Apocalypsis 02 - Warpaint

change. Last night had been really hard on him, telling the tribes about the murder of his little sister by the canners in Sanford. And then seeing Celia, with half her arm taken off by cannibals, showing up in a bloody canoe, begging us to kill her. It had been a seriously emotional evening for all of us, but for him especially.
    “Good morning, Sunshine,” I said to him. “How’d you sleep?”
    “Not good. The mosquitoes were beyond annoying and I had horrible nightmares.” He was pouting.
    Also a good sign.
    “Is that seriously a tick on his head?” Peter was disgusted.
    “Yes. And I’m guessing he has more than this one, too. Ticks are all over the place here.”
    Peter put his platter back on the ground hurriedly and held out his arms, inspecting them closely. Then he reached down and pulled up his pant legs, looking for any offending creatures that might be hiding underneath. Finding none, he sighed in relief. “Well, no ticks better get on me, that’s all I have to say.”
    I took the platter off the ground and handed it to him. “Here. Eat.” Peter was way too skinny; he looked like a bag of bones. He probably weighed no more than eighty-five pounds, max.
    I pulled Buster into my lap and rid him of the forehead tick and the four others he had on his face and behind his ears. It was a somewhat bloody job, making sure the insects’ heads were totally out of his skin, but Buster didn’t seem to mind.
    “I hope the students I have today are half as tough as you, Buster. It’ll make my job a lot easier.”
    “Students?” asked Peter, swallowing a bite of some root vegetable I’d seen him choose delicately from his plate a second earlier.
    “Yeah. Krav maga lessons start today. I’m teaching three sessions a day.”
    “What’s the schedule?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “Maybe I could help with that,” he offered.
    Peter was totally anal about organization, and I knew putting things in their places and in perfect order made him feel better about his world, so I jumped on his suggestion.
    “I hope so. I need someone to organize the classes with all the Miccosukee and Creek and also with you guys. Kowi told me how many girls and guys they have here, but I can’t remember the number. Maybe you could get everyone’s names and put them into groups.”
    The light came back to Peter’s face. “Definitely. Are you going to just mix it up, or keep people separate?”
    “I want to keep the girls and guys separate for now. I know some girls act stupid when guys are watching, so …”
    “Okay, so you want privacy in the lessons. I can help with that.”
    I smiled, picturing my diminutive friend standing guard and forcing an indian guy twice his size to go away. He could probably do it if he used nagging and scolding as his weapons. He’s a skilled ninja-level user of both.
    “Good,” I said. “I was also wondering about whether I should mix it up, with some Creek and some Miccosukee in the same sessions. I’m not sure.”
    “Why would you keep them separate?”
    I shrugged. “Build up their competitive spirit?”
    “Aren’t you trying to help them not be so competitive with each other?”
    “Yeah. That’s why I wasn’t sure about what to do.”
    “I haff an idea,” said Bodo, moving over to join us, taking a seat on my right. Buster ran over and begged in front of him, having exhausted all his scrap sourcing from us.
    Bodo handed him a chunk of bread to gnaw on. “What about dis idea - you can mix it up, put da both tribes in itch group. Den inside da group make teams. Den later you can do competitions between dem. Dey will haff to work togedder to make a good success. No…” he shook his head, momentarily lost. “…To succeed . Yes, dat’s bedder. To succeed. To win.”
    I smiled. It was impossible not to. He had such a way with words.
    “I like that idea,” I said. And I really did. I had a strong feeling that these kids would go nuts for the fights. Not just to prove who was the strongest, but also to help pass the time. Every competition includes hours, days, and weeks of intense training and practice. Without television, school, phones, internet, computers, or any of the old-fashioned conveniences, we had a lot of dead time on our hands, so this could be perfect.
    “Me too. This could be veeerry interesting,” said Peter.
    I could see his brain going a hundred miles-an-hour. He probably already had a spreadsheet planned in his head. Too bad computers were totally