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boyfriend was here. He sure has a way with a rusted trany.” He slid back to get another part. Seeing my face, he said, “Oh, sorry. I probably shouldn’t mention him, with him being gone and all. I sure hope you’re right that the scarb haven’t killed him.”
    Wow, Travis, you really have a knack for being blunt, I wanted to tell him, but opted for a small “Thanks.” instead. Travis was good with cars, but not so good with people. I heard that he’d gotten most of his scarb kills with his tools. I eyed the cart beside me.
    “Can you hand me that spring compressor?” he asked, pointing to some metal contraption on his cart.
    “This one?” I held it up, hoping it wasn’t one that had been jammed into a scarb’s arm socket. He nodded.
    After spending the entire day roasting in the hot May sun helping Travis, I headed over to the Post a little early to get a front row seat for the meeting. Mrs. Weatherstone and some of the other women had prepared a large deer roast for the attendees, but I was hardly hungry. While the others gobbled up the food, I picked at my potatoes and the twisted carrots they’d grown that winter.
    “Not feeling well?” Mrs. Weatherstone asked, sitting on the crude handmade bench with me.
    “Not really,” I admitted. “I just want to get on with this. Are you coming this time?”
    She nodded. I felt relieved, not just because we would have a good medic but because I felt like I needed her. There were few people in the town that stood by me, let alone liked me. But they need me, whether they like me or not . I’m a good fighter. Officer Reynolds knew that, and so did the others.
    Then, someone I didn’t expect to see plopped down beside me. “Cassandra? What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice nice.
    “My dad says I’m old enough now, so I can come,” she said with a haughty toss of her auburn hair.
    I didn’t know we needed someone to polish our nails for us. I purposely turned my back on her to talk with Mrs. Weatherstone about medical supplies.
    Officer May quieted everyone down after a bit, and Officer Reynolds started the meeting. Travis gave a report on the progress of the trucks. “The first is almost ready,” he stated. “But the second one is being a bugger.”
    Sergeant Sims, got up next to explain our plan of attack. He pulled up the white board Mr. Blackwell used for our class. It had a rough layout of the colony on it. Pointing with a whittled stick, he said, “Officer May and his thirty soldiers will take the east entrance. Officer Reynolds and a troop of forty-five will take the main entrance at the south,” he pointed to the mark on the board that represented the largest opening into the colony. “And Mr. Davin, who has been recently appointed as an officer, will lead the last troop to the west entrance.” He tapped on the third opening. “We will pass out your troop assignments, and meet with each troop individually tomorrow night to discuss specific plans and strategy.”
    Several soldiers passed out handwritten notes. I took mine from a young blond soldier who was Ray’s age but almost twice Ray’s size—pure quarterback material.
    “You’re in my troop,” he told me in a slow southern-drawl, dipping his cowboy hat. Was that a smile on his face? Does he think it’s a joke, or is he actually happy about it?
    He went on to hand Mrs. Weatherstone her assignment before I could figure it out. I scanned the paper.
    Catherine McCabe. Troop Three. Officer Davin.
    Assignment: Front-line on-foot combat.
    Combat was good, but I groaned. I’m in Mr. Davin’s troop.
    “Look at the bright side,” Cassandra suddenly said over my shoulder. “If you’re in Mr. Davin’s troop, maybe you can redeem yourself.”
    I could’ve smacked her. I folded the paper and tucked it neatly into my pocket instead. Keep your cool, Cat. Keep your cool.
    “I heard Derrick talking to you,” Cassandra continued. “Sounds like we’re all in the same