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H elen wasn’t sure what she was looking at when it came to the vehicle or the woman who seemed to show up with children to be placed into Bad Apple’s care. At this particular juncture in her journey as a Technician, she didn’t know what to expect, but she read his body language. From the driver’s seat of the vehicle, she watched his back. Straight, rigid, and full of military bearing as he approached the white van. He provided an almost imperceptible nod to the woman as he slid open the van door.

The rigid back jackknifed, making Helen open the door of her vehicle to step out. Whatever was on the back seat of that van had to be bad. If it was bad enough to elicit a non-verbal response like that from Bad Apple, she needed to know what it was before taking the said problem into the house with the other boys. Thinking you’re a bad apple is one thing, but tossing one into the apple hopper is another. There would be no way in the world all the other apples wouldn’t be grossly affected.

Her steps were slow as she approached the van. Helen’s eyes went from Apple’s back to the woman’s face. The dour expression also showed she too, felt the weight of the issue in the van on the back seat. One thing Helen could sniff out in any form was trouble. Whatever on the back seat of the van would bring worry in a burlap gunny sack.

“Cranberry, this is Ms. Pear,” Apple said.

“Pair, as in p-a-i-r, or p-a-r-e?” Helen asked.

“P-e-a-r, as in fruit,” Apple corrected. “Ms. Pear is a sweeper.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Helen said, looking at the woman.

She spoke up. “There are cleaners who go in after the melee and clean up the no longer living bodies and remove the waste. I am a sweeper. After the melee, I come through and clean up the bodies still breathing to get them the resources needed to heal, grow and try to exist without the many nightmares of their experiences.”

“A social worker for the Technicians,” Helen added, “and the package being delivered.”

As she said the words, Apple lifted from the back seat a child, no more than six years of age, wrapped in blanket. A thin arm dangled from the covers, revealing a mark on the arm. It caught Helen’s attention, and she reached to touch it.

“Is that a brand?” she inquired, in disbelief. “Someone branded this child?’

“He was the property of the man whose brand he is wearing,” Apple said, trying to re-cover the arm.

“I’m sorry, but what is that, a bug of some sort?”

“A chrysalis,” Pear said. “It is the stage of a butterfly in between being a pupa and an adult, growing in a hardened shell.”

Helen’s hand went to her chest. The implications for the definition nearly made her vomit. However, Pear’s face emphasized there was more to be said. She pushed Pear a little. “Okay. What did this child take which is going to screw up everything we hold dear and who is coming to reclaim their property or stop the child from talking?”

Both Apple and Pear turned to look at her head on. She hadn’t seen the child’s face, and in her heart, she wasn’t ready. All she could think about was her niece Naomi, and the idea of being branded by some asshole who wanted to harden the child inside to withstand more punishment from adults made her feel ill. Based on their expression, Helen hit the nail on the head.

Pear softly added, “Kendrick, that is the boy. He took his Master’s wallet. We have his ID and more. However, the Master has moved. The storehouse got cleared when Kendrick got away.”

Helen was ready to see the child’s face. “So, little man, you got away and brought proof to the police. Good for you.”

The covers moved and a small face materialized from under the blanket. The brown skin was taut and thin, showing the child was either dehydrated for long periods and not very well fed. The lips were dry and cracked.

“No police,” Kendrick said. “Police come to the parties. They are the worst. They hurt us. No police.”

“You’re safe now,” Helen said, reaching for the child. She didn’t wait for Apple to say anything else. The boy needed a bit of TLC and she planned to dole it out.

“Cranberry, get on the mic with the contractor and have him bring up the camp bed for Kendrick to rest on for now, since we don’t have a couch,” he said, squinting at her.

“You don’t need a couch for that very reason,” she replied, walking away with the child. “Kendrick, I am Ms. Helen. I’m going to get you some clothes, a bite to eat, and something to drink. There are other kids in the house, and you will need a minute to adjust, but they are nice boys and will help you get better.”

Kendrick coughed, spitting up blood onto the blanket. The red hit Helen low in the solar plexus, knowing the child had internal injuries. She closed her eyes as she inhaled the medicinal scent of the child, who had been cleansed with antimicrobial and antibacterial washes. The smell reminded her of a hospital or a nursing home being cleaned after a resident had the shits.

“I hurt,” Kendrick said, nuzzling into her chest.

She understood. Helen entered the home, carrying the child. Jeffrey met her at the door, concern on his face and immediately spotted the brand on Kendrick’s arm. Stephen gasped when he saw it and began to back up. Luckily, Oscar didn’t know what it was, but the expression on Stephen’s normally jovial face was one of abject horror.

“Take him back wherever he came from! Whoever owns him will come looking. They won’t stop looking for him until they find his corpse or create one,” Stephen said. “They are sick people. Sick people. Who brought him here! He can’t stay. We are all in danger. We are all in danger if he stays!”

Apple walked through the door, going right for Stephen. He wrapped his arms around the boy, offering simultaneously strength and comfort. The strain of his muscles while holding the teen was clear in the cording of the muscles in his arms.

“You’re here. No one, I mean no one, is coming into this home to fuck with anybody. You hear me? We don’t run,” Apple said. “We dig in, and if they bring the fight to us, they will know and understand how it feels to get their asses whipped. You hear me? Do you hear me?”

“Yes Sir,” the boys replied.

Ricky entered the door, carrying the camping cot, placing it near the fireplace, and laying out a sleeping bag. Helen, seated in her chair in the common room, was not ready, not prepared to let the boy go. She wanted to hold him, comfort the child, as well as pray over him. Never had she been one who was overtly religious, but today she wanted to pray for this child.

Jeffrey looked at Ricky, then at Apple. “How do we dig in?”

Apple answered every question each of them had in their heads. The initial thought of buying the property was to teach the Cranberry how to set up a homestead and prepare a living space for a Technician. A plan had been put in place to start on her second month at the house, but they had to start now. Everything had to start now, but he would not wait for the men to come find him. Once the homestead was secured, The Cranberry would get her first lessons in tracking. Apple would take the hunt to the hunting lodge and blow that fucker into a million pieces.

“Ms. Helen, first things first,” Apple said. “We need to do inventory of weapons, and build the weapons cache in the house.”

She nodded, remembering the opening in the floor at Slow’s cabin where he stored his weapons. At the home she and Cherry had formerly shared in Indiana, each room had a hiding spot on the ceiling tiles for a locked and loaded weapon. There were no dropped ceilings in this house, but there was a basement, which could work to make a basin under the floorboards to house weapons, but there were too many windows.

“There are so many windows. Are you planning on bulletproof blinds of some sort?” she asked.

“Something like that, but first, we need to create lines of sight with interlocking fields of fire for each window. You will have to work with the boys to get the marking lines right for each window,” he said, watching her eyes to see if she understood what he meant.

“Roger that,” Helen replied, “How many weapons for each window? Does that include crossbows or any automatics?”

“I have four automatics, which will go for each corner of the home,” Apple said, turning to Ricky. “We need basic fencing in the yard, electrified, a few land mines, and booby traps, nothing over the top to start. Reinforce the doors and add more locks on the windows as well.”

Oscar began to shiver. He was scared for himself and also scared for the child in the blanket. The boy didn’t look good. He’d seen that look before in the children who crossed the border with him from Teguice. The child would not live for long. He would not live and everyone would be sad, but he could be sent away to live in another place where people shouted and hit him.

Stephen wasn’t satisfied with the plan. “Sir, those men are like animals. They are like a roaming pack of wild dogs, always hunting down fresh meat. We saw kids on the street who were taken in by those people and branded, and they came back to recruit more kids. They were like zombies. There were horror stories about the men who owned them and even a few were owned by women who wanted girls. How do you dig in against something like that?”

Apple would not be deterred from the mission at hand. “I don’t run. You will not run nor will you live in fear. We work, we prepare, and most of all, in September, you’re going to school. Your focus is on school. Help us where you can by doing your part in this house, and the rest, you leave to me, Ricky, and Ms. Helen.”

Stephen didn’t want to hear the platitudes shouting at Apple, “And what is she going to do, take the big tough men shopping?”

Helen stood, placing the small child on the cot, her crossbody bag still hung across her chest as she faced Apple. She gave a slight bow, and he read her intention to spar with him in front of the boys. For the sake of the demonstration, whatever her plan would be, he would go easy on her.

Apple made his move at Helen. He didn’t know what happened, or how he found himself on all fours like a confused dog about to be washed, with her knee in his back and two knives at his throat. Her eyes were on Stephen.

“Boy, you’d better recognize that anything that is unfriendly coming through that door for any of you, any of you, I will slice to pieces and make a snack of their livers. Do you understand me?” she asked with wide eyes. “I said! Do you understand me?”

“Yes!” They all shouted, including Apple and Ricky.

She released Apple. “We have work to do, family,” she told them. “Jeffrey, you’re with me. Oscar, you’re on sitting duty; keep an eye on Kendrick- that’s the boy’s name. Stephen, get him broth and liquids, no sugars. He has internal injuries, so go carefully.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” they replied.

Ricky offered Apple a hand up from the floor. He watched Helen walk away to look at the windows, searching the home for places to make a weapons cache. He didn’t know what to make of the woman.

“I think I love her,” Ricky said.

“You?” Apple said. “For a minute there I wanted to be hetero so I could snuggle with her after making sweet love.”

They both chuckled at the absurdity of it all, but work needed to be done. A home fitted for a Technician was required to prepare to live in a shadow world of covertness. That just didn’t happen by itself.