Down the Mississippi Without Huck and Jim

Judson's walkie-talkie vibrated, Davy-Jake was on the other end. He and Lydia and nine of his scouts were up at the lighthouse cliff overlooking the Mississippi River.

"There was a skirmish over here," Davy-Jake reported. "From the tracks it looks like that humongous flying thing we saw prowling around the Sterlings' house yesterday scuffled with two people. I found the hatchet I gave to Jimmy. I'm sure it's his tracks; he got knocked off the edge of the cliff but never hit the ground. The other human had to have been Debra Sterling. No sign of either of them, over."

"Understood. Keep searching until I call you, over." Judson heard the angry edge in Davy-Jake's voice. He was still upset about the order to come back to base yesterday. During the long night guarding most of the county's population in the Bluff City Museum fortress, Judson almost put Davy-Jake in shackles for insubordination. It was going to be hard keeping that kid inside the command structure. Judson wiped his hands then walked over to the pile of transgenic bodies to start the bonfire.

Lydia checked underneath the branches of the downed Great Pecan Tree, looking for anyone trapped. The wind changed direction and blew in smoke from burning flesh and hair for a few minutes, gagging her until she thought to tie her purple bandanna across her face to filter out the stench. She put the crossbow down then crawled between the branches under the enormous trunk. When she parted some small leafy branches she came face to face with Henry's head. The head hung from a branch by the curly brown hair.