The walls of Home towered over the slate gray landscape. From a distance the stones were formidable, impenetrable but those who lived inside were daily faced with the stark reality that the stones were eroding. Generations of acid rain and relentless winds were turning the tide for the Survivors, the Hume. The few remaining children , the Childer, were kicking a ball around the desolate town square, their laughter muffled by the makeshift cloth air filters tied on their faces. Little good did the masks do as was evidenced by the small number of the young. What the environment didnâ€™t kill, time and natural process would take care of.<br/><br/>The city of Home was comprised of the square, Towers, Tunnels and hovels.<br/><br/>The Elders lived in the Tower. They had pure air and water. The best food and medicines were at their disposal. The people of Home stood in awe at the pure white columns that speared the leaden sky. The Elders made the rules for the Hume. Daily they were reminders that without the Elders, there would be no Hume. The chemicals that had killed so many had had no effect on the Elders because they had been vaccinated for they were wise. Theirs were the brilliant minds and must be protected, even revered. The Tunnels had also been their design.<br/><br/>Inside the Tunnel were the few industries that sustained life for the Hume. Animals were kept. Real animals. Not the mutations, the abominations that adapted since the War. Factories products the necessities, like food, filtered water, clothing. First for the Elders and the remainder for the Hume population. Supplies were running thin but still the work continued. The older ones, not the Elders, but the older ones, too old to fight, too old to spy, too old to breed, or had never developed talents,  were in the Tunnels working, working, tirelessly, doing their duty for the Hume.<br/><br/>In the Tunnels were the quarters of the warriors. They ate well, had better air and gas masks to wear when outside. They were regarded with respect and fear. The Warriors had genetic talents for they were the survivors from the spies. The childer were divided by talent. Those with no talent went to the Tunnels. Those with talent became spies and the spies that survived, they were the Elite Warriors. They had earned the right to defend the Hume.<br/><br/>A group of what in the Before times would have been called teenagers waited outside the doors to the Tunnel. These were the spies, the elite among their peers. Genetically altered due to the chemical warfare, these young people had the ability to blend with the Beastkin, in the Warren. They were valuable to the Hume. While the Hume did not aggressively war with the Beastkin, they recognized them as formidable foes. The Elders required intelligence of the Beastkin and if the death of a spy or two was the price of that intel, then so be it.<br/><br/>Water flowed by the group and they instinctively drew back. The tallest boy with white hair, skin and pink eyes stared down his long thin nose as the rusty water drained under the thick metal doors. He examined the ground.<br/><br/>â€œItâ€™s water. You know ground water is toxic.â€ The girl whispered.<br/><br/>â€œNot even a trace of moisture. That wasnâ€™t water.â€ he sneered at a girl who was his mirror image.<br/><br/>â€œLike you know something?â€ she said, pushing him.<br/><br/>â€œDoesnâ€™t matter. Either way, water is deadly.â€ He remarked, pushing her back.<br/><br/>The doors burst open, making way for a young woman with flowing red hair. She took two strides to the spies and shoved the tall male with the heel of her hands.<br/><br/>â€œSpies donâ€™t quarrel. Solidarity makes us strong. Rule 1. You know this. You are the elite.â€ She hissed, glaring up at him.<br/><br/>â€œSorry, Cap,â€ he said, standing in military posture, staring sightlessly over her head.<br/><br/>â€œSorry, who?â€ she asked, crisply.<br/><br/>â€œSorry, Captain Reynolds, â€œ he barked.<br/><br/>"Sorry, who?"<br/><br/>â€œSorry, Taryn,â€ he barked again. A faint stain of pink blushing his face.<br/><br/>â€œRule 2. I never apply the name of my fatherâ€™s father to my name. I am Taryn, the Captain of this squad. My water is deadly for I can drown my enemies, my genetic gift, but Rule 3. Our gifts are used against the enemy only. Is that clear, number 4?â€ Taryn only cleared the young spies collar bone but her presence was solid and brooked no argument.<br/><br/>Taryn had been promoted from the spy squad last year to the Warrior unit and then rapidly proved her value which resulted in her quick promotions. She had declined more rank because she wanted chances to move beyond the walls of Home into the Warren. A lithe Beastkin came to stand next to her and she could feel the spies stiffen.<br/><br/>â€œYes, Jax,â€ she acknowledged him. She returned his salute with a strong, well muscled hand clenched in a fist across her chest to tap soundly on ball joint of her other arm. The green serge jacket she wore hid all her softness and curves and made her burning green eyes stand out against her milk white skin.<br/><br/>â€œSand storm headed this way, Taryn.â€ His bright black eyes twinkled in his deceptively benign face. Two clues to his character came from the leather loin cloth and the leather arm band he wore, both made from the hide of a hyena. Jax was a deadly warrior but Taryn had saved his life once when she was a spy. He had been dedicated to her ever since. The Elders didnâ€™t approve but Jax had proved helpful so he was tolerated.<br/><br/>â€œSpies, usher the Childer to the Tunnels. My orders. There is an empty safe room just inside the door. Not the best filter but better than the face rags.â€<br/><br/>"Speaking of face rags, where is your mask?" Jax inquired.<br/><br/>Taryn smiled and melted into water.<br/>"Water is its own filter." her voice sounded as the rusty stream flowed back under the door and into the Tunnel.