It can't be better," he added, his arms letting go, his full weight reposing on the boy as he enjoyed the moment.

"You're crushing me," soon complained Chandler.

Raymond increased the pressure instead of easing it.

"You're all mine now, I can do whatever I want. You're a bottom boy, a natural; before long, you'll ask for more." He was grinding his whole body on the child as if he wanted to meld them together.

"I can't breathe."

"Always exaggerating, very well let's shift positions, what I wouldn't do for you," he added with irony, kissing the tip of his nose. "That will be perfect; I want you to ride me next, as soon as I'm back in shape. Let's have you do all the work for once. We'll cuddle first." Raymond raised the boy above him and laid him on top, with the child's buttocks on his already stirring cock. His hands were everywhere on the smooth boy, kneading him, caressing him, but also holding him firmly against his own body.

"Now tell me, didn't you like it? Don't lie," asked a beaming Raymond.

"It wasn't me, only my body. Don't think it can change anything about my feelings for you."

"So you say. You want more. I know it, my sissy boy. See, you're leaking cum and now we got our lube." He spread it on his restored erection and was ready for another round, letting his hands linger on the boy's warm cheeks, pulling them apart to test the puffy ring of flesh he coveted. "We'll see if we can get you hooked on it. Get in the saddle; I'm hard enough."

To Raymond's surprise, Chandler complied, raising his butt to receive his engorged rod and then engulf it by lowering himself with only a small grimace.

"Cozy, isn't it? Come on; get to work. You're truly a natural, can't be better, I'm a lucky guy."

Chandler, still in a confused state, hated and loved it at the same time, discovering sensations that he had only a vague idea of. When Raymond had sucked him, it felt great, but this was ten times better. How could it be when it was associated with pain and duress? What about the shame, the loathing of a man he had admired?

Chandler definitely wasn't quite himself yet and felt the effect of the drug. He was in a haze, wondering if all of this was a dream, a nightmare, as he steadily moved up and down the tube of flesh in his insides. He felt his own pleasure rising and his erect cocklet vibrating. Was it hell or paradise?

Night had fallen a long time before all their juices were spent, and they went to sleep exhausted, fulfilled for Raymond, confused for Chandler. The man had placed the gun under the mattress before spooning the boy; there was no way the child could get to it without awakening him. You were never too careful.

The ferals, for the moment, were simply forgotten.

***

The Doc was running down the corridor with Nancy holding a stretcher. The Bradley was parked in front of the building, with its rear door facing the steps leading to the main entrance. Dunn was waiting for them and he took the stretcher from the girl's hands.

"Give it to me; the wind is quite strong out there, better that you stay inside if you're ready, Doc?"

"I am."

"Let's go then; there's no time to lose. Open the door," he ordered.

They felt the rush of wind immediately, the boys holding the swinging door having difficulty fighting it. They were down the set of steps, careful not to slip, and in the Bradley in seconds. Greg was in the turret, finger on the trigger and more boys were covering for them, but there was only death all around them. The ferals' bodies littered the ground everywhere you could look in the diminishing light; the sun was setting, giving the scene a sinister aspect.

"Give us some room, boys," said Doc, kneeling beside Sam. At first glance, he knew this was serious and checked for a pulse. It was there but weak.

"Do we move him?" asked Miles, who had come closer with the stretcher.

"Yes," answered Doc hoping it would not change the outcome. He had seen the anxious face of the boy's twin and added. "I'll do my best," squeezing his shoulder to try to bring him some comfort.

"Please, save him," the boy pleaded, tears in his eyes.

They lifted the wounded boy carefully and took him out of the Bradley. He was tied to the stretcher to avoid being swept off by the wind and they entered the building without incident; taking the direction of the infirmary, Brad was following, head down, with tears running down his cheeks. Some of Dunn's warriors and others gave him encouraging words on the way and pats on the back; they were all part of the same family now.

Miles could not wait and gave back his end of the stretcher to Mary. He had already ordered Greg to take the direction of the library where the second Bradley would join him. He had seen many casualties during his time with the Marines, and he had a bad feeling concerning this one, he did not want to lose more boys if he could avoid it.

Miles found Matthew and Sven beside the door of the dining hall.

"How's Sam? Is it serious?" they asked.

He had no intention to lie and told them what he thought.

"It is. He's lucky we've got the Doc who will do his best to save him. Let's bring Arthur and the others to safety now before something bad happens again."

Chapter 33

Arthur was on the radio with Dunn; he was now confident they would make it. The doors leading to the library seemed secure enough. They had brought shelves and desks to block them, and they were sturdy ones. The ferals were banging on them with everything they had to try to get in. They would eventually get through but too late. The best news was that the windows could be considered safe; there was no one out there thanks to the weather, even their enemy did not want to face it and it was expected no one would try to stop them on the way to the dining hall.

"We've managed to seal the doors to the library and further block them with furniture. The ferals are trying to break in. Get to us as quickly as you can," he finished with Dunn. "Rescue will be here in a few minutes," he then announced to try to cheer his troops.

"Look," said Sasha, "they've made a hole in that door." The boy was pointing at it, one panel had been pierced, and you could see the blade of an axe coming through. It was not an immediate threat, but it was a worrying first breach.

Burt did not hesitate, quickly springing as close to the door as possible; he fired several shots in different directions through the now gaping hole.

"That should keep them quiet for a bit," he said with satisfaction.

"Good initiative, Burt. We will not have to watch those doors much longer; they're coming for us any moment now," repeated Arthur, as much to reassure himself as the others.

"They took their time," said the grumpy black dude.

"How do they plan to do it?" asked Burt.

"They're sending the Bradleys to escort us. Since the ferals are avoiding the grounds, it should be relatively safe. As soon as the vehicles are here, we open the door and run to the dining hall."

"If they don't do it soon, it'll be dark," said the black guy, still not satisfied.

"There's enough light left. We just need to watch for any feral that could have stayed hidden on the way. They should be easy to deal with. What's your name again?"

"If you say so, and I'm Deakins, by the way."

Arthur exchanged an exasperated glance with Burt.

"Well, Mister Deakins, would you please go to the second floor and tell us when you see them coming or anything else of interest."

"I'll do that."

"Thank you," said Arthur, relieved. It was of no real use, but at least he would be out of sight and stop the man's querulousness.

After a short pause, the banging on the door resumed. Burt had stayed close to it and shot another burst of bullets through the hole. He would do this again from time to time, as it helped pass the time while waiting to leave the library. Remarkably, he was still alive and had not lost any members of his pack. They were still all there with him, Ethan, Esteban, Raoul, Margarita, Bradley… Despite their lack of experience with guns or fighting on such a scale, they had stood their ground with him. Not one of them had chickened out or tried to flee; he was quite proud of them, and of himself too. In fact more surprised by his own stamina than that of the kids. He had never seen himself as particularly courageous and wanted to think he had done it for the children, even if he knew that saving his own skin had been an important factor. Anyway, it certainly helped that the kids looked up to him, giving him respect and authority, which could not be a bad thing.

"How do we get out of here?" he asked Arthur.

"We'll form a column two by two, you'll be at the vanguard, and I'll watch the rear. We'll walk fast and shoot at everything that tries to stop us. The Bradleys, with their machine guns, will be there to take out any clusters of ferals they see. It should take us less than five minutes to get to our destination."

"Sounds fine to me," said Burt, as Arthur's radio beeped and Deakins shouted from upstairs.

"They're coming."

Arthur listened to the radio before speaking up.

"Everybody, we're getting out of here. Check your weapons and ammo. Those ferals can be tricky, so be on your guard; they can hide behind trees or fake death. Try not to slip or be toppled by the wind, help those that fall. Burt, you lead the way with Mister Deakins. I'll open the door for you.

Burt could hear the reassuring sound of the Bradleys engines and of machine guns making short work of the ferals still in sight. He took a big gulp of air and moved forward at a fast pace as soon as Arthur pulled on the door. Nightfall was approaching fast. The driving rain and ferocious winds struck you as soon as you set foot outside, making the whole operation dangerous.

"Watch your step," shouted Burt to his kids, following close behind. He resisted the urge to send a glance behind to make sure they were fine, as his job was to clear the way and make it as safe as possible. Keeping his head up was difficult, and visibility was poor anyway; their clothes were immediately drenched again, weighing them down. The dining hall was not that far, but under these conditions, it appeared almost out of reach. The two Bradleys, one on each side of their small column, progressed steadily at the same pace and gave them some protection against the wind. Their headlights were encouraging.

Keep calm; we'll make it, he kept repeating in his head.

Deakins opened fire as three ferals suddenly appeared out of nowhere to their right. More shots erupted from the column, Burt swung his head left and right, seeing out of the corner of his eye two more showing up on his side, but before he could open fire, Ethan and Sasha, right behind him, mowed them down.

They were now halfway and Burt could see the door to the dining hall open with armed boys taking position around it. A few more shots erupted. The ferals were still a threat, even if their numbers had dwindled. Boys slipped on the muddy ground, and some were blown over by sudden wind gusts, but progress was steady thanks to their friends' helping hand. The ferals threw some projectiles at them, but they caused no real harm. Five long minutes later, Arthur was the last of the group to enter the building, closely followed by the boys covering for them along with Dunn himself, who closed the door.

"Glad to be back here," said Arthur, shaken by what he had seen. Dead ferals' bodies were everywhere; how many had been killed? Even if they won in the end, Saint Xavier would never be the same. All he wanted now was to bring back to mind the images of beautiful Nancy, and her smile.

"You did a good job," said Miles. "Everyone should try to find dry clothes and get some rest."

"I'm sorry, it's been a disaster. I lost about half of the people at the back fence; many fled during the battle there."

"I don't see things that way. You did your best, Arthur. They surprised us and were smarter than we thought. Hopefully, some of the missing will have found refuge in other parts of the School. A handful already made it back here. You did your job holding the line and retreating when you had to. You're not responsible if some of them panicked. We knew they were not as well prepared as our boys. Maybe I should have done it differently and not put them all in one place, but what's done is done. Try to get something to eat and catch a few hours of sleep; we all need it. That's the best thing to do for now. I think nothing will happen until that hurricane, or whatever it is, ends."

***

Ivor Thorvald was in the gymnasium with two thousand ferals; they were everywhere, occupying most of the buildings that had been left empty, sheltering from the storm.

Victory had eluded them and they had lost a large part of the hive. They were angry but still hopeful that soon they would be able to renew their assault and win. Hunger had also set in, as they had not eaten since leaving the mall.

The leaders who had taken the upper hand in the last few days assembled around Thorvald, and in their strange and limited language, they were discussing their options.

Nothing was decided. Some wanted to leave the School, to eventually come back with more of their kind; most wanted to push their advantage. They still had the numbers and were within reach of their goal. Implements had been gathered to help them break open the storm blinds and doors that stopped them, along with those murderous weapons left on the ground which had killed so many of them, but they did not know how to use them.

They had captured three boys whose chances of survival were grim. Ivor wanted them for himself, with no one else really interested. He planned on enjoying them and probably discarding them soon after. One wounded and bleeding would not last long.

As the excitement of battle ebbed, strange images and thoughts started coming back to him. He needed to focus and try to make sense of them. Grabbing one of the boys, he left the other leaders and headed for a secluded corner. The boy did not resist or try to escape as he undressed him. His soft skin, slim form, and gentle curves were a delight, and he indulged in them fully before brutally raping him with long hard strokes, ignoring his pitiful cries of pain. Rape helped him concentrate; his brain worked much better after he was satiated, enabling him to come up with new ideas to help them win.

Should he kill the boy? He hesitated; soon, he would have as many as he wanted. The boy was whimpering, a strange, incomprehensible sound for the feral he was. He played with him some more… his desire rekindled: he fucked him again, indulging in his own pleasure, kneading the boy's supple flesh, and finishing in his mouth. Eventually, he decided to keep him for the time being, and they went back to join the other leaders.

The wounded boy he left behind was already dead. He did not care; with two left, he had enough for what he planned. Picking up the one he had raped, he stood him in front of the captured weapons. The boy looked at him, not daring to make a move; mixed blood and semen were running down one leg. The scene had caught the interest of the ferals around them as he pushed him forward and gave him a small blow to the head, pointing at the guns piled on the ground.

The boy was incredulous. What did they want? For him to use them? No, it could not be. Perhaps they wanted him to show them how they worked, how they were loaded, fired? That he could do.

Carefully and with measured moves, he picked one up. Ferals watched closely; he knew one wrong move would be fatal. There would be no second chance. Was it loaded? He took out the magazine, no bullets there. So, he showed it all around, putting the gun back on the pile and took a second one. Lucky! This one was loaded. He played his role, breathing evenly, keeping calm, showing it around like the previous one. The feral that had raped him was attentively watching his every move. He replaced the magazine, set the gun on automatic, had a last look around, and pulled the trigger. His main target had seen it coming and dodged the bullets, but ferals still fell; it brought a smile to the boy before he was pierced in several places by knives and other white-bladed weapons, dying almost instantly.

Ivor picked up the gun; having carefully watched the boy, he had memorized the sequence of moves he had seen him perform.

Taking out the magazine, he picked up the gun the boy had examined first and did the same. Noticing the difference, he replaced the magazine and pulled the trigger. Nothing.

Ferals were observing him as he experimented and now checked every gun to see if it was still loaded or not. They would now have guns for the next attack. Reloading still seemed beyond their capabilities, but it was the first step. Glancing at the remaining terrified boy, cowering in the corner, he decided to keep him a little longer: he might have his uses.

***

Dunn's warriors were assembled in front of the infirmary. Brad was among them, head down, tears in his eyes–Sam had died. Doc had tried everything he could, but it had not been enough. No one spoke. No one knew what to say. Nancy gently put her arm on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, come with me; I'll take you to see your brother, to say your goodbyes."

It was the first death among their group and gave them a different perspective on their future. Death at that age was a difficult concept even after the many close encounters they had had with it over the last few weeks. It also brought home the fate of their lost families.

Brad followed Nancy inside the infirmary and she closed the door behind him.

Miles looked around at the gathering; the mood was somber and quiet as all eyes were on him. "Boys, we will mourn Sam when we are done with the ferals and we'll try not to lose anyone else. For now, the best way to honor his memory is to get a few hours of sleep and be in the best shape possible when the fighting resumes."

Johnny looked up and was the first to speak, "Don't you think they're gone? There's no one left outside except the wounded ones."

"I would love to tell you you're right, Johnny, but I fear it is not so. They pulled back because of the weather and like us, have found refuge in the buildings we left unoccupied. I think they'll show up again as soon as the storm has gone."

"So the fight is far from over?" said Sven.

"Yes, but we killed many and there's no easy way for them to get to us; we will continue to kill them for as long as necessary and we will win in the end. That's a sure thing."

"What if they don't attack and just stay here?" asked Anthony.

"That's unlikely. We can withstand a siege of many days, even weeks, whereas they have nothing to eat. It's logical they'll attack until they get tired of it."

"What do they eat?" asked Patrick Muller with his Germanic accent.

"Most likely the same as we do," answered Miles.

"Could they eat their own dead or ours, yuck!" suggested Chad Conner with a disgusted expression.

"No, I don't think so." Miles wanted to cut short that discussion and not let their imagination run wild on those matters. "And now I want everyone that is not on duty to find a place to lay down and sleep. No one knows when that storm will end, so every minute of rest will count. Go!"

By twos and threes, they went to the classrooms, now transformed into dormitories, talking in hushed voices. As could be predicted, Sven, Brett, Matthew, and Anthony, with Mikey in tow, had stayed back looking at Miles expectantly.

"I promised Matthew some alone time with me if you don't mind, boys," said Miles with a little embarrassment. "We'll go our way. Anyway, my recommendation for everyone to get some rest holds for all of us. We all need to sleep for a few hours."

Anthony and Sven exchanged a glance and a smile. Brett was too tired to react in any way. He had been with Miles the previous night chasing the ferals and had barely had two or three hours of sleep in the last twenty-four hours.

"No problem for me," said Anthony, taking Mikey's hand. "All I want is a bed for now."

They were all in agreement and went the same way as the others.

With his arm around Matthew, Miles knew where he intended to go: the headmaster's apartment near his office on the third floor would welcome them, with a real bed and the privacy they both desired.

Miles was not quite sure what would happen next. He did not really believe in his words when he said they would win in the end; it could not be that simple. He knew what he had planned and wanted to do with Matthew, but due to the circumstances, it certainly was not what he should do. He was exhausted and had so many worries filling his head. He, more than anyone else, needed whatever sleep he could get. No one really knew what the next hours would bring. Would they have another occasion to share their love the way they had both agreed upon? He wanted Matthew's initiation to unfold in the best way possible. He did not want it to become a rushed affair with his mind focused on other important matters. He did not see how this could be achieved in such circumstances.

Taking the boy's hand, they climbed the large stairs leading to the second and then third floor. On the top floor, the doors leading to the east wing had been closed and barricaded. The breach in the roof could not be sealed with the tarpaulin; it had been ripped away in the storm that even now was causing yet more damage. Water was seeping in under the doors, which were shaking violently with each gust. No one could stay inside that part of the building and two boys were stationed there to report on any further damage. What shape it was going to be once the storm was over was another question. Now that the fire had passed, it was structural damage that worried Miles.

Not much had changed in Daniel's office. Fisher had stayed away from it. Miles felt the presence of the old man all around. Opening the door to the small apartment that adjoined the office, he wondered if the memory of Daniels that surrounded them everywhere would be one more obstacle to overcome. Perhaps, despite the comfort it offered, it was not the best place for the deflowering of a young boy.

Crossing the living room, they entered the bedroom. It was decorated with care: photos and a few paintings adorned the walls. Everything was tidy and the bed was made.

"So, this is where you'll do it to me," said Matthew, holding the man's hand tightly.

"I'm not the one that's going to do anything to you. I want us to do it together. If you want to pull back, I won't mind–it's your decision," replied Miles, looking at the boy and waiting for an answer, trying to decipher the child's thoughts.

"No, it's alright. I think I'm ready for it."

Not waiting, he let go of Miles' hand and started pulling off his tee-shirt. Shamelessly, he undressed and his beautiful body was soon naked.

Miles took him in his arms, letting his hands course over his satiny skin.

"I love you, Matthew; this is not only about sex, you know?"

"I know. Shall we do it now?"

"Certainly, how can I resist you and delay it any longer." He had decided they could ditch the shower usually required. All his previous safeguarding thoughts were now forgotten.

It was Miles's turn to undress and it did not take long. He opened the bed and Matthew jumped on it, his pricklet showing a welcome tumescence. Miles, for his part, sported a solid erection.

"Will you do me in the butt?" asked Matthew, "I was told that's what you preferred."

"I would love to, but not just now. It can be painful and requires preparation and time that we do not have. I don't want to hurt you. We'll wait a little bit more for that. Do not worry; there are many other things we can do to enjoy ourselves."

"I think I am quite ready for you. Anthony and Bob have been very good teachers. Anthony showed me how to prepare for it; he told me all there is to know and a few tricks."

"What? What did he do?" Miles was taken aback. It appeared the supposedly innocent little boy was not so innocent after all. He thought Anthony had been rebuffed.

"He borrowed a few of Mister Fisher's sex toys. I've trained with them for quite some time." Matthew seized Miles' member, gauging its girth. "I think I can manage you."

"You used dildos?" This time, Miles was stunned; he would never have imagined that possible.

"Yes, if that's the name for it. Do we have any lube? We still need lube."

Miles was speechless for a moment. The boy's cheeks had not reddened; his voice was steady as if he was talking of his last game.

"Sorry, I didn't think of it. I never imagined it would be needed just now. Let me tell you, I regret it. It seems to me you're as ready as can be and I can abandon any scruples I had. But let's start with a kiss for now, and we'll see where we go from there."

Matthew was disappointed to see his prize postponed. He had worked hard to stretch his hole. Anthony had insisted it was part of the deal if he wanted to please the man he… loved.

"Can't we find any here? I should have brought it myself," he said stubbornly, not wanting to let go.

"Don't you worry, Matthew, it's not that important," said Miles.

The boy would not be deterred. Matthew had already left the bed and was going to the bathroom.

"It is for me. Let me have a look; you never know."

"It's unlikely you'll find such a thing here." Miles got up, following the boy, his gaze fixed on the child's alluring pert globes, his weariness again forgotten.

When Miles entered the bathroom, the boy was already rummaging through the cupboard under the sink. "You see, there's nothing there. Come back to bed; we can have the best of fun without it. We'll leave it for the next time. I promise."

As Miles said those words, he opened the small cabinet above with a mirror and his eyes fell immediately on the tube of Vaseline there. It might not be KY but would serve as well.

"You were right; there's nothing in here," said Matthew, raising his head, disappointed.

With a broad smile, Miles showed him his find.

"Look what I have here. This will do very nicely; now we can go back to bed and make love."

Matthew jumped up, embracing him enthusiastically, wrapping his arms and legs around Miles as the man caught and carried him back to the bed. He was holding the child with his hands cupping his sweet buns, his glans, just at the right height, rubbing against the boy's crack and nudging his tight pucker, itching to be possessed. They french kissed all the way with passion.

To hell with the ferals and my responsibilities, thought Miles, I'll spend as much time as needed to achieve this goal. This will be a moment to remember for both of us.

Miles delicately deposited the child on the fresh sheets, extricating himself from the slender arms and legs.

Matthew, without shame, offered himself by catching his feet with his hands and bringing them level with his shoulders; his cocklet was now fully erect, three to four inches of it, his rosebud exposed and blinking at the man.

"Not so fast, little love," said Miles. "Your pleasure is my pleasure; let me show you what it means." Miles' hands were roaming around on the child's sensitive skin, sending shivers up Matthew's spine, who let go of his legs and abandoned himself to the man's care, a puppet to be pleasured at will, Miles handling the light body every which way, turning him around, up and down, front and back.

Miles had his lips and tongue at work, joining his hands and exploring, stimulating every nook and cranny, as he loved to do with all his boys. Nothing escaped his attention, the nipples, the innie belly button, the soft inside of the thighs, the glorious twin globes, the knees, the feet and toes. Then he went up to the shoulders and armpits, eliciting giggles from the boy, the clavicles, and the neck. He lingered on the satiny lips before visiting his ears, nibbling on them with appreciation, passing over his closed eyes, kissing his brow. Miles visited his shoulder blades and smooth back. The taste was salty and agreeable, stronger than after the usual shower. He could have stayed just doing that for hours, but other delights were awaiting.

Flipping him over and going down, he circled the pelvic area and the hard stem protruding there. Before long, he was tempted to visit the little sac with its two small marbles at the base, softly nibbling them with his lips, licking them before tucking them whole into his mouth to savor and play with. Two fingers were at work stimulating the vibrant pricklet, while his other hand was caressing a smooth inner thigh or kneading his full twin cheeks.

One glance at Matthew's face was enough to confirm the boy's appreciation. His mouth let go of the sac and engulfed the stem, freeing his hands to open the tube of Vaseline. Scooping out a substantial amount, his fingers well coated, as his head bobbed up and down and his tongue lathered and stimulated the sensitive organ, he initiated the conquest of the child's rear end.

After rubbing and massaging it for a moment and in perfect coordination, his index penetrated the coveted orifice as the pricklet began to spasm with the boy's first dry orgasm. It did not need much effort, which confirmed Matthews's training. The ring muscle was still strong and tight, though and victory might not be that easy. It promised much pleasure if it was successful.

Miles's mouth let go of his prized possession, catching back his breath.

"How does it feel," he asked, licking his lips.

"The best, it's much better than when you do it yourself."

Miles moved his captured finger in and out, bending it to push it against the child's rectum walls.

"And what about that?"

"Feels funny and good too, but there's only one in; I've had much more than that already."

Miles pushed in a second finger, watching the boy's face closely. How far was he willing to go? Would he accept some pain if pain were required? Anthony's coaching had been a blessing. It slipped in like the first one and there was no noticeable change in the boy's expression. Miles was beginning to believe it could work and that he would be able to penetrate and fully enjoy his dream boy, the one he thought he would never dare touch that way. He moved his fingers again, speeding up the process with his thumb rubbing and bending the cocklet while he moved up Matthew's body to resume his kissing, finishing on the boy's lips and then in his mouth, his tongue slipping in and intending to stay there. During that time, he kept on testing and stretching the boy's welcoming pucker before inserting a third finger, which required more force on his part. It went in and Matthew winced slightly.

"Does it hurt?"

"No, I'm just getting used to it, don't worry," answered the boy.

"You must tell me if it hurts; there's no shame to it. It will simply mean we need more time. Pain is not required, never, I've learned that, and believe me, whatever Bob and Anthony told you, I can wait until you're ready."

"I want you to do it now."

"I will do it; I just want this to be the best time we've ever had together."

"Promise?"

"Promise." To prove his point, Miles resumed moving his fingers, working against the resilient ring of flesh that held them and with as much care as possible. He was as determined as the boy was. He would not say it, but he was not certain fate would offer them another opportunity to share such a moment. The ferals threat was still serious and the outcome uncertain.

"We could try something while I work your hole."

"Okay. Like what?"

"Have you sucked a cock already like I just did with yours? Did either Bob or Anthony show you how it's done?

"No, they told me about it; I want to try, I'll do it."

"Let's do a sixty-nine then."

They shifted around to get in position. This way, Miles would be able to keep on stretching Matthew's pucker as he pleasured the boy, making sure his upcoming penetration was harmless.

Suddenly, Miles felt the boy's lips on the tip of his glans for a quick peck, very much like the one he had received a few days back. This time he anticipated with great delight a follow-up as Matthew shifted in the bed slightly. Indeed, as soon as he was in place, the boy did not hesitate. Undaunted by the size of his endeavor, holding it with both hands, he licked at the man's rod with gusto, his tongue unperturbed by the fluids oozing from the slit, gulping it down and engulfing as much of it as was possible. It was exquisite and Miles moaned with pleasure.

"God, that's the best! Keep going," he declared, closing his eyes. That boy was full of surprises and he was far from done with him.

***

Carl was not sleeping either, although he was not plowing one of his boys as might be expected. He was reviewing the newcomers' interviews, something he used to do with the files of the Saint Xavier boys before. He loved to make lists, to classify, to categorize, to give grades. Of course, he knew they had already lost a few of them, but he wanted to be ready to manage the ones that were left.

Contrary to Miles Dunn, he was optimistic they would win the day and eliminate the ferals. Then there would be a lot of work to get the School back in shape.

Carl had finally understood that the human resources of the School would never be enough to face the challenges of the next months. Dunn had been right, they needed reinforcements, but they still diverged on how the newcomers or so-called refugees should be recruited and treated. Only those with valuable expertise such as Doc and Max would gain full status, the rest divided into a workforce, breeders, or pleasure toys. Those that fit none of those categories were of no interest and would be thrown out to fend for themselves.

If Carl was to maintain the upper hand, he could not let Dunn's influence grow amongst the newcomers. Thus, only a few would have any say in the running of Saint Xavier. He would tolerate the others only as long as they contributed, willingly or not, to the well-being of the community with whatever assets they could provide. Whether they had come to Saint Xavier of their own free will or not, once accepted, he would force them to stay and fulfill whatever purpose he deemed necessary.

Carl intended to reward those who joined him and supported his leadership with a status that would give them access to food, protection, eventually drugs, and of course, the whorehouses. It goes without saying that if those existed, you had to fill them with boys and girls.

This was the most agreeable part of his present task, to choose among the boys interviewed which ones were to enter the whorehouse. That simple idea was thrilling, and its close upcoming execution even more so. Greg had provided him with pictures, which helped greatly. His files were not limited to the newcomers. Some of the School's students could lose their status and undergo the same fate. Matthew and Bob were high on that list for obvious reasons. The selection of the girls was much less arousing and they were too few anyway for real choices to be made.

There would be opposition once the plan was put in motion, notably from Dunn and Louise, who would have to be eliminated or banished along with their supporters. It might appear contradictory or even suicidal to deprive himself of them, given they were the spearhead of the School and led the best-trained boys. Still, it was inescapable. It would need to be done with care to minimize repercussions for the School. It was a necessary evil and would have to happen soon, once the feral threat had vanished. Something spectacular was needed to make a strong impression on everyone else, inspiring fear and obedience. Carl was not afraid. He was used to taking risks and putting his future in jeopardy to achieve his goals. This was no different and he had always won in the end. He had never faltered.

With luck, Dunn would not expect it and be completely unprepared. This was what Carl had waited for. He had the troops with Shirley's brigade, and he had Max, Tools, and Greg to help in the takeover. They had fought the fire and now the ferals had learned how to use their weapons. It had helped put them in shape for the next step.

Yes, everything was in place now and he joined Enrico, already sleeping in the bed. If all went according to plan, the boy would soon be replaced with Esteban and Matthew. Carl closed his eyes, visualizing the scene as he entered the boy in one go, waking him up. Not bothering about Enrico's discomfort or pain and thinking of all the things he planned to do with those two, he came almost at once and then spent, he slept like a baby.

***

The ferals were eating. The meat of their fallen enemy was raw, but it was nourishing.

Ivor had been the first to break the taboo, cutting a good morsel from the captive boy's thigh that had died. The dead boys were too few and meager for the multitude and once they had been consumed, they had no choice but to eat the flesh of those from their ranks that had also perished. They needed some sustenance before the next assault. Cannibalism had already occurred sporadically among them, and it was logical for it to become more frequent as food sources were depleted.

After the last mouthful, Ivor felt stronger and fucked the last captive boy one more time before giving him up to feed those who were still hungry. This time he did not bother to break his neck and the boy remained alive for some time, pleading and moaning in pain as he was butchered alive. Before the night was over, Ivor would have as many playthings to satisfy his desires as he could wish for.

They would not wait for the end of the storm. They would use it and the cover of night to hide their actions. Ivor gave the signal. It would take some time, but they were patient and persistent. Hundreds of ferals left the gymnasium and gathered the corpses that littered the ground; no one could see them as they approached the largest building facing them, their target. Each time one of the armored vehicles came close, they were careful to hide. Fortunately, it was not frequent.

One by one, they piled the dead bodies against one of the walls in the corner of the building. It would reinforce the solidity of their intended giant ladder, made of flesh. The dead would have several uses after all.

Despite the rain and strong winds, they were making progress; bodies were plentiful. Layer by layer, the pile rose higher as the base extended. The enemy's patrols were passing too far away to notice anything in the dark, even with their headlights. It took them hours of hard labor as hundreds of ferals worked in shifts until the first of them reached the roof, where sudden wind gusts sent some of them crashing to their death, only to be added to the growing pile. As they searched for access to the lower floors, the hole in the roof was found, and when the news reached Ivor, his face harbored a large smile. Once again, they would surprise the enemy, and with the storm outside, no one would see or hear them coming before it was too late.

Ivor was soon leading what was to be their final assault on the administration building as he watched the ferals one by one climb up to reach the roof.

***

Sven and William had found a bed and slept side by side. Brett, truly exhausted after his long hours managing the drones and cameras, slept alone close by. Anthony was there too but in a more secluded area. He had promised Mikey the fuck of his life and made good on his promise before falling into a deep slumber.

Seventy boys were occupying the classrooms used as dormitories; twenty more were patrolling the corridors watching and listening for any attempt from the ferals to enter the building. No one thought it would happen before the end of the storm, which was still raging outside. Some even hoped that by morning they would be gone, having learned their lesson. Max was in charge of the watch and made sure there was no slackening of their vigilance. He had never needed much sleep; four hours a night were quite enough for him, an advantage in this situation.

They still had a few working cameras on the roof, with two boys on duty watching the images, but at night and in the pouring rain, he did not expect much from them. The patrols made by the Bradleys were reassuring: they would warn of any activity outside. Still, as he made his rounds, Max felt something was wrong but he could not put his finger on it. He hated that feeling, being helpless and having to wait until the problem revealed itself. He knew in his guts that it would be bad.

The administration building was a big place, the biggest of them all. Having lost perhaps half of the guys at the back fence meant they were undermanned, perhaps he should ask Dunn to bring reinforcements from the other two Houses but he was probably sleeping at that moment and would not appreciate being woken up.

Hearing voices coming from one of the empty classrooms, he stopped to listen.

"You're mine for as long as I want. You heard Shirley. It's Fisher's orders; you have to pay for your mistakes."

"But … I was not at fault."

"Who cares, Greyson? You're the scapegoat."

Max had recognized Harvey's voice. What was he up to?

"Come on; you know you got no choice. I've wanted that cute ass of yours for quite some time. You're lucky I decided to keep you for myself. I'm not yet as big as some of the others in the brigade are, or do you want to be the brigade's whore?"

"No, of course not. You can't do that to me. Please, we're friends; there must be another way."

"Friends? What a strange notion. No, we had common interests, but you screwed up. Now you're with the catamites and the only way to redeem yourself is to please me.

"It's not right; I did not do anything!"

"You don't understand how things work around here, Do you? You think you can still play the rule breaker and say no. Get out of it unscathed. Not anymore!"

There was a resounding slap sound followed by a cry of pain. Harvey's hand stung from the force of the blow on the kid's face.

"That hurt! Look, my nose, there's blood!"

"You're right; I should be more careful and not damage my property because that's what you are. At the same time, it was quite pleasant. Get your clothes off now and stop bickering, or I might change my mind. Then you'll have to satisfy the three of us here and you'll replace Cole. Would you like that? After all, you were the one responsible for his escape."

"I was not!"

There was again a resounding slap and a cry of pain.

"You don't ever learn, Grayson. I can see I'll have to teach you the hard way." There was a clear note of glee in the boy's voice. He loved what he was doing.

Max looked inside the classroom. Harvey was there facing a slightly younger boy, not by much. Two of his henchmen, a little distance away, were watching the proceedings with amused indifference. Reluctantly the bloody-nosed boy was finally pulling off his tee-shirt.

"I've seen it all already. Come on, hurry up, you know what I'm interested in; we don't have the whole night. This will only be a small appetizer. I've been waiting for it."

Grayson was now pulling down his shorts.

"That's enough, now turn around and bend over the desk." With his zipper down, Harvey was rubbing a reasonably sized cock jutting from his pants. He had a smile on his face or rather a smirk. Max had never seen him really smile. He was handsome; there was no question about that. His features were almost too perfect, giving him an austere look; his piercing blue gaze was intimidating and brought fear to all those it fixed upon. He was bad, verging on evil, and you did not need to hear him talk or see him act to know that. Such people had their use in troubled times. Still, you did not have to like them.

"You're not using lube?" asked Grayson, his head turned around toward Harvey, worry in his voice.

"It's meant to be a punishment, remember? I'm not here to bring you pleasure. But of course, I forgot you're a virgin; you never gave yourself to anyone. Such a waste!" He slapped the boy's bum cheeks viciously, "I like that sound. It's quality stuff you got; it was egoistical to keep it to yourself."

Grayson was now crying. He had known from the start that he was cornered and he would not find any leniency with Harvey. Still, against all odds, he had hoped to somehow escape the worst of it. He was a cocky boy who swore he would never be on the receiving end. His shame was extreme.

Harvey was about to plunge in when Max entered the room.

"What are you doing here? Haven't you got anything better to do?" he asked sternly.

"We're off duty sir and this boy's chastising has been long overdue. I thought it was time for it," answered Harvey, unperturbed.

"Very well, but don't linger too long; there are more urgent matters awaiting you. The ferals are still out there; you should be resting instead."

"We will, sir, as soon as I'm done."

"Go ahead then, and I would advise you to use some lube or at least spit, not for Greyson's sake but for yours. If he's a virgin, a dry fuck can become unpleasant for the both of you."

"Thanks for the advice, sir."

Max left without another word. He would have liked to put a stop to Grayson's ordeal but judged it counterproductive. He had chosen his side. Harvey was certainly despicable but a necessary evil in the upcoming fight for power. Of course, for that, they had to get rid of the ferals first.

"Well, Grayson, you heard what Max said? In that case, I think I'll have need of your mouth first."

***

Miles was resting peacefully with Matthew nestled in his arms. Their lovemaking had been intense. It did not belittle any of his previous experiences with Anthony, Sven, Brett, or even any of the club boys like Alex or Riichi. They had all been different from each other and brought him particular pleasures and emotions.

Even so, with Matthew, he had reached a peak. It was a roller coaster from the beginning, charged with emotion. The boy had shown as much boldness as a natural reserve. A fast learner, he seemed ready for anything, showing it first while performing a thrilling blowjob. After briefly teasing the man's rod with his tongue, he had proceeded to gobble down as much of it as he could with unrestrained enthusiasm. His hands were also at work, rubbing the base of Miles' rod, playing with his hairy balls. Nothing stopped him, not the abundant juices oozing from the tip or the occasional hair stuck on his tongue.

"Am I doing okay?" he asked after a moment, coming up for air.

"You're doing great, but there's no need to rush it; you risk gagging on it or becoming nauseous. You'll have plenty of other occasions to practice. It's not only about pleasing me; you have to please yourself too."

"No problem there, look at my pecker!"

"So, I see." Miles had already felt him spasm twice after working on the boy's immature jewels and stem. He was admiring all that was on offer, the firm globes of his fleshy buttocks, the curves and meat of his glorious thighs, the satiny skin everywhere, using his hands, mouth, tongue and lips, to sample the proffered delights.

Matthew's tight, pink pucker was the subject of much attention. Miles's fingers were busy dilating the boy's hole and rubbing his prostate. Meanwhile, the boy was actively participating in his coming deflowering by shoving against them and rotating his sweet bottom.

"Do you think you could do it now? Am I ready enough for you," he demanded, letting go of Miles's throbbing shaft and taking a deep breath.

"Okay, let's give it a try. When I push in, you have to push out," said Miles with a mix of desire and apprehension.

"How do you want to do it?" Matthew was busy licking the glans, picking up precum from the tip with his tongue and swallowing it. An image that was both inappropriately perverted and extraordinarily stimulating.

"Get on your back and raise your legs." Miles slipped a fat pillow under the boy; he knew that it might not be the best position for the first time. Doing it on the side, like with Brett, would probably be less demanding for the boy, but Miles did not want to miss any of the expressions on Matthew's face as he was penetrating him for the first time. Images like those would remain fixed in his mind for years to come.

"We'll see if you did your homework, as well as you said. I don't want it to hurt, tell me if there's any pain. If we don't get to the bottom of it, no pun intended, it won't be your fault. If it doesn't work this time, we will try again later, in better conditions. If you don't like it, we can stop anytime and we won't have to do it ever again."

"But you like it, and you want it. I was told…"

"That doesn't matter. I love you more than the pleasure I would get from it, and there are many other things that I like as pleasurable as this one. Being with you, making love with you in whatever way available is enough for my happiness and contentment. I want you to be honest with me about that. Don't do it for the wrong reasons."

"But that means you'll still do it with the other boys. I don't want that."

"You've always known you were not gonna be the only boy in my bed? Didn't you?"

"Yes, I know that."

"But you don't like it that much."

"I was the first, kind of."

"Let's be clear, you were the first and I've loved you since that first day when we met at the airport. Still, I also dearly love Sven, Anthony, and Brett, each one in a different way and none more than the other. You'll have to accept it, or you'll be miserable and I don't want that. I hope you're not having sex with me just to be like them? My love is not only driven by what goes on in the bed. There are different kinds of love."

"I understand," said Matthew in a small voice, head down, perhaps not as convinced as Miles would have liked. One had to recall that life had not been gentle with him even before the flu. With the loss of his mother and brother and the separation from his father, his need for attention and love were quite understandable.

Miles had been expecting to see some competition verging on jealousy between the boys, and it seemed Matthew was the first to express it openly. It was part of human nature, and there was nothing he could do about it except show each of the boys respect and love. He hoped it would be enough to ease those feelings and keep them under control, avoiding conflicts. Life with four boys would be complicated and full of challenges.

There was a moment of silence as the man's gaze contemplated the sight in front of him. The boy was adorable and very exciting, offering himself in a pose he had kept all along, his butt in the air, legs stretched and pulled back to his shoulders. His serious face after the man's lecture added to his appeal.

"No matter what happens, my love for you will never waver; be sure of it. Now we'll see if by chance you like it as much as some of your friends and I do. All set?"

"All set," affirmed Matthew, who, during the lecture, had lost some of his enthusiasm.

To dispel the serious tone of his last sentences and because he wanted the next event to be joyous and carefree, he decided to surprise the boy. Knowing he was ticklish and the places where his attack would be most effective, instead of picking up the tube of Vaseline close by, his hands and fingers invaded the child's armpits, triggering at once a welcome fit of giggles from Matthew.

"What–are–you–doing? You … tricked me." The child tried to fight back but was no match for the big man, who easily overpowered him and manipulated him at will.

"You didn't expect that. Did you? We're here to have fun, so let's see that smile of yours before we start."

They were now both laughing wholeheartedly, and soon, the underlying sexual drive that had brought them to this place took over. The tickling becoming caresses, soon joined by kisses, where their tongues met and danced together. Without a word, Matthew resumed his position, offering himself to his lover. Miles opened their only available tube of 'lube' and generously coated his demanding shaft, applying more to the long-desired pucker.

"Here it comes," Miles said as much for himself as for the boy.

With Miles' glans poised at the entrance, the contact itself was electrifying. Bending over for a deep kiss, he started to cautiously apply pressure, ready to pull back at any time if he thought the deed impossible, when, against all odds, he felt the ring of flesh open and allow him entry.

The gates of paradise had opened and he was in heaven!

Pausing to allow the muscle time to adapt to his invading member, he checked that Matthew showed no sign of pain, something that would be a feat in itself.

The boy's expression was changing by the second: first one of shock accompanied by a small gasp, it evolved into bewilderment and incredulity, his eyes growing bigger and a smile starting at the corner of his mouth.

"I did it; you're in." After a short grimace, he showed an air of accomplishment that evolved into curiosity. Furrowing his brow in a concentrated effort to evaluate the new sensations he was experiencing, Miles felt the boy's canal reacting. It was a strange and wonderful feeling, besides the well-known diminishing spasms of the ring muscle.

"Is it painless? Be honest, as we said."

"It is … mostly, it's like when you got to go and it's too big, or it was, it's gone now. It feels kind of weird. Go on. I'll tell you if I don't like it."

Matthew was still hard and willing.

"Let's get your hole used to it first; it's a fairly big one." Pulling apart the boy's legs some more, Miles had a close look at the distended anus, which clung to the skin at the base of his captive glans. He saw no bleeding or sign of a tear. Cautiously he moved his member forward and backward no more than an inch, just to be sure. "It looks okay. Let's wait one or two minutes more."

He brought his thumbs to massage the flesh around the impaled tip of his shaft, easing the strained muscle and then extending his caresses progressively to the well-shaped thighs and bubbly twin mounds of the child's young buttocks, delighting in the mix of softness and firmness.

The conquest of mount Matthew was about to be accomplished and there was a sudden pang of sadness that took him amid the waves of excitement and pleasure their mating was bringing. This moment, this culmination would soon be gone and become only a fond memory to recall. This was life; nothing was forever, and what you had desired more than anything else became a thing of the past.

Miles did not let this feeling overtake him, instead of concentrating on the promise of many more moments of happiness and intimate lovemaking to come, with Matthew and all the others. He let his hands course over the boy's satiny skin; he put his thumbs to use again rubbing the child's sensitive nipples, his mouth went down for some tongue play, and, at last, his hands took a firm hold of the boy's narrow midsection in preparation for the next step.

"I'm going in for good, stop me at any time if it hurts; I'll be careful, don't worry."

Miles thought the boy could only be distraught at the sight and feeling of his sizable member invading his petite behind. How could it be otherwise? Despite his willingness and preparation, both psychological and physical?

Matthew was probably the youngest child he sodomized. The difference in size could be shocking, with the boy almost disappearing under the massive bulk of the man. For once, though, he did not discuss the well-founded nature of the act; that page had been turned.

Inch by inch, he was getting closer to his goal, easing back from time to time when he thought the pressure too high, as he felt the boy tense up or become uncomfortable.

This was not that different from what he had done with Sven and, more recently, Brett, both also virgins. The feeling was the same; still, with Matthew, he had to recognize against his will that there was something more, and it was not because he was getting better at it, had learned a finer technique, or discovered that pain was unnecessary. It was because of Matthew himself. He had been his love at first sight at the airport. He could now confess it. He was the boy his father had entrusted to him and that he had vowed not to touch, a special boy who had always known the man's feelings and desires and had not been afraid. That had come to him with trust and affection.

Yes, it was that wonderful boy in his arms, responding to his caresses and kisses, not pulling away from his invading member. On the contrary, he was fully participating, pushing his pubis forward to help the man get as much of it inside as he could.

Miles was discovering that it was impossible not to consider each boy differently even if he did not want to talk of preferences, but he loved them all and it was the most important thing.

Miles now judged he had enough meat encased in the boy's chute to begin a satisfying fuck and pushed away all other contingencies to concentrate on that pleasurable task.

"I'm gonna start the real fucking now," he warned.

"That wasn't the real thing yet? I didn't think it would take so long to get started. So far, it hasn't been that great either. It was better with just your fingers."

"Some people don't like it, a lot of them, I suppose." Miles was slightly disappointed by those words but also glad to hear the boy tell of his experience with sincerity. It would not stop him, though, as they were far from done. "Let's see if you prefer what comes next?"

Miles pulled back a couple of inches and then pushed in as the boy took a deep breath and Miles continued his moves in and out of the boy's colon, amplifying their range and going deeper each time. He was in nirvana, the ring of the sphincter muscle rubbing his hard rod exquisitely with each passage, his hands and mouth gorging on the exposed boy flesh. He was lost in wave after wave of pleasure, keeping a steady but measured rhythm of long strokes.

Matthew's hands had left his ankles and were now grabbing at the man's back and neck. He was moaning with each thrust, the solid intruder repeatedly hitting his prostate and sending electrifying sensations up his back and to his erect pecker that twitched with each recurring orgasm, sending him into ecstasy. It might not have been great before, but it certainly was now. As much as he would have liked to, the man did not try different positions. Time was short, and this was meant as a bonding ceremony, holding more significance than the usual coupling.

Miles' eyes were plunged into the boys', their gazes fixed on each other. Time was suspended, and nothing else mattered in the world, but this moment of communion and shared love as physical as it was spiritual. But those things never last long enough and, too soon, Miles felt his juices rising. He slowed down the rhythm at first, wanting to extend that moment of bliss, delay its end, but finally decided to plunge in and accelerate the tempo, giving everything he had left. The weariness of the past hours and days finally catching up with him, as he exploded deep within the boy's recesses sending his accumulated jizz, that had not been spent for some time, to drown Matthew's warm and comfy chute.

This marked an important accomplishment, heavily charged in emotion: the end of years of doubt, guilt, and shame.

Still embedded, he had the presence of mind not to crush the boy as he felt his arms let go; overcome by an exhaustion that had taken hold of his whole being, he took Matthew with him to the side. Holding him tight, cradling him like the most precious thing in the world.

Miles' eyes closed and he fell asleep in an instant.

***

Lukas Cooke was watching the screens with Tanner Holt, whose incessant chatter had no end. The only thing that prevented him from falling asleep was the knowledge that Mike Healy was in one of the Bradleys passing every ten minutes or so in front of the cameras. He did not want anything bad to happen to him; Mike was the one thing that kept him sane in these difficult times. Most of the cameras were now useless, facing away from the areas they were meant to survey. They showed either the night sky or totally uninteresting parts of the roof, turrets, and terraces. They should have put them out, but they did not know how to do that and every now and again, their images were still displayed on the screens beside the ones that could interest him.

"Can't say it's not boring," repeated Tanner for the umpteenth time. "How long have we got until the next shift?

How unlucky being paired with him; he should never have been there. He was an Eagles boy. He had mixed it all up.

There was the Bradley again passing in front of the building with his headlights fully on. Its image would be displayed on three consecutive cameras before disappearing again, but it was the next sequence that drew the boy's attention. The angle of the camera was totally weird, showing some sky, or rather darkness, part of the roof and a bit of a turret. Something had obscured it for a moment.

"Look … there … again," Lukas said, seizing Tanner's arm to take him out of his soliloquy.

"What?"

"There's someone on the roof," said the boy waiting for another angle to get a better view.

"Dunn sent someone to fix the cameras, that's all," reasoned Tanner.

"No one told us."

"We're not that important. That's why."

"But we're the ones watching with those cameras. We should have been warned."

Lukas stayed silent for an instant and what is more peculiar, Tanner did so too.

"What the hell," he finally said.

"The ferals, they're on the roof!" exclaimed Lukas punching the button on his radio.

Before he had the time to say anything, he heard the sound of machine-gun fire reverberating from the building outside.

***

Mike Healy was frustrated. There were many things they could not use that would make the Bradley much easier to work with, but most of it was dependent on the computer, all the combat systems, night vision, communications… they needed a password they did not have. They had looked everywhere for it but with no result. With some luck, it could have been found, after all, they were not in enemy territory, and one of the guys would have wanted to write it down. It had not worked that way and they could only use the basic manual vehicle controls.

Their shift would end shortly and Lukas would be waiting for him. They were all exhausted and he would be satisfied to simply lay down with him and cuddle. This was so dull after the excitement of battle, and then there was the clinging anguish of what awaited them in the next hours and days. Would it be more of the same? He suspected so, bouts of heightened action with adrenaline mixed with moments of downright boredom and still that feeling of dread that did not want to let go.

Leaving the frustrating computer screen, he glanced outside through one of the periscope ports.

"What was that?" he said to no one in particular.

"What did you see?" asked Melvil Furst, stopping the Bradley. He was not the best at driving that monster and kept scrupulously to the main route, not venturing anywhere else.

"I think I saw movement to our left. Difficult to say in this environment." The wind had perhaps finally lessened, but the rain was heavier than ever.

"Probably nothing," said Pablo Munez, who kept looking at his watch.

They had just reached the dining hall.

"Mike, get ready with the machine gun; I'll keep watch through the periscope and help direct your fire." Melvil then ordered, "Everybody to the firing ports, let's take no chances."

"Our shift is almost over, there's no one out there," insisted Pablo.

"Did I ask for your opinion?" answered Melvil dryly as he maneuvered the Bradley with care.

Mike was studying the thermal image on the remote binocular display as the Bradley rotated its turret towards the corner between the administration building and the dining hall structure that had stayed in the dark the whole night.

Instinctively, Mike opened fire as a nightmarish sight appeared on thedisplay; ferals were everywhere, massed together and climbing what looked like a ladder made of flesh, with bodies piled on each other, it was at once grotesque and terrifying. Repulsed, he did not understand right away what it was exactly but had no question concerning its purpose–the fall of Saint Xavier.

***

The alarm bells, usually calling the boys to their classes, resonated incessantly, startling everyone awake. Miles' radio had sounded less than a minute before. Only a few words had been enough to make him aware of the situation–Ferals on the roof with easy access to the building. There were the gaping hole and one more access by stairs they had to block as fast as possible. There was another but at the end of the blocked corridor, already lost to them.

Without bothering to dress, he rushed naked into the corridor leading to the damaged wing while giving orders to Max through his radio. A disheveled and questioning Matthew followed.

"Get up here with twenty boys, have them bring all they can use to block the access from the roof; we'll need the machine guns and the MK 19. There are ferals up there, and we don't know yet how many."

"How did they get there?"

Max's question went unanswered; Miles was calling to the two boys at the end of the corridor leading to the damaged wing; they were alarmed but not knowing what was going on. There was shouting downstairs, a lot of noise.

"Quick, come with me," he bellowed, bringing them inside the headmaster's office. "Help me move Daniel's desk."

Miles, Matthew, and the two boys lifted the massive piece with difficulty and placed it in front of the doors leading to the lost corridor, fortunately still closed.

Max arrived, with more boys coming up the stairs, bringing all they had found to pile beside or on top of the desk just as they heard the first suspicious sounds on the other side.

"Will it be enough," asked Max.

"No idea," answered Miles. "It will have to do. Go secure the other access to the roof at the end of the other wing. That's our priority. I'll take care of the situation here." Seeing Max and some of the boys look at him in his lack of attire, he added, "Matthew, go fetch me my clothes and yours."

In the next minute, the first machine gun was in place facing the doors as Miles was bringing some order and efficiency to the amount of stuff that had been piled there.

"We hear nothing. Are you sure there's someone behind that door?" asked Sven.

"I'm afraid the right question is how many. If they get through, the building is lost."

Max was back with them.

"For now, we'll hold the place. What's going on out there? What are they shooting at?"

Miles was on the radio again, getting more information.

"They piled bodies against the building and climbed over them to the top, it seems. The Bradleys are destroying their 'construction,' if you can call it that. I sent the Humvees to check if they have tried the same thing at Eagle or Puma Houses. I did not see that coming."

"What do you think they'll do now?"

"Try to force an entry; what else. Make sure we have enough boys on the first floor. Let's not forget we're vulnerable there too."

"There's not enough of us. That's the main problem. I thought of calling for reinforcements."

"No, I'm against it; there are too many specifics we have no control over. It could be a diversion and there are so many of them. We have to navigate by sight. As a last resort, we could try to retrench ourselves in the west wing and the dining hall, but I don't think we would make it. No, we have to hold our positions and not allow them to get in."

***

In the infirmary, the noise abruptly awoke everyone with fright. The younger kids were close to panic with the alarms ringing and the staccato of the machine guns not that far away. Doc and Nancy were trying to calm them down. Shirley finally left the examination room where she had slept alone, wanting to know what was going on. Doc had been given a radio and told her what he had heard of the situation. She did not volunteer to help with the kids and went back to her secluded room. Hearing her slurred voice, Doc did not doubt she was under the influence of some kind of medication.

"It's the two of us again, Nancy. I don't think we can count on her for anything."

"She wanted to take a kid or two in there with her before. God knows why. I refused; I don't trust her one bit; she gives me the creeps. How could they hire such a person as a nurse?"

"Don't be too hard on her; we don't know what she went through. Or rather, we know it too well. She probably wasn't like that before the flu crisis."

"If you say so. Still, I don't like her."

After a few moments, they were able to restore some calm in the dormitory, Nancy holding two of the younger children in her arms. Will and the other two young refugees from the Murgrave community helped, as well as Jeffy.

"I'm big enough. I should have gone to fight," said Will, looking with envy at the gun the Doc had taken out of its hiding place to be ready, just in case.

"I think you're much better with us, Will, and much more useful. Who would help us if it wasn't for you?"

"Really? I hadn't thought of that," replied the small boy, pensive.

Doc was very grateful to Nancy; she was everything he could wish for in a nurse. For himself, he was at a loss. His only anchor was his son Jeffy, and his ability to help others, something which made him more valuable than other refugees in the eyes of the people running the School. Once this was over, his priority would be to try to contact his Okatie friends and bring them here to a new and strong community.

He still felt a little upset at them leaving him behind, but he also understood their reasons. It was a harsh world where the slightest mistake could lead to your death. If they had escaped the ferals unscathed, it was because they had left earlier. Otherwise, they would have been stopped like the bus on that road and probably died.

There was a knock on the door and Arthur entered.

"I just came by to check that all was well here," he said.

"What's going on out there?" asked Nancy.

"It's okay, there's no need to worry." He certainly wanted to say more, perhaps stay for some time with them; his longing glances at Nancy betrayed him. "I gotta go, see you later," he simply said without conviction as he closed the door regretfully.

"He cares about you," said Doc.

"I think so," said Nancy, and not wanting to linger on her own feelings, she addressed the children, "Who wants to play a game?" They were her priority for now.

***

Outside, the two Bradleys were concentrating their fire on the ferals' construction, which was soon sagging, but Mike judged the effect not sufficient. The piled bodies were so entangled that the morbid structure still held. The rain was still heavy, but the winds had noticeably died down.

"Hold your fire," he ordered, as he, himself, ceased fire. "Henry, let's try something more direct." He told their best driver, who had taken the controls, "Can you bring the Bradley as close as possible to the wall and crush everything on your way?"

"I can certainly do that."

"It should do the job. Go for it."

Henry quickly positioned the vehicle and moved forward, the tank tracks making mincemeat of all they encountered up to the wall.

"Pull back now. We'll see if a second run is necessary," said Mike, quite satisfied.

As the Bradley moved back, the whole tower of corpses collapsed, falling to the ground and onto the vehicle.

"Looks like we'll have some cleaning up to do," said Henry grimly.

"Gladly," answered Mike. "Go for it a second time, just to be sure."

Just then, the patrolling Humvees radioed to say they had found no such attempts against Eagle or Puma Houses. The situation on the ground seemed under control again.

The Bradley moved back and Mike was cautiously opening the hatch again, intending to free it from the dead bodies accumulated on the vehicle when they heard an ominous clamor rising. The ferals had gathered again, leaving their refuge inside the buildings. As one, forming an unstoppable wave, were now rushing at them and the administration building.

"Pull back! Pull back!" Mike shouted as he grabbed the machine gun and opened fire, imitated by the second Bradley, though they knew that it would not make much of a difference.

"Massive attack, I repeat massive attack, we can't hold them back. We need the Humvees," he said on the radio as the vehicles backtracked, trying to avoid being trapped and overwhelmed by the surging mass coming for them.

***

Ivor was enraged. A few minutes more and he would have had enough troops on the roof to submerge any resistance from the humans, but as it was, only a fraction of the ferals made it to the top before they were discovered. Nonetheless, he gave the signal for the final assault. They had learned how to force open the storm shutters. They could get through and enter the building. In an instant, the ferals crossed the distance and reached the building. There was no reaction yet and he had seen 'the bringers of death' on wheels retreat. It looked good; an easy victory was within reach. As soon as they made a breach, he would enter and lead them. For now, he monitored the assault from the ground, one of the few holding a weapon and able to use it.

They concentrated all their efforts on the administration building, leaving the others alone for now, but their turn would come. That is when he saw the shutters and windows of the second floor open and objects thrown out as the flames coming from the gun barrels started illuminating the night. Explosions followed all along the wall, killing and maiming many of his troops. Still, it was nothing, there were rows upon rows of ferals pressing forward to take their place, but when he heard the engines of the armored vehicles coming closer again, he had a bad premonition.

The Bradleys and Humvees were making their comeback, but this time they were not only firing at them with all they had, they were also running them over. The Bradleys' were more powerful and heavy as their spearhead. The Humvees, just behind, widely spread to cover more ground, all at full speed, not caring about the occasional incline or any obstacle they met. The ferals, packed together in front of them, were mowed down like blades of grass, some sucked and crushed by the tank tracks and Humvee wheels, others thrown in the air in every direction. The effect was devastating.

The tide had turned, as they seemed in their turn unstoppable, sweeping over the massed ferals like death itself. Above, the shooting was continuous, felling those that escaped the mechanical monsters. One shutter had fallen and the window behind it broken, but it was too late. There were not enough ferals left to take advantage of it. Those who tried were killed instantly by blasts from firearms coming from inside, reinforced shortly after by a machine gun that amplified their slaughter. Even when one of the Humvees stopped, having lost its momentum by the amount of dead bodies accumulated under and in front of it, it was not enough to change anything.

The ferals were in a debacle and fleeing in every direction.

Ivor followed, helpless to change the tide; he could not believe they had been defeated. He did not have even one soft-skinned captive to take with him to enact his rage on.

***

"We'll have to redo the landscaping, I'm afraid," said Max.

"Maybe, but first we'll have to deal with the ferals on the roof and make sure the others are gone for good. Then we'll have weeks, if not months, to put the School back in shape. The worst will be dealing with all those dead and crushed bodies," said Miles.

"It was so simple when you think of it."

"We'll have to thank Mike for that brilliant idea."

As soon as the warning of a massive attack had come, Miles froze the third floor's situation, telling the boys to reinforce the doors and stay put. He could not face an attack on two fronts at once and had to concentrate on the main one on the ground. For once, they were lucky: when the windows and shutters were opened on the second floor, the wind had abated, and the rain was only a minor inconvenience. They were able to fight, and they did. The sight that greeted them, illuminated by the headlights of the Bradleys, was a nightmare: the compact horde of ferals had already reached the building trying to dismantle the shutters. Without a second to lose, they had to avoid a breach at all cost, and they used the grenades right away to drive back as many ferals as they could. They gained no respite in the assault. Fortunately, they had enough ammo and no need to spare it. The grenade crates were another story–they would soon be empty.

Miles was facing too many dangers at once. He had to secure the ground floor and contain those on the roof. That limited the number of boys he could use on the second floor to keep the ferals at a distance or even stop them. Given the number of attackers, it was inevitable that the ferals would eventually find a way in. He was pondering all that, trying to find a way out of it, when Mike called him on the radio with this crazy idea. It suddenly seemed obvious in this situation. The ferals were all massed in the area between the back of the administration building and the statue of Saint Xavier, thousands of them, pressed together, waiting for the breach that would let them enter, oblivious of anything else.

"Bring them hell!" he said on his radio, giving Mike the go-ahead. They had nothing to lose anyway.

The charge's success had surprised all of them. They applauded the sight of the ferals fleeing the battleground, pursued by the armored vehicles with their machine guns firing and the flares of automatic weapons in every firing port. The tide had turned, the battle was over, and they were victorious, but it was not over yet for Miles.

"Max, secure the breach downstairs and see if you can fix the shutters. They are gone for now but better safe than sorry. I'll take care of the roof."

"Certainly, but why rush it? Can't it wait? The sun will be up two hours from now."

Miles did not like the idea at first, but he had had barely three hours of sleep. It was the same for most of the boys, not the best conditions for such a task.

"You're right; it will be much easier with the light of day. Still, we'll have to be on alert until then, in case they try something. We still don't know how many are up there. It will be a mopping-up operation. I'll have to prepare the boys for it. Tell Mike and the others to stop the pursuit and to resume patrols. When the rain stops, we'll be able to send up a few drones to see what's become of the fleeing ferals."

"You could use them for your cleaning up operation? It would make it much safer," suggested Max.

"Indeed, we'll do that. I must be really tired not to have thought of it right away."

"Why don't you go lie down for an hour or two? I'll take care of everything and call you in case of need. You can ready the boys later. The situation seems under control on the third floor."

"I don't like it; still, that's the reasonable thing to do. I should try to get some more sleep before anything else. Call me when the sun's up; it's not only the roof and east wing we need to secure but also all the other buildings the ferals might be in."

"That task is enormous," commented Max.

"You're right. Have everybody be extra cautious until it's done. I want no one outside until it's done except for the patrols," finished Miles, ready to return to bed.

"Can I come with you?" asked Matthew, looking up at him with his clear blue eyes.

"I don't see why not; it will be much comfier. How could you think I would leave you behind?"

Five minutes later, still fully dressed, they were both sleeping, Miles spooning Matthew.

***

Raymond Tools had been woken by the ruckus outside. He felt rejuvenated, having slept better than he had in years. The boy was in his arms, looking at him with that rebellious expression he had come to love, and that was perfectly fitting after all he had endured. Neither of them had the slightest idea of what was going on out there, but at least if there was fighting it meant that not all was lost.

Raymond put his ear to the floor, listening. There was only silence.

"What will you do with me?" asked Chandler.

"For now, I intend to fuck you a few more times. After that, we'll see. It will depend on how things turn out for the School, of course. If the ferals win, there will be no happiness tomorrow for either one of us. If they lose, you'll be my catamite, to be used whenever I feel like it. It's lucky for you that you're able to appreciate a good fucking, because that will be your main occupation from now on." Raymond was rather satisfied by his little speech and its effect.

"You can't do that to me. I'm not an object; I'm a human being." There were tears in the boy's eyes.

"I see you've been listening to my lessons. The times have changed. You will be what I decide you be. Whose fault is it, do you think? It could have been so different."

"You won't get away with it. I have friends; Dunn promised to protect me."

"You can always wish for that, but no one knows where you are or even if you survived. Anyway, you're way down on their list of priorities. A lot will change soon. Mister Fisher will be making new rules, and unfortunately, you're not on the winning side. You're all mine." The man's hand was appreciatively kneading the boy's bum cheeks, "Ready for another round?"

Chandler was about to cry, but the man did not care. He turned him on his belly and entered him in one go.

"No, please, no!" pleaded the boy.

"Yes, oh yes!" replied the man, intractable. "Who thought boys could be the source of such happiness!" added Raymond, pounding away fiercely.

***

At Eagle House, Carl Fisher was rejoicing. The news could not be better, nothing had been able to stop him, not the fire, not the ferals, and you could add the storm to it. Their losses had been minimal, mostly refugees, who did not count except for that gorgeous Latino boy. He should have done something to safeguard him, but it was too late now. What was done was done, and with luck, he might have survived the day. In any case, there was still young Matthew: he could take that prize as the last resort. Well, that would take some effort so long as Dunn was here.

Now that a page was turned, he could start to write the next one.

There might be casualties when they took back the roof and it would be quite beneficial to his plan if Dunn or some of his closest boys were among them: how nice! But let's not dream; they were probably too smart for that. Still, if Dunn lost a few, it would certainly weaken him somewhat.

The big question was whether or not he still needed him; he had argued about that several times already. He had Max, he had trained and seasoned fighters had armored vehicles, had the Doc, and wanted the School for himself. Logically he could manage without Simons or Dunn. Now was the time to get serious about it while keeping up appearances. Now was the time to push him to the limit and force him to take the first aggressive step that would justify any necessary retaliation.

What could he use for that? Taking Matthew was, unfortunately, out of the question. He had to do something rash but something that would be accepted by most of the boys, something that made superficial sense. He could expel those refugees he judged to be of no benefit to the School once they had helped to clean it up, of course. That was one lead he could follow.

The girls! Yes, he should have thought about it earlier. There were so few of them left, they were precious. You could not let them do as they wished; they had to be locked up, all of them. If you pushed the reasoning to its logical conclusion, they also needed to make babies if they wanted a future, as many babies as possible. The girls had to be put to 'work' right away. What boy would be against that? If a boy were asked to participate in the resettlement effort, he certainly would agree to do his part. Omar would be among the first to volunteer. It was wicked but logical, and it was bound to provoke a clash. There would be incidents, it would become ugly, he would ask Dunn to leave, or they would have to fight.

Carl did not like that last part: the man was resourceful. Nevertheless, taking risks was part of life. He had done it for years, and you could not win if you did not play. For himself, he would have preferred to take boys instead of girls to fill his whorehouse. He already had a list ready, thanks to Greg's interviews. Why not take both? His partisans had learned to appreciate them as well.

Did he want too much, too fast? Were there people he should ask for counsel? Max, he did not trust, logically he was to be the next Dunn. Shirley was under the influence and not reliable. Tools, that one had brains but was in turmoil. Anyway, he had been lost during the fight. He could ask Greg, he loved that boy, or rather a young man now, intelligent and not troubled by scruples. He was still, by far, his favorite, the most promising one. Perhaps there were other ways to achieve his goal. It might be best to take a day or two to think it over. What made Dunn tick? Perhaps he could use a simpler ploy; he needed to have a talk with young Anthony.

Those thoughts had lifted his spirits, despite the stress and weariness of the last few days. What could be better than a good fuck to start the day? Enrico would be perfect for that; it would make him think of the other Latino boy he wanted. He would soon know if he was still alive.

Chapter 34

That morning, a strange and ominous silence reigned over Saint Xavier. The rain had stopped and the sun had risen, revealing a scene of devastation. Rivulets of water, turned red from all the blood, coursed along the ground. Prompt burial of the dead, a gruesome task, needed to be tackled as soon as possible, not only because the sight of thousands of dead bodies littering the school grounds would be bad for morale, but for sanitation reasons. It would be an enormous and arduous task collecting the mangled bodies, random body parts, shredded flesh, and blood soaked scraps of clothing, all mixed with the earth in a soupy mud mixture.

The order had been given that no one was to venture outside before the mopping-up operations completed. Finding and eliminating every last feral from the school would not be an easy task. One could guess that many had taken cover rather than flee, with some dying in place from wounds, and others remaining hidden when it was all over. Apart from the roof and third floor corridor of the Administration building, all the other structures the ferals had entered needed to be thoroughly checked. It was a given that the priority of the first patrols sent out would be to sweep the area in search of the boys unaccounted for, in the hope that some of them had survived the assault inside or outside the school.

This was not a time for rejoicing. The ferals had gone but no one knew where and whether or not they would come back.

This was first on Miles' mind when Max awakened him.

"It's nine already," Miles said. Matthew, by his side, did not stir.

"Yes, I thought you needed some sleep after all we've been through. One more hour or two won't make a difference now. Most of the kids are still sleeping, like this one."

"You could be right." Miles left the bed gently so as not to wake the boy. "I need a shower to clear my head. Have Brett or Stuart prepare the drones. We must know what's become of the ferals."

"I've taken care of that already, three are flying at this moment, looking for them. They'll go as far as they can."

"Good. I won't be long."

Ten minutes later, his hair still wet, but feeling much better, Miles entered the meeting room and now command center during this crisis. All the tech kids were there, notably a still very tired Brett as well as Walt and Arthur.

"Did you find the ferals?" asked Miles.

"No," answered Max, standing in front of the screens. "It seems they're gone for good and are not regrouping in the vicinity to prepare another attack, and they can't be hidden under the canopy of the trees this time. That's one of the good news this morning. We've also spotted a little group of our missing boys south of here."

"A good start indeed. Do you think you could take the helicopter and do one more round? You could go higher and much farther than the drones."

"I thought of it but after that I fear we'll definitely be out of fuel until we find some elsewhere. Is it worth it?"

"I think so. I want to be sure the ferals are not gonna pay us another visit."

"Very well, I'll be going."

"Walt, I want you to take one of the Humvees and go fetch those lost kids, bring them back."

"Of course, sir, but won't you need me to take care of the roof?"

"Don't worry, you'll be back in time, I don't want to rush it. Did you have a look with the drones, how many ferals are up there?

"I would say about a hundred, probably less than that," said Max, "not counting those in the corridor and the rooms adjoining it, of course. You're very right when you said not to rush it. We saw of few of them jumping from that roof and not one of them getting up again. They're lost it seems, they don't know what to do."

"Those in the corridor, could they go through the floor?" asked Walt.

"That's something to consider, notably after all that rain water, it might have weakened the structure. We need to have that watched," replied Miles.

"There's so many things that need to be done," said Brett in a tired voice.

"You're quite right. We'll get to it, but for your part, you'll go get some sleep; you look exhausted and I need to count on you later when we take back that roof and corridor. Go lie down for a few hours."

The boy complied, accepting the evidence; his eyes were closing of their own volition. Miles caressed his blond hair with affection as he passed him by, the boy stopped looking up, and the man could not deny him a light kiss on his lovely lips and a pat on his bubbly butt.

"I'm sorry sir," said Arthur in a contrite voice.

"Sorry? What for?" asked Miles.

"I'm responsible for the fiasco at the fence, I never saw them coming, in fact, I never thought they would come that way."

"Do not be sorry, you reacted the best way you could. No one had seen it coming, me least of all. Bad things happen every day and it's nobody's fault. We have a lot of work ahead of us and no time to rehash what has been done before. Cheer up. I tell you, you kept a cool head, saved what could be saved and a lot of lives too. I truly believe you did the best anyone could have done under the circumstances."

"Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome. By the way, you can tell young Chandler that he can come out of hiding. It seems we lost Tools during the fight."

"Chandler?"

"Yes, Chandler."

"I sent him over to you."

"Haven't seen him. When did you do that?"

"Just before the fire reached us. I was too busy, same for Furst, getting everything ready. I thought he would be better with you."

"I never saw him. That was more than two days ago."

"I'm sorry sir; I should have taken him to you myself."

"Stop being sorry. We all have been very busy and we have no time to solve that mystery. Perhaps he's hiding somewhere and we'll find him while securing the school. Let's get to work."

At that moment, William entered the room, out of breath, announcing, "Sir, the headmaster, Mister Fisher, he is here."

"That was to be expected. I'll go meet him,"

Carl Fisher made a smashing entrance escorted by six of Shirley's boys. It was out of the question for him to be told what to do. If decisions were to be made, he had to be there and could not stay at Eagle House waiting for the school to be secured. Crossing the short distance had been quite a trial for him though, with the number of mangled corpses littering the ground, it was difficult to simply walk. The sight was shocking: there was the buzz of flies everywhere and a few carrion birds feasting, with the occasional body jerk and moan sending fear across their spine as they realized some were not quite dead yet.

"Good morning, Carl, how are you this morning?" said Miles jovially from the top of the stairs.

"Much better than yesterday but I don't recognize my school anymore. What can you tell me?"

"I asked Louise to join us, and before we decide anything, we should wait for Max's report, he's taking the helicopter to see if he can find the ferals.

"They're gone."

"It appears so but I want to be sure of that."

"We need to get rid of those corpses, they're everywhere."

"Our first priority will be to make a sweep of the school, to be certain it is safe and see if we can find a few of our lost boys. Taking care of the bodies will be next."

"With the heat that's already back, it's going to stink and think of the diseases they will bring."

"I know all that, still, we can't do it safely until we've checked every building and got rid of any stray ferals that could have stayed behind. What you could do is clear the area between Puma and Eagle House. That should be safe enough. You could fill a few trucks until we know where to dispose of the bodies."

"That's fine with me; I'll take care of that as soon as we've discussed the next steps."

"We more or less did just that. Didn't we? Provided the ferals are really gone, the rest is mainly on my turf."

"I thought you wanted to discuss it with Louise?"

"Yes, but after talking with you it seems settled, the rest can wait and be taken care of later. I got enough on my plate already."

"I can agree with that," said Louise.

Miles, turning around, "Ah, Louise, you're here." Miles was smiling and before he said anything else, they heard distant gunshots. "What was that? Louise, where did it come from?"

"Outside, it might have come from the Teachers' House, that's the direction."

"How do you know? There's no one there," said Carl.

"She's good; you should know that, by now. Louise, take a few boys and go check it out. Someone could have been trapped in there and need assistance. I'll send you a drone; it might help. As I told you, Carl, we need to be careful, some ferals have not left the school, it seems."

*****

Raymond Tools had no choice: they could not stay in the attic any longer. The stupid boy almost shit on him, said he could not hold it back. He had pulled out of the boy's hole just in time but the mattress was ruined and even after turning it over, the stench was there.

Chandler was sobbing, propped up against the wall away from the man. Was it out of shame for what he had done or because of the punches he received as punishment? Raymond did not want to know, nor did he care.

The sun was up, he feared the heat in their secluded refuge would soon be unbearable, and now there was the smell of shit… It did not bode well.

Silence reigned over the school since the fighting had ceased a few hours before, but it was impossible for him to know the outcome or the situation in the building. Of course, he could wait, as they still had food and water.

The episode with Chandler had annihilated any desire he could have to use the boy's shitty hole for quite some time, there was still his mouth, but he was not in the mood anymore. He had to be daring and see for himself if his apartment was safe again at the risk of catching the attention of the ferals.

"Get over here," he ordered the boy, "and stop sniveling like a baby, I didn't punch you that hard. You're going down the ladder first."

Chandler had been nothing but a problem so far, so it was only natural to use him as bait. He found a piece of rope, strong enough to make sure the boy would not try to escape, and once he was cleaned up, he certainly could be of use again.

"Why are you so mean to me? What did I do? You were the one person I admired and trusted the most," said the boy, holding back his tears.

Tools had a moment of lucidity.

"I don't know, you're right, I should be sorry for what I'm doing to you. I don't recognize myself, I hate it but it's stronger than me, and I can't control it. I fear there's nothing we can do about it. But enough talking, get ready, I'll lower the ladder; you go down and have a look around. I'll cover you with the gun. You get back up here at the first sign of danger."

For once, the man made a gesture of kindness instead of lust or violence, passing his hand through the child's dark curls, caressing his cheek before pushing down on the attic ladder and unfolding the steps. They silently waited a minute or two for a reaction that did not come. Raymond lowered himself and slipped his head through to observe the surroundings but there was not much to see from there. He suddenly realized he was in a dangerous position if the kid wanted to try something and pulled back rapidly.

"Go, and be careful," he said with a voice that had lost some of its momentary gentleness.

Chandler hesitated as he put down a naked foot on the first step of the ladder, exchanging one last glance with the man.

"Come on, don't be a sissy," exclaimed Tools, annoyed again, pushing him down.

Chandler had no choice and descended one step at a time, the muzzle of the gun for a time level with his face, holding his breath until he reached the floor. No one rushed at him and the place was deadly silent. He did not feel safe however, and raised his head, exchanging a glance with Tools, still up there, with no intention of joining him for the moment.

The rope around his neck was scratchy, the knot would take some time to undo, but first he had to make sure no feral would jump on him or stop him if he tried to escape. He was not sure yet what would be worse, Tools or a nasty death. Would the man shoot him if he went beyond the corridor? He doubted that. He took a few tentative steps forward, toward the living room and the front door. That's when he heard it. Someone's heavy breathing. They were still here. The ferals had not left the apartment as they had hoped. He retraced his steps slowly.

"What are you doing?" asked Tools in a whisper but to the fearful boy, it felt as if he had shouted. "Keep going, you're not done yet."

There was a shadow at the end of the corridor, Chandler, naked and with nothing to defend himself with was quickly back to the ladder. Would he be able to climb it in time?

Raymond finally saw the danger and aimed his gun.

The shadow had been terrifying but the feral that appeared was rather pitiful. It was a girl about fourteen, naked and as pale as a cadaver. She had lost one arm, probably blown off by a 50-caliber bullet, and was limping with another small wound in her right thigh. She certainly did not have much time left to live. Tools fired and missed twice before he succeeded in blowing a hole in her head.

Chandler had not moved as if hypnotized by that image. No other feral showed up and the apartment stayed silent. He did not wait any longer and brought his fingers to the knot trying to free himself. Raymond reacted immediately and simply pulled on the rope choking him.

"Don't you do that, shitty hole, or I'll lift you up and let you hang there. Take your hands off that knot, put them against the wall, and don't move. I'm coming for you."

Tools carefully went down the ladder, making sure he had a good command of the gun while keeping the rope taut, giving him strict control over the boy.

Chandler did not move from the wall, but he did plead, "It's too tight; I can't breathe; I wasn't going to escape."

"I don't believe you one bit." The man was now on the ground, behind him, and speaking softly but harshly into his left ear, "Let's check the apartment; then we'll clean you up, you stink; and I'll get dressed. It does seem that the ferals have left, at least this floor. We're lucky. Come on, lead the way." Raymond yanked hard on the rope/leash, pulling Chandler away from the wall, liking the feeling of power it gave him.

***

Sergeant O'Malley woke up at sunrise to a bright clear blue sky. Gone were the black clouds and rain that had pummeled them: it was going to be a beautiful day. Cole, beside him, was snoring lightly. He had had some difficulty getting to sleep and it had taken him some courage to ask the man if he could share his bed like a much smaller boy would have done. It spoke better than words of the traumas he had gone through at Saint Xavier. He was the second boy in a short while that had done it. This time, it had been much easier since there had been no need to reject any embarrassing advances. There was not much room left in that twin bed but it was well worth the effort if it comforted the boy and relieved his anxiety.

O'Malley could not refuse him, he could not take him back to Saint Xavier either, that was clear. He would have to find him a place where he would be safe and well-taken care of before he could resume his own crusade. Finding another community should not be too difficult. As for the school, he did not doubt its fate was sealed by now. Anyway, it was presumptuous to think that his presence might have changed the outcome, still, he was curious and would try to go there again to see if they had survived the attack.

Fisher, Shirley, Dunn, he put those names on a list and if they were still alive, he could pay them a visit and settle a few scores with them on behalf of the kid and certainly others that had suffered the same fate at their hands. The evil that men do had no limit.

He went to the kitchen and started to prepare breakfast with what he could find, and before he was done, the boy had joined him, sitting at the table. He was dressed in the same clothes as the day before, ruined with soot, and still smelling of the fire. They had found nothing that would fit him in the house.

"What shall we do now?" Cole asked.

"That's what I was thinking about too. First, we find you something fresh and clean to wear, and then we should try to find you a nice place to stay with good people who would welcome you. What do you say?"

"I don't know … perhaps … you could keep me."

"Keep you?"

"Yes, we could stay together."

O'Malley had not expected that, and at first, did not know how to answer.

"I wouldn't know what to do with you. You've seen all the weapons and ammo in the car. I've given myself a task: to kill as many ferals as I can. Rid this whole territory of them. That's not something I'd want for a kid your age."

"There's a lot of things–not for a kid my age–I went through already."

"I know. That's one more reason. It's time for you to forget all that and start a new life."

"I'm afraid that's not something I can forget."

"Sorry, that's not what I wanted to say. You need to learn to live with it and put it aside. What I do, if you came along, would not help."

"So you say but I feel good with you, I trust you, I feel safe."

"That's good to hear; I didn't do that much."

"You did a lot, probably saved my life, and there's not only what you did, there's also who you are."

"You don't know me; we haven't been together that long."

"I do. You don't need to be with people that long to know if you like them or not. Anyway, you never really know people. I've learned that the hard way."

This kid is quite smart, thought O'Malley, who was starting to like him.

"Let's eat, then we'll hit the road, we need to find you some clothes. I'll think it over and we can talk on the way."

One hour later, after taking all the edible food left in the house, they were driving in silence. The scenery around them looked strangely normal, as if the events of the apocalyptic last few months had never taken place. Had it all been a dream or rather a nightmare?

"Do you know where we're going," asked Cole, observing the man was driving slow and with caution.

"Not really, the areas I knew well were in the path of that fire, they mostly burned down. I had a look at the map and saw a few places that could be of interest for us this way, small towns, maybe some people."

"You still want to get rid of me?"

"I would not say it that way; I like you, I want to help. I still think that the best for you would be to settle in with a community around here. I've seen a few such ones; they have few adults, mostly kids that have usually gone through a lot, just like you."

"That's your decision?"

"Look, there's a small mall ahead. We should be able to find the things you need there."

O'Malley jumped on the occasion to change the subject. There was a JC Penney, a Denny's restaurant and a few others. He did not park right away but circled the place a few times first to observe the area and see if any ferals were around. They were not his only worry, humans could be even more dangerous and in hiding.

Finally, he stopped the car in front of the store, a few steps from the door.

"Stay in the car," he said, as he retrieved a gun and held it in front of Cole. "Do you know how to use this?"

"I'll manage; they drilled us at Saint Xavier."

"Good, you cover for me and don't move from here until I call for you. Okay?"

"Okay."

O'Malley grabbed his gun and stepped out of the vehicle, on his guard, looking and listening attentively all around. Only after he was sure there was no suspect sound or movement, did he walk to the store and try the doors, they were locked. Clothing stores were not much in demand after the apocalypse, not yet at least, and no one had bothered to force them open or break the window, he decided to try the back door, there was always one, it would be more discreet.

"What's the matter?" asked Cole, when he saw him come back.

"Closed," he answered, "we'll try the back."

They went around with the car. As expected, they were able to make an easy and discreet entry into the store. They did not stay long, going straight to the boy's department, where he let Cole pick whatever he wanted and get rid of his clothes dirtied with soot. The boy slipped on a pair of red shorts and tee shirt, put on new light blue sneakers, and then he picked more of the same for later. If the summer was going to be anything like the spring, it would be hot and nothing else would be needed. O'Malley nonetheless told him to also take two sweaters and jeans.

They left, O'Malley still on the lookout but more relaxed, Cole stowing his stuff in the backseat among the guns and the boxes of ammno.

"I bet it's been a long time since you did some shopping, kiddo. Feels good?"

"Feels different," answered Cole not hiding a smile. Some things never change.

O'Malley was about to start the car again when two armored military vehicles closed in on them. He had no idea where they could have been hiding to appear so suddenly.

"What the hell!" exclaimed O'Malley, judging his chances to get to the road and escaping them near zero. Machine guns were aimed at the car and would not miss. He could only hope their intentions were benign but doubted it. The guys holding the trigger wore no uniform and now that they were close enough, he could see that the tattoos on the face and arms of one of them were those of a gang.

"Hello there," the guy with the tattoos shouted at them, "Could you, please, come out of your car without weapons and with your arms raised. Let us see who we're dealing with."

O'Malley had no choice, had he been alone, he would have tried something but with Cole, he did not dare to. He was still wearing the blue, his uniform, it had helped him before, but this time he feared it would seal his fate.

"A cop!" exclaimed one of the guys with mockery. "Didn't know there were any left. Put your hands on the car roof, legs spread, got nothing to teach you about that, ain't it so? You too kid, we're coming for you. You got yourself a pretty one, cop, you got good taste."

O'Malley saw Cole cringe at those words.

"Don't do anything stupid," he told him in a whisper, "we'll get through this, trust me."

"Stop talking," ordered another man who had left the vehicle accompanied with two others. They were heavily armed, obviously knew how to use them and taking no risks.

"We're just passing through. Leave us alone and we'll be gone in no time," stated O'Malley.

"That won't work, cop. Consider yourself lucky, rules have changed. A few days back you would be already dead and the kid with his pants down servicing us one after the other."

One of the men was staying back while the others came behind them to seize their hands and bind them in the back.

"What do you want?" asked O'Malley."

"You'll know soon enough, Red will tell you."

"Red?"

"A likable fellow. I don't know what he'll decide for you, a cop. Me thinks you would make great entertainment with the kid this evening." The guy, once done, threw a glance inside the car.

"Guys look what we got here! Got a jackpot! That SUV is full of weapons and ammo. Crock, you drive it and follow us, we're going back to base." He whistled, and a third vehicle appeared, a box truck that stopped beside them. "Get in there," said the guy lifting the rolling rear door. "Get back, I got some company for you," he added to the people already imprisoned in there. They were mostly kids at first glance, who, blinded by the light, hurried to make room for the new arrivals.

***

"Anybody there?" shouted Louise, entering the Teachers' House with caution. She did not intend to wait for the drone; she knew the place very well and was confident she would be able to do the job with minimal risk. She had ten boys with her, taken, of course, among Dunn's warriors. Bob was beside her with six boys following closely behind and three more boys watching their back. It was strange and unsettling to cross the short distance, in the open, surrounded by the dead bodies of the ferals.

"Anybody there?" she repeated as they stepped further into the entrance hall listening for an answer or suspicious sounds.

"Shall we go up?" asked Bob, pointing to the stairs in front of them. The place was deserted and there was no real trace of the passage of the ferals at first glance.

"No, let's wait for an answer first," she said. "Cover the corridor that leads to the ground floor apartments and community rooms, "Patrick, you watch the door and any movement outside."

"Sure thing," said the thirteen year old with assurance. They all felt quite safe with Louise despite the circumstances.

"Up here, I'm on the third floor, in my apartment," came a voice that she recognized immediately.

"Tools, is that you? What are you doing here? We thought you were dead."

"I'm not, you can be sure of it. You don't know how relieved I am to hear your voice. I got trapped when the ferals invaded the school. I took refuge in my attic. How stupid of me I wanted to fetch something of really no importance thinking I had the time and to top it off lost my radio somewhere. Is it safe to come down?"

"Are you the one that fired a few shots a while ago?"

"I did, I shot a girl. She was dying anyway. Probably didn't have the strength to follow the others. They're gone I surmise. You wouldn't be here otherwise."

"Seems like it but there might be a few stray ones still around. We're getting ready to do a good sweep of the school to get rid of them. We'll come up to get you if you don't mind."

"I don't. Just give me a minute or two I was getting changed when you called. I had blood all over my shirt and pants."

"We're coming up slowly, just to make sure the way is clear. I'll wait for you in front of your door. You'll have quite enough time to make yourself presentable. Okay, we're on our way, boys, one floor at a time. Chad and Patrick you watch our back, Anthony, Johnny, you stay here and safeguard the first floor. Let's move."

Two floors up, Raymond was busy. He had not expected to be interrupted while he was cleaning up Chandler and he almost jumped when he heard Louise's voice calling, as faint as it was. He certainly did not want her to see him with the boy. They were about done, Raymond still holding the wet washcloth he had used on the boy's neither region rekindling his desire for the beautiful child after that despicable incident. Enemas would be on the order from now on. He was not the only one reacting to the interruption, he felt Chandler's body tense, and his head raise up, with a displeasing glimmer in his eyes.

"No way," Raymond said curtly, pulling on the cord still around the boy's neck. "Open up," he added, before pushing the dirty washcloth in Chandler's mouth, using it to gag and silence him. There was a struggle for an instant but the much stronger man got the upper hand fast and unceremoniously had the boy on his knees in the bathtub, hands bound behind his back, and the rope used to hold the gag in place, coiled up around his head. "Let's do your feet, now." He hurried, doing the best job he could in the short time he had, as Louise called again from below. He had to answer her, and turning to Chandler, "This will do for now," as he left the defeated boy and ran to his door.

Raymond managed to gain a delay of a few more minutes talking with Louise. He could not close the door but there were still enough stuff partially blocking it that he could hope they would wait outside. He ran back to the boy making sure his bindings would hold and then went into his bedroom to dress.

What can I do with Chandler? He was wondering where to hold him until he was able to move him to Carl's whorehouse inconspicuously.

Back in the bathroom, he picked up the boy. The apartment was in shambles after the passage of the ferals. He opened a closet, secured even more the boy's bindings with the length of cord that was left, giving the utmost attention to the effectiveness of the gag.

"Don't you dare make a sound, Chandler," insisted Raymond. In fact, the poor kid could barely breathe, the air passing only through his nose, he was panicked. Raymond did not care. His well-being came first at that instant whatever the consequences.

"Are you there, Tools?" he heard from the landing."

"I'm coming," he exclaimed, and as he was about to lock the closet door, he had second thoughts. What would prevent the boy from banging the side of the closet and bringing Louise's attention? He ran to fetch what was left of the chloroform, opened the door, and after a few seconds of hesitation, he poured the contents of the bottle onto the gag. The boy was out almost instantly. He picked up his gun passing through the living room and went to join Louise after pushing away the debris piled against the door.

On his doorstep stood five of Dunn's warriors as they were called and no one else.

"Where is Miss Simons?" he asked surprised. He knew them all; among them were the oldest Muller boy, Patrick, the effeminate Louis Saville, one of the Conner farm boys whose name he didn't remember.

"She went to the roof with Bob, she said she wanted to see something," answered Patrick with his slight accent. The boys were starting to relax; the place as far as they could tell was empty of ferals. They stayed on their guard though, having been well trained.

A few minutes later, Louise appeared with Bob following close behind.

"I never thought I would see you again," she said, smiling. Louise had always liked the literature teacher and was sad to see him taking sides with Carl Fisher.

"To say the truth, me neither. I was asking myself what would be better: die of thirst and hunger or at the hands of the ferals?" he replied.

"Difficult choice."

"Certainly. So, we've won the day?"

"It's a bit early to say that but it certainly looks better than it did. Let's get out of here, Fisher and Dunn are waiting in the administration building, they'll want to hear your story." As the man passed her to go down the stairs, she smelled a strange chemical odor and wondered where it came from.

***

"I have an idea on how to get rid of most of the ferals on the roof without taking any risks," said Louise. They were all gathered in the meeting room, with Carl, Tools, Greg, Walt, and Arthur, waiting for the return of Max and news of the feral horde. Nothing could really be done until that menace was gone.

"I certainly want to hear it," said Dunn, looking through the window at the sea of dead bodies. Some of Shirley's boys had started picking them up one by one and piling them onto the back of a truck. It was a horrendous job and would take days.

"You have a good view of many parts of the roof from the different houses around; I checked. Even a better one if we put up stepladders. From there, our sharpshooters could pick them off one by one, most of them in any case. We could even try to make noise to bring them to us to make it easier."

"Yes, that could work," said Miles. "They seem to have regressed since they've been trapped on the roof, they look kind of lost. Some have even jumped from it crashing down two floors below. That could work."

"That's excellent news. The sooner we get rid of them, the sooner we can get back to business and get the school back in shape," said Carl.

"The worst that could happen would be for them to go down through the hole and join those already in the corridor. But we'll have to deal with that problem anyway, it will not change much of anything," added Louise.

"Is the Teachers' House safe?" asked Miles.

"It can be in no time. There were no incidents while we were there. We would need to have a look in all the apartments whose doors have been busted by the ferals and the community rooms, just to be sure," answered Louise.

"How many boys would you need for that?"

"With twenty we could be done in thirty minutes."

"Let's do that. We'll tell our best shooters to take positions on the roof of the other two houses, and be ready when you are," said Miles.

"This is looking good. All we need now is for Max to confirm that the ferals are gone for good," said Carl with joviality, "I think I hear the helicopter coming back, by the way."

They went to the window to watch Max land in a nearby area, clear of bodies. It was a short sprint to reach the administration building.

Max felt the tension in the room, a lot depended on what he was about to say.

"I do think we won the day. I haven't seen any large groups of ferals in at least a ten-mile radius around the school. They're gone."

"You must be certain," insisted Miles.

"I am. The fire cleared the forest all around us. If they were there I would have seen them."

"That is certainly worth celebrating," said Carl, "I still have a few bottles of Champagne in the cellar."

"First, we need to get rid of the ferals still among us," said Miles, much less enthusiastic. Like all the others in the room, he could not shake away a feeling of unease. Yes, they had won the day but the sea of bodies that surrounded them, the experience of killing that many and the tasks ahead of them, would leave enduring traces in the minds of all those concerned, most of them still mere children. What consequences would it have for the future?

"How do we proceed," asked Louise.

"You will take care of the Teachers' House, so that our sharpshooters can clear the roof as you planned. The rest of you will prepare your units for the new jobs, Arthur will be in charge of the library and arts center, Max you'll do the pool, Walt the gymnasium, Greg the Shop. I'll personally take charge of the second floor corridor and then the roof. Once this is done we'll finish with Bear House and the bleachers"

"Yes sir," they answered, straightening up in a military way.

"I ask you to tell our boys to be very careful and to use the drones as much as necessary to explore the different areas before going in."

***

Arthur could not forgive himself. First, there had been the debacle at the fence and now Chandler had disappeared into thin air. What happened to the boy? How could he have completely forgotten about him for two whole days? He never bothered to check on his whereabouts and well-being. True he had not been idle, having probably more tasks and responsibilities than he could handle but he feared there was another reason for this unforgivable oversight: Nancy. She was in his thoughts at every moment and he had great difficulty concentrating on anything else since he had met her.

Was it what people called love at first sight? If it was, it had come at the worst moment. It was easy for him to blame those sentiments though. No, he was the only one responsible, the right thing to do was to let go of everything else and go look for the boy. He had left him at Bear House long before the fire reached the school. Why did he not go to Dunn as he had been told? What had become of him? He did not know where to start his investigation and time was too short, it would have to wait, like Dunn had told him.

As if by chance, he found himself in front of the infirmary when he was, instead, ordered to gather the remnants of the 'fence defenders' to prepare for the next step: taking back the library and the arts center. Drawn there, as if by a magnet, he could not fight this feeling, he had to see Nancy, talk to her, even if it was to exchange only a few words. Before he had thought of it, he turned the handle and pushed the door open. The place was in a semi darkness. A shadow came to him pushing him gently back out of the room.

"Nancy…"

"Hush," she said, "the children are sleeping; it's been a difficult night."

"Of course, I'm sorry. I wanted to be sure you were alright."

She was very close to him; he could feel her soft and warm hand on his own, the sweet smell that emanated from her, her own but also the one of the children she had taken care and comforted for hours. She was looking up at him, his gaze plunging in the deep blue of her eyes as if time was suspended.

"That's so kind of you."

Her hand was pressing on his, he wanted to embrace her, kiss her and was certain she would accept this gesture but he refrained from it. Time stood still, until she brought her lips to his cheek first and then to his mouth, pressing her whole body against his.

"Tell me it is over and that we have nothing to fear anymore."

"The ferals have gone, we've won. I would like to stay with you."

At that very moment, young Will passed his head through the door.

"What are you doing? Can we leave the infirmary?"

Nancy broke the embrace with regret.

"Not yet, get back in; I'll be with you in a moment. The children, they need me."

"I can see that and I have my duties. I'll be back as soon as possible."

"Be careful."

"Count on me."

As if in a dream, he left her.

***

Miles was quite satisfied with the search and destroy operations, as the boys soon called it, having gone smoothly and without incident. He heard sporadic gunshots, as it became apparent that only the wounded or disabled ferals were left behind. Nonetheless, the search had to be thorough and all of them eliminated. They found a few of the unaccounted for defenders, some had been hiding, like Tools, and others that had fled into the scarred forest, found their way back. The last roll call showed thirty-two of the defenders dead or missing. Nothing if you considered the stakes.

Walt had made an unpleasant discovery in the gymnasium. He found the remnants of many bodies had been stripped of most of their meat. The ferals, it was now obvious, had embraced cannibalism. It had been more or less expected but it still left a sour taste in the mouth. There had been a few of the boys' ponchos mixed in the pile: they had eaten their own but also some of the fallen defenders.

As soon as Louise secured the Teachers' House, the sharpshooters started firing for a good fifteen minutes, until there were no feral still standing on the roof as far as they could see. The ruckus had finally awakened Matthew who immediately went to find Miles in the meeting room. Miles welcomed him with open arms, their tender embrace witnessed by Brett and Sven who exchanged a complicit smile. All of Miles' boys were now gathered around him, except for Anthony who had gone with Louise.

Carl had left earlier with Tools to go to his office, or so he said.

"Sven, you will gather all of our boys. We'll take charge of the corridor now. Brett, you'll be in charge of the drones. I want you all ready in thirty minutes in front of the door."

"Am I going to participate?" asked Matthew, hopeful, as Sven left the room.

"Yes, I don't see why not, but remember this is not a game and I'm not doing you a favor."

Miles was quite sure that with the help of the drone it could be done with minimal risk. He also knew that it would greatly please the boy if he were not left behind this time.

"I understand," replied Matthew, suddenly standing taller.

One floor below, Carl Fisher had other preoccupations. He was in his office with Shirley.

"Did you lose any of the boys in your brigade? I didn't see Harvey," asked the headmaster.

"No, but it was close. Max had four casualties in his reserve unit, still most of the losses were among the refugees," answered the nurse.

"That's good; we will soon have need of them."

"They are not happy with the task of picking up the dead bodies. I can tell you that. Dunn doesn't want the younger kids or anyone else to help."

"There's a logic behind it, they were in charge of the infirmary and the sick when the flu hit. They're probably better prepared than most, thanks to you. But you're right, things will have to change."

"When?" questioned Shirley.

Tools entered the office at that moment.

"Raymond, where have you been? You seem in a hurry."

"Yes, I had business back in my apartment."

"Again? What business? And how did you get cornered there the first time?"

Tools hesitated before answering, but he had no choice, he had to tell as much of the truth as he dared.

"It's Chandler."

"That boy again. What about him?"

"I had to roughen him up a bit."

"You did, really?" Carl had some difficulty hiding a smile.

"Yes, I kind of followed your counsels. You see, he wasn't as compliant as I wanted; he took a lot but didn't give back as he should have."

"He was your weak spot, that's for sure. I'm glad to see you overcame your feelings for him. That's good for you. In what shape is he now?"

"I did all that could be done with him, all I wanted, and to my entire satisfaction. I can't say he was willing and it would be embarrassing if he were to tell anyone. I must say I haven't been able to really break him yet."

"I see exactly what you mean. We had the same problem with Cole."

"He's still in my apartment, I needed to check on him and make sure no one found him when they searched the Teachers' House."

"Quite logical." Carl was greatly enjoying each of Raymond's words. First, because the situation amused him immensely, and second, because Tools was now at his mercy, with no way out. He had never been certain that confronted with the hardships ahead he would not desert and join with Dunn in the end. That seemed extremely unlikely now. He was not of the kind that liked to lose face, and Carl had observed a misplaced pride in that man despite his apparent altruism.

"What do you plan to do with him now?" asked Shirley.

Carl stayed silent; he was waiting for the man to answer Shirley. He would then offer his assistance such that Raymond would be indebted to him, a tried and true ploy for Carl.

"I thought … he could … be held with your catamites?"

"But, of course, my whorehouse is the perfect place for him. It will be my pleasure, Raymond, and I promise not to touch him if that is what you want."

"Yes, I would prefer it so." Tools knew he was now bound to Carl's fate and had accepted that fact.

"That's exactly how I see our future. We stand together and serve our interests, only."

"What's in it for me?" demanded Shirley.

"What do you want?"

"I don't know quite yet. First, I want my brigade to be treated the way it should."

"I totally agree."

"How are you going to do that?"

"We need to wait until the ongoing operation to rid the school of ferals is over. Once done, there will be no reason for the refugees to keep their weapons. We will take them back and then demand they do the work of your brigade, cleaning up the school, for a start. That will be the first step. They must learn their place in the order of things."

"Why would they do that?" asked Tools.

"In exchange for their stay here and our protection. Dunn will not like it but will probably agree since there is a logic to it."

"Subtle, I see your point but can they do it? It is a gigantic undertaking."

"That could be a problem, true, we will adapt."

"Will it be enough to teach them their new status?" wondered Shirley.

"That's the point. Being weaponless will give them a feeling of vulnerability; they'll have no alternative but to comply with our demands, and as I said, it is a first step. One of my objectives is also to show the Saint Xavier boys — your brigade — the benefits of being on the safe side, to be on top of things and build on that, adding new ways to disparage them. The fact we did not fight together and their debacle at the fence will work in our favor."

"What do you think Dunn will do?"

"He'll take their side, of course; probably even help them with some of his boys, which is a good thing, after all, he's only been with us a few months, kind of a refugee himself. At least that's the message we need to spread. Having him and others do the job with the refugees will only reinforce that idea. We will wait a few days until they finish their task and then we will take the next step."

"Which is?"

"The one Dunn will oppose and that should offer us the occasion to get rid of him."

"Figuratively or literally speaking?" asked Shirley.

"That's for us to decide."

"Do you really think we would be better without him? After what we just went through? Is it reasonable?" asked Tools

"Do you want to do with Chandler as you want? Or any other boy you'll fancy?"

"There is that, I agree, but I also want to live."

"I see your point. Don't forget we have Max, Shirley's brigade, the weapons, the Bradleys. Now our boys have faced the ferals and won, they are more experienced. Dunn is not as indispensable as he was before."

"Louise must be a goner too," added Shirley.

"And some of their followers unfortunately," concurred Carl, who felt that Tools was not convinced.

"I fear this is premature and I would prefer another alternative."

"I would too. For a time, I hoped that I could find a compromise with Dunn but I feel it is now less and less likely."

"Perhaps we could eliminate Louise first. Alone, Dunn might be more amenable to accepting a deal," insisted Tools.

"We'll see. We have a few days to think it all over while we make our moves, we must be in the best position when we come to a decision."

***

Miles was back in full form after commanding the operations these last days. It was a good feeling for him but he was not going to ruin it by rushing ahead without making sure everything was in place first. He had often been the subject of criticism in the military by those that judged him too cautious, not to say timorous, when he had been in active combat. He had not changed and was not going to, not when the lives of the boys he loved could be at risk. Perhaps, he recognized, he lacked some edge and was slow to make decisions. There was certainly a downside to it but he was the commanding officer with the least casualties during the different campaigns he had known. He was not about to lose lives for a medal or to impress anyone. Why expose his men when he had a technical and tactical advantage, when he could send a drone or ask for air and artillery support first. He had avoided as much as possible direct contact, melee with the enemy, and he never regretted it.

Gathered in front of Dunn were the core eighteen warriors. They were mostly the first ones that had joined the group, and with more added over time, they now numbered close to thirty. Louise was there too.

"Okay, Brett, you can send the drone, let's see what awaits us beyond that door."

Deftly, the boys took the commands and soon the drone was hovering over the roof of the administration building, where it was immediately evident the sharpshooters had done an excellent job, there were bodies scattered all over and no movement.

"Shall I linger on the roof or do I go straight through the hole?" asked the boy.

"Check the turrets and the areas where the ferals could be hiding. Once we've cleared the corridor and adjoining rooms, we'll have to go up there. I want no surprises."

Miles was looking at the laptop images with Brett while the rest of the troop was waiting for the coming orders, some of them checking their weapons, others fidgeting in anticipation. They positioned a machine gun in front of the doors with Mike, endowed with the recent victory, in charge of it.

"There, did you see them?" said Brett, pointing.

"Yes, there's four, no five of them, apparently unharmed," said Miles. "They should be easily manageable."

"They have guns! Well, two of them," warned Brett.

Miles looked closer and saw it too. They were obviously much more aware and dangerous than the usual kind, hiding between the turrets, two held weapons. One could hope they did not know how to use them but it was bad news anyway.

"Louise, are the sharpshooters still in place?"

"Yes, except for Bob here. I told them to watch the roof for another hour in case we had missed a few of them."

"Brett, can you try to harass them with the drone, make them move?"

"I can try; we may lose the drone if I get too close."

"There are others."

"That's the one I prefer, the best we have." The boy was obviously not happy and did not want to see his preferred toy broken. It did not last. "You're right, I can build another."

For the next fifteen minutes, Brett tried to draw them out, having the drone fly as close as he dared, without success.

"Well, enough Brett, I think they won't budge from there until we come for them. Show us the corridor before we are out of battery."

The drone moved to hover above the hole, which was much larger now, with a large part of the roof lifted or blown out by the storm. They had been lucky not to have lost it all. A part of the corridor and one classroom were open to the sky. It was quite easy for Brett to lower the drone and let them see what awaited them. Again, he was still very careful, he remembered what happened at the mall with another of his drones, and stayed as high as possible, ready to pull away if necessary. Looking at the images, Miles estimated that about thirty to forty ferals were in the corridor. Strangely, they appeared apathetic and uninterested by their visitor. Once they cleared the corridor, they would have eight more rooms to rid of their unwanted guests.

"Take it away, Brett. Boys get in position, Mike you can fire whenever you want."

The warriors had been briefed and knew what their role at each step would be, they were behind Mike and in front of the double doors that had been uncluttered but left closed. The machine gun fired through them, tearing off whole chunks of wood as the bullets found their targets on the other side, it lasted a few minutes.

"Hold your fire," ordered Miles. The doors, now in shreds, fell, showing the devastating effect of the weapon. No living feral was still standing and the corridor walls had not been spared, with the hard sunlight passing through. "Send back the drone," he told Brett. "Stay put and watch for any movement, boys," he added, as he stepped forward with Louise and Walt. They would be the first ones inside, closely followed by Sven and Anthony.

One of the ferals on the ground tried to raise himself and he shot him in the head. The drone was coming toward them passing in front of the open doors with no apparent reaction from inside. It hovered in front of Miles before going in the first classroom on the right.

"I see no one in there," said Brett on the radio, "checking the opposite one."

As soon as the drone approached that threshold, three ferals rushed out of it, one holding a carbine. Miles and Louise, firing several bursts with their automatic weapons, mowed them down instantly. The drone that had pulled back could now enter the room.

"All clear," said Brett.

In turn, Miles with Sven and Anthony, Louise with Walt, entered the two classrooms already visited by the drone for a last check before moving on to the next ones. William, leading the rest of the boys moved forward to cover for them while they were inside.

The same procedure was repeated three more times without incident and fifteen more ferals were eliminated. A strange calm then reigned over the place and you could smell the now distinctive odor of burnt metal and powder. The boys could let go some of the extreme tension of the previous minutes, however they were not quite done yet.

"We'll clear the roof now," said Miles. "Brett, send the drone to see if there's any change up there. We'll use the stairs."

Anthony saw it but it was too late to do anything about it, the feral with the carbine was moving, he was not dead and found the strength to pull on the trigger. There was only one shot, Louise was hit in the back, she toppled and fell in Miles' arms as Anthony retaliated with a vengeance, emptying a full clip into the feral's body.

"Louise!" exclaimed Miles, watching the flow of blood escaping the open wound. "Sven, go fetch the doc and a stretcher. Hurry!" He was pressing on the wide gash with his two hands to try to stop the bleeding. The bullet had fractured the right shoulder blade, ricocheted, and exited just under the collarbone. Miles prayed no artery had been touched; otherwise, it was a lost cause. There was a lot of blood.

As he lay her down, Bob was holding her hand while the boys spread out taking defensive postures. Despite the strong emotions they were going through, and their young age, they followed the procedures they had been taught to the letter. Miles was proud of them.

"Louise, stay with us," said Bob, tears in his eyes, he was probably the boy closest to her.

"You can count on me, you won't get rid of me that easily," her voice was still strong but laced with pain. "What do you think, Miles, how does it look? Tell me."

"I've seen worse, you won't be able to hold a gun for some time."

"So you say, I'm ambidextrous with weapons; I can still be useful."

"I don't doubt it." Bob's tee shirt had replaced Miles' hands. "The bleeding seems to have stopped, and with some luck it will not be that serious." Miles was still worried but somewhat relieved.

"We're lucky it wasn't one of the boys that was hit. See, you're never too careful," said Louise, fighting the shock, her hands shaking, feeling nauseous.

"You're quite right about that Louise; you must never lower your guard." Miles knew that it was never enough, there were always contingencies, whatever you did to avoid it. He was sending glances every minute waiting for the arrival of the doc. It felt like an eternity since he had sent Sven to fetch him. He should have told him to be there with them, just in case, one more negligence, or simply arrogance. Thinking that nothing like that could happen.

Finally, he appeared at the end of the corridor with the same stretcher that not so long ago had transported Sam.

"How is she?" he asked, as he sat beside them taking Louise's pulse.

"Holding up so far. Seems she has stopped bleeding," answered Miles.

"Let me have a look." The doc cautiously took away the reddened tee shirt, and a little blood seeped from the open wound, not much. "Looks good to me, the bullet went through, doesn't seem to be too much damage. We'll take you to the infirmary where I'll be able to examine you better, Louise, that's the name?"

"Yes it is," she replied with a small smile despite her obvious pain.

A moment later, she was on the stretcher, carried away, Bob still holding her hand, walking along.

"Boys, we got a job to finish," said Miles.

"Now?" asked William, surprised.

"Now. Brett, send that drone of yours and let's see if the ferals are still at the same place."

They were and Miles with Walt, Sven, Matthew, and Anthony went up the stairs at the end of the corridor that gave access to the roof. Five boys were watching the hole and five more with Mike were going up through the west wing access.

"I don't want to take unnecessary risks," Miles said, true to his modus operandi. "When Mike is in position, you'll cover for me while I get close enough and finish them with a grenade."

"Yes sir," they replied, crouching and aiming their weapons.

The drone was hovering above the ferals' hiding place and Miles had no need to see them to know where to throw. He moved forward stealthily, he felt a cold rage after Louise's injury but was in control. The grenade left his hand making a perfect arc in the sky and falling at the exact desired spot.

"Take cover, everybody," he shouted, just before it exploded.

"Target destroyed," said Brett on the radio.

Miles took no chances, coming to see it with his own eyes. Then slowly the boys stood and came to him.

"Not a nice sight," said Walt, "What do we do with the bodies?"

"The best is to throw them off the roof to join the others on the ground."

"I'll do it with Mike; it's not a job for the younger ones. We'll take care of the bodies downstairs too."

"Good of you, Walt. We'll need to cover the roof too until we find a way to repair it. It will have to wait though; I'm going to the infirmary."

It was done: they had won and vanquished the ferals. Miles had some difficulty believing it, and now he could go see how Louise fared hoping the doc had been right about her chances of recovery. He would let Carl and Max take over for a few days, until new problems arose, he had done his job, let them take care of the aftermath.

***

"How serious is it," asked Carl Fisher trying to hide a smile.

"Not lethal but serious," informed the boy.

"Tell Dunn I'll go see her as soon as possible, if visits are allowed, that is."

The boy was gone and Carl reclined in his comfortable armchair, pensive. Then he stood up and poured himself a glass of whiskey to celebrate.

Louise had been wounded, seriously wounded, that was exactly what he had wished for not a day earlier. Fate was on his side, now was the time to put his plans in motion, he could not miss such an opportunity. He left his office on the first floor and exited the building.

Everybody was back in the dormitories. The search was complete and Saint Xavier purged of the few ferals still alive in the perimeter, most of them wounded and unable to leave the school by their own means.

Shirley's brigade was still cleaning up the area between the administration building, and Eagle and Puma houses, without much enthusiasm, it was slow going. Harvey was there supervising. Carl went straight to him.

"Harvey, how are you my boy?"

"It certainly could be better, we deserve better than gathering stinky dead ferals all day. Isn't that what you told us?"

"You're quite right, boy, and I am a man who keeps his word. Tell them to stop and gather round."

The group of thirty boys assembled around Carl to hear what he had to say. He told them what their new tasks would be and what he expected of them, smiles were soon on their faces.

Thirty minutes later, Carl had another audience with the refugees, assembled in the dining hall. The small kids freed from the infirmary were running around, enjoying their new freedom. Carl scanned the area searching for a few familiar faces, informed that his little Latino dream boy had survived the battle unscathed. He was delighted to see him close by with his friend Ethan and Burt Algood. Divide and rule, that was his plan. The younger boys and few girls would be easy to subdue but there were many adults and older teens among the refugees, which could pose a certain threat if allowed to retain their weapons. Only half of those, from the interviews, were interesting additions to the school, the others were of no immediate interest. Who needed an accountant, a waiter, or a sales assistant? He would need a few days to closely study each one of them and determine which ones could still be of use, who were the troublemakers, and those that would bend to his rule.

Carl had the numbers from the roll call made earlier for each house and among this group. There were twenty-three people confirmed dead, seven of them Saint Xavier boys and sixteen missing, all from the refugee group except for Chandler Terril, who was not really lost. That left ninety-seven refugees in all, not counting the three Conner boys who had been integrated into Dunn's bunch long ago and were back at Bear House and deemed untouchable for now.

"Ladies and gentlemen, a little quiet please, I have good news for you." Carl used his famous honeyed voice, pausing long enough for everyone to turn their attention onto him before continuing. "To thank you for taking part in our victory, or should I say victories, against the fire and the ferals, it has been decided to welcome you permanently into our growing community."

Carl strategically paused again, letting the information make its way into everybody's mind. There were a few isolated clapping of hands by Saint Xavier boys, cleverly mixed with the refugees, which the majority of the crowd joined without enthusiasm. The events of the last weeks and months had taught them caution. Carl was moderately satisfied with the result, it had not worked as well as he hoped but it was expected. He knew that he could not easily win them to his side.

"We have not had the time yet to become well acquainted with each other, but it will come soon. Most of you are young and as a school, we are used to catering to your needs. I am certain you will find your place and not regret your stay at Saint Xavier. We have gathered information on each of you already and we will try to use your abilities as best as possible for our mutual well-being. We have a lot to offer you besides protection and food. This is only the beginning, if you accept our offer we will work together for a better future. I have decided that Mister Burt Algood will be your representative at the committee and help us evaluate your needs and how each of you can contribute to our prosperity. I am sure he'll do a great job." Burt's expression of surprise at those words amused Carl greatly. "One more thing," he added, as if it was of no importance, "We will ask you to return the weapons you were given to fight the ferals, they will be stored in the armory. You have no use for them anymore and with all those small children we do not want them lying around, accidents do happen. This rule applies to all of us. Of course, they will be at your disposal in case of need. For now, the huge task ahead will be to get rid of the countless dead bodies that are everywhere. We will demand that, starting now, you participate in their removal. It will be a nasty job but also a clear sign of your acceptance that you belong to this community. Our boys will join in the effort and it will be the first step of our collaboration. But enough talking, we have a lot to do and you must be tired and hungry."

There were a few more applauses. Carl did not notice too many signs of discontent, there was only a certain buzzing around some individuals already categorized as troublemakers, one black dude with a bandanna, notably, a Mister Deakins, he had been told. They would be taken care of later. For now, the goal was to dispel any fear or mistrust among them.

"Mister Algood, will you join me in my office? We have a lot of things to discuss."

Burt was still dumbfounded to have been chosen for that position; still he could do nothing but agree.

"Have a good evening and a good night everybody. We are all exhausted after these difficult days. I'll see you in the morning. Harvey, here, and his helpers, will gather the weapons and take them back to the armory."

A running blond kid bumped Carl, as he left the dining hall with Burt.

"Where are you going running like that, pretty boy?" he asked benignly. He had immobilized the boy, seizing him by the shoulders, firmly but not threateningly, his piercing gaze told quite a different story.

"Sorry sir, I'm just passing through," said Will.

"What should I do Burt? He has excused himself; he is a well-behaved boy. Should I let him go?" Carl had observed that Greg had a peculiar interest in that boy. He would make a perfect gift for his protégé who would have many years ahead to enjoy him. The child was younger than Enrico, and if he had not himself too many holes to fill with the prospective of adding new, much coveted ones, to his collection, he could have been interested.

"Well … yes. What else, I don't know," answered Burt, taken aback by the question.

"As you wish," said Carl letting go of the boy, "He could have made a nice replacement."

"Replacement? For what? What do you mean?"

Carl did not answer as they continued on their way.

"Come in and take a seat. Would you like something to drink?" They were now in Carl's office. The headmaster wanted to assess the man before going further, he had some hunches already (this was one of Carl's talents) but more information was required.

"Why did you choose me … for the committee? What does it entail" Burt was at a complete loss, not understanding what was going on.

"I chose you because we have common interests."

"Which are?"

"Boys, of course."

"How do you know that?" Burt had paled somewhat, despite what he had learned earlier about the new sexual mores at the school, hearing it said bluntly, like that, was kind of a shock for him.

"I know people. That's a talent I have. I have seen you with your kids, there can be no mistaking it."

"I must say you're mostly right but it is more complex than that. It's not my fault."

"Fault, what a strange word for that matter. Do tell me."

"You see I'm a sex addict. I have been most of my life."

"Sex addict, what is that?" Carl was attentive, listening. Another of his talents was to favor people's confessions. He knew by instinct what words to use and once they started, you usually could not stop them talking. They would tell him everything, most times including some of their deepest secrets. It had been an inestimable asset to help him set up and develop his club.

"I'm obsessed with sex, I can't live without it; all of my free time is devoted to it."

"How interesting."

"Don't mock me, it's a nightmare. Before the flu, I had no life. All I could think of was how I could get laid. It was like a full time job, besides the real one, and I was quite successful. I met with two, three, sometimes four women a day." Burt was unstoppable; he had to say it all.

"Women?" said Carl with a grimace, "Up to four a day, truly remarkable."

"Yes, I had never touched a boy or thought of touching one before this whole mess."

"Tell me how it happened."

"Quite simply in fact. Ethan was the first boy I collected, his mother left him in my care as she left for the hospital, I wasn't too happy about it at first. Kids didn't fit with my life and addiction. As the world around us deteriorated he brought more kids to the house and soon it was becoming dangerous to leave the house and nearly impossible to meet with women."

"You could have used your hand or perhaps there was a little girl among the kids?"

"My hand has never been enough for me, I need the real thing. There were two girls at first but I'm not a monster, they were way too young."

"So you fucked Ethan? He was old enough?"

"No … yes. It didn't happen that way. Truly, I never thought of that, not really, until one day I surprised the kids playing sex games together. It gave me the idea."

"I can understand that. Come on, spill it out, there's nothing to fear, I've been into boys myself all my life, they are my own addiction. With this school as my hunting grounds, I've known more than you can imagine."

"I had surprised Ethan sucking Bradley, a big fourteen year old, probably the one that started it all, they were taking turns. When he came to my room, later, to explain himself, it happened almost naturally, I asked if he would do it to me and he accepted. It started with a simple blowjob. After that, there was no way I could stop. They have smooth, hairless bodies not that different from girls and I soon discovered tight welcoming holes. I had all I needed. It was the best time ever, with them under my roof I could indulge in my addiction effortlessly. What else could I wish for?"

"Quite an interesting story you gave me Burt, personally I'm appalled at your taste for women but I admire your sense of opportunity. I'm curious, How do you rate boys now that you've tried them?"

"I must say they hold the comparison rather well, they're quite enjoyable. I'm still bothered by their young age and the prejudice that goes with it."

"Forget about that, the world is not the same anymore, those notions were fabricated and imposed upon us. We're free from them now. I'm sure your boys enjoy the sex as much as you do."

"There's truth in what you say."

"Good. Burt, I'm sure we'll become the best of friends. You haven't talked about Esteban yet. How did you find him?"

"He's certainly the best of the bunch in that area. Should I say more?"

"Yes, of course, tell me."

"I met him last with his sister while looking for food, they were chased by ferals. He is without doubt the very best sex partner I ever had, whether boy or girl. He knows every damn way to please you and can bring you to Nirvana several times in a row. I learned he had been pimped by his father from a young age.

"Yes, I've seen it, he oozes sex and sensuality. I want him."

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"Nothing that should not be expected, I want him in my bed tonight."

"You must be joking."

"Not at all."

"He doesn't know you."

"He didn't know you before you met him and I bet he was in your bed on the first day. No one can resist such a sex bomb."

"That is why you offered me the post?"

"I see that we understand each other, Mister Algood. Let's talk business for a moment before I call you Burt and you can call me Carl. As I said, this is a new world and this time, we, I, set the rules. I chose you because we have special needs in common, it will make things easier for the both of us. I've been in hiding all my life for my attraction to boys, not anymore. That implies that I must be on the top of things to ensure that my new freedom is not taken away from me. Those that follow me in this endeavor will benefit from certain privileges. You understand why I must be certain of your dedication and that we share the same goals."

"That's a lot to swallow. I need some time to think it over, what exactly are those goals you're speaking of?"

"Don't tell me you don't know… I can accept that you need some time; an immediate agreement would be suspicious. What about your boy, will you give him to me?"

"Esteban is not an object that you can borrow on a whim."

"I do not want to borrow him, I want to own him. You said his father pimped him, what do you care, you have plenty of others."

"I love him, he's a sweet boy. I'm not like his father. I care about him. You told me you were not lacking boys either."

Carl took a step closer to Burt; his tone changed, he spoke sternly, "I want him. You know how it is when you want something. He's part of the deal."

"The deal, what deal?"

"I told you; soon there will be those with privileges and those without, those who are useful and those who are not. Who do you want to be?"

"Do I need to answer that?"

"All you need to do is give me the boy and from now on you can call me Carl and I'll call you Burt."

"Do I have a choice?"

"People always have a choice but there are consequences. I like you Burt, you have a brain; with you, there's no need to go into every little detail: you get it right away. You'll be an important token on my team to deal with the other refugees. We'll need to have a serious talk about that, but right now, I feel horny. Why don't you go fetch Esteban for me?"

Burt rose on wobbly knees, the guy was a monster and he was trapped. If he said no, it would change nothing; Esteban would end up in the man's bed anyway. He hated it but he had to compromise until he found a way out, he had to think of the other kids he had brought here. As he opened the door he found himself nose to nose with Esteban flanked by two of those dark clad boys that always lurked around, they were definitely quite ominous looking.

"Esteban!"

"How thoughtless of me, I forgot, I already asked my boys to bring him here," said Carl unapologetically. "Perhaps you'll want to have a few words with the boy before leaving."

NEXT PART