The afternoon was dark and silent. Wind whipping the sand in eddies, blowing it with unwelcome, stinging vitriol into eyes and faces. The world was bereft of all but the biting cold prevailing wind, and relentlessly driven sand. The black sticks of the remaining bushes and trees shuddered in its invisible grasp. There was no bird song or a myriad of desert creatures scurrying about their lives. It was an almost dead land, encompassed in an equally ghastly silence.

Most had gathered about the fire in the great cave. There was little else to occupy the time, and the time had moved slowly here in recent months. Though these people were in essence a community and relied on cohesion to survive, of late there had been little of that. The morale that held them all together was almost stripped threadbare.

Maya sat listlessly, putting the final touches on a pair of goat hide pants that she had crafted out of duty and fear for her new master Gareth. As always her mind was far away reveling in another place, a distant time. Youthful mind and desires longing for the man who had gone away, he who had been exiled into the cold and had never returned.

Maya pined for him, her golden man. He had spared her minuscule life after all. Then just as cruelly he had been sent away. She struggled with all that had happened, and all that had been done. Her new master was bad-tempered, possessive, and cruel. He struck her at the slightest displeasure. His only redeeming feature was he did not wish to share his pretty prize. Maya would every evening close her eyes in the reviled man's embrace, trying to be grateful for the warmth and protection he offered, giving him her body, but never once her mind.

Raissa sat close by, young Eirik swaddled in rabbit furs on her lap. The baby was blissfully immune from the cold. Maya studied the sleeping infant closely, he was a captivating wonder to her. His skin was so soft and new, eyes so bright.

She loved the way his chubby little fingers would settle about hers and marveled that someday he would grow into the essence of the fierce and large men she sometimes feared. Often she daydreamed about having a little one of her own. At every opportunity she would volunteer to help mind young Eirik, something Raissa was very grateful for. The two girls had become very close friends in the process.

Sven crouched to the other side of Raissa, dwarfing her. Maya found her eyes often strayed to regard him. He was the brother of the man she had lost after all. He was big and strong, a bull of a man. Neck thick, shoulders powerful, chest and stomach flat and hard. His arms were the size and girth of the logs he tossed so effortlessly into the bonfire.

She often stopped to wonder whether that which was whispered about him was true? Was he really less of a man, gelded like a horse or steer? He did have a child after all.

Perhaps it was only a rumor borne out of jealousy? Maya was also angry at Sven, in a resigned kind of way. She would not dare confront a man like that, but resentment burned inside her. The way Sven had shunned her when her protector had been driven away. He was Aran's kin, why did Sven not step forward to protect her and claim her for his own? Surely he could have easily?

His inaction bewildered Maya entirely, and she begrudged him for them with the simple mind of a vengeful little girl.

Sven on the other hand was oblivious to the attentions of the nubile young woman, well almost oblivious. Sometimes he did find he looked at her longingly, and in his frustration and torment had to look away.

It was hard to reconcile with what had been done to him, and some days it was even harder to justify carrying on. When he felt this way he would hold his son, cradling him in his massive arms. He would remind himself Eirik was the future, and he would not shortchange that. He tried not to dwell on how long they could all stay here, and the disturbing conversation he had had with Bennett some days beforehand.

In his many days soldiering at the outbreak of the great war, he had seen firsthand the effects of demoralization on an otherwise cohesive band of people. He could see clearly that this was well at work here. He had to confess things did look bleak, if the perpetual darkness did not abate soon, there would possibly be very little viable future for anyone.

Sven didn't want to admit that, after all, he didn't fear death. Though this realization seemed to hurt more now he had a son, and sometimes when he gazed on his little boy it hurt so bad he felt he would tear inside. How could one man change the world? Yet for his son to have any semblance of a life above base savagery he felt it was his duty.

Will squinted against the light from the flames, trying to see better. He was applying a precious metal arrowhead to a waiting shaft. The barbs were cruel, specifically designed to not be so easily removed from their intended target but to instead maximize damage. He winced as he inadvertently caught his thumb on one of the sharp barbs in carelessness borne of repetition, and sucked the blood that beaded there.

There has to be a place of better things he thought, most troubled. The cities after all these years must no longer be contaminated. Was that not the original plan, to evacuate, survive and return? However they never had, they had camped here, raided, and for a time had prospered.

However Will was not getting any younger, he had seen too many good men die, and now the bickering had begun. There were some days he just wanted to pack up his few rudimentary possessions and chance venturing south. Sven was a coward, it could not be so bad back there Will ruminated, surely?

Renard sat chained and silent. The lawless group was fracturing by the day. He had to hold on to that hope, for it was all he had. Mostly his mind was far away with his own people. He wondered how his parents and fellow villagers had fared with the abrupt weather change? Surely the beautiful stretch of farmland he called home would be decimated he thought sadly, though Renard felt that his father would as always emerge the capable and fair-minded leader. The wizened Stephan would have an answer for his people, he would provide them with a strategy and hope.

Renard longed to be amongst them again, to live in a civilized manner. He also castigated himself over the fate of his sister. Why did life have to be so damn unfair? He wondered what he would tell them, his parents? How he could say, Mother and Father, I have failed, I could not bring Frances home. He was not looking forward to making that admission he had to confess.

Carlos felt his master rise, pulling the furs tighter about him, grateful for the comfort of the fireside. He felt drowsy and still very weak and again closed his dark-lashed eyes. He had lost his desire completely to fight anymore. The path of least resistance had at last become very appealing. Broken, his master had called it, perhaps, but he no longer cared.

Pig eyed Bennett warily as he watched the immense warrior stand. Something in his leader's stance instantly relayed to the hideously scarred man the warning signal. He retreated a ways from the fire. Though battered and grotesque from battle scars and unfortunate disfigurement, Pig was a wary survivor. Well aware his leader showed him little accord, and he was well down in the pecking order here. He had no desire to become the center of the man's attention.

The others took somewhat longer to register that their leader commanded their notice. The small talk and superfluous noises died away as Bennett took in all the surrounding faces that peered up at him in the firelight.

"Only the hardiest and the most fortunate are left." Bennett said strongly, all eyes trained on him, man, woman, slave, and warrior. "I know there are many here who are poised to run, and I know who you are." His deep voice boomed.

No one moved, though many betrayed their secret intent in the change of their stance or the most furtive of glances.

"How soon you all forget the difficulties of these early days of war, the hunger, the uncertainty of tomorrow. Yet, now many of you want to again wander alone?"

He was silent for a time, letting every man and woman consider the bleak future separation provided. "We are no longer many that is true, the past year has been hard on us, events have not been kind."

He looked across to see Gareth standing silently at his left shoulder, the bullish man's expression grim.

"The archer who has plagued us has not been sighted for some time, though we must still remain ever watchful it is probably safe to say she has met her demise. What are we afraid of, a lone woman?" He cajoled, taking in each of his remaining warrior's faces. "Absurd!" He shouted, his booming baritone echoing off the stone cavern of the great cave. "Do you really think she is not by now dead or a prisoner of some band of men not unlike ourselves? Most of YOU behave like women!" He spat for effect into the dirt.

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Most did no more than look at the floor, some cowered at their leader's vitriolic outburst. Yet, many saw the truth in his words. "If we run from here we die." He continued. "We have food. Yes, not the most wonderful of provisions, but we will not immediately starve. We have water, or have you all forgotten thirst?"

He looked long and hard then at his remaining warriors seeking their doubt, possibly even a challenge.

Like the yellow-eyed alpha wolf whom none would dare make eye contact. He lingered long on the bowed head of Sven, but the man would not look up to meet his challenge.

Bennett had to swallow back his hard-edged contempt for this man, fighting the impulse to grab Sven's infant son and dash the boy's head against a stone. Would he fight then! A vision of blood coursed through his mindsight, he fought it down. Not today. Bennett wrestled his tide of viciousness aside. Though he ached to make Sven an example, he burned to make his men further fear and respect him by doing so.

"We will wait!" He continued, to the uneasy crowd that surrounded him. "We cannot easily travel in this accursed weather. We have no more horses, and although the hardest of you may still believe you can make this journey." He glanced with meaning at Will. "This is not about those few. We are a collective, a tribe."

He pointed at Dwayne, the young man cowered quite visibly. Dreading to be singled out. All eyes went to him. "Do you think you will just flee to some place better, then what will you do? With no women or slaves to bear your burdens. What kind of warrior will you be then?" Bennett followed this insight with a cruel, rasping laugh. Dwayne caught in the unwanted limelight shrugged. Will looked into the depths of the fire. "We are all, or we are nothing." Bennett stated.

Sven felt a prick of anger rile him at his leader's speech of self-righteousness. All or nothing my ass! You exiled my brother though he was one of the most accomplished and valuable men here! However, he willed himself to stay calm. He could not further risk his family for his ego.

"We will stay. We will wait the weather out."

Bennett left the fireside and all assembled parted as he walked to the rear of the cave with purpose. He stopped at Renard and pulled him upright rather cruelly by his neck chain in his black, gloved hand.

"I have spared this traitorous snake for good reason. He will offer us salvation. When the weather breaks we shall make the journey to his father's lands. It is on foot some eight days from here. This man's presence will assure us admission."

Renard dangled from the chain resolutely. He may be hostage, but the young man had other ideas. Yes, he would escort the group on the eight-day journey if commanded. Yes, he would let his father admit these wayward people, but those who were undesirable would when the opportunity arose be put to the sword. Even if Renard had to perform that duty himself.

Many had questions forming in their minds as they listened to their leader's brave future. They had followed him many places before, and rightly they would again.

However, this speech reeked of desperation, thinness in plot, and execution plucked from thin air. Not one soul assembled openly expressed this fear, though all wondered how Bennett was going to lead his people to a hostile settlement. How they would be miraculously accepted?

None however brought this terrible doubt to the surface, and Bennett's rallying speech received a somewhat lackluster response. Bennett felt this but he did not care, for he had an ace up his sleeve, but he needed to do some research first.

Bennett stood down from his lecture, letting Renard all but fall as he released his grasp. His people had heard enough for now. He looked across at Warren who held Lucy tightly encircled in his scrawny arms. The gaunt man gazed at him and abruptly looked away. Yes, little man, it's time I collected on your promise to me...

*****

Bennett was patient, although he was leader and commander of life or death here, this approach required finesse and studious care. He must question Warren when he was quite alone. It was unlike Bennett this patience, and it wore on him, for Wezley Bennett was a direct man. But wait he did for his chance to close in on his quarry avoiding other's eyes.

Warren had of course been most oblivious to his leader's watchful eye. In this biting cold, there were very few reasons to venture out of the cave and only one he could think of, which was to relieve himself. He would hurry, it was too cold to linger, and thoughts of Lucy and the fireside were calling him to a hasty return.

This notion was a somewhat pleasant one, and Warren smiled pausing in his pace adjusting for the one-hundredth time his broken glasses, perched precariously on his nose. That was the moment when he collided with the solid build of Bennett who had been tailing him.

Warren looked up, his face a mask of horror, Bennett's tall and merciless, leather-gloved hand holding Warren's torn shirt in a vise-like grip, ice-eyed gaze boring down into Warren's own fleeting one. Mouth slack as the monstrous man pushed him farther back into the ragged growth, out of view of any accidental passerby. The stalks of the blighted plants scratched and punctured his frail body, but that was the least of Warren's concerns he soon came to realize as the huge man began to question him in earnest.

"I understand you have a key to a defense silo, is that right?"

Warren was in a state of panic, he was too fearful to answer. All he could do was respond with a frenzied nod. He was again reliving the terrible moment when this brute of a man had so cold-heartedly crippled his leg. Just a moment was all it took, leaving him with a misery that would last the duration of his lifetime.

Warren was shaking in fear, his guarded secret was not worth his existence.

"Is it operational?" Bennett questioned.

This time Warren had to speak. A simple shake of his head would not clarify what it was the man needed to know.

"I.......I.........I'm, not, not sure. Well... it used to be..."

Bennett frowned and Warren cringed. "Is it close by?

"

"Err, it's a ways to the north. There's a town called Wentworth." Warren found himself pointing stupidly. He slowly lowered his hand. Realizing he actually had no clue where directional North lay.

He will kill me now the gaunt man fretted. He has what he wants from me, well almost. Warren swallowed, short-sighted, and pleading brown eyes glancing skyward.

"Don't you mean Woomera? Idiot. That's hundreds of miles from here, what do you take me for, a FOOL!"

Warren was shaking his head in a panic, writhing in Bennett's firm hold. "No it's Wentworth, no one knew it was at Wentworth. It was a secret base. Very secret."

"Bullshit!" Bennett spat at him half in disbelief. "The US rocket range and missile testing was at Woomera, and they did secret stuff at Pine Gap! Any dumb fuck knows this!"

Bennett was losing his patience rapidly as he shook Warren hard. The thin man's suspended weight almost felt nonexistent to the massive leader. "You had better not be lying." His large hand caressed the side of Warren's face with uncharacteristic gentleness. Afraid though he was Warren did not mistake the red flag the gesture presented.

Being of a heterosexual persuasion Bennett's predilections were very repugnant to Warren's orientation and did not go unnoticed even surpassing his fear. The warm leather gloved hand raked his cheek, large thumb coming to languish softly beneath the cracked lens of Warren's spectacles, at rest now on his closed eyelid, crushing the lashes.

"No...no...I'm..."

"An eyeball has the consistency of a hard boiled egg." Bennett advised as he pressed his thumb into Warren's eye socket ever so slightly. Features contorted in cruel glee.

"Oh Lord, no I'm not lying!" Warren expostulated clearly distressed. "Don't blind me, please, no!"

Bennett laughed cruelly and pressed harder. Perhaps he should have just butchered the fool all those long months ago.

Warren beheld a white flash and felt real pain. He struggled futilely. "It's at Wentworth I do not lie! I did... I worked there!" Warren gasped desperately.

"Shut the fuck up and give me the key!" Bennett slapped the man and then shook him, as though the action would dislodge the coveted item. Warren flinched and staggered, easily thrown off balance, but Bennett's grip on the man's crumpled and soiled shirt did not let him fall. Warren looked into the cold eyes of the torment who ruled his nightmares. Pupils like pinpoints, iris's ice blue to almost not be a color at all, sclera clear and white. He was defeated, and complete surrender was his only recourse...