Message-ID: <27516asstr$974725809@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Al Steiner <steiner_al@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} NEW: Aftermath by Al Steiner-Ch 5 (Fm, preg) 2/5
Date: Mon, 20 Nov 2000 08:10:09 -0500
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Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

AFTERMATH
By Al Steiner
CHAPTER 5 - PART 2/5
Send comments to steiner_al@hotmail.com
Missing parts can be found at www.storiesonline.net


"Shit," Stu said, standing up so fast his chair fell over.  He picked
up his rifle and ran out into the main room.  "Everyone up, right now!"
he yelled.  "We got a danger signal from the guards!"

They moved impressively fast, shooting out of their sleeping bags and
picking up their firearms.  Stu and Mark went to the front door and
opened it up, looking out over the rainy parking lot to the bait shop,
where the perimeter guard that had fired the shot was stationed.  They
saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"Battle stations everybody," Stu told his men.  "Look sharp!"  With
that he ran outside, crossing the parking lot and the street at a
sprint, Mark right behind him.  The other convicts all went to pre-
planned firing positions that Stu had worked out their first day in
town and had made them practice moving to several times.  Within thirty
seconds a deadly ring of rifles encircled the church, capable of
engaging any target no matter what angle it attacked from.

Stu and Mark entered the bait shop, guns ready for anything, and saw
Harley looking out the rear window, his rifle trained out over the
hilly ground behind it.  He looked very tense.

"What do you got Harley?" Stu asked.

"A dude out there about two hundred yards away.  He's waving a white
flag back and forth."

"What?" Stu said, walking to the window and looking out.  Sure enough,
in the distance, was a single man standing atop one of the rises.  He
was dressed in rain gear and an army helmet and had no weapons in
evidence upon him.  He had a stick that was about six feet in length
and had a scrap of white cloth, probably an old T-shirt, tied to the
end of it.  He slowly moved it back in forth above his head.

"Somebody's surrendering to us?" Mark, who had come up behind Stu to
observe as well, asked in confusion.  "What kind of idiot would do
that?"

"That's not just a surrender flag," Stu said thoughtfully.  "It also
means that someone wants to approach for negotiations."

"Negotiations?"  Harley asked.  "What the fuck for?"

Stu chewed his lip for a moment, trying to think.  "I guess we should
find out, shouldn't we?  Harley, don't fire at him unless you see a
weapon and he looks like he's going to use it."

"All right."

Stu walked back over to the door and stuck his head out, looking
towards the upper floor of the church where several of his men were
aiming their rifles outward at the flag waver.  "Don't fire at him
unless he shows a weapon," he yelled at them.  "I repeat: Hold your
fire unless you see danger!  Pass it on!"

He waited a minute for the word to spread to everyone and then he stuck
his head out the window of the bait shop.  "Approach us slowly!" he
yelled to the man.  "Keep your hands in sight at all times!"

The man nodded his understanding and dropped the flag to the ground.
He put his hands up and began to walk, his pace steady but slow.  When
he got close Stu sent Harley and Mark out to him while he stayed inside
and covered them with his rifle.  "Check him for weapons," he ordered.
"And then bring him in here."

They searched the man thoroughly, patting him down much the same way
that they had been patted down numerous times by cops in their previous
lives.  He kept his hands in the air and his bearded face
expressionless as they performed this task.

"He's clean," Mark yelled when the frisking was complete.  "We're
coming in."

The first thing that Stu noticed was the man was young, only about
twenty years old or so.  The second thing was that he was not
starving.  There was no hollow look to his cheekbones, no sinking of
the eye sockets.  In fact, he looked like he was in very good shape.
"Who are you?" Stu asked him, keeping the barrel of his rifle trained
downward.  Mark and Harley were back at the window, keeping an eye out
for any further intruders.

"I am Private Stinson with the Placer County Militia Group," he said.

"The what?"

"Placer County Militia," he repeated.  "We have a force surrounding
this town right now, hidden from view.  Lieutenant Bracken, the
commanding officer of this force, has sent me here to request a meeting
between your leader and himself."

"How big of a force?" Stu asked, raising his rifle a tad.

"I am not at liberty to say sir."

Stu raised it higher, so it was pointing at his abdomen.  "You fuckin'
well better say!" he said.  "How many goddamn people you got out there?"

"Will all due respect sir," Stinson said, his voice even, "I am just a
messenger.  Lieutenant Bracken can provide you with the information you
request and more.  I am an expendable member of the force out front but
do be warned that if any harm comes to me, that will taken as an act of
war and will be dealt with severely.  I am authorized to say that we do
have enough people out there to defeat your group in battle and we have
the advantage of knowing where all of your men are."

Stu bit back on the urge to strike the young punk that stood before
him.  "What does he want to talk about?" he asked instead.

"I am not at liberty to say," Stinson replied.  "He will explain
everything when you agree to the meeting."

"And if I don't agree?"

"Then that too will be taken as an act of war sir."

Stu fought to maintain control of his temper.  He was not a man
accustomed to being threatened in any way, especially not by young
punks like this one.  Though it was a struggle, he kept himself from
striking or otherwise harming the man.  "All right," he said.  "I'll
meet with him.  What now?"

"I will walk outside and give the go-ahead signal," Stinson replied.
"Lieutenant Bracken and Sergeant Johnson will approach your encampment
unarmed and meet you beneath the overhang in front of the church.  You
will provide chairs for them to sit in and they will discuss the matter
at hand with you.  They will not enter the building with you or walk
anywhere besides to the meeting place.  Any attempt to harm them or
force them to go somewhere else will result in attack by the rest of
the force.  Taking them hostage will do nothing but force an attack as
well.  Lieutenant Bracken and Sergeant Johnson realize that they too
are expendable.  Do you agree to these terms?"

Stu stared at him for a moment, feeling a pit of fear in his stomach.
"Yeah," he said.  "You give the signal.  I'll tell my men and get us
some chairs."


+++++


Stu did not bother searching Bracken or Johnson for weapons when they
entered the town.  He knew that their goal would not be a close
assassination attempt.  Instead, after the introductions were made, he
led them to the overhang in front of the church where four chairs had
been placed in a small circle.  Mark and Stu sat down in two of them
while Bracken and his sidekick took the other two.  Harley had been
placed back in his guard post and the other members of the convict team
were still on heightened alert in their battle positions.

"So what is it that you want?" Stu asked, lighting up one of the last
of the cigarettes and taking a drag.

"Before I tell you that," Bracken said, lighting a cigarette of his
own, "let me first explain a little bit about who we are."

"Sure," Stu said.

"We are the third platoon of the Placer County Militia Group based in
Auburn," he said.  "We are well armed and well trained and we are dug
in around your town and have been so for the last two days."

"Impossible," Mark said.  "We would've spotted you."

"Really?" Bracken said, dipping his ash on the ground.  "You seem a bit
overconfident in your abilities.  Perhaps I can convince you that I
speak the truth."

"Please do," Stu said.

"There are 21 of you here," Bracken said.  "You had some women a few
days ago but they are all dead now.  You are armed with M-16 rifles,
shotguns, and sniper rifles as well as pistols and you have some
rudimentary knowledge of military tactics and fairly good discipline.
Your guard positions are the bait shop, the upper floors of the church,
and the storage shed behind the burned out gas station.  You routinely
send out two-man patrols that circle the town and probe into the hills
a little bit.  Your battle plan is to reinforce these guard positions
with your remaining personnel and to keep a small reserve force inside
the church itself, ready to move to wherever it is needed.  You seem to
be getting short on food and you drank up the last of your alcohol
yesterday.  When one of the women dies you carry the body over to the
gas station and put it with the other bodies that were burned up in
there."

Stu and Mark both looked at him slack-jawed as he recited this to
them.  Bracken simply smiled.  "Not a bad defensive plan if I do say so
myself," he told them.  "It would have been sufficient to keep just
about everyone except us away from you.  However, as you can probably
see, we know where to hit you if need be.  Our positions are set up
specifically to counter yours.  If we go to battle with each other, we
will kill you.  If you try to flee, you will find that we've covered
all escape corridors with overlapping fields of fire.  In short, you
are trapped here and you only continue to draw air because we have
chosen not to attack you."

"You're lying," Stu said, feeling that pit of fear getting bigger.

Bracken shrugged.  "I don't need to prove myself," he said.  "If you
think I'm lying then you are free to try us.  I would prefer that you
do not since I am currently sitting in a very bad spot if the bullets
start to fly.  So how about we try to come to some sort of arrangement
instead?"

Stu swallowed with a mouth that was very dry.  "What kind of
arrangement?" he asked.

"We need people in Auburn," Bracken said.  "Specifically, we need
people for the militia so that we can continue to keep our city running
and continue to secure supplies until such time as food can be grown
again.  We have nearly a thousand people in the city and our food
supply is dwindling fast.  Now all over the mountains are little towns
like Colfax and Baxter and Grass Valley and Nevada City.  Many of these
towns are still standing and have food stocks in their grocery stores
or their warehouses or their residential houses.  For the most part
there are people left alive in these towns and most of them have guns
and have organized to some degree.  Our plan in Auburn is to raise an
army that is big enough to take control of these towns and seize the
supplies within them.  We will also take any women that are of breeding
age and any men who have skills that will be useful to rebuilding
civilization when this is all over.  When the sun comes out again we
will be alive and well fed in Auburn and ready to begin expanding our
influence throughout the area.  We do not know what is going on
elsewhere in the country, but we will control this region and be able
to defend it.  We will remake civilization when this is over and we
will do it right this time."

Stu listened to all of this carefully.  "So you want us to be a part of
your army?" he asked.

"That is correct," Bracken said.  "A couple of hunters that we picked
up a week past impact saw you take this town.  They were rather shocked
by the methods you employed, particularly the way you got rid of the
men, children and older women"

Stu said nothing to this.

"I must say, that we were rather shocked by that as well.  Colonel
Barnes, he's our commanding officer, was inclined at first to just
destroy you as a menace because of that.  Eventually however, he
decided that your obvious military skills could be useful to us so he
dispatched my platoon to observe you in action.  What I've seen has
impressed me enough that I made the decision to try to recruit you.
You must understand however, that actions such as you took in this town
cannot be repeated."

"You're willing to take other towns and steal their food but you get
mad at killing people?" Stu asked.

"In the barbaric way that you did so, yes," he replied.  "Our way is
the natural order.  We take what we need from a town and we bring it
back to Auburn.  We kill anyone who tries to fight us because that is
the way you win a battle.  But we do not kill prisoners and we
especially do not kill children.  True, they will probably die of
starvation after we leave, but that is simply natural selection.  God's
law, you see.  Some of them may be strong enough to live through it and
that too is God's law.  It is the strong who will survive and if
someone can live after we remove their food supply, more power to them."

"Interesting philosophy," Stu said.

"And you must also realize," Bracken said, "that if we take you into
the militia, you will be subject to military discipline and orders.
You will do as you are told by your commanding officers without
question, whether you agree with what you were told or not."

Stu felt himself turning a little red in the face.  "I'm not a real
good order taker," he said.

"You'll have to learn to be.  And real fast too.  Now I imagine that
with your abilities to lead, you'll probably be made a sergeant and
given a squad.  But your squad will be part of a platoon that is
commanded by a lieutenant and that platoon will be part of a company
that is commanded by a captain, and so on and so forth.  You will be
expected to follow certain standards and to follow every order that you
are given."

Stu and Mark looked at each other for a moment.  "Maybe we'd just
better forget this whole thing," Stu said at last.  "I don't think that
my people will fit in too well with yours."

Bracken shook his head.  "I don't think you understand," he said.  "My
orders are to either bring you under control and recruit you to our
side or to destroy you.  There is no forgetting about it."

"Destroy us?" Stu asked.  "What happened to natural selection and God's
law and all that?  I thought you didn't kill prisoners."

"You're not prisoners," he said.  "You are a potential threat to us.
If you do not join our ranks and agree to abide by our rules, you will
all die."

"And you will die too if your people attack us," Stu said.

"That too would be God's law," Bracken said.  "But perhaps I should
tell you a few things about Auburn before you make your decision."

"Like what?"

"We have hot baths, hot food, and dry houses for you to live in.  We
also have four times as many women of breeding age than we do men.  And
while we do not tolerate rape, most of these women are quite desperate
for the company of a good man and will do damn near anything to keep
him happy.  In a way, its kind of like that way things SHOULD be."

That statement by Bracken served as the clincher.  Though they
continued to talk for sometime after, the decision was pretty much made
at that point.  Early the next morning Bracken's platoon and Stu's
convicts - the newest recruits of the Placer County Militia - began the
three-day march to Auburn.


+++++


"I got somebody coming towards the wall," Jason told Jeff, his partner
on guard duty that night.

They were in the top story of the house that served as the guard
position for the northern wall, one of the most active for stragglers
as they were called.  The shift had just begun and there was still
enough light out to be able to see.  They were twenty yards from the
wall.  On the other side of it were low, rolling hills that were
studded with pine trees and scrub brush.  Emerging from a group of
trees was a filthy, emaciated man wearing muddy clothing and carrying a
hunting rifle.  He was looking at the wall and the houses behind them
as if he had never seen such a thing before.

"Let me see," Jeff said.  He had been lying on the bed staring at the
ceiling, leaving lookout duty to his younger companion.  He pulled
himself off it and picked up a pair of binoculars, aiming at the
window.  "Yep," he said.  "Another straggler all right.  Pathetic
looking piece of shit, ain't he?"

Jason didn't answer.  Instead, he dropped his own binoculars and picked
up his rifle.  It was a Winchester, scoped hunting rifle, not the M-16
that he had learned to love, but he had learned over the past few days
to shoot it with precision.  Not that shooting with precision was all
that hard to do with such a gun.  You simply placed the crosshairs
where you wanted the bullet to go and it went there.  And deer hunters
had called it sporting when they shot defenseless animals with such
things.

"He don't look like he has the energy to climb the fuckin wall anyway,"
Jeff commented, continuing to watch the man as he stood in place.  "Why
do we even worry about people like that?"

"Because they're desperate," Jason said, putting the rifle to his
shoulder and training it out the open window.  "A couple of people like
that tried to kill us when we were out there."

"So you say," Jeff said, putting the binoculars down.  He yawned and
then picked up the walkie-talkie that was sitting on a nightstand.  He
keyed the microphone and spoke into it.  "This is Jeff at position
three.  We got a straggler near the wall.  He looks pretty pathetic.
We're keeping an eye on him."

"Copy that post three," came Brett's voice from the speaker.  "Is he
armed?"

"Yeah dude," Jeff replied, bored.  "He's packin' a rifle."

"Copy.  Keep me updated."

"Yeah," Jeff said into the radio before throwing it back down.  "I got
your fuckin update right here dickwad," he said, grabbing his crotch a
few times.

Jason, hearing this, said nothing though inside he was fuming at the
insulting tone towards Brett.  He was used to such comments however.
It was a sentiment that he had heard a lot of while pulling guard duty
the last few days.

"So what's he doin now?" Jeff asked, sitting back down on the bed.

"Still just standing there," Jason replied, watching him carefully
through the scope.  The man was looking back and forth along the wall,
an expression of wonder on his face.  Finally, he seemed to come to
some sort of decision.  He began to walk towards it.

"He's moving in," Jason said.  "I'm gonna drive him off."

"I'm down with it," Jeff replied, picking up the radio and relaying
this information to Brett.

Jason shifted the sight from the man's body to a mound of dirt about
ten feet in front of him.  He took a deep breath, held it, and then
squeezed the trigger, feeling the sharp kick of the rifle against him.
The sound was much different than that produced by the M-16.  It was
deeper and louder, not so much a crack as a boom.  The bullet hit right
where he had aimed, sending up a little spray of mud and water.  The
hunter did not seem to notice the bullet impact at all but he noticed
the sound when it reached him.  He jumped in fright, looking everywhere
at once.

"Did that do it?" Jeff asked as Jason jacked in another .30 caliber
bullet.

"No," he said, taking aim again.  "He's just standing there, looking
around."

"Idiot," Jeff mumbled.  He then reported this development to Brett.

When the man stepped towards the wall again, Jason pulled the trigger
again, this time sending the bullet into the ground about five feet in
front of him.  He saw the impact this time and immediately turned and
sprinted back the way he had come.

"He's running north into the trees," Jason reported, tracking him with
the scope as he went.  "Looks like that might've done it."

"Another job well done," Jeff said cynically.  He reported the success
of the driving off operation to Brett and then answered a few questions
as to direction of travel that he was asked.  Finally he threw the
radio back down again.  "What does he wanna know all that shit for?" he
asked Jason.  "I mean, the guy ran away.  What fuckin' difference does
it make where he ran to?"

"I think he's worried that he might try to go around and try another
approach," Jason said.  "You know, a flanking maneuver?"

"Fuckin' flanking maneuver," he said, shaking his head sadly.  "You've
been hanging out with him too damn long dude.  You're startin' to talk
like him.  You need to loosen up a little."

"He's just trying to keep you alive," Jason told him.  "You could be a
little grateful for it."

"He's trying to keep me celibate is what he's doing.  We were getting
along just fine without him.  We'd get along just fine without him
now."  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarette pack.
"Come on dude, let's loosen ourselves up."  He pulled a joint from the
box.  "Let's burn one."

Jason looked at the joint.  "Not on guard duty," he said.  "That's
against the rules."

"Fuck the rules," he said, pulling out a lighter.  "There ain't no
rules anymore anyway.  That's the advantage of having a fuckin comet
crash into your planet.  It kills a lot of people but it kills the
rules too.  I'm gonna burn."  He lit the joint and took a tremendous
hit.  He then tried to pass it to Jason.

"No," Jason said firmly.  "We're on guard duty Jeff.  We're supposed to
be watching for people."

"Fuckin' pussy," Jeff squeaked contemptuously.  He tapped the ash on
the floor and then took another hit.  "You keep watchin for those
scrungy lowlifes.  I'm gonna make the most of what we got."

He smoked the joint until it was about half gone and then carefully
extinguished it and placed it on the endtable next to the walkie-
talkie.  Jason, though disgusted by his actions, made no further
comments.  He simply kept watch as the light finally gave up its hold
on the sky, bringing on the darkness.

"I don't know why we have to stay up here once its dark," Jeff said.
"We can't see shit anyway."

"In case the perimeter guards find something," Jason told him,
continuing to stare out into the darkness.  "Then we're in position to
cover them."

"Nobody's gonna try and get in after dark," Jeff scoffed.  "You have to
be able SEE to invade."

"Brett got in after dark, didn't he?"

"But he's a fuckin maniac.  No one else would try something like that."

"He is NOT a maniac!" Jason yelled, turning towards the sound of Jeff's
voice.  "Don't talk about him that way!"

"Hey, fuck off little dude or I'll break your fuckin nose for you.
Don't think I won't!"

Fuming, Jason turned his attention back outside.  Like his sister, he
was of the firm opinion that they had been better off when they had
been living out there.  Outside he had been an important member of a
team; a member of a fighting squad that had battled armed men and come
out the better.  In here he was treated as a child, not just by people
like Jeff, who was little more than a child himself, but by damn near
everyone.  The women all called him cute and tussled his hair when they
saw him.  A few had even been known to pinch his cheeks like visiting
aunts at family holidays.  They seemed to think that they way to
Brett's heart was by treating his younger companion in a motherly way.
As for the men, they treated him with indifference at best, with subtle
hostility at worst now that Brett's unpopular guard duty decree was up
and rolling in full force.  Some, lacking the courage to confront Brett
directly, had chosen him as the channel with which to pass along their
displeasure with the new security chief.  "Tell your friend that he can
be voted OUT just as easily as he was voted in," he had been told more
than once.  He had learned quickly not to respond to these requests by
suggesting they tell Brett that information themselves.  That generally
just made them threaten him in some way.

Not wanting to be seen as a fink or a crybaby, he had not complained to
Brett about any of these attitudes, nor had he passed on any of the
messages he was given.  But sometimes, like now as he was sitting on
guard detail with Jeff whining at him about how unfair it all was, he
wished that they WOULD vote Brett out.  At least then things could go
back to the way they had been.

For the next hour, things were quiet in the guard post.  There was no
conversation of any kind, nor were there any reports from the walkie-
talkie.  Jason kept watch over the blackness outside and Jeff
maintained his position of repose on the bed, occasionally smoking a
cigarette or unleashing a loud fart.  It was the sound of footsteps
approaching that finally broke the monotony.

"Someone's out there," Jason said, picking up his rifle.

"Just chill little dude," Jeff told him, the squeak of bedsprings
indicating he was getting up.  "It's just a visitor that I've arranged."

"A visitor?"

"This all-male guard team bites the big one.  I've invited over someone
who will be a little bit better company than your skinny ass on these
long nights."

"You did what?"

"Hello?" came a soft voice from downstairs.  Jason recognized it as
belonging to Mitsy, the woman that had caused the ongoing fight between
Chrissie and Brett.  "Is anyone here?"

"Up here baby," Jeff called down.  "You know where we're at."

"Jeff," Jason hissed.  "You know we're not allowed to have visitors at
post.  Brett made that clear to us!"

"Brett's not gonna find out about it though, IS he?" he said menacingly.

"What if comes out here?"

"I'll take my chances on that," he said.  "You just keep your fuckin'
mouth shut after you get home or you might find yourself a victim of
friendly fire next time we're at post together."

"Jesus," Jason said as he heard Mitsy's soft footsteps on the
stairway.  He could see the bobbing beam of a flashlight moving back
and forth as she worked her way upward.

"I mean it dickwad," Jeff threatened.

"Hi guys," Mitsy said with a giggle as she shined the flashlight on the
two of them.  "What's up?"

"Turn off that light," Jason yelled at her.  "You're spotlighting us
for god sake!"

"Oh, good idea," she said with another giggle.  "Brett might be out
there."  She clicked it off.  "Wouldn't want him to spoil our little
party, would we?"

"Hell no," Jeff said, picking up the half-joint on the table.  "Wanna
get high baby?"

"There's a lot of things I wanna get tonight," she said seductively.

"And there's a lot of things I wanna give," Jeff assured her.  "Come
on, let's leave Captain America here to keep a diligent watch.  I'll
show you the master bedroom.  It's REAL nice."

"Does it have a nice bed in it?" she asked.

"Queen sized baby.  Queen sized."

A moment later they disappeared through the doorway, Mitsy's flashlight
once again lighting their way.  With an angry sigh Jason went back to
doing his job.  Before long the sound of giggles, moans, and grunts
began to drift down the hallway accompanied by the squeaking of
bedsprings.


+++++


Mitsy slipped away at about 11:30, just before the change of watch.
Jeff came back up shortly afterward, reeking of pot, booze, and sex
though in a much better mood than he had been in when he had gone down.

"Now that," he told Jason in the darkness, "is what post-comet life is
all about.  Sex, drugs, and more sex.  I'm tellin' you, that bitch
knows how to fuck.  And she can slob the old knob with the best of
'em.  I might just dump Carrie to the sideline and have Mitsy move in
with me instead.  That kinda poontang I can handle every night."

Jason did not favor this with a reply, he simply kept staring out into
the darkness, looking and listening for intruders.  Thirty minutes
later, when the clock struck midnight, Rob Handy, who had been in
Garden Hill cleaning a swimming pool when the impact occurred, relieved
Jeff.  Jason, as usual, was scheduled for a double shift, until 6:00
AM.  After one last gentle threat to Jason to keep his mouth shut about
what had happened, Jeff headed back to his assigned house.  Ten minutes
later, after a few condescending comments, Rob was sound asleep and
snoring on the bed.  With another sigh, Jason maintained his watch.

When he was relieved at 6:00 AM by Chrissie and her partner de jur,
Laura Fletcher, he walked listlessly back to the community center
building to grab some breakfast.  The official breakfast service took
place at 8:00 but the kitchen staff always served some early meals to
those going on and coming off watch.  Jason preferred the low-key
atmosphere of the pre-meal service as compared to the rowdy chaos that
accompanied the official service.  When he entered the gym the smell of
hash browns and pancakes filled the air and his stomach immediately
began to gurgle in anticipation.

"You look extra-hungry this morning," said Stacy Keagan, the pregnant
20-year-old who always seemed to be on kitchen duty.  Stacy was
somewhat of an outcast in the town, just like Jason.  She was not a
town woman.  Like all of the men, her job had been what had brought her
to Garden Hill on that fateful day.  She had been one of two employees
on duty at the Starbucks franchise in the strip mall.  Though she was
not the only woman who had been pregnant at the time of impact she was
by far the most advanced in the process - her belly bulged outward with
six-months of swelling - and she was the only one whose "condition" had
been outside of the bounds of legal matrimony.  These two facts
combined with her decidedly un-Garden Hill-like appearance - she had
short, died-black hair and a nose piercing with a gold stud - had
guaranteed her second-class citizen status in the hierarchy of the town.

"It's been a long night," Jason told her, watching as she shoveled a
double helping of hash browns and an extra pancake onto his plate.  "Is
all of that for me?"

-- 
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