orner-3rd Avenue were broken out, and whatever had been on display in them was gone. Shopping carts and other debris were piled up in intersections to impede traffic, and he had to climb over a couple of them to continue up into the city. He came up through what had looked like a plaza of sorts, and when he reached 5th Avenue, he saw his first citizen of this abandoned city. It looked like about a thirty year old man wearing faded, dirty jeans and a black tee shirt, with a denim jacket over it despite the summer heat. He had the hood of a car open that was parked a bit further up 5th Avenue, a green Buick Century with four flat tires that had been parked at the side of a street, yanking on something.

"Excuse me! Hey, you, I need some help!" Jason called, turning towards the man, going around a large overgrown bowl of sorts that held an overgrown shrub. He opened his mind just enough to hear the man's surface thoughts, so to better get a grip on what the man might say... and what he wouldn't say. Sure, it was cheating, but he needed all the information he could get.

The man whipped out from under the hood with some kind of car part in one hand, and a revolver in the other. His hair and beard were brown and unwashed, and his face was smudged with dirt. Jason saw the fear in his eyes, sensed the rise of panic in his mind, and that made him react. Jason turned and dove behind the potted shrub as the man brought up his revolver and fired. He heard the bullet ricochet off the huge pot just before the loud report of the gun. Jason got up to his knees and unslung his railgun, keeping crouched behind the large pot, but he could hear the steps of the man as he fled back up the wide, four lane street, and heard his terrified thoughts as he fled. _Gotta get back to the hill! Gotta get back to the hill!_ he thought over and over and over, and from the sound of it, that was when he'd feel he was safe.

Holy _shit_! Were they really that paranoid around here?

"Ok, important safety tip," Jason breathed, trying to get over the scare. God, that had been _close_. If he hadn't have been eavesdropping on that guy, he might have gotten himself shot.

Why was he so afraid? What was around here to be afraid of? Jason stood up when the man was over a block away, then did what he should have done in the first place. He swept the area around him with his gift, searching out other active minds, the very trick that Jyslin and Maya had once tried to use to find him, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Jason was a very strong telepath, and his ability to seek out and detect other sentient minds had a range of nearly a mile. He wouldn't be able to make out any thoughts, but he'd know that they were there.

There were 73 responses, and they were concentrated mainly to the east, down towards where the maps had shown Marshall University to be located. There were eight people in his general area, moving in pairs, and all four sets of those paired responses were moving in his general direction. They were coming to check out the gunshot, he realized, find out what was going on.

Jason looked around, and saw that he was beside a public library. He raced up to its rotating door, then found it jammed. The window had been broken out of a handicap access door, so it was a simple matter to duck in and run into the building. It had been ransacked, and moldering books, decaying in the unconditioned air, were littering the floor. There was a check-in desk immediately in front of him, and he jumped over an access gate and knelt behind it, waiting for the first of those patrols to arrive.

It took about five minutes, then he saw them. Two men on bicycles, each with hunting rifles slung over a shoulder and pistols in holsters on their belts. They had hand-held radios as well, very nice ones for that matter, and one was using it. "Yeah, Jim, we're at the library. Nothin' here."

There came the distant sounds of several gunshots.

_"We're up by the park,"_ came the response._ "Whoever it was got up the hill. Lucky bastard."_

"You need to learn how to shoot, Jim," the man called with a chuckle.

_"Why don't I practice on your ass, Trev? It's big enough."_

Hmm... that sounded odd. Both of them weren't really thinking about anything interesting, just bored and a little tired from biking around. One was waiting to get his shift over so he could go home. They weren't much help. Jason needed more information, but he also wasn't going to hang his butt out where they could shoot it off. He crept around the desk and through the access gate that kept people at one time from running out with the books. He crept on all fours through the broken window, mindful of the glass, then got behind that same planter as the two rode up to the edge of the street. He unshouldered his railgun, then rose up and aimed it at them. "That's about far enough, gents," Jason called loudly. Both froze, then one went for the pistol holstered in his belt. "Keep reaching if you want to keep your head," Jason snapped as he read their thoughts. They were shocked, surprised, and now they were starting to become afraid. They couldn't see him, had no idea if he was armed or not, but both of them were pretty sure that he was. "Both of you, hands up." They complied, as the one on the left started immediately wondering if he was fast enough to grab for his pistol and shoot, but the fact that he was still on his bike would make it really hard for him to turn around. "Now then, both feet on the ground." They complied. Jason swept the area with his power, and found the closest pair of rovers was three blocks away, moving away from them. That was good. He slipped around them, coming into their view, and both immediately locked their eyes on his railgun. Both of them registered surprise, and the one that was now on his right noted to himself that Jason's clean clothes and hair meant he had to be new, and that he'd gotten his hands on a Faey weapon. He relaxed just a little, as his mind saw the potential for having him join their gang.

Gang. He read more and more of the man's thoughts, and saw that he was a member of a gang that held most of downtown and Marshall University. They defended that turf from squatters out in the hills, who snuck in to steal anything that might be of use, tried to get in and steal the dwindling supplies of gasoline or canned, nonperishable food that the gang had managed to amass.

"Well now, it's nice to finally meet someone who didn't shoot at me first," Jason said in a grim tone, motioning with the barrel of his railgun. "You, pull out your pistol with two fingers, and drop it on the ground."

The one on his left slowly reached down for his pistol, then he started preparing himself to lunge for it. His mind told Jason that he was betting that this newbie didn't have the reflexes or the killer instinct yet to shoot him. Jason replied by firmly shouldering his weapon and aiming it at the man's nose. "Carefully," he warned. "If you think you can move that fast, maybe you can get your finger up fast enough to plug the hole I'll put in your forehead."

Fear rippling through his thoughts, the fellow decided that going for it wasn't such a good idea. He pinched the butt of his revolver between two fingers and pulled it out, then dropped it to the ground. "Good boy. Now the rifle, one hand on the strap only." He complied, then Jason nudged his rifle at the other man. "Same thing, slim. Pistol first, _real_ slow, then rifle." The man, holding the walkie-talkie, realized that he had it, and that he could warn the others of their situation just by pressing the transmit key. "Well, let's start with the radio," Jason said, looking him in the eyes. "No reason to invite anyone else to our little party, is there? After all, we're not here to shoot each other up. At least I'm not. So drop it."

Disappointment welling through his mind, the man dropped the radio to the ground, then carefully relieved himself of his pistol and rifle. "Very good, gentlemen," Jason said. "Now scoot back from your toys, but don't take either foot off the ground."

"How you expect me to do that?" the one on the left, the taller of the two with greasy long black hair tied in a tail, asked.

"Shuffle," Jason answered, bobbing the end of his weapon. "Back."

They shuffled backwards awkwardly, for the bikes between their legs didn't want to cooperate, their hands still up. Jason used his foot to hook one rifle, then used it to sweep all four weapons out from in front of him. He did not reach down for them. Jason backed up a few steps, then sat down on the concrete edge of a raised earth bed, the kind of thing that probably once held flowers. It was about fifteen feet across and the lip was about two feet off the ground. Jason lowered his weapon slightly. "Now then, gentlemen," Jason said in a reasonable tone, openly listening to every thought they had, "as you've probably guessed, I'm somewhat new around here. I decided that I'd had just about enough of the Faey, and decided it was about time to take a little trip. As you can see, I managed to grab a few toys," he noted, bobbing his railgun meaningfully. "Now, since it's obvious that people aren't that friendly around here, you're going to tell me all about who's around. You see, all I really want is a nice quiet place to move in and be left alone, and you two gentlemen are going to tell me where the best place might be."

"I ain't sayin' shit," the one on the right said. He was kind of portly, with brown hair and was missing one of his front teeth. His face was a bit round and reddish, either from sun and wind or some kind of medical condition, and he had close-set brown eyes and a Cincinnati Reds baseball cap covering dirty hair.

_"Hey Mike,"_ someone called over the radio.

"That's me, I have to call in," the man with the Reds cap said, though his thoughts betrayed that statement.

"You just came down with a case of technical difficulty," Jason told him bluntly.

"They know where we are," the other said, the one called Trev.

"Sure, but they don't know you're in trouble," Jason said with an evil little smile.

"If you don't let him answer, they'll come looking for us."

"Fine. Let's just wait right here for them. But while we're waiting, you're gonna tell me all about what's going on around here. You know, all the juicy gossip, like who lives where, what places I should avoid, that kind of thing. I'm sure you're just the veritable tour guide to the stars around here."

The man Trev-probably short for Trevor-frowned, and his thoughts told Jason that he was very worried, that Jason was way too comfortable. That confidence had the man rattled.

_"Hey Jim, this is Mike,"_ someone called. _"What you need?"_

_"Swing out towards First Street and check the roadblock on Washington, then pull back in."_

_"Sure, we're not far from there."_

"Aww, ain't that too bad. I guess someone else thinks he's Mike too. Too bad that other guy believes it," Jason told the other man with a sly grin. "Nice try. So, start talking, and don't be shy."

Jason listened, with both his ears and his mind, as they started talking. Their words were meant to get him killed, but their thoughts painted him a pretty stark picture of what was going on. The city itself was controlled by three gangs. This one, led by an evil-natured man named Joe Bueller, controlled downtown. There was a smaller gang that controlled the eastern part of the city, and a third gang that controlled the west. Beyond the city there were no gangs, just individual squatters and small groups that laid claim to this or that piece of territory. Some of them, mainly the gangs, were armed. The Faey had collected up most of the native weaponry, but in a state like West Virginia, where just about _everyone_ owned a gun, even they couldn't get them all. They'd missed quite a few, and one of the first things those who had avoided the evacuation had done was tear apart the cities to find them. In pawn shops, in residences, in one case an overlooked State Police armory, there were guns out there, and the squatters had managed to get their hands on them. The Faey hadn't bothered trying to collect up the ammunition, so there was plenty to go around. Those State Police weapons were in the hands of the gang that controlled East Huntington and the towns of Guyandotte and Barboursville, that gang's territory. They had a few M-16's with mostly nine millimeter pistols and shotguns, but the gang here in downtown had managed to loot some street weapons out of an abandoned police warehouse, where those guns had been evidence in crimes. These two didn't have machine guns, but some of the guards out there did; Uzis, Tek-9's, and some other street weapons. Joe Bueller kept those guns closer to the seat of his territory, which was a bar on 4th Avenue not far from the Marshall University campus. Joe Bueller's gang had twice the people as the other two, but their position in the middle didn't allow him to kill off one without the other invading from the other side. The gangs on each side hated each other even more than they did the gang in the middle, so there was no chance that they'd join forces and crush the ones in the middle. So it was a balance of power that kept things from going all to hell. The gangs maintained their members through the food they'd collected and what their foraging parties could find, or steal, out in the wilderness areas. They were banded together for mutual protection, but unlike what Jason might imagine, they also took anything they could from anyone else, and killed them if it came to it. Both of these men had killed people before, Jason discovered as he read their thoughts, both in defense of their territory and out on raids to take food or valuable equipment from individual squatters out in the hills. Those squatters out there were very careful to keep hidden, because if a gang's raiding force found out where they were living, they'd attack them. So most individual squatters were semi-nomadic, moving from place to place, and were as nervous as rabbits. Groups of squatters were out there, and their locations known, but they were too well entrenched or had too many people in them to make a raid on them successful. Those people had literally walled themselves into defensible positions. Joe Bueller would love to kill them off and take their stuff, but he'd lose too many men trying to take their camps, and those were men he couldn't afford to lose if he wanted to protect himself from the other gangs. So Joe Bueller's policy was to have his foragers simply go out and ransack houses out in the rural areas, and kill anyone they came across-at least after they got them to take his raiding forces to where they kept their goods.

Neither of these guys liked Joe Bueller, but he had a major mean streak and the loyalty of most of the people in the gang. Nobody really liked him, but he kept them all alive and fed, so they overlooked his violent temper because they were afraid they'd be overrun and killed by another gang if he wasn't there. In general, just about everyone was going to act the way that first fellow did. These people didn't trust anyone that they didn't already know, and thanks to roving groups of people like this gang who went out to steal anything they could get their hands on, they'd shoot first and ask questions later.

Fear was the watchword out here in the wilderness, it seemed. And those remaining behind had quickly degenerated into bands of vicious thugs who took by force anything they could, from anyone weaker than themselves.

Such a pitiful, sorry remnant of what their once proud nation had been.

Jason glanced down the street. So, that single guy had come down to scavenge a car part... probably for a vehicle he either had or thought he could get running. He'd noticed a lack of cars on the streets. When they were evacuated out, the people were allowed to keep their automobiles. So that hadn't left too many behind, just those ones that nobody had cared to bring along, or ones that had no real owners. Oh, he was sure that there had been cars galore to be had on the lots of auto dealerships, but that was only so many. And after three years, even with such a limited number of cars out there to be had, those places that had gasoline had to either be empty by now, or that gas had turned to varnish and was unusable.

Well... he had to find a new place to park his skimmer. He wasn't about to leave it down here. He wasn't going to get involved in these ridiculous turf wars. Though it was apparent that the opportunities to scavenge weren't going to be as plentiful as he'd hoped, on the other hand, he already had just about everything he needed. He had enough food to last himself a month, and that should be enough to figure out how he was going to get himself set up. If it came down to it, he'd just go to Faey territory and buy himself a major stock of food. He had no qualms against buying from the Faey; they may be the conquerors, but they weren't commanding _him_.

Hmm... there was an old interstate south of the city. He wondered if an overpass bridge over that highway was enough to hide his skimmer. It would have the vertical clearance, that was no problem, since his skimmer was only a little higher than an old semi rig's trailer. Maya had told him to keep the skimmer under a bridge over a river, one with lots of concrete _and_ steel. An overpass would have lots of concrete, but maybe not enough steel.

It wasn't like he had much choice. He had to find a place for his skimmer, he wasn't going to lose it. It meant so much to him, and it represented a part of his freedom, as much as his dad's old Cessna had meant freedom for him before. He was willing to face down the entire Faey military to keep it. He would fight to keep possession of it. It was _just that simple_.

No, there was an easier place to park it... the other side of the river. He just had to make he wasn't going to be bothered. Well, that could be done.

Blowing out his breath, he stood back up and looked at the two men, who were now repeating themselves. Their thoughts told him that they had no more viable information. "Very good, gentlemen, I think you've told me enough," he said calmly. "Probably more than I ever wanted to hear," he sighed. "Disgusting. To think that we've come, we've come to _this_. Fighting like wild animals over scraps. I thought Americans had more dignity than that."

"Fine for you to talk, waltzing in here with your full belly and nice clothes," the one named Trev spat vituperously. "You ain't got no idea what it's like being out here."

"Fine. Go to the Faey," Jason told him with cold eyes. "They'll take care of you. All you have to do is live under their rules."

"That's worse," he growled.

"Then you deserve the life you've chosen. Just don't bring others into it. Kill each other, leave those who want to stay out of it alone."

"I didn't say nothing about anything like that!" he protested.

"I'm not an idiot," Jason said coldly. "It doesn't take a genius to piece together how you work. Well, you're a big fan of turf, aren't you? Well, here's a new one for you." He quickly bent down and picked up the radio, and he keyed it up. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," he said steadily into the microphone. "Welcome to the new world."

_"Who is this? Get off the channel Terry! We got no time for your jokes right now!"_ someone said immediately.

"Oh, this isn't Terry. This is the new kid in town," Jason said as he backed up and sat back down. He set down his railgun, and both immediately started planning on lunging for the guns laying on the ground. The shorter one was about half a second from it before Jason reached behind himself and brought out the plasma pistol, then leveled it at them. Both of them seemed to know exactly what it was, and both of them froze, their thoughts both fearful and angry. "I have your boys Trev and, what's your name?" he asked the other man calmly.

"I ain't tellin' you shit!" he shouted. "We're at the library! We're at the library!"

"Yes, we do happen to be at the library right now," Jason agreed pleasantly. "I have your boys here standing with their bikes between their legs and their hands in the air. You need to send someone down here to come get them. I think they'll need help getting home."

_"Who the fuck is this?"_ someone called over the radio. _"Whoever you are, you're the stupidest son of a bitch I ever heard of! We're gonna come down there and chop your fuckin' head off!"_

"Don't worry too much about me, neighbor, I'll be just fine," Jason said, leaning back a little. "See, I just got here a couple of hours ago, and I find out that the place I picked to live is nothing but a war zone. Well, I didn't come here to get into a war. I came here for peace, and quiet, and solitude, and I won't have a bunch of idiots screwing up my good time. So, ladies and gentlemen, here are the new rules. See that river right over there to the north? That's the point of no return," he told them. "Anything that goes over that river won't come back. _Ever_. This is your side of the river, ladies and gentlemen, and that side is _mine_. So all you people over on the Ohio side of the river, I suggest you clear out. In one hour, I'm taking possession of that side of the river, and I won't be held responsible for anyone I catch on my side of the line. Do we understand one another?"

_"You got some real fuckin' guts, punk, I'll give you that,"_ a new voice called. From the thoughts of those two, he knew that this was Joe Bueller.

"It's not guts, Joe my man, it's just plain old tiredness," Jason answered. "See, I got really burned out after living under Faey rule for three years, and I'm at the point where I just don't give a _fuck_ anymore," he said with narrowing eyes. "I came here to get away from the Faey, to find a new life, and I'll be damned if a wannabe warlord with delusions of mediocrity is going to piss in my Wheaties. Different rules are in the game now, Little Joe. I'm the new king of the hill. Now, if you want to do something about me, why don't you just try to cross my bridge? I'll even let you get to Ohio. But remember my warning, Joebob; you cross my bridge, you don't come back. Understand?"

Jason sensed the approach of two people, coming from the west, up 5th Avenue. They were about four blocks away, and they were approaching fast. Jason glanced in that direction, then stood up and picked up his railgun. "Off the bikes you two," he ordered, though he had the radio still keyed up. "And if either of you lean in the direction of the guns, you'll lose anything that goes in that direction. Understand?" They quickly got off the bikes and backed up. "Good, now turn around, kneel, cross your ankles, and put your hands on your head." They complied. "Very good. Now, if either of you value your hides, you'll clear out," he told them as he shouldered his railgun, then collected up their rifles and pistols. He stomped on the tire of the smaller bike, bending it to the point of unusability, then picked up the larger bike and mounted it. "Oh yeah, Joe," he called over the radio. "Trev here thinks you look sexy in leather panties."

"You son of a bitch!" the one named Trev shouted hotly.

"Don't see why, myself. I've never thought beached whales in dead cowhide were particularly attractive," Jason mused conversationally. "Guess I'm just weird that way." He unkeyed the radio and put his foot on the pedal. "Well gentlemen, I hope you're not too inconvenienced. I'm off to claim my side of the river. I suggest you find a new line of work. Oh, and have a nice day," he added, then pedaled off quickly.

It wasn't easy riding with three rifles slung over his shoulders, but he managed well enough. He didn't have to far to go, and all he had to do was beat the first patrol back to the park. The closest of them was the one moving in from the west, and they were going to go to the library first, to try to catch him. He was already halfway to the park by the time they got there, threading his bike between two burned-out cars on 3rd Avenue. By the time those roving guards had reached the other two and found out what was going on, Jason was already on the far side of the floodwall and riding back to his skimmer. By the time they were at the street leading to the bridge, Jason was back inside his skimmer and had it powered up. The skimmer wasn't visible from the top of the bridge, so Jason just leaned back in his seat and put his hands behind his head and waited, using his telepathic ability to keep track of what was going on out there. He let those two get about halfway across the bridge, as Joe screamed and yelled over the radio for them to find him, then brought up the skimmer's engines and lifted off the ground. He urged the skimmer forward, out over the river, quickly overtaking the two bicycles above. He punched up some speed and came out from under the bridge, then swung the entire ship around as he rounded the edge of the bridge, establishing himself right in the middle of the end of the iron gridwork that acted as support for the bridge's weight.

The two bike riders saw that blue monstrosity appear at the end of the bridge, and one of them fell off his bike, rolling on the bridge several times. The other slid to a halt, his wide face fixed with shock and a little terror. Jason flipped on the external speaker and fixed the headset on his head. "That's right," he called. "Mine's bigger." He picked up the radio he'd pilfered and keyed it up. "Go ahead and tell them, boys," he called over that radio. "Make sure they understand."

_"He's-he's-he's got a fuckin' _plane_!"_ he heard the one still on the bike reply.

"That's right, boys and girls, I've got a plane," he affirmed over the radio. "And what do you know, I know how to fly it. So, let's make this clear one more time, people. That side of the river is yours, this side of the river is _mine_. Anyone crossing my bridge is going to get the shock of his life." He engaged the skimmer's defensive weaponry, which caused gunports on each side of the ship to open, and the barrels of MPACs to extend. "Tell them what you see," he prompted over the radio.

_"He's pointin' guns at us,"_ the mounted guard said in a frightened voice. _"Guns mounted on the plane."_

"Now that everyone understands exactly what's going on," he said over the river, urging the skimmer forward just a little, "we can come to a mutual understanding. That understanding is simple, Little Joe. I _own_ this side of the river. Come over here, and you won't be going back to your side. And believe me, I have no intention of going on your side."

_"Are you crazy buddy? You stole a Faey plane! They're gonna come after you!"_ Joe said fearfully.

"Let them," Jason said coldly. "I told you before, Joe, I _don't fuckin' care anymore_. If they want this plane back, they can bring their bony blue asses down here and try to take it from me. I'm not going to be afraid of them anymore. _No more._ It'll be quite the show for you guys on that side of the river, I'll wager."

_"Buddy, you are _crazy_,"_ Joe said grimly.

"If that's what you think, then you'd better not push things," Jason growled. "Because I _will_ make sure that anyone that comes on this side of my river never gets back across the bridge. And if you're thinking of trying to sneak over here and harass me, well, you never know, I just might snap and burn Huntington to the ground in a psychotic fit. I certainly have the means." He blew out his breath; he was getting just a little angry. "Anyway, that's the deal. I won't bother you, you won't bother me. I'm willing to be a quiet neighbor, but I won't ever help you, and be assured that I will _never_ take sides. You've made your way be killing other people, other _Americans_, for what you have. No matter how bad you think things were, you made them worse by turning your back on your fellow man. So go ahead and fight your stupid war, but keep it on _that_ side of the river. As far as you should be concerned, that land on the other side of the river is the far side of the moon."

He turned off the radio, blowing out his breath again, then realized those two were still there. "Go back to your side," he called over the loudspeaker. "And _never_ come back."

The one still on his bike turned and pedaled furiously towards the other side of the bridge, and the other one didn't even bother trying to get his bike back. He just got up and ran for the other side.

That went moderately well. Now they understood that they were dealing with someone with vastly superior firepower, and seemed crazy enough to use it. Jason withdrew the skimmer and slid it back under the bridge, parking it on a little street that went under the bridge. He didn't want to live out of the skimmer with it being exposed to the other bank of the river, so he needed to go back to that little town to the west of the bridge and find a house to occupy. It had to be close to the skimmer, but out of the direct line of sight of the opposite bank. He could tell by using his talent to sweep the far bank that they were well away from the bank of the river, but he also didn't want to run the risk that someone he thought was far enough away happened to have a very accurate gun. It was almost sunset, so it was best to just wait until it was dark.

He didn't have long to wait. He watched the sun set in the west as he listened to the Faey traffic control frequency, listening for any sign that they were coming for him, then he shut down the portable PPG, picked up a backpack and a flashlight, and headed out.

Protected from view by the dim murk of sunset, Jason crept along several streets just off the riverbank, inspecting houses. He ranged several blocks from the bridge on both sides, until he found the house he was looking for. It was about a block and a half from the skimmer, facing away from the riverbank with a block of houses hiding it from the riverbank. It was on the corner of 2nd Street and Oak Avenue, a large three story brick house with two chimneys and several nice windows that faced away from the riverbank. The door was unlocked but not broken, and the interior made it obvious that the place had been pillaged. But the rooms were large and spacious, and the place had plenty of room for him and all of his stuff. It even had an attic and a full sized basement. The place seemed defensible enough as well, placed on a corner which allowed him a