After finishing her coffee, Angie rested for a while on the porch. The dogs had gone wherever Rory had gone, but the huge cat came and kept her company, sitting on an empty chair, staring at her for a while, then curling up and going to sleep. After a while it produced small but dense snores, reverbrations from another world.

The peace and quiet might have induced sleepiness for Angie too, but she was buzzed from the coffee and so she got up and explored, walking out into the backyard which was obviously a heavy traffic zone. A beat up basketball hoop hung off a pole at one end, and two small soccer goals, with heavily abraded dirt in front of them, were set opposite. Past the far end goal, a corral fence extended off to either side and in the corral were three horses, two brown ones and a white one.

A couple of battered looking ATVs were parked close by.

This piece of ground obviously saw a lot of activity. The backboard of the hoop had deep wear marks on either side where countless layups had bounced off the painted plastic. The net had long ago been replaced with chain.

For a moment she visualised the place when it was crowded and noisy. The whole clan out here watching kids play soccer, or maybe it was the adults who played and the kids who watched. The cheering, the jeering, the smell of barbecue on grilles, the shrieks as small kids chased one another around the fringes of the crowd.

Rory had to be an athlete. With that great body of his and all, she imagined him as the heroic goalie, leaping sideways across the goal to make a save. Or was basketball more his game? She could see him cutting inside, faking out a defender and rising gracefully to make the layup.

She looked around, the rambling house, the scruffy backyard, the horses, the barns, the place had a good atmosphere.. A decent life, it seemed to her, that these people had carved out here. Growing organic produce for the farmers' markets, living in this huge extended family, surrounded by the green jungle. Could be a lot worse, she knew. She'd seen other places, on her flight across the country all those years ago that still haunted her memory.

A movement to her left caught her eye and she glimpsed the girl again, staring at her from the window of a doublewide that had been cemented into position between two other comonents of the house. Their eyes met and the girl pulled back into the shadows and vanished.

Angie grinned, then decided not to check out the horses. That could wait. She went back to the porch, collected the empty coffee cups and went inside. She found the kitchen again, but the scene had changed completely. Four women, two young, two older, were prepping a feast.

One, the closest to her, a fireplug build, who looked sixty, turned from basting a turkey roasted to a deep brown to greet Angie.

"You must be Jim's friend. Staying for dinner?"

"Well, I hope so. Gosh, it looks amazing."

A muscular teenage girl, wearing a black T-shirt and camo pants with an automatic pistol holstered on her right hip was scooping cooked sweet potatoes into a bowl.

"You been with Rory?" said the girl.

The way she said "been with" carried some emotional freight, and Angie wasn't sure where it might lead to. She was aware she was stepping into a dark space here, full of hidden obstacles.

"We had coffee. I met the cat."

"That is one ornery bastard cat," said another girl, this one with blonde pigtails and a white T-shirt.

"So I hear, but he was nice to me."

"Not like he even bothers to mouse," grumbled the woman basting the turkey. "Leaves all the work to Kitty."

"Kitty?"

"Over there," the blonde girl nodded in the direction of a small chair beside the brand new low-energy chiller. On the chair, curled up, was a small black cat, fast asleep.

"Typical of males, wouldn't you say?" said Angie with a smile.

That earned her a murmur of assent from all around the table. The girl with the gun on her hip smiled and shot a look full of solidarity Angie's way.

"Got that right, lady."

"By the way, can I help? I mean, Rory invited me to dinner, which was very sweet of him, but I'm sure there's lots to do."

"Sure. You wanna peel those carrots? Cut them up?"

So Angie took a place on the other side of the table from the girl with the gun. As she did so the girl leaned forward to shake hands.

"Call me Pegs, everyone else does."

"Okay, I'm Angie."

"And this is Mama T. T stands for, well, I don't know, Mama, what is it?"

The older lady, face lined, grey hair pulled back in a ponytail, grinned.

"It's Tabitha, dear, but no one's called me that since my John passed on."

Angie and Mama T shook hands. Angie noted the hardness of the other hand and how rough the skin felt.

"That Jim, ain't he a wonder?" said Mama T.

"He's been a great friend to me."

"And to us, all these years now. Hope he makes it down here in time for dinner."

"You remember when he made that stuff, that puddin'?" said the other older woman, later introduced as Aunt Rosey.

"Sooo-ettt puddin'" said Pegs loudly.

"That was a great Christmas," said the blonde girl, who leaned across to shake Angie's hand. "I'm Suzie."

"Suzie's the best shot in New York State, said Aunt Rosey."

"Now, Auntie, I came third at Sate, you know that."

"Whatever, you're still darned good."

"Jim brought that barrel of whisky," said Pegs, returning to the fond memories of the night of Jim's pudding. "Never seen so many people laid out drunk."

"It was suet puddin'," said Mama T, "and I thought it was delicious, 'speshly with the custard."

"The guys made fun of him for that."

"And got so drunk they couldn't stand up. You didn't see Jim get drunk, now, did ya?"

"He knows when to stop."

"Right."

The carrots were done, and next there were brussel sprouts, and they were only boiled for a minute or two so they stayed bright green. Meanwhile the two girls were melting marshmallow over the sweet potato.

Suddenly Roshanna was there, with a huge platter covered in pieces of something deep fried.

"We done all the possum now, got space in the oven to keep it hot?":

"Yeah," said Mama T, "turkey's out now."

"Do you folks eat like this a lot?" Angie wondered out loud. Roshanna gave her a warm smile as she put her platter into the cavernous dark oven.

"Oh, about twice a week. Suzie shoots something, or we get a steer from one of Rory's customers, you know?" said Aunt Rosey.

"A whole, like, cow?"

"Don't last long, believe me, not with all the Calanns, the Smiths...."

"Terwilligers too," said Roshanna standing up again with an effort.

Angie chuckled. This was a happy clan, or tribe, or whatever you wanted to call it, and these women were obviously its backbone.

At some point another teenage girl came in, put her assault rifle next to Suzie's in the corner and asked for a donut. This girl had black hair cut short, a round face and a little bit of puppy fat. Angie pegged her as about fourteen.

The request for a donut started something close to a food fight.

"You eat that you'll spoil your appetite and dinner's ready. Almost," said Pegs, the girl with the pistol.

"I been out there all day. What you been doin'?"

"You look at the schedule? I was out last night and I ain't scheduled until tomorrow."

"What? You Rory's favorite now?"

"Nope. You look at that schedule, is all. I do my share."

"Shut up Jeen," said Mama T. "Pegs has been helping make dinner. You'll be eatin' it."

"I'm hungry, now."

"Wait fer chrissake. Won't be long. Turkey's done, look! We got so much possum in the oven we'll be stuffed."

"I like donuts."

"Well, I ain't making none of that. Make you fat." Pegs said with a snort.

Mama T laughed. "And you don't need none."

"I know it. I'm onna dite."

"Then you gotta cut out drinkin'. Much as you do."

"An' what? Take up weed?"

"Nothin' wrong with thet. You won't get fat."

"Less'n I get the munchies."

"And you won't be doin' silly shit and gettin' in fights." Mama T had finished with the turkey.

"She started it."

"Bullshit!" Mama T wasn't having any of that, whatever it referred to.

Angie kept a straight face and concentrated on mashing potatoes as this kind of banter bounced back and forth around the table in a good humored way, demonstrating a powerful female solidarity across the generations.

At some unannounced point, Mama T directed that everything be taken to the dining room. Suzie, the riflegirl with pigtails, went to ring the bell, and Angie and Pegs carried platters of sweet potatoes, vegetables and stuffing down the hall and into the dining room.

Angie immediately observed the long, shining white-linen tablecloth. Then she noted that the table was set for a dozen or more and that the tableware and cutlery were a high-end brand. Even more interesting was the presence at each place setting of two wine glasses and a water tumbler. The wine glasses were starkly different, one being a fairly slender white wine style, the other a bigger, full bellied red wine type. All were spotless and all were very expensive, a european brand, she thought.

This sophistication took her by surprise. Not that she'd expected them to be passing a jug around and swilling from the neck, exactly, but paired wine glasses, and expensive ones too, at this redneck feast way back here in the uninsured woodlands?

There was more here than met the eye, she realised.

Mama T was starting to carve the turkey. Roshanna and Aunt Rosey brought in platters of deep fried possum. A bell rang somewhere in the house, like a school bell from another century.

Standing there beside Pegs, Angie took the opportunity to ask a question.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Well, I guess it depends?" Pegs grinned at her.

"Why are you, uh, wearing a gun?"

The girl looked at her for a moment, like she'd asked the dumbest question imaginable. Then seemed to realize that Angie wasn't a local person, and didn't know the score.

"Oh, yeah. I always do. Feels safer."

"Oh, okay."

Mama T couldn't leave it there. "These girls are mos'ly out ridin', see? They be Rory's eyes and ears? So they gotta go armed."

And for a moment Angie saw that girl on the ATV with a rifle slung over her shoulder.

"Okay."

Rory's eyes and ears.

More food was brought to the table, bottles of red wine appeared and were set on heavy silver coasters on the side table. Pegs and Suzie opened them. Another girl brought in a large icebucket and bottles of white wine were opened and placed in the ice.

Suddenly men came wandering in, with brief introductions as they took their seats. Old Dan Terwilliger, "Pops" to everyone already there, was first, and a couple of women helped him sit down. Then came a younger, coarser version of Rory, "Billy Calann," he announced crushing her hand in his while he undressed her with his eyes. Angie shivered and turned away from that hot gaze. That was the kind of thing she'd expected in the uninsured world, and she disliked Billy instantly.

Other men, other names, Sweets-- a round faced guy in middle age with a receding hairline. Joby, a thin, angry seeming younger man with a little mustache and hard, dark eyes. Steve, another younger guy, but bland, blue eyed, open faced.

And then there was Rory, with the black man in the dark blue suit and scarlet shirt.

"Hi, everyone, you know Chaga."

"Hello," said Chaga with a wave of the hand. He then sat down across from Angie, while Rory sat next to her. At which point she realized that everybody had kept that seat free for him.

"I hear you pitched right in," Rory whispered in her ear.

"Had a great time. Quite a clan you've got."

"Told you, we've been out here for a long time."

She observed Sweets eating with two fisted determination. His eyes seemed to have crossed. Did "out here for a long time" mean hillbilly style inbreeding?

"How did your business meeting go?"

"Oh, fine, just fine," Rory obviously didn't want to discuss it.

Suddenly there was an outbreak of loud words from the center of the table.

"That boy is ugly-- U, G, L, I, you got it?"

"Well, first, you cain't spell. It's U,G, L, Y, not I, you dumb bitch."

"Who you callin' a bitch?"

It was Pegs and Suzie, perennial combatants, as far as Angie could tell.

"You is who. Jason's not ugly. Okay, he's not a virtstar, but he ain't ugly."

"His ears stick out!"

"That don't matter as long as something else does," commented Mama T, which produced a prolonged roar of laughter, hooting and pounding on the table.

Angie grinned, Rory slid a sly glance her way, grinned too.

Clearly, fancy tablewares or not, these were rough hewn rural people. Angie liked them, Sweets' lack of table manners notwithstanding.

Wine was poured, Angie accepted a modest glass. She didn't drink alcohol often, it conflicted with her carefully balanced diet and anti-oxidant program, but this was a party, and she wanted to enjoy it. The rule could be relaxed once in a while.

In the same spirit of adventure she tried some fried possum, and found it palatable,.

"Tastes like chicken," said Rory with another grin.

Mr Chaga, across the table interjected, "I always thought it was roadkill that you guys were eating. Guess that's the only way I ever saw possums."

"Cityboy," replied Rory. "You sophisticates up there in Kingston."

"Lawd, I wish," said Chaga. "But, we are improvin'. People are known to actually put their damned fast food garbage in the bins provided, you know?"

"What's this, the urban beautification campaign?"

But Angie sensed that Mr. Chaga was serious.

"If it was up to me, man, it'd be a mandatory week in jail for littering. No excuses."

"Is that tough love, or just social retribution."

"Call it what you like, it's a disgrace to make a mess of the place you live."

Rory's attention was diverted into a conversation with Pegs, who was sitting on his right. Angie sipped her wine, the white, which was fresh, lively and had nice tropical fruit scents and flavors. Fried possum with an excellent sauvignon blanc. Not exactly a wine and food matchup that you might find on the Wine Forum, but it worked.

Mr. Chaga took the opportunity provided.

"So, I have to ask, what brings a classy lady like yourself out here to the fortress in the woods?"

Fortress?

"Well, I'm meeting a friend here."

"You have friends out here?" Mr. Chaga was clearly surprised by that thought. "Not to imply that you're unfriendly or anything, just you seem more like a Manhattan kinda lady, you know what I'm sayin'?"

Angie hesitated a moment. Of course she didn't look like these redneck women. She and Mama T were probably the same age, but looked twenty five years apart. She had all her own teeth too. And yet, she'd enjoyed her little stint in the kitchen.

"We-ell, not here exactly. But he's coming here."

"Okay. You a friend of my man, Rory?"

"I, I think so." Angie suddenly wished she had Mistress Julia turned on. That personality was so definite, so sure of itself.

"Yeah?"

Angie moved to turn the tables. "And what brings you all the way out here, Mr. Chaga?"

Chaga smiled, obviously aware of her tactic. "Rory and me, we been doin' business for years."

"I see, so you sell organic vegetables?"

Chaga blinked, then he erupted in full bellied laughter. Angie stared at the man, what had she said that was so funny?

The laughter had caught Rory's attention. Chaga laid an immaculately polished hand on the table complete with two huge gold rings studded with emeralds, and hunched forward slightly.

"The vegetable business, man?"

Rory colored, shook his head. "Look, no need to."

"Tell the truth?"

"C'mon, Chaga, gimme a break here."

"Okay, okay," Chaga took a sip of wine.

"What did he say?" chimed in Pegs. Chaga compressed his lips. Rory tried to shush Pegs, but Pegs, two or three glasses of wine onboard now, wasn't about to be shushed.

"Angie?" she spoke right past Rory.

"Well,"

"He tell you we're growing vegetables?"

Rory couldn't let that go without a comment. "No, of course not. Just produce, Pegsy, just produce."

Now it was Pegs' turn to roar with laughter. "Oh, right, produce. Of course."

Chaga grinned, sipped wine, but said nothing.

Angie could tell that Rory was fuming.

"You guys," he muttered.

Pegs poured more wine for both Angie and Rory. "I'm sorry, Ror', guess I must be jealous or something."

"Look, Pegs we don't need to be, you know, puttin' our business model on the freakin' internet, yeah?"

"I hear ya, man, but the lady's chilled, I'm sure."

Angie tried to pour oil on the troubled waters. "You know, it doesn't matter. Really, I was just curious."

"She's a friend of Jim's," Rory said.

"Oh, I see," said Chaga. "I think."

"And she's very nice, too," said Pegs, holding up her wine glass for Angie to clink hers against.

"Right," said Rory clinking his glass against the others.

"Time for more wine," said Chaga, lifting a bottle off the sideboard. Angie saw the label and a shock of recognition ran through her brain. Grizzly Vineyards, 4 Paws Cabernet Sauvignon, in yellow lettering on black, with a snarling bear at the top outlined in red, just about the most expensive trophy wine produced in California. The label took her back more than a decade, when a happy client, scion of a wealthy LA family with roots in Hollywood, had given her several bottles of 4 Paws in gratitude for her role-playing in a Dommy--Mommy scenario that she'd scripted for him after a careful interview and some research among her peers. That client had stayed with her for years and years until he finally met an attractive, older lady only too happy to treat him like the big baby he dreamed of being. The bottles of 4 Paws had been opened with Sanni and Jorje, to celebrate one thing or another, and very impressive they'd been too.

"4 Paws?" she said, with just a hint of wonder in her voice.

"Yeah," said Rory, "you know it?"

"I had a few bottles in LA. Fantastic."

"I get it from the city, a case now and then."

Chaga poured an inch or so into her glass and she swirled it and absorbed the super-intense scents of cassis and berry fruit. She noted that it was the fifty-nine vintage, one of the best of the century in Napa.

A case of 4 Paws? That would run to around five grand, she imagined. Pretty damned good for an organic farming redneck. There was something beyond simply odd about all this.

"So, where do you live now?" said Chaga.

Angie had anticipated that question and decided there was no harm in telling the truth here.

"On the ridgeline, you know, the Shawangunks. I bought a house that survived the proscription. Maybe the military used it then."

"Oh, yeah? There are so many stories about what went on up there. Way back, in the early days, you know, the Emergency?"

"You like some rumor on that salad?" said Rory. "We got the mill."

"I know," Chaga raised his hands in open admission of the point. "It's all unproven, hearsay. What would ya expec', comin' out of those days? But the military took over the whole ridgeline, the valley, right up into the Catskill park, yeah?"

Rory hesitated. This was true and well known by everyone.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Angie and Pegs looked to Rory, he shrugged. "Who knows why? I don't know much about those days at all."

"'Cept, granpa Calann, right?" said Pegs quickly.

"Well, Arthur, he didn't like what was happening."

"C'mon, Rory, they killed him." said Pegs, indignation surging.

"Lot of people got killed back then. Bad time for everyone."

"What happened?" said Angie.

"They came in here, like the army, you know?" It was an oft-repeated tale of the clan's history and Pegs recited it like a creed. "And we wouldn't leave our land, so they attacked us. There was a battle here and Granpa Calann got shot dead and Uncle Billy got shot, and some others, but most of us escaped and later we came back and rebuilt."

"Calanns lived here right through the proscription," said Rory. "Tried to get us out several times, but we learned to hide and they never succeeded."

"Danged rednecks, you're impossible to eradicate," said Chaga with a big grin.

"You got it, man," agreed Rory.

"But none of that says anything about why they did it," said Angie, raising what seemed to her the salient point.

"Yeah," chimed in Pegs. "No one ever explained what they were doing, or why they made the proscription."

"I've heard tell that they had a top secret laboratory up on that ridge," said Chaga. "They were, like making cyborgs or some kinda superhuman type of soldier."

"And the result of that was?" Rory was holding the skeptic's corner.

"I don't know."

"You ever heard of any superhumans?"

"Well, no. But, then who knows what's happening in the war zones?"

"Sweets was in the war," said Pegs.

"Hey, Sweets, you ever see any, uh, supermen type soldiers?"

"Say what?" Sweets had sweet potato smudges above his upper lip and a napkin tied around his neck. Angie repressed a shudder at the sight, and took a sip of wine to disguise her revulsion.

"In the Zone, you ever seen any super-troopers? You know? Genetically modified guys who could do superhuman stuff?"

Sweets absorbed this, then laughed. "Nope. Wish I had. Listen, man, it's hard enough to find anyone in the army who can do ordinary, everyday human stuff without fucking up."

Genial laughter followed that, and Sweets went back to eating fried possum.

"Yeah, well, I ain't sure that's the, uh, definitive word on the question," said Chaga.

"Sure, I understand," said Rory, grinning. "You wanna believe what you wanna believe."

"And you don't?" shot back Chaga.

Rory took a sip of his wine and didn't reply.

"Okay," said Angie, who had many questions of her own about the proscription zone. "Why do you think they set up the zone on the ridge?"

Rory shrugged. "Could have been they had a place there for interrogations and stuff. Maybe they were sensitive about what was going down with that shit. We all know they killed a lotta people."

"You mean they were torturing people and dumpin' the bodies in a mass grave?" Chaga didn't mind bringing the spooky terminology out of the closet.

"Makes more sense than that stuff about superhumans and secret labs."

Angie felt a little shiver pass through her. Up on her beautiful ridge, were there hideous pits full of human bones? The crushed remnants of former lives, cut short by the activities of those unknown, unnamed men and women who had killed Mark and would kill her too, if they ever found her. Had the crags and glens of the mountain resounded to the screams of people being tortured for their political beliefs, or their inconvenient knowledge?

And again she felt that old rage. A deep, cold anger directed against the powerful people that had poisoned America's democracy and finally destroyed it for their own ends. The media, such as it was in the age of virt, maintained that things were getting back to the good old twentieth century norms. But she knew that to be a hollow claim. Elections came and went and the same small group of men and women clung to power. The nation was just about cut off from the rest of the world with walls to the north and south and strict passport controls at every airport. The ruling class didn't want Americans travelling abroad and getting funny ideas about the way things were. The same small group had decided back in the Emergency days that an uninformed public, kept busy with lotteries and the idiotic doings of celebs was the safer choice. The border controls had come in the name of controlling immigration and stopping terrorism, and they'd achieved those ends. The nation was homogenizing once more. Since she'd left LA, Angie had hardly heard spoken spanish, even in Manhattan. Other languages had evaporated. It was a different kind of country now, from the one she remembered as a kid, growing up in suburban Maryland.

She shrugged. There was no going home, no going back to the old America. It was gone forever. All she could hope for was to stay alive and hope for the best.

"More wine?" Chaga held out the bottle. She took a little more. She'd make up for it with an extra long run tomorrow, but right now it made her feel a little better.

The mention of mass graves had wrung the pleasure out of the conversation it seemed and it sputtered out. Rory and Chaga talked briefly about delivery and pickup, then Chaga made farewells around the table, gave Mama T a big kiss and stopped by Angie's side on his way out.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ma'am, hope I see you around." HIs handshake was far more gentle than she would have imagined.

"Likewise, Mister Chaga."

Then he and Rory disappeared for a while. Angie kept to herself, listened to what Pegs and Suzie were arguing about, some boy with too much 'tude. Suzie seemed to be arguing for shooting Yate, which seemed to be his name. Pegs felt that that was going too far and that instead they should take the young man aside and "beat da crap outta him, but not like in front of anyone."

Angie tried to imagine her girlfriends, long ago, talking like this, even thinking these kind of thoughts. Especially Peg's concern for Yate's tender male ego. That beating him black and blue was okay, but only if nobody else knew it had been done by them.

Impossible. Her girlfriends would have gotten their boyfriends to do the job. These girls were something else.

Rory was back.

"How you doing?" he said in a quiet voice.

"Fine, haven't heard from Jim at all."

"He'll be here. Never known Jim to miss an appointment, though he might be late, he always gets there."

"I'm sure you're right."

"Had enough to eat?"

"Oh yes. It was great."

"C'mon, let's go talk somewhere."

He took her hand. The electricity was there, just as she'd expected.

They stood up, no one seemed to notice. Maybe Pegs, who grinned in her direction. Mama T and Roshanna were going at it over something to do with a repair job and everyone seemed to be concentrating on what they were saying.

Out in the hall they held hands, didn't speak until they were outside under the night sky. The air was soft, like velvet, the moon lit the tops of the trees. Angie felt buoyed up by something she had not experienced in many, many years. Anticipation.

Rory lead her across to the big metal barn building. Around the back, tacked on, was a long low structure. Inside was a kind of apartment, an entryway with a boot rack and a slim rack full of rifles, then a lounge, stuffed furniture, a big virt setup, and past that a bedroom. To one side, on a special table there was a big, expensive binocular microscope.

"Bachelor pad?" she murmured. The view out the big picture window of the lounge was a long glade with moonflecked trees on either side. It stimulated her imagination. She thought of riding a white horse down that glade, under the moon.

"Kinda," said Rory, picking up a bottle of brandy. Drink?"

"No. I've had more than enough. Come here." She enjoyed the effect that had on him. Angie had lived with her Domme chips for long enough to know how to push male buttons when she wanted to.

She accepted his embrace, their lips met. She let herself melt into things.

When she peeled his clothes off, his body was exactly as she'd imagined it, except for the huge scar, which ran right down the length of his rib cage. She'd ask him about that later.

And when her clothes came off? He covered her breasts, her belly and her thighs with kisses, and didn't need any encouragement when it came to foreplay. Later as she took him between her legs, enjoying the fullness and the hardness of him, she wondered with a little interior giggle if he had any idea that she was old enough to be his mother.