Apocalypsis 02 - Warpaint

put together a real indian village for their kids. One that totally functions without modern products.”
    I shook my head in amazement. It sounded as if a lot of their parents were like my dad, only even smarter maybe. “That’s so cool. We are so friggin lucky we found them, you know?”
    “Yeah. Every day I think that more and more. Today when you do your final cuts, I’m going to be working with the Miccosukee in the weaving hut. Did you know they make their own cloth here? And thread and everything? It’s crazy.”
    “I guess I didn’t know that. I just assumed they had cloth from before. Like stuff their parents had bought at the store.”
    “They do have some of that, but they are making new stuff, too. And they have sewing machines that work on foot-pedal-power. They also sew by hand sometimes. They’ve got supplies to last for the next twenty years, practically. Like needles and stuff. Really, it’s like being around in pioneer days or something, but with some stuff from the future thrown in to make it easier.”
    We walked out of the trees surrounding our hut and went into our kitchen. There was some food in a basket but Bodo was gone.
    “Where’d he go?” asked Peter, mystified. “We should have passed him on our way back.” He turned around and looked in the direction from where we’d come.
    “I’m pretty sure he didn’t leave for the outhouse,” I said, digging through my backpack for a new shirt to wear. The one I’d trained and slept in was getting pretty ripe.
    “Where is he, then?”
    “With his other girlfriend,” I said, standing up and taking off my dirty top.
    “Whaaat?!” said Peter, his hand flying up to his chest. “You’re kidding me, right? Because that’s not even funny, Bryn, you butthead. Don’t scare me like that.”
    “No, I’m dead serious. He has another love.” I pulled the new shirt on over my head, enjoying the smell of the fresh air that had dried it after I’d washed it out by hand. It wasn’t fresh-from-the-washer-smelling like my clothes used to be, but it wasn’t totally terrible either.
    “Other than you, you mean?” he asked, now with his hands on his hips, sounding pissed off.
    “Yes. Just ask him. He’ll tell you.” I smiled to myself, turning so he wouldn’t see it.
    “I’m going to. As soon as I see him again, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. That’s just not right, treating you like that.”
    “I know, right?” I kept my back to him, secretly hugging myself for taking advantage of Peter’s gullible nature like this. He was more than adorable when he was all mad at someone; and better he be mad at Bodo than me, even if it were a falsely-induced mad.
    Peter stomped over to the shelves and started straightening the already perfectly-straightened books.
    “I’m pretty sure you’ve already alphabetized them and lined them up to the millimeter, Peter.”
    “Shut up, Bryn. I’m upset. Organizing calms me down.”
    I felt a little bad now, seeing how seriously he was taking this, so I went over and grabbed his hands, making him stand up in front of me. “I’m sorry. I’m teasing you. Just a little.”
    Peter frowned at me, waiting for my explanation. He was super good at scolding with just a look.
    “He does have another love, and she’s female, but she’s not human. Okay? Does that make it better?”
    “Uh, no. Definitely not. Because right now I’m thinking about forbidden canner love or something along those lines.”
    “Ew , Peter, no. Do you honestly think I’d be with him if he was messing around with a canner?”
    “God, I hope not,” he said, sassily.
    “No, dingaling. She’s not human; she’s an animal. But I really think he should be the one to tell you about her. It’s kind of … well … like Lily and you in a way. I mean, it’s not as serious, of course. But it’s the same basic idea, only level five instead of, like, level one hundred. Do you get what I mean?”
    “Kind of. And kind of not. But I trust you, so if you still love him despite his other love affair then I’ll wait until he explains himself to me before I judge.” Peter paused, glancing down at our linked hands. “You squeezed the bejesus out of my fingers when I said you loved him.” He looked back up at me, searching my eyes. “Do you? Love him I mean?”
    I shrugged, trying to pull my hands away, but Peter wouldn’t let go.
    “No running away,” he said. “Talk to Doctor Peter, psychoanalyst.”
    I smiled at