Sunday was terrible. We received another order for the compound in the next county over. They insisted on having everything delivered by Hendersons. Henderson Junior didn't care in the slightest about who was receiving the packages, just that they paid.

I was paired with the quiet driver again. He said nothing, I said nothing, we both knew what was going to happen.

We would reach the gate, be frisked awkwardly by armed men, and then stand there mutely as they carried away the latest crate of whatever. I didn't actually look that hard as it was loaded up. Some giant box. Had to be wood. It was slammed onto the truck bed. Metal rolled around in a second smaller crate. Must be unassembled furniture.

Hours later, after other smaller deliveries that were crammed into the same workload, we arrived at the compound. Sure enough, three armed men escorted me out of the cab and to the back of the cargo truck. They frisked me there. One man with a gun on me, the other with both hands patting down. How often did they practice this nonsense inside their fences? Every day? Ten times a week? Who in their right mind felt the need to prepare for some sort of apocalypse like this?

"Hey, man, it's James, right?" one of the males said. I looked over and noticed that Zach was on guard duty today.

"Hey," I said back.

"I didn't know you worked for Henderson."

"Yeah." Here and now was not a comfortable place to chat. Zach had his gun halfway ready. The other man hopped into the back of the truck and looked around. Searching for who knows what.

"You should come inside, man, see the setup. We always welcome guests," Zach said.

I tried not to shudder. The thought of going into that compound disturbed me for many reasons. Guns being the primary one.

"We’re dropping off a package at the last stop, then I'm headed back to Rachel’s." I said carefully. She seemed to cook enough food for half of Tennison. Hopefully people knew her in the community. Roy and Tal did, but that might not count for much.

"Yeah, that old lady has pretty good cooking I hear," Zach stated.

"Rachel. Yeah."

"How'd you hook up with her?" He nudged his gun in an offhanded manner. I tried not to grow nervous while answering him.

"A friend," I couldn’t remember that friend’s name, "said there was room and board if I came out this way." Why had I told Zach the truth? There was no reason to lie. He stood there with a gun like it was natural, and I didn’t feel comfortable being a liar.

"Really? You didn't know her before?" he asked.

"Not until I got to Tennison."

"Nice town yeah?"

"We're clear up here, Zach. I'll call the flatbed over. Then they can get out of here," the other gun-toting guard said.

"Sure, man, have you met James here? He's new to Tennison," Zack introduced me.

The other man with his gun narrowed both eyes in my direction, trying to decide how that information settled. I shrugged without raising my arms. That might be taken the wrong way.

"He came after the others."

"Oh. Okay then." The strange glare I had been getting reduced from live grenade to indifferent cat. What did my arrival time matter? What others did this Camp Grace guy care about?

"Go ahead and hop back into your truck. We'll unload the back," Zack said.

I nodded.

"That offer of a drink still stands. Bring your friend if you want,” he pressed the issue.

"I might do that." If Steven pestered me enough we would probably end up at the bar again. Then those two could distract each other and I might be overlooked.

I hopped into the cab and Zach went to the rear of the vehicle. Our cab bounced around a little and muffled chatting could be heard through the metal as more men hefted out the items. They didn't even bother using the lift, instead just powering through the process.

Off we drove. I watched the passenger side mirror, studying the place behind me. What was it that disturbed me so much? Was it just the guns? Was it the fact that places like this really existed? Television painted these places with a religious belief that was ninety degrees off sane. Zach seemed perfectly fine, even outgoing.

That part that confused me, really confused me. How did the bartender even get outside? Weren't most of the places intensely insular? No contact with the outside world? Maybe Zach got a pass because he owned a business. Or at least worked at one.

Maybe he was a spy upon the outside world.

Come to think of it, bringing Steven and Zach together might be a terrible idea. There was a possibility this place trained out here because of a strange local history. They could be some left over Minute Men. Assuming they were crazies was poor conduct.

I tried not to let little tremors wash over me. Tried to convince myself there was some legitimate reasons for that place. That my teeth didn't grind, that my skin didn't try to crawl away, that my eyes didn't ache.

The compound was wrong and no amount of rationalizing could make this knot in my gut loosen up. I had only seen the main gate and their giant fences. Tall, ten feet or more, with trees planted all around the outside. They cleared everything inside. Buildings sat erected like barracks. Anything could be hidden back there.

Something was being kept there. I was certain of it. An inkling in the back of my head told me so. Like an itch that kept crawling along my skin to new locations.

I had to distract myself. Food would be fantastic. Annoyance at the word flared while I cracked open the plastic lunch container. I shared a small piece of Rachel's cooking with the other driver. Normally giving anyone my food was nearly unthinkable, but he looked as disturbed as I was. He smiled a little upon biting into one of the cookies. We ate in silence while driving the miles of backroads to our sleepy little town.

Finally, we pulled in, and the driver only had one thing to say, "I don't like them."

I nodded.

The shift ended then both of us went our separate ways. He in his car, I to the park. I needed to distance myself. To move, fight like I had two nights ago, maybe talk to Roy, something. No one else from our group was present. Just a few afternoon townsfolk. One mother gave me strange glares while I tried not to pace on the far end. My goal wasn't to creep out a poor woman who was just looking out for her children.

There was a path that went into woods. Going down a strange trail was better than hovering near the park and risking a confrontation. Not against a female. Guys I could fight or tell them to go to hell. Women were a weakness and always had been.

I traveled down the wooded way and watched out for other people who might be put off by my presence. No one showed. This was most likely a path that only children and teenagers took. A few twists and turns later almost got me lost. I closed my eyes and tried to picture where I ended up.

The sensation felt natural. On par with breathing or checking for a pulse. As simple as running. Everything near by felt alive and hummed with energy. Then I smiled and gave the new feelings no further thought.

My little room was somewhere to the left, two or three miles. The park just behind me. Maybe half a mile tops. This was a long, but well worn, path. Sunset was an easy hour away which gave me plenty of time to kill.

I kept walking. If memory served, this direction went toward a library or maybe a road with houses on it. My morning runs had taken me around here before, not this exact trail, but nearby.

Emergence put me by Tennison's library. Barely three rooms crammed together next to the city hall. Their lawn was just as nice as the park I left behind. All told the place amounted to boredom. There were only a few employees that worked there during the day, and no one during the evening.

I turned around and headed back down the trail to the park, satisfied that I killed some time. To waste more time I explored alcoves, wandered off the main trail, and generally poked around in any cranny I could find. There were side paths that went off into houses, others went down to a tiny stream. Kids and homeless people made these connections through repeated use over a summer.

Along one of the side routes, I noticed someone collapsed against a tree. At least it looked like someone. It was hard to tell since they were under fabric that was soggy and matted from the rain.

"Hello?" I said.

No response. Maybe they were asleep or a runaway. Still, being out here couldn't be healthy for anyone. I stepped in closer, crushing leaves and twigs loudly. They didn't react.

I peered harder, trying to see past the winnowing light from sunset. Shadows were cast just wrong, there was a sort of small clearing, though, just enough to watch cautiously as I approached.

My mind started spinning all sorts of details. A female, probably, couldn't be male. Had to be nearly starving. Thoughts turned fuzzy and it became harder to concentrate. This felt familiar. I'd been in this situation before. I tried to recall what had happened in the past and compare it to now. She, whoever she was that my memory told me about, had been black. Maybe this person I was creeping towards was dark skinned as well. Deep pigments against the base of that tree would just blend in.

I looked for eyes, for hands, a hint of pink anywhere.

There was a throbbing in my forehead that grew worse. A pressure stuttered inside my skull, threatening to tip me over. I put out one hand and tried to balance while still making progress towards the hanging cloth.

"Hello?" I asked again. Maybe there was no one in front of me. Still, I approached, trying to figure out what was so familiar about this.

The tint of plants and long shadows darkened against the brown bark of the tree. A female, why did I think there was a female here? Clearly there was no one. I was mixing up now with a buried recollection of some sort. There had been a woman in my memory, for sure. Who was she? Her dark skin stood out like a beacon, eyes drooped closed. Accompanying her was the smell of bitter crushed leaves. Covered, to protect her from the rain and cold. For all the good it did. The woman had been clammy, barely heated by where I was holding her minutes before.

I stumbled over. Entranced by the fragmented memory surfacing in my mind. My eyes watered. The world felt barely connected. One hand reached out lamely to the hanging fabric as if touching a piece of cloth would help summon the rest of my recollections.

But there was nothing. I stood there trying to recall the remaining details. It had been important. Had been a final moment of some sorts. My mind spun, failed to ignite, and ground out the gears before inconsistencies added up. The sun was all wrong. That it had been sunrise in my memory, not sunset like now. There had been rain, not just damp air.

Everything shattered. Nothing I remembered made sense. I was left staring at a tree and a rag, wondering what exactly I'd been grasping at before. And, as it had for days now, my arm itched.

In confusion I walked back to the park. A process that took far longer than expected. Everything was scattered. Thirty minutes passed in the blink of an eye. What had formerly be a fine afternoon had tilted fully into sunset. The mother who'd glared at me was gone, along with most of the other park goers.

Instead, it was a small but familiar group. The black teen and his clearly adopted mother. The three somewhat air-headed females. No Steven, though. I looked around for Roy or his family. They were missing again.

"James?" One of the girls sounded worried. I was too addled to answer her right away.

"James?" she asked again.

"Yeah?"

"Tal’s missing."

"Again, I see," I said.

"He's never missing." The woman’s voice rung with startling urgency.

"Well, his family sometimes comes in."

"Yeah. But Roy isn’t here either." She must have been thrown off by our leaderless situation.

"He'll be back. Roy's handling some business. James can take charge again tonight, right James?" The black teenager cut in from the back.

"I guess." My shrug only further compounded the confusion. I hoped to have someone else sane to talk to and help clear my head. They all slowly moved to our normal spot and took up positions. And with no Steven to run interference I was getting a healthy eye full.

"Guess we'll start." I stood up and worked through the same routine as last night.

I twisted into positions with no real comprehension of what was happening. Moved both arms in unison to a new stance and stretched out one leg behind me. My head felt foggy, but oddly that made it easier to just move around. They followed along, a bit slower than normal. I held the pose and scanned over my small crowd.

"Here. Move your hips forward more," I said. One of the trio of girls was a little off center. A brunette that was built like a dancer. All lank and no curves. "Shoulder back just a bit."

She corrected it and I nodded in approval. Then we moved onward. Another motion, and another, then doubling back to try out some of the ones we had trouble with. We were doing skill work and learning through repetition.

The cool down went fast. Tonight’s air was heavy with moisture and we hadn't worked that hard. Finally, once we were done, the one I helped out thanked me with a blush then nearly ran off to the comfort of her friends. They collapsed around her immediately and started chattering. Something about their voices made it hard to eavesdrop. Then one turned and gave me a wiggle of her fingers with a wink.

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I had no clue if that qualified as flirting or not.

"You really know this stuff, don't you James?" the teen's mother said.

I looked at her and shrugged. "It seems familiar."

"I'm sure Roy will be happy to know you're taking care of everything." The teen cheered me on with an oddly positive attitude. It felt off. Part of me expected him to be surly.

"We've got to talk about how well you and Mister Roy are getting along."

"He's okay people, mom!" the teen protested. His face screwed sideways in exasperation.

"I don't know how much I like a grown man texting you."

"He's family, mom!"

"You say that, but I've never met him before. Certainly not from your father's side either."

"Don't stress about it, mom."

"We'll see." She smiled, not in the same manner the trio of girls had. The mother acted kinder but slightly strained. I barely knew their names. It kept slipping from out of my head. It could have been Rich or Richard? Both wandered off to their car and drove away.

Once again, I was left alone.

Tonight I didn't like being alone and that was weird as well. I needed someone, anyone, to vent to. To just talk with. Being grounded, something. Maybe Rachel would be available. She offered earlier, advised me that 'boys' need someone to talk to. Her statement had been dead on.

I walked home. Rachel was out like a light when I checked her room. Which made that whole idea useless. I staggered back outside, intent on wandering until my body couldn't stay awake anymore.

Up some streets, down others. I tried to keep to the main roads. Roaming around in the residential areas might not exactly be welcome this late at night. Someone was likely to call the cops, all three of them, and then where would I be? Up a creek, no paddles, waterfall incoming.

I needed something, though. There was no one around to talk to. No way to go back home tonight and start blathering away. The mysterious friend who helped me find Rachel’s place was a faint figment. His face was just as foggy as my mystery female's. The very one I had run away from, the one I suffered a weird vision of in the forests.

I must have stood in the same spot another twenty minutes trying to recall anything useful. An hour later and I was at the bar. Zach was at the counter like last time. There were a few other town regulars nearby. Sunday nights were more popular than Tuesdays, or whatever day I had been in here with Steven.

I settled down on a stool. It was the most isolated place in the entire bar I could find. That meant two empty seats on one side, three on the other. Maybe five feet to the small group at a table behind me. Basketball was on the television.

"Hey, man, didn't expect you in here this soon." Zach was in the middle of wrapping up someone else's drink.

A more heartless man might admit that coming in here was a last resort.

I did no such thing and said, "Yeah."

"I'll get your order in a moment, here." Zach forked over a menu. "Grill's still open for last call if you want."

"Closing soon?" I squinted at the clock.

"An hour or so maybe. Officially we're done at eleven, but some nights it's sooner, depends." He shrugged then wandered back down the counter.

I watched as he chatted at one of the groups. Zach's voice wasn't exactly loud, but it carried. He gave an impression of expecting attention. That seemed unusual in a bartender. Most of the ones I knew chatted, sure, but didn't exactly come across as commanding. They didn't need to. An aspiring drunk nearly always kept careful track of where their next glass was coming from.

The menu was basic. Hamburgers that were probably frozen. No chicken. A token salad with mention of dressings. I counted out my meager earnings and compared that to pay day. Well, I'd worked overtime, a drink and food wouldn't hurt me. Hopefully. If I kept it to one.

"Let me guess, hamburger and a..." Zach mused on his approach.  "Twister?"

"Huh?" I asked.

"Strawberry, lime, Absolut, shoved into a highball. Or do you prefer straight shots?"

"I'll take whatever." I had no idea what was good. There was a vague tickling in the back of my head that said it didn't really matter. A fragment of memory said I had always been more interested in the effect, not the cause.

"Will do. One on the house as a welcome to Tennison. That okay, man?"

"Can you double that then?" I tried not to grin.

"Hah, sure, man."

Zach wandered off and I mulled over my choice. Switching that to a larger dose of alcohol had been an automatic reaction. I didn't drink that often, though. Why would I be interested in increasing the amount like that?

"Here, food's got about ten minutes." Zach passed me a glass that had yellow and red liquid floating in between ice cubes. I took a sip and the strawberry overpowered me.

I shrugged. It was free, Zach could water it down if he wanted. Not that I saw him pull any tricks from this vantage point. I had gulped down half of the drink by the time the bartender wandered back.

"So, planning on staying in town long?" Zach asked as he came over. His other regulars were chatting happily among themselves.

"Not sure," I said.

"Really? This place is a lot nicer than most. Quiet and peaceful."

"Most of it." I was distracted by a slightly fuzzy feeling that started from my nose. My ears were starting to ring as well.

"Well, you know us small town folk, always hiding some big secret. That's what the movies show."

"I don't know what you mean, we're all perfectly sane here, no secrets!" One of the people at the table behind me butted into our conversation. "Right?" Our drunken interloper looked for support from his table.

"Friendly family community," another one said.

"Speak for yourself, I moved out here because the property was cheap," the third voiced.

"Who are you going..." Their words faded off and another round of drunken debates started up.

"Three times a week they're in here, half plastered,” Zach pretended to whisper to me. “Volunteer firefighters for the county. They work weird shifts on top of normal jobs."

"And it sucks!" one said.

"Wish they'd hire someone," the third muttered. "Could use a full-time job."

I turned to Zach and raised and eyebrow. He shrugged.

"Everyone's been nice here," I admitted.

"In Tennison?" Zach gave me a questioning look.

"Yeah."

"But not everywhere you've been?"

"Yeah," I admitted. "Well. That place," I didn't know what to call it, "It's..." How do you tactfully call someone's choice of hangout disturbing as hell? I mean really, truly, straight out wrong in its vibe?

"Hard to get used to. Trust me, I know. That camp’s been around for five or six years, mostly just a bunch of us learning new skills."

"You talking about Camp Grace?" a drunken person in the trio of fire fighters spoke up.

"Weirdos."

"More like a doomsday cult. Really? Preparing for a war against nonhumans? Like that would ever happen." The third finished off their circle of commentary.

"Nah, they've got it right,” said the first.

"What? Hoping for war?" They kept arguing between the three of them. Zach and I didn't even have to prompt them.

"Hey, you never know. One day Western Sector might fail to keep everything peaceful. Then where will we be?"

"Bent over a barrel," Zach said and snickered. He was quiet about it from his spot behind the counter.

"Exactly." One of the trio overhead him anyway.

"Two thousand years of getting along, and you're worried about it now?" the female in the crowd said. They kept right on conversing using the bartender's comment like fuel on a fire. I couldn't even tell who was talking half the time.

"We only got along because the furs and fangs could wipe us out in an instant. Now we got the technology to even the scales. Whose to say they won't wise up to the risk?"

"He's right," their third member said. "It's sad, and I'd hope that we'll all get along, but it never works out that way."

"Don't give me that horse shit. Pure unfiltered horse shit.” The first person banged his cup and down on the table. “You're both delusional idiots. There will be a war eventually, it's just a matter of when."

"You've seen the news. Killing sprees from vampire transitions? How many people have lost jobs from the Pack strikes?" The second speaker seemed to be the biggest supporter of this Camp Grace group, whoever they were. I found it odd that Zach didn't really take sides. Maybe he was being tactful.

"Same nonsense it's always been. News always shows the most attention getting stories, and paints a pretty picture of everyone involved," the third one said.

"Politics, right wing idiots keep saying we should get along." The first one slammed down a drink, splashing it everywhere. "Make no mistake, those nonhumans have done more damage to us than to each other."

Zach just rolled his eyes. I carefully downed the rest of my own liquid.

"You're listening to the television's lies again. They just focus on the bad news. I keep telling you..." The third one got cut off in the middle of their defensive statement.

"It's not just hype. Even those Elves, they've blocked so many development projects that the bigger cities are like checkerboards of parks. I could have bought a real house in town if land wasn't so restricted."

"You're just pissed that those condos never went through,” said the female in the middle.

"I could have kept my job, no, fuck that, I'd still be able to see my kid more than once a month." The first nodded then paused to scowl at his drink.

Their conversation twisted from ranting about races to the costs of child support and how terrible an idea getting married had been in the first place. I stopped paying attention when they moved onto high school prom dates and missed opportunities. Sulking was never interesting.

"Well, I guess that sums it up," Zach said.

I shrugged. Zach handled another round of orders. A few minutes later my food came out and I dug into the hamburger while trying to muddle through what had just happened. There had been a lot of anger in those words. Not outright name calling, but it was only a confrontation away from a physical altercation. Maybe the second speaker had been another Camp Grace member.

Or maybe they'd just lost someone to one of those other races. Rachel hadn't been too fond of them herself. Though she had been more upset at their portrayal as heroes in the histories.

"So why are you at Camp Grace?"

"Because of a friend." The bartender twisted his lips in a tiny smile and tilted his head.

"Huh?" That made no sense to me. Then again there was likely no reason that would sound healthy.

"A friend of mine got involved with them, and I couldn't very well let him face it alone. So I found myself at Camp Grace."

I considered his reasoning. This Camp Grace was full of military hardware, enough that the local police and Western Sector's finest hadn't shut them down. No one would get involved until their members actually hurt other people. The few I saw besides Zach had twitchy trigger fingers, aggressive attitudes, and took too much pride in their outfits.

Zach, on the other hand, was laid back. Almost joking with his expressions. Friendly. It seemed opposite to what Camp Grace would want for its war preparations. Driven people, human supremacists, oppressed personalities that would do nothing but follow orders.

"I hope he's a good friend," I said.

"He's a great guy, just confused."

"Maybe he'll pull out of it."

"Maybe, man, there's always hope." Zach smiled and slipped another drink onto the counter. "One for the road."

Turned out the bartender wasn't bad folk. No one who gave me free alcohol could be terrible. The second drink slipped down faster than the first. With a grunt I stood up and got ready to leave. I threw down a twenty on the counter. The hamburger cost enough, and the rest could be a tip.

"See you around, James," Zach said.

The other three at the table saluted with a giddy cheer. "Night, James!" They were excited about something I hadn't noticed.

My feet wove a curved path down the sidewalk, managed to avoid slamming into a mailbox, and traveled onward toward destinations unknown.

Morning found me collapsed at the base of a the tree I had been at yesterday. The one that disturbed me with vague recollections of the past. The side of my face was damp, and it unlikely that it had rained last night.

How messed up was this? I was grieving for someone that I couldn't remember. At least I finally identified the smell. The sharp bite of peppermint haunted my incomplete memories. Whoever she was, she was important. It hurt. Something had happened between us, something bad.

No, whatever it was shouldn't be dwelled on. Sulking wasn't interesting and I was putting too much thought into the past.

But sometimes it can't be helped.