The Religion of Death (Part 1)

"Me!" shouted Maria as she jumped high in the air. "Me. I want it! I can catch! Me."

Chandler heard the voices blend together as he turned his head away. He didn’t see who Todd chose to throw the ball to (though he suspected it ended up being Angie because of an annoyed squeal), distracted by another sound. Claire came over to him, moving across the steppingstones that formed a long path from the homestead through the vegetable garden to the other garden and also to an intersection that lead out into the colony itself. She wore a stretchy denim jump-suit over her curvaceous frame, the colour of the suit matching her eyes which were a few shades darker than her husband’s. She skipped across the stones with an enthusiasm she rarely possessed anymore. She held a glass of water in one hand.

Ordinarily he was quite a few inches taller than she, but while he crouched their roles were reversed and the smile that stretched wide across her face showed she enjoyed it. "God it’s hot," she mumbled. "You’re a damn fool to be out here in this, Bobby. Or maybe you’re just completely mad. It’s hot inside but it’s unbearable out here."

"Some find madness alluring. But I’m not the only one," said Chandler, nodding towards the larger garden.

"Yes, well, they don’t get much of a chance to play anymore. But you should know better."

"Yes. Probably," he agreed.

She offered the glass to him. "Here, I thought you might need this."

"Thanks." Chandler took the water gratefully and downed it in one gulp. It was deliciously cold, his dried throat and mouth relaxing at its touch. "You might want to go back inside. You know what they say about madness spreading quickly all around."

"I think I’m already infected," she said, running a hand through her salt and pepper hair.

He arose with a great deal of effort and kissed her. Claire smiled, rested her head against his shoulder and stared at their children. "They are beautiful, aren’t they?"

"Yes," said Chandler, holding her close against him.

A moment passed and they stood there, looking out at their children. He hid a grimace as intense pain stabbed through him. Many long years had taught him well enough to disguise it, but he still stiffened for a moment. Whether Claire noticed or not he could not say.

They watched Todd and Angie and Maria play for a few more minutes without speaking, giving Chandler the time he needed to regain control. Then the children stopped suddenly, Maria hugging the purple ball against her chest. "Dad, I think Deanna’s here to see you," Angie called. From the larger garden they had a better view of the outside. The three of them came over to lean against the lattice fence.

"Great, what now?" whispered Claire so that only he could hear.

He sighed. "It’s my job, Claire," he said.

"I know. I know that, but that doesn’t mean your home life should be open to such… interruption," she replied. "They don’t have the right, goddamnit."

"Yes. They do," Chandler quietly contradicted her. "It comes with the territory. You know that."

Claire stiffened and said nothing more.

Deanna appeared seconds later. Her cheerful face was uncharacter- istically stern. Her hair had been streaked a mixture of indigo and violet for over fifteen years, around half her lifetime, her last act of rebellion, and she was picking at it anxiously as she approached. "I’m sorry to disturb you. There’s been another killing," she said quietly.