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American Thanksgiving in New York.

The only people who survived..."

"Were people in bunkers with its own air supply," I say. He nods.

"Only ours didn't have it's own air supply - it had an extensive filtration system."

"Why does that matter?"
"Somethin' never sat right with me, when Drac came back," he says, leaning against the wall. "He was stronger than ever. Why? I can do things my father could never...

It matters because I can do this -" He reaches out his hand, and a shotgun flies off the wall into his glove. "Just like everyone else who breathed the air from that bunker. Something got through, but it didn't kill us. It gave us something."

"...all of us?" Martha whispers.

"If you practice," he nods. "It's your job to teach them," motioning to Crow.

"What about you...?"

"They have more people than us - we'll likely loose," he shrugs. "But they'll try to kill me this time - they've got all they need from me."

"What do they want?" Crow asks.

"To repopulate the United States - let's go. Is everybody ready?"

"Set!" Crow and I bark. Cypress creases his brow and looks past us at the others.

"What's the problem?" he says.

Martha speaks up;

"Things are good now." "Say that again?"

"We're... happy."

"Good? Do you know what they're going to do with you? They're going to harvest your organs for transplant."

They stare blankly.

"If hey can't use you for procreation they're gonna' cut out your insides - your heart, your lungs, your stomach, your guts, and put them in the old ones that are dying. Do y'understand?"

"That's impossible."

"No - Brie, the woman, she knows some kinda' old science about putting people back together. She can do it - she reattached her own arm! And it works - mostly."

"I'm not fighting," Martha says.


"They're not taking any more of us - they're not yelling at us - we eat all we want, we can smoke, get high, and we're warm all year around - what's the problem here? They're taking care of us."

"We're sheep to them! When they've gotten all they need from you, they'll kill you - all of you. Do you wanna' die like sheep? Thought you were soldiers. What're you?"

"A soldier," Crow sounds off.

"What're you?" he snaps at Martha. She narrows her eyes at him and drops the machine gun she'd grabbed - it clanks heavy on the concrete floor.

"A seamstress - let's go smoke a bowl, girls."

As they file back up the ladder, he turns to Crow and I.

"Michelle and Lisa are alive," he says. "Lisa barely. They're using Cat as a servant, and Anze's in the kitchen."

"What do we do?" I say.

"Will you fight?" he asks, climbing the ladder out of the secret room.

"Do the death," I pipe. I've found four large-calibre handguns, a backpack of clips and a nice big assault rifle. Crow's found herself a satisfactory pump-action shotgun with a pistol grip, but she slings a long sniper rifle on her back as well. "Let's just get the floor back together and get the fuck out of here," Crow grumbles.

"You could live with that?" he says.

"I don't know - maybe."

I purse my lips and listen - they talk the entire way out - Cypress seems to know where the security cameras are, and he's adept at avoiding them. He leads us down into the old sewer system - it's cracked and blocked off, but we find ourselves on the banks of a river shortly.

"Where are we?"

"Not far from where they're keeping the guys. They have them building guns and cars."


"Michelle wants Richard out - and I think we should bring anyone who'll come with him." We start down the river - south, I think, and Cypress explains everything;

"Brie tortured me for a while - made me watch... anyway, eventually I started forcing nightmares on her. Every night, I told her how strong I was - how weak she was - and in her dream I killed her. Don't look at me like that - she took Sophie's fuckin' eye!"

My eye looks to the floor. Funny, I've been thinking of my eye as plural lately - strange that I'd need reminding.


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