Razor Girl by Marianne Mancusi Page B

better.
    “And the makeup?”
    “Ah, that’s courtesy of my man Rocky. When we first started gathering up the kids, they were all freaked out and scared. None of them would talk to one another; they just huddled in corners, practically catatonic with fear and grief. So Rocky came up with this idea to tell them that we were a special tribe. He came up with a whole story about us and told them all members of the tribe needed war paint.” Tank smiled at the memory. “He hit a Halloween costume store downtown and brought cases and cases of makeup back withhim. Painted all the faces of the children, one by one. They loved it. First time we saw any of them smile.” He looked down at the kids lovingly. “Half the time I forget they’re wearing it nowadays, I’m so used to seeing it. Probably looks pretty silly to you.”
    Molly shook her head. “I think it’s cute,” she said. “You guys are really good to them.”
    “Well, I try to teach ’em stuff,” Tank continued. “We set up a little school in the café and meet for a couple hours a day. I hit the library down the street and got a bunch of books for them to read. I’m not the best teacher in the world, for sure, but I figured it was better than nothing. Right?”
    She was impressed. “Definitely. They are the future, right?”
    “Damn straight.” After a moment he added, “Gotta take a leak. Be right back.” Then he walked off down a nearby aisle.
    She watched him disappear, thinking that here was a good guy. Her father could use people like him down at Disney World, she’d bet: dependable leaders who could get a job done. Once she joined her father and got settled in, she’d have to see if there was a way to bring this entire group down. She’d get the kids in school, give Tank a real job in what ever new society was being built. And Chase would come, too, she supposed. As long as he was living on the other side of the park, far away from her.
    She felt a tapping on her leg and looked down. A scrawny little girl, about six years old, with big brown eyes and straw-colored braids, looked up at her with a curious expression on her war-painted face. She was joined a few moments later by a similarly painted Asian boy who had crimson streaks in his otherwise white-blond hair.
    “I’m Darla,” the girl declared, pointing to herself. “And this is Red. Who are you?”
    Molly crouched down, getting to eye level. Kids always made her nervous, and it didn’t help now that she hadn’t had any to deal with in six years. But she’d do her best.
    “I’m Molly,” she said. “Nice to meet you.” Should she holdout her hand? No, her razors were still flared and covered with goo.
    Darla squinted at her. “What’s wrong with your eyes?” she asked, pointing at Molly’s glasses. “They look freaky.”
    Molly tried not to bristle. Darla was just a kid, and kids were blunt about that kind of thing. Still, it was more than a bit unsettling. Back in the shelter it had been easy to pretend everything was normal. Here, out in the world, she was a total freak.
    “They’re special lenses,” she explained. “They help me see better.”
    “Well, they’re weird,” Red pronounced, reaching up to try and touch them. Molly dodged so that she wouldn’t have to wipe away the smudge marks later on.
    “Weird,” Darla agreed, nodding. “Very weird.”
    “Hey, don’t you rugrats have anything better to do than pester our guest?” Tank demanded, reappearing. She hadn’t heard him return. “If not, I suggest you start peeling potatoes for dinner.”
    “What ever ,” Red retorted, sticking out his tongue.
    “Whatever,” Darla repeated like a parrot.
    “Oh, yeah? Is that how we speak to our elders?” Tank dove for the two children, grabbing one in each arm and whirling them in a circle. They squealed in protest. “You know what the punishment is for ‘what evering’ me, don’t you?”
    “No!” Darla pleaded. “No, Tank!”
    “Oh yes,” he said,