Apocalypsis 02 - Warpaint

up and down, assuring me he was okay with my plan. I was certain the humiliation any of them would feel about being put with the girls would be enough to get their best efforts out of them. I had a feeling some of these guys would be practicing that plank exercise in their off-time now, which is exactly what I wanted.
    “Why aren’t we training every day?” asked Paci.
    I had to smile at his obvious enthusiasm. He was going to promote quickly. “Your muscles have been damaged today. They need time to heal. It’s better to have two days in between, but we don’t have that kind of time.”
    “What’s the big hurry?” asked some guy in the back of the group.
    “We’ll discuss that at dinner tonight,” said Kowi, saving me from having to explain anything.
    I couldn’t imagine that this kid hadn’t seen or at least heard about Celia, but it was possible they didn’t think her injuries or problems could touch them here. I guess they were in for a rude awakening; but it wasn’t my problem. I wasn’t the chief and I didn’t want to be. All I wanted to do was get some workouts in, eat some good food, and live as far away from the canners as I could … with my little family consisting of a nutty German, a skinny fairy, and a naked poodle.
    ***
    I had a one-hour break before my first session with a group of girls was supposed to start. I used that time to lie down in my hut, eat some lunch that had been delivered, and hydrate myself. Peter chattered away while he reorganized the pantry, not seeming to care whether I was listening or not.
    “I’m going to get your schedule in order by tomorrow. I’m doing it in my head until someone can get me some paper and a pen. I hope we meet with the Creeks tonight. Then I can get all their names and stuff. I assume they’ll always come to you at the same place, rather than have you traipse all over the swamp coming to them. I mean, that seems like the fair thing to do. You’re like, the master or whatever you call it, so you shouldn’t be inconvenienced. But what I need to know is, how many people do you want in each class? And do you get any days off? Because its seems like you should.”
    I answered him, looking up at the ceiling of the chickee hut, appreciating how the branches and palm fronds were put together so tightly that they kept the rain from getting through, even without roof tiles, shingles, or tar.
    “I need two days off a week, but not next to each other. Try Sunday and Wednesday, maybe. And no more than ten people in a group unless we get desperate. It’s better to always have even numbers also. Oh, and no more than three sessions a day. And I need at least an hour break between them, too.” I had no idea how he was going to keep it all straight in his head without writing it down.
    “Okay, I can do that.”
    “Where’s Bodo?” I asked.
    “I have no idea. He disappeared again.”
    “I hate when he does that. He always gets into trouble.”
    “Not always.”
    “Okay, not always, but when he does get in trouble, it’s not minor trouble. It’s major.”
    “True.” Peter clanked some cans around on the shelves before saying, “So what’s the deal with you guys, anyway? Are you like, romantically involved?”
    I chuckled. “Romantically involved? What the heck does that mean?” All I could think about was a candlelight dinner at a restaurant - a pretty ridiculous idea considering where I was and what the world was like right now.
    “I don’t know,” he said, coming over and sitting next to me, gathering Buster into his lap. “Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?”
    I sighed. “I have no idea. It’s confusing.”
    “Why? What’s so confusing? He likes you. You like him. Seems pretty simple.”
    I turned my head to look at Peter and Buster, busy playing the you-can’t-lick-me because-I-move-my-face-away-too-fast game.
    “Well, for one, I can never tell if he’s serious or joking.”
    “Uh-huh. Well, that kiss you got today seemed pretty serious.” Peter gave me a sassy look, challenging me to deny it.
    I smiled, trying hard not to, but failing. “Yeah, that was kind of serious. But all the other times he seems like he’s goofing off. Like today he told me he wants to be Mr. Bryn.”
    Peter giggled. “That’s kind of cute, actually.”
    “Shut up,” I said, feeling my face go red.
    “Well, even if he does joke around a lot, I know he likes you. I can tell these things.”
    “Oh, so you’re, like,