"That should do it. Time check," Belinda wiped sweat from her brow with her t-shirt as she braced her entrenching tool against the entrance of the newly constructed "bunker-in-a-bag." 

Unless you were part Mountain Goat, the winding ridgeline trail was the only drivable and walkable unbroken overland route from town to our base. Prior to SkyFire, arrays of remote sensors and wireless cameras guarded the pathway to the Society's home. The sun pulled the plug and left us blind. Our mission was to fill the gap with a concealed guard post.

Our building project had started life as a bad joke. I was helping Sheila do an inventory of little used and obscure supplies. Stuff ordered over the years but never used.

I opened a dusty storage locker to find it filled with hundreds of bundles of self-sealing sandbags.

"Great, a box of instant bunkers, all we gotta do is add sand," I quipped.

Instead of laughing, Sheila took notes and made a list. An hour later she had assembled all the tools and equipment required to quickly build a fort in the field. She called the kit a bunker-in-a-bag.

My partner and I were tasked with operationally testing the idea after Belinda volunteered us to do a proof of concept deployment. The place of Darlene and Alice's liberation was the GROUP's location to construct the colony's first permanent outpost, "Camp Sticky Fingers." 

With an eye toward history, I sketched a map in my journal and gave the nameless landmark the new title of 'Reunion Point.' cartographer's get naming rights. One of the perks of the office. 

"Four hours, thirteen minutes," I replied as I checked my watch for the time and recorded the same in my field notes. "Sheila should be pleased. She didn't think we could finish in less than five hours," I said as I took a pre-packed pot pipe from my pocket and held it high.

I tilted my head to one side and gave the Frost Queen an inquiring look.

"We'll smoke to success after we clean-up and do a concealment check."

The hidden sandbag structure carved into the leeward side of the ridge's crest was more shelter than a camp. The foot-and-half of roofline visible from the direction of approach had been carefully contoured and camouflaged to appear, at distance, to be nothing more than another random rock formation. The bunker's eight-inch high observation window lay in the shadowed recess of the largest nook and cranny; a micro-cave, width about eighteen inches and a foot deep. Invisible in plain sight.

Sheila christened the innovation, "bunker-in-a-bag" because the entire ten-pound kit fit into a single sandbag. Each bag-of-bags contained:

• Five-pound bundle of a hundred identical sandbags,
• One each, five-ounce packet containing three folded Mylar, Aluminum space blankets
• 25 feet of paracord
• eight each: adjustable carbon fiber tent poles (14 ounces)
• One Multi-Purpose, Multi-tool Military style Folding Shovel (with gloves), 32 ounces

Actual construction was a fairly simple affair: Dig, put the contents into sandbags, stack into walls, cover top opening with a latticework of rods, waterproof with Mylar space blanket(s), mask it all with pine fronds and local flora. Add a sleeping bag and "poof!" We had one bedroom phone-booth.

We smiled at our handiwork. While the resulting structure might not have been pretty enough to grace the covers of "Better Homes and Bunkers," it at least had heat, water, illumination, and power. Not bad.

At two-and-half pounds, the hundred-fifty-watt-hour battery was kept charged by a small fourteen-watt solar panel. Rainwater runoff from the roof provided drinking water.

Inspired by the Silver Fire product line, the Sisterhood's homemade copycat survivor stove produced an abundance of warmth for cooking and comfort. Reverse engineering is stealing from one. Research is stealing from many. The sisters scienced the shit out of the subject before designing a virtually smokeless unit with multiple combustion chambers.

The Society had little regard for intellectual property or the little "c" with a circle around it. Find the best, copy it right, and leave the rest.

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

"Ho, ho, ho, we got the decorations," I laughed as I connected the last string of twenty-five LED Christmas lights to the collector's battery. The night vision friendly strand of crimson bulbs drew two-point-four watts and bathed the interior of our sandbag bungalow with a sinful shade worthy of only the best brothels in Saigon. Memory bubbles are like that. Triggered by smell, sound, or something, they pop into thoughts uninvited. 

"Every day will be the same as the last, except for one," I mused aloud as I took a puff. 

"Why would that day be different from the rest?" 

"It's the day with no tomorrow. The day we die," I extinguished my cigarette. 

"That's a kinda half-empty way of thinking. I prefer to think every day if the first day of forever." 

"Perhaps the container is twice the size necessary." I reached down and pulled a six-ounce metal flask from my kit. 

I unscrewed the cap and filled it with a shot of the Sisterhood's best. 

"Drink up and savor the moment," I whispered to Belinda as I passed her the brandy. 

Belinda's eyes shifted. "I bet you say that to all the girls," she said with a coy smile as she took the beverage from my hand, closed her eyes, and downed it in a gulp. 

"Only the ones who will listen," I answered as I refilled the cap. I never intended my remark to be taken that way. But then again, who knows? I returned her smile with one of my own as I raised the spirits in salute. 

"A toast to yesterday's tomorrow," I took a sip and gave the remainder to my partner. 

"You mean today?" 

"Exactly," I beamed.

"Yesterday we are memories. Tomorrow we are dreams. Today, this second, this slice of now is the only instance we are alive. Bliss resides in the moment," I said as I looked into her eyes. 

"What is your pleasure?" 

"Another, please," she said. 

"How many shots are left in the six-shooter?" she pointed to my flask. 

"Two gone, four to go." I replenished her cap. 

"Fire in the hole," she tittered as she lifted her head back and drained the drink in a single swallow. 

"Another?" Her eyes watered as she wiped her lips with her hand and held out the empty. 

"Frisky?" I teased as I poured her another drink. 

"Nope. Maybe. I'm thirsty," she said between sips as she devoured the drink.

"Whew! Hot in here." Belinda stood and undid the buttons of her flannel shirt. She wore nothing underneath. Casual nudity among the ladies of Liberty was an everyday occurrence, nothing personal. I had grown used to the scenery. Age and bad eyesight blurred the finer details. Within the confines of our tiny bunker? The view was seductive. 

"Just the way I like it," she squinted as she opened the stove's door and threw another chunk of wood into the fire chamber. 

"Help yourself," I handed her my flask as I rose to my feet and wiped a trickle of sweat from my cheek. I took off my jacket and retrieved my field expedient hash pipe, and stash, from the side pouch. 

The brass artifact from the Vietnam War was a GI gadget and a testament to a soldier's ingenuity. It had been built by Paul Lavoy, the same guy who had crafted my beaded Vietnam Service necklace. He created the contraband device when he was a grunt in the war, by fitting a quarter-inch elbow into a three-inch length of pipe covered by a snippet of three-eights hydraulic tubing. 

I removed my tunic and took a seat on the platform and packed my pipe with a pungent pinch of the sister's homegrown cannabis. 

"Care for a toke?" I inquired as I applied the lighter's flame and inhaled a fragrant blend of skunk-stink and cherry blossoms. Nice and smooth. 

"Don't mind if I do," Belinda took the offering from my hand. 

"What's it say?" She examined the inscription engraved in itty-bitty letters on the stem; 'Morte. Non abbiate paura.' 

"Latin for, 'Death. Be not afraid," I guffawed, "The bravado of youth."

"Fear, I have none. I will never experience death," Belinda said with a smile as she looked me in the eye and took another puff from the pipe. 

"There are no exceptions to the laws of life. We all die, sooner or later," I mirrored her unblinking gaze with one of my own. What secret did she possess which I did not? I wiped my hands on my trousers. 

Without breaking eye contact, she moved backward a half-step and took a drag. 

"When I breathe my last," she said from a glowing cloud of reddish mist as her stare softened into a smile. 

"...and, in the unlikely event I am aware I am no longer alive, I will know I am still here," she blinked her eyes wide as if surprised.

"I have simply changed form," she said with a wave of her arm. The monochrome glow of ruby red washed color from vision and left us stranded in a world of strawberry highlights and rusty shadows.

She puffed silently for several moments before continuing, "I am not dead if my identity continues. I am still alive, at least the part of me which counts. My mind, and spirit." she touched her hand to her forehead before resting its palm over her heart. 

"And if I die and that is the end?" she moved her hand to my arm and sniffed, "Then I will no longer exist. I will be what I was before I was born, an echo of creation." 

"What about judgment? I asked as I glanced upward. 

"Precisely what is it that shall judge me?" She grinned as she unbuttoned her blouse and brushed a few strands of hair from my face. 

"And by what will I be judged?" She blushed with a sideways smile as she grazed her breast with her hand. 

"I don't know the answer. I have faith no one else does either," she unbuckled her jeans. 

"If there is an author, then the laws of her wonders are her commandments, written in the universal language of the cosmos: Science." Belinda winked as she unzipped. 

"Like the Law of Gravity," she relaxed her fingers. Her pants fell to her ankles. 

"In reality, we trust," She kicked the slacks across the dirt and smiled as she beckoned me to rise. 

"I thought you didn't like men?" I took her hand and pulled myself to a standing position.

"As a rule, I don't," she frowned and narrowed her eyes.

"New times require new rules," she said softly in my ear as she tugged at my belt buckle. 

"Undress. We'll explore the boundaries of our new relationship." Her raspy voice was more a command than a suggestion.

"Out of courtesy, and if you don't mind me asking, what were the borders of our old partnership?" I wondered as I stripped. She hated me. I disliked her. Nothing complicated. Our mutual disdain had been our common bond. It wasn't anymore. 

"Speak truthfully so that I may better know your mind," I invoked the sisterhood's call to communicate clearly and without deception,

I let my question hang in the air as the silence stretched beyond awkward. I refused to say more until my question was either answered or officially ignored. I fumbled for my lighter and fired up my pipe. The strobe white spark was blinding.

"Your arrival was unwanted. I spoke the truth when I testified against your presence. I did not want you in my home. My sisters felt otherwise. May I have a hit?" She took my pipe and lighter from my hand.

"SkyFire happened," she said as she clicked the lighter into a blaze. "Nothing is now what it was before. Where do we go from here?" She sighed deeply and placed the pipe in my hands.

"Frosty, my beautiful partner," I stroked her wrist and held her hand, "Are you as turned on as I am? we are not enemies. At least not any longer." I gave her hand a double squeeze. "I would rather be your friend."

"What kind of friend?"Belinda's replied cautiously as she gave me a curious look.

"You tell me. What kind of friend do you require? I have affection for you. I want you to be happy. What's your pleasure?"

"Honestly? I don't know. You're sorta like the sexy grandfather I never had. My Gramps was a prick like his dad."

"Does it bother you if I touch you?" I rested my hand on her thigh, a few inches above her knee.

"Yes. Not as much as I think it should. I like it

"Okay, that's one boundary. Where's the next?" I looked into her face.

"It would be my thrill to bring you joy," I said as I gradually moved my hand northward. Her eyes widened but she said nothing.

"Please. Allow me to delight in your pleasure," I leisurely caressed as my eyes listened to the song rising from Belinda's body. Each shimmy, blink, twitch, quiver, and moan sang a different melody of arousal or caution. Caresses yes. Kisses no. Hugs, okay. Maybe.

"Do you like this?" My exploring fingers found the little man in the boat. Time to fish or cut bait.

"Oh!" My partner gasped as she held my hand in check.

"What do you want from me?" she questioned and squeezed my fingers in her grip as her puzzled eyes searched my face for my response.

"Nothing but the gift of your pleasure," I held my hand motionless and relaxed my arm. I would cross the last boundary only by invitation. "What is your desire?" I smiled.

"I would love you to complete what you started." She slacked her grasp and licked her lips.

"Very nice to feel something down there besides my own fingers. I'm between relationships."

"I know the feeling. That's what friends are for," I whispered as she guided my hand toward the gates of heaven.

"Make haste slowly," I said as I helped her to her knees and lowered her to her back on the sleeping bag.

"Savoring the moment," I leaned forward and boldly explored a deep and sunless sea. Star Trek meets Xanadu.