I'd been watching them from my hiding place in the air ducts over the roof of the gym. I knew places in this building no one ever dreamed of existancing. I hadn't been janitor in this place for 10 years for nothing. Hell, the janitor job itself had been my way of going into hiding every since my life fell apart 10 years ago. This whole comet thing seemed like only the latest in a serious of disasters that had turned my life upside down. Disasters had been my profession once upon a time. And in between disasters there had been to cool quiet of the Colorado forests where I cruised timber sales for the US Forest Service. Fire had always fascinated me. Fire had drawn me like a moth to the flame. I put in my application and passed all the rigorous tests. One morning the supervisor of the Uncomphagre National Forest sent out a radio message to me where I was spiked out with the timber crew. "Chief, pack your bags. You've been accepted for the Forest Service smoke jumper school up in Bozeman." The supervisor thought it was funny to call me chief since I'm a full blooded Navajo. The rest of the timber crew was yelling, "Congratulations, Fred!" as I climbed into the Forest Service truck to drive back down to the district office to catch the plane for Bozeman.

Three years later in the hot dry summer of 1994, they dropped our crew in the mountains outside Glenwood Springs to fight an uncontained fire that was roaring out of control. I looked down at the flames from our plane and I KNEW. I was second in command of our crew. I told our crew boss it was a bad place for a jump. He laughed. "You gonna start talking native superstitons at me, Fred?" So we made the jump and the crew boss was the first to die. It was a crown fire and we'd landed half way up a ridge. Trees were exploding all around us. Some of our crew tried to outrun the fire. They knew better, but they panicked. Some tried to deploy their fire shelters. In a fire storm like that, they were worthless. I managed to do a back burn on the area immediently surrounding the place where I'd landed. I crawled between two huge boulders and watch the flames engulf everything around me. I watched 8 brave men - my friends - meet hideous deaths. After that I quit the service and left Colorado, but I couldn't leave the nightmares behind. The comet seemed minor in comparison.

As I watched the motley group gathered in the gym, I was glad to see that Aaron was among them. He had a way of getting into mischief, but he was a good kid. I used to let him hide out with me when he got into trouble. I could sense a certain tension between the group leader, Patrick and the woman, Rebecca. Rebecca had a way of questioning Patrick without ever really putting it into words. Skye is just a young girl, but appears to be holding up quite well. Nelson, the intellectual, is an unknown quantity. They were talking about Durango, a place that it is only about 30 miles from the home of the Dinee'h, my people. I wanted to go home, and it would be easier to make the journey with companions, than alone.

I dropped down from my hiding place and walked toward them with my hand raised in a gesture of peace. "May I join you?" I asked.

The first of a new lifetime of nights on the ground was finally over. My back certainly wasn't feeling any younger, though it would have been a nice irony to discover, even this late in life, the rejuvenative properties of sleeping on hard earth.

Aaron, the young boy with us, and his older sister returned from who knows what adventures carrying a shirt full of sodas stretched out like a stuck pig for the chief's feast. I politely declined the carbonated pig meat. I didn't even try to explain the counterintuitive effects of such beverages towards dehydration, although Patrick seemed to give me a glance of approval when I told Aaron I would hold off until my body more desperately needed the sugar for sustenance. It was surprising, since I wouldn't expect to garner any respect at all from a man who so clearly knows his way around living in the outdoors. I'd certainly be interested to learn from him, but old dogs new tricks and whatnot, and I'd be afraid of wasting his time with my ineptitude.

Aaron's older sister prefers the interesting sobriquet "Vark" over her given name of Rebecca. When I mentioned that she shared a namesake with Rebecca Harding Davis--and proceeded to neglect her more substantial later contributions to literature, rather to specifically highlight the demoralized, darker characters in her earlier work--she seemed to perk up a bit, saying she wished they would have let her read such "cool stuff" in her school. I assured her she probably wouldn't like the real thing, and promised her I would still call her Vark as she desired. If creativity like hers were more often nurtured, perhaps we would have had better entry-level candidates at the university, and I wouldn't have minded teaching ENG 305 as much. But no use dwelling on what is lost.

Other than the adolescents and Patrick, there is a young woman named Skye (her real name, I was disappointed to discover) and today one more joined us, a former janitor named Fred. Apparently he and Aaron were already friends, and Vark she says she vaguely recognized him from her years at that same middle school. He is usually quiet, which makes him an odd companion for the rambunctious kid, but Aaron does seem a bit more relaxed now that he's here, so that's a welcome relief. Perhaps he will even lessen his antagonizing of Skye, but frankly I doubt it. She clearly never learned the rules of sibling rivalry (par for the course for an only child) and plays the victim so overbearingly that he virtually has no choice but to keep tormenting her. I hope for my own sake that Vark lends her a clue on how to deal with it soon--or perhaps these lecturn-softened hands could attempt to forge a new life on my own after all...

It was something of a chore to get the group rounded up and ready to head out. I had to send the kids rummaging through the locker room to find a couple of gym bags and backpacks to stuff a bunch of the pilfered sodas into. Resources are resources, and anything at all might get real hard to come by.

I'm not exactly sure how I came to selected the leader of this crew. Most of them are just kids, really. Hell, I guess I am, too, deep down. I'm scared as hell, but I know that we have to get out of this city before the surviving hoardes start turning really feral. I've already been robbed, but at least the thugs let me escape with my life. Next time, I might not be as lucky. I hope that the old saw "there's safety in numbers" holds to be true for this group.

It struck me as terribly odd that no one saw the comet coming until it was too late. It was said to have been a relatively old comet, and wasn't outgassing much, leaving it undiscovered until a scant week before the impact with the Moon. It also was an enormous comet, because, even with its relatively low density, it packed enough of a wallop to nudge our satellite in such a way that it triggered stupendous, violent tidal forces on the Earth. The last news reports I'd heard said that the San Andreas had gone completely apeshit, and there wasn't much left of the West Coast. Nothing much that people cared about, anyway.

I had been out of the lab and in the city, trying to stock up on some last minute emergency supplies when the actual impact came. Most scientists had poo-poohed the idea that it would be a major disaster. The moon was too solid, too far away, the comet was too insubstantial to do much more than make a big flash. Should be fun to watch, they said.

It was impressive when it did happen, but within 24 hours the first quakes had started, and another day later, the Earth swept across the path of debris that had been blown off the surface of the Moon. The rain of fiery stones caused almost as much damage as the earthquakes had the day before. By the time the brimstone had stopped falling, entire cities had burned to the ground. Forests were still burning in many locations around the planet, with little to no organized efforts to stop them. Apparently, the biggest part of the Rockies had been spared, and so I was determined to head West, out to my grandad's property near Durango, a place secluded enough, and with abundant water and game to survive on for awhile.

The big trick was going to be getting there, especially with a band of mostly suburbanite kids in tow. Fred was going to be a big help, from what I could tell of him. He had mentioned his time in the Fire Jumpers Service, so I knew he was tough, brave and smart. Someone else with some outdoors savvy was going to be essential if we were to keep everyone safe.

"We'd better get moving pretty quick", I said to the increasingly restless group. "We need to get some miles behind us before dark. We're going to have to have time to find a shelter of some sort, preferably someplace defensible, where we can see anyone coming for a ways off. Aaron, you're gonna have to keep that whistle quiet when we move out, man. We don't want everyone knowing we're coming, okay?"

Fred made me nervous. I don't know why. It always seemed like he was right on the edge of saying something to me. Something that would change my life. But the moment would never come. How did he do it? It made me really uncomfortable, anyway.

He had an odd habit of looking over your shoulder when he talked to you, too. Like there was someone behind you that was more interesting to look at.

Today we made almost 12 miles before we came to another little town. Patrick and Fred went ahead to scout the town while we parked it in a little schoolbus stop shelter and had lunch. Ricky loves Sarah. I shook my head. Ricky and Sarah were both probably dead.

After about an hour, we could hear Patrick calling to us from down the street.

"Lucky day" was all I could make out, but I could tell he was excited by the way he hopped up and down in the street. We gathered up our bags and started toward him at a trot.

Everyone seems pretty pumped up for a bus ride. Running down to meet the guys I was kinda hoping for some cheeseburgers or something. I guess they’re happy to get moving, whatever. Just what I want to do, ride some nasty old school bus that smells like French fries. That’s too weird. Fred thinks it’s cool though so, I guess I’ll just go along. He’s pretty chatty about this bio-diesel thing, so he must be impressed by it. I guess it is pretty neat that we can fill the tank from the fryers at Mickey D’s. As long as I get to keep the skateboard I found, I don’t care. Becka was grumbling that I’d need to ditch it, but if we're riding, I’m gliding.

I wonder why Granola Boy really wants us with him? Patrick says it’s for protection, I hope that’s it. Professor Nutter started going on about Cadbury Tails er somethin’. People just look at him like he’s out of his mind. If he’s straight, I bet he has a crush on Skye, the way he always pairs up with her and tries to give me crap, weirdo. As long as he stays away from Vark, I don’t care. It’s gonna get old curling up on these bus seats especially with folks complaining about tapping on metal, man, what a touchy bunch.

The red plastic seats pull at my skin as I shift in my seat. its been years since I sat on a bus, mum always drove the statesman anytime we went into town, but I don't think ill ever be behind the wood grain dash again. I look down at my hands, the keratin is splitting already and the polish is wearing off, it might be a while before I get my next manicure, hell it might be a while before I get my next wash! I didn't realise just how dirty I was until I was getting on the bus, everyone jumped aboard yet me and Vark were left standing at the door, I motioned for her to go first until she indicated it might be an effort for her to make it on the bus because of her injured ankle. I wished I'd id been lathered in my CK-one- as I had my arm around her waist and helped her make it onto our salvaged method of transportation. As soon as she was seated I made my way to the back end of the bus. for a fleeting moment I had forgotten about our dire situation. I had forgotten about mum, about how I had just left her there to rot. I promised myself as soon as it was possible id go back, id go back and make everything right again. god how I missed her.

Aaron's behind me in the long back seat of the bus, bouncing up and down, putting his feet on the back of my seat and pushing in tune with his humming to a rock song he was obviously playing in his head. I just stared out the window trying to pretend I didn't notice, I wonder if I was the only one who secretly wanted to throw this kid out the window? i know Nelson must feel some sort of detestation toward the little punk because I've seen him share my gaze toward him.For now ill keep biting my tongue.

I think Patrick is getting a real kick out of this, playing the role of babysitter for all us homeless misfits. He reminds me of a father driving his kids to a theme park, constantly looking back to check on our solemn faces. the only one he doesn't seem to take this persona with is Vark, its like her personality cancels his out when they communicate. as I study his face from the back of the bus I notice a change in his posture, his body stiffens and I notice the movement in bus slow to a braking crawl.

Nelson, who I secretly think believes he should be in charge, becomes impatient. "what's going on?" he asks Pat.

Pat holds up a finger to shush the suspicious group. Aaron stops kicking my seat and struts over to Vark, So protective for such a young kid.

We all stand to get a better view out the cracked front windscreen.....

The modified motor for the school bus that Patrick rigged up worked better than I would have ever imagined. I entertained Aaron with descriptions of how soggy french fries were fueling us down the pock marked highway. The mileage the bus got was miserable to say, the least, however. I estimated that a 1,000 potatoes had given their lives for every mile we managed to travel down the road. Sooner or later (most likely sooner), we'd come to a place where there was no Burger King and then we'd be on foot.

As the bus lurched along, I studied my companions, wondering how they'd hold up when the walking began. Aaron would be no problem. In fact a good 12 or 15 miles on his skateboard each day would go a long way toward making him a more managable traveling companion. Vark would be fine once she recovered from a minor injury to her ankle. She could easily walk all day and then ask pointed questions of me and Patrick and Nelson all night. I judged Nelson and Skye to be the two physically weakest members of our party. I doubted that Skye had ever done anything more difficult than filing her nails and Nelson looked as if he could collapse if he had to carry a stack of his English 305 final exams up a flight of stairs.

The bus came to a stop, interrupting my musings. Patrick motioned us all forward. "We're coming up on a town in another mile," he said. "I'm going to pull the bus off the road out of sight of the highway. I want you to come with me, Fred, to reconnoiter. The rest of you stay with the bus. If Fred and I aren't back in two hours, you're in charge, Nelson. "

Patrick parked the bus behind some trees. He and I got out and bagan to walk into the town. It appeared deserted. It looked as though many of the buildings had taken direct hits from the debris from the comet’s explosion. What had once been the church was among the destroyed buildings. The stench was unbearable. We could see an arm or leg here or there sticking out of the rubble.

“Must have all gathered in the church to pray,” said Patrick. “So much for God’s mercy.”

I looked up at the dust filled sky, now turning blood red from the sunset. I thought of the long journey across the plains and high mountain passes which lay ahead of us, the lack of food, the roving bands of marauders. “Maybe THOSE people were the ones God had mercy on,” I replied. Patrick was silent.

On the next street over, we made a real find. A sporting goods store was still standing. Its windows had been shattered by the explosion of the building which had once stood next to it, but the interior of the store remained miraculously intact. Patrick and I stepped through the broken glass into this treasure trove.

I grabbed canteens, packs, a tent, and two excellent Silva compasses. Patrick snagged some sleeping bags, a second tent, flashlights and a store of incredibly precious batteries. We staggered out of the store, laden down with goodies. And then it happened.

"I'm TIRED of this sitting-around shit. Always waitin' on Patrick to come back and tell us 'Okay, it's safe to sit on the bus for another three hours," sputtered Aaron, sticking his tongue out and whacking one wrist against the opposite shoulder, in what I must admit was a pretty amusing gesture, despite its oddity. Gradually I became aware that his aimless pacing up and down the aisle was getting farther away, and I sat up higher just in time to see his head disappearing out the door. He must have leaped out of the bus from the top step, since the rest of his trajectory was evident out the window. He tumbled into the dirt and hopped back onto his feet.

"I'm gonna look around. Maybe there's another busted soda machine somewhere!" Aaron called out as he trotted off.

I tried to stop him, but his immediate reply (I'm pretty sure he'd been working this up for awhile) was, "Patrick said you're in charge if they're not back in two hours. It hasn't been that long yet." He turned and walked backwards briefly while we debated it, but he never stopped moving.

"I'll go after him..." sighed Vark.

"No. You and Skye stay on the bus. You couldn't catch up to him with your ankle. And between me and Skye, we have ever-so-slightly a greater chance of his listening to me telling him come back to the bus."

God, it had been a long time since I'd run anywhere, and I had to outright sprint to get to him before he disappeared entirely. I even forgot about my back in lieu of my burning lungs.

We had managed to round up a pretty good load of useful gear, but getting it back to the bus was proving to be a problem. It wasn't difficult to come by a couple of grocery carts, but shoving them along through the debris-strewn streets was nigh impossible. The carts were heavily laden, and we had to make more dry land portages than I would have ever thought possible.

The strenuous effort had us both breathing pretty hard, and we had wrapped bandannas around our noses and mouths to try and fight the stench from the rotting corpses. Fred had remembered seeing "Silence of the Lambs", and grabbed a container of Vicks from the rubble of the drugstore where we'd pillaged for med supplies. Smeared liberally across the bandannas, it actually did cut the smell to tolerable levels.

The streets were utterly deserted. Anyone who had ever been a pedestrian was either buried under tons of rubble or had apparently left town some time ago...and that was very, very strange. After all...*we* were here. Why wasn't anyone else?

After Nelson passed out of sight in pursuit of Aaron, Skye and I were alone. She came and sat down next to me on my bench. Resting her head on my shoulder, she sighed. "what's the matter, Skye?" I said.

"It's just so lonely. This whole big empty world. I miss mum, too." I put my arm around her shoulder. She seemed to go limp against me. And she was 3 years older than me. She's scared like a girl, I thought. But then she straightened and I could see her resolving herself. She was pretty strong after all, I guess.. I gave her a hug anyway. People need comfort.

As I hugged her, I looked out through the window of the bus, and could see a solitary figure outlined against the horizon, walking the road out of the town toward us. It wasn't Fred or Pat either.

"get down!" I whispered in her ear. She looked at me like I was crazy, but once I twisted her head around and pointed, she got the picture, and we both ducked down. I wondered if it was too late to hide. I could see him plainly now, and wondered if he'd seen our shapes in the bus. He was huge. At least he looked it from this distance. AS he approached the bus, I could see that I was right. He was probably 6'8" or so. He was smiling. A friendly smile. "Hello in there?" he called.

I raised my head enough to get a better look. He was older. maybe 45 or 50 with a greying beard and hair. An Old black gentleman, I thought. He wore a tattered 3 piece suit. the vest barely contained a bulging muscular chest, and his biceps strained at his sleeves. He had the look of an athelete, save his age.

Skye was the first to speak to him.

Aaron bound of the bus, a sense of relief washed over me, and I suddenly felt a twang of guilt for not thinking of his safety. We were a family (of sorts) now, and we had to take care of each other. that's why I didn't protest when Nelson went after him, but he didn't need to be so damn derogatory toward me. Stupid old fool, I bet I could run twice as far and twice as fast as him... if I wanted to. Everyone thinks that just because I don't swear and spit and let that fact that civilization is diminishing make me uncivilized they think I am a just a prissy little princess. For their information I did Girl Guides for two whole years AND I have done orienteering!

I remember mum being so proud of me when I had gotten my first badges on my sash, one for cooking (we made chocolate crackles and mine were the yummiest!) and the other for uniform. I always had the neatest uniform. my sash always pressed and my shoes always shiny. I always matched my hair ribbon to my skirt and never slouched my socks. look at me now. Bugger finding a soda machine - find me a David Jones retail outlet with new clothes and rose scented body wash!

~grumble~

my stomach turned, I was so hungry. I hope the others came back with something soon. I don't think I could walk another step without substance. I thought about what our lives would be like from here on in.. it was just a big black blanket of what if's... I had no idea of what would become of us and what lie ahead, everyone else seemed so eager to exorcise their survival techniques, I just wanted my mum, and my big comfy bed, and the security of our home. I felt so unsafe and alone, who leaves two young ladies alone on a bus anyhow? I look at Vark, a pillar of strength for such a young thing. her beauty and strength shine from behind the dirty marks on her face as I slide down next to her. she envelopes me in her warmth and I feel 100% better.

I was in my own world for what seemed like only a second when Vark told me to get down, I startled out of my daze and looked at her questioningly.. she enclosed my chin in her soft hand and jerked it round so as I could see the man approaching the bus. Panic filled my guts and I gasped in panic.. he had seen the bus and was coming toward us he was probably mid 40's and he was huge! Thoughts obsessed in my head of what he would do upon finding two young girls alone in an abandoned bus. I thought about hiding, I thought about running. and then.. I thought about Vark.

I stood up and stomped over to the door of the bus, as he approached I looked him daringly in the eye..

"We don't have any food" I put my hands on my hips and attempted to position my tiny body in a authoritarian stance.

He stared at me with shiny eyes. little black curls on his head and a beard starting to make its home on his face.

"We don't have anything so please just leave" My voice sounded so weak, I felt pathetic and foolish trying to be the strong one. Vark stood behind me now and she asked him "what do you want?"

He reached into his jacket pocket and I thought.. that's it, that's it we are gone, he is going to shoot us and take our bus. His hand came out of the Jacket and held..... a small plastic bag full of salted peanuts. a peace offering? he reached up and placed the bag in my hand. Wary shone in my eyes and hunger stabbed at my belly as I stood aside and let him on the bus.

"What's your name?" I asked

He grinned; an incomplete, but beautifully white, set of teeth flashing at the girl. "My name?". A chuckle. "Miss, if I ever had a name, it sure as hell don't mean anything now."

He turned and pointed out the front of the bus. "If it's food you're after, you're headed the right way." Half of his grin returned, but it was a nervous reaction, not the hi-beam he had turned on at first. "But there's no one alive. Not a soul."

He eased his large frame tiredly onto the frontmost seat and leaned his head back, eyes closed. One was reminded of an animatronic Disneyland character being shut off for the night; there was no relaxation, no sigh of relief. Just a cessation of movement.

The others looked at each other, mouthing opinions, suggestions, unspoken fears about this strange nameless newcomer and his intentions. The quiet tension built as people nervously tried to edge past the long leg in the aisleway. When the man spoke, several almost screamed, so wound up they were. This resulted in the same half-grin as before.

"Monroe," said the grin. "You can call me Monroe if it makes you feel better. You think I'm a bad man? Why? Because I'm large or because I'm a black male?"

A quiet, sad chuckle. "Some things don't change even after the apocalypse." He nodded his head forward. "Up ahead there's a peach cannery. On the left, you'll remember it. Hope you ain't allergic to peaches, because that's all there is...except for the peanuts, they were in the breakroom. I wouldn't recommend going in there, though." A slight shudder, then back to the animatronic half-slumber.

Patrick and I were pretty laden down with gear, but moving at a pretty fast clip, anyhow, because we both wanted the hell out of that mausoleum which the town had become. Suddenly, I saw Aaron tear around a corner up ahead. He was hopping like a crazed rabbit over piles of rubble. Nelson was right behind him, and although panting heavily, actually closing in on the wildly running kid. I felt a new respect for Nelson. The professor could actually do something besides rattle on and on about obscure authors nobody else had ever heard of. "Aaron! Over here," I yelled. "We need another man to help us carry these supplies!" Aaron turned his head in surprise toward me and Patrick with our shopping carts and duffle bags. The kid grinned and came trotting over towards us. Patrick shot Aaron an exasperated look and threw a large duffle bag at him which the boy easily caught. Patrick's look of irritation turned to one of outright exasperation when his gaze came to rest on Nelson. "Nelson! Where are the girls?" he barked.

Nelson looked exasperated himself. "If I hadn't gone after Aaron, Skye would have, and I figured it was safer for her and Vark to stay with the bus," he panted. "OK, OK," said Patrick. "Help us with this load of supplies we've gathered and let's get back there on the double."

I felt a sudden pang of fear at Patrick's words. Not again! Never again was Fred Chee going to loose friends like he had once before. And these people had become my friends. Was Skye OK?
And Vark? I quickened my pace to a trot and the others also began to move rapidly toward the direction of the bus.

The words of The Blessing Way that my people sang for good luck began to run through my head, "Grandfather! This day, your magic take out for me! Dark Cloud is at the door! Zig Zag lightening stands high above dark cloud. The way out is dark cloud..."

We came in sight of the bus at last. The two girls were there, but a huge black guy I'd never seen before was standing there towering over them. Vark had a look of fear on her face. I swore under my breath and quickly pulled out the old officer's colt 45 that my Dad had brought back from 'Nam and that I always carried since the comet came...

I was shocked at the amount of useful supplies Patrick and Fred had been able to recover from the small town. My reaction also extended to how much of it Aaron was able to carry. A good thing, since after my sprint I was barely able to walk back to the bus carrying my own girth, slight though it might be.

Fred was by far the first to see that there were three people in front of the bus. His eyes are extremely sharp--he was pulling out a gun before any of us even knew what was going on. Fortunately he also took off running towards the bus, otherwise I think Patrick would have had him in a defensive hold in another instant. I wonder if he had been poised for such an event since Fred had joined us--and did he half-suspect the rest of us of doing something dangerous at any minute as well?

Monroe turned out to be friendly, although you wouldn't know it from Vark's wariness. He joined us for our supper of energy bars and small packets of trail mix (Patrick promised Aaron on the next trip they would try to find some food that didn't "taste like freaking dog scrotum,") but later politely refused to stay the night. It was quite strange; he promised to be back in the morning, to lead us to the peach cannery ("Oh good, dog pussy to go with our dog scrotum, gotta have a balanced meal,") but outright refused all attempts to sleep with the group. Instead he ambled off into the darkness, whistling a tune quietly to himself.

In the middle of the night, I awoke to a very disturbing image: an older woman, though how old was hard to say given her extremely disheveled appearance, was rifling through our supplies. I yelled out, and she bolted carrying several bags, but the commotion woke everyone and before I knew it Fred and Patrick had her restrained. Both were exerting a good amount of strength, as the craggy woman thrashed about railing obscenities.

"What do you think you're doing?" hissed Patrick through clenched teeth.

I had her held down to the ground with a knee to her chest, but she didn't put up much fight. Instead, she just stared up with a mixture of fear and venom in her eyes.

"Bastards!", she hissed. "Rapists! Animals!"

I was starting to feel bad about pinning her so hard. There wasn't any fight in her, and her words spewed forth seemingly out of fear. Still, I didn't want to appear weak.

"Why were you stealing from us? You could have picked up this kind of stuff all over," I growled.

Instead of answering, she closed her eyes, struggled for a breath...and died.

"Good going, nerd," Nelson said, "you've suffocated her."

No, I hadn't...she had been breathing easily enough when she was pouring out invectives. Something else was wrong.

"Shut up, Nelson," I said. "Grab her stuff and see if there's anything in there to identify her."

"What does it matter? She's just another stiff," he replied, but he went to look anyway.