They kissed under a half-moon, poised between light and dark, a kiss that was all teeth nipping at lips, fingers tangled in long fair hair, hands sliding under long-abandoned uniforms, memories rising to the surface that would disappear with the sunrise, need that had been repressed since the last time they'd been freed.

"Missed you," the shorter one breathed huskily, pale half-lidded eyes fixed on the other woman's baby blues, one hand tracing years-old scars in the smooth-skinned hollow of the other woman's knee.

"Never know 'til he calls," the other growled. "We'll be late."

"The old man can wait. I know his patience. I need you now!" She threw herself into the taller woman's arms in desperation. They took a moment for that contact, then loped north to the woods by the highway, where their pack awaited them.

The ties that bound the group together went past mere loyalty. They went straight to the heart, to the soul, to the needs and desires that had once driven them. Few had completely forgotten what it was like to be idolized for a simple game. Some had been able to flee the rising tide, retreating to homes that so far remained on safe ground. Some had found safety on the islands of New York City and lived in fear that the waves of madness and hatred would finally wipe them out. Some, like the two blondes, had been dragged down by the undertow, breaking the surface for gasps of air before going under again.

And then there were those few who had gotten free, who gathered together out of instincts that none of them fully understood. They still had dim memories of being part of a greater whole, and they needed to feel that again. All of them had lost a part of their essential core, whether it was the writer who had no words or the liars who had no mask. Some said that they had lost control, but that wasn't quite true; what all of them had really lost was regard for what society thought of them. They were a pack, and they were the only ones who mattered to each other. They were hungry for revenge, but more than that, they needed to repent for what they had done before breaking from Britney's control. They went to extremes, but they felt that it was only fair. Cruelty matched cruelty, atrocity atoned for atrocity, hatred repaid hatred. It was them against the world, just the way they liked it: they were the Lone Wolves, hunted and feared by rebels and drones alike.

Only the smallest hints- a broken branch here, a faint aroma in the air there- led the two blondes through the thick woods to the pack. The snap of a brittle twig and the sudden sense of a third presence were enough clues for the shorter of the blondes to turn suddenly to the side. A tall woman with gray-streaked brown hair loomed over them; most of the time this would have been intimidating, but in that place and that time, she was a reassuring sight. "You scared us!" the taller blonde complained. The brunette cracked a half-smile and regarded them with hazel eyes that held mischief so pure that it was insanity, then waved one hand to indicate that they should follow her.

"I hate having to meet with her. The silence drives me crazy," the shorter blonde whispered to her partner. The brunette turned around to stare her down, then put a finger to her lips to shut the blondes up. They crept through the woods to a clearing by a creek narrow enough to cross with a leap. The others looked up as they arrived.

"Hey, little sister," the lady in red said to the taller of the blondes.

"You're late," the leader snapped.

"Oh, cut them some slack, old man, they had to catch up on some things, ya know what I mean?" The speaker smiled and leaned back into her New York-born lover's arms, marveling again at the way she fit so perfectly with her lover.

"They're here now," the dark one pointed out. "Might as well get the party started." She emphasized her words by breaking a few of their latest victim's fingers. The shrieks of pain drew the newcomers' attention, and they looked to see who was the unfortunate soul this time around. The victim was blonde, of course, a tall woman who had managed to maintain a relatively slender figure and perfect pale skin. She had a cold beauty to her, a chill perfection that was a near mirror for the taller of the blonde lovers.

"Well, this *is* a pleasant surprise, isn't it?" the shorter blonde said, casting a glance at her lover.

The other woman nodded, staring at the screaming woman with eyes like winter ice, and a few memories drifted across her mind. They'd been quite the pair once upon a time, stars on the rise, blonde all-American girls with bright eyes and big dreams, nurtured in the ultimate incubator of basketball skills. They'd been inseparable, friends and more, and then it had all fallen apart. Different paths and different towns, and who had time to talk on the phone anymore?

But she remembered now, and they were both here now, and a frosty smile touched her lips. She jerked her head towards her lover. Illuminated by the firelight, they began to strip seductively, helping each other off with their clothes, hands lingering on the slight curves of hip and breast. It was easy to see that they were becoming aroused; their movements slowed sensuously, breaths coming in short pants, sweat starting to bead on their foreheads. The dark-haired lovers watched and gave their approval with a long kiss.

Finally, they were nude. They advanced on their prey with care, swinging their hips and doing all they could to flaunt their bodies. The terrified blonde tried to back away, but there was nowhere for her to go, because the river was directly behind her, thick underbrush lined another side, and the dark woman waited on the third side with her trusty sledgehammer ready for use. Helpless, she waited with fear-widened eyes for her two former teammates to reach her.

"It's been a long, long time," the taller of the blonde lovers said low in her throat, straddling the victim's midsection and looking down into the face that so closely mirrored hers. "You have no idea how much I missed you when you left. I waited for you to make a visit, to remember what we used to do, but you never did. I guess I have to do... everything... in this relationship." She stepped back and knelt in the space formed between the other woman's opened legs. When the victim felt what was being done to her, she shrieked loud and long and struggled to get free, but the other blonde lover held her fast.

"Think you'll get away that easily from my girl?" she asked in a voice that dripped with saccarine sweetness. "I don't think so." She shoved her mouth into the blonde's in a hungry, violent kiss that neatly swallowed her screams. Blood ran from the victim's mouth from marks left by the lover's sharp teeth. "That's for leaving her all those years ago, when you said you couldn't be with her because it might damage your career." She bit down again on the soft, vulnerable flesh of the victim's lip. "And that's for the way you left her, no warning, no notice, nothing personal, just a note on her nightstand." Another savage bite, this one taking away some skin; the little blonde spat it out and grinned with the victim's blood on her teeth. "That's for cutting her off when she needed you most- you didn't want to be with her, even as a friend. You didn't leave her your number, or your e-mail address, or anything. She had to go through the team offices to reach you- you, the woman she once loved!" She came down again for the kiss, the victim by now shuddering with not only fear for what this blonde was doing to her, but also guilty pleasure at what her once-girlfriend was doing with sure hands and expert tongue in her private area. A tiny little part of her wanted to surrender to the pleasure, knowing that it would allow her to return to the people who felt like family, but it wasn't a very large part of her psyche, and it was one that had been dormant for too long to regain control, so she screamed and tried to struggle instead.

"Stop squirming!" the New Yorker yelled. "She isn't always so good with the aim, and if you move too much, she might lose your clit, and we wouldn't want that, would we? Lie back and enjoy it. You're family, after all, and family should enjoy each other's company." Her lover grinned at this and held her close, feeling the New Yorker's fingers deftly undo her bun of silky hair so that it fell free to her waist.

The dark one was more direct. "Move, and I'll crush your damn skull." She fingered the handle of her sledgehammer meaningfully, though the gesture was wasted on the brainwashed woman, who could barely see that she was even there, let alone make out subtle motions.

"Don't you just love alumnae reunions?" the lady in red asked with a sardonic half-smile.

"Jesus, help me! Protect me from these evil things that wear the shape of women! Lend me your grace and your power!"

"Hey, I resent that remark! I do NOT wear the shape of a woman!" the leader complained.

"She's not worried about you, old man. Shows how much she's forgotten," one of the dark-haired lovers replied with a photogenic smile that had once graced millions of posters. He flipped her the bird. "Aww, yeah, that was my favorite ring, how did you remember?"

"Blow it out your ass."

"That's not your line."

The taller of the blonde lovers, meanwhile, had finished with her work. Her tongue was out to lick her lips, but she thought better of it. Instead, she motioned her lover to move away from their victim and slid sinuously over the other woman's body. "This is what you taste like, cinnamon and sugary and fear like pure lemon juice on the back of your tongue." She forced the victim's mouth open and kissed her deeply but without passion. Only when she ran short on breath did she pull out of the kiss and lick her lips. "Do you remember the lies you whispered to me all those years ago? Words like 'I love you' and 'I'll never leave you'? Things like 'Oh yeah, just like that, baby' and 'You're the most important thing in my life'? Any of those ring a bell? Or did you forget them the way you've forgotten everything else that ever mattered to you? You've become so stupid. That long skirt, that white blouse, those aren't you." She put her hands very deliberately on the victim's breasts, shocking the woman enough to force her to turn her head. "They say you never know how you look through other people's eyes, but they're wrong, aren't they? I am you, the way you should be. You are me, the way I can't stand being."

"I'm no dyke! Jesus has protected me from your infernal touch! I remain steadfast in my faith, and you cannot turn me from the light of God!"

The tall, dark-haired woman who had stood silently and watched with a jaded expression this whole time now rolled her eyes. The lady in red said, "They all sound the same. Who writes their dialogue? You could probably do a better job, huh, old friend?" She directed the question to the silent woman, who nodded once.

The blue-eyed blonde lover looked into the blue eyes of the blonde she had pinned under her. "You are mine," she growled. "You are mine, you have always been mine, and you will always be mine. Get that through your head and you might live out the night."

"I am not one of you and I never was! God protects me from your hand! Back off, fiend!" The victim reached for her cross, but realized that it wasn't there.

"Looking for this?" the other blonde lover asked from the fireside, looking over with half-lidded gray eyes. She held the victim's cross by the chain, the gold glittering with darts of flame. "I suppose you can have it back." She passed it to her lover, who tenderly put it around the victim's neck. The victim screamed as the hot metal seared her skin. "Oh, dear, the cross seems to be burning you. Guess you're a demon after all. You'll have to stay with us now. I've been dying to try you ever since she told me so much about you. Imagine the fun we could have, the three of us. Or even the five of us." The last was directed at the dark-haired lovers, but they weren't listening to much of anything.

"I'll never be a dyke!"

"I think you'll find otherwise," the leader said curtly. "The talk is fun, but we don't have all night. Dyke is the magic word for tonight, 50, you know what that means."

The silent woman essayed something that might have been a smile on a saner person. She gestured the blonde out of the way, indifferent to the fetching pout on the younger woman's face, and picked up the victim, who by now had a sense that this wasn't going to end well for her at all. Crossing the little stream that had blocked the victim's retreat, she laid the woman across it face down and held her so that she couldn't move. The others on the other bank also helped as the dark one took several long, wickedly sharp nails out of her capacious pockets. Humming to herself, she hammered a nail through each of the victim's wrists and hands, then crossed the river to do the same at the woman's ankles and feet. "Oh, that's good work, if I do say so myself. I'm so proud." She pretended to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye.

"Break her. I don't want this all going to waste," the leader ordered. The dark woman smiled for just a second and methodically slammed the sledgehammer down, first against the victim's knees and elbows, then a gentler and more calculated blow to the backbone.

"There. Anyone who gets out of that probably enjoys pain enough to come home to us. Will that be you?"

The victim managed to lift her head and spit in the direction of the voice. "They're so adorable when they're defiant, aren't they?" the New Yorker asked, she and her lover having finished what they felt the need to do.

The leader looked at the blonde lovers. "You two are the locals. This far into the woods, what are the odds anyone will find her before she drowns?"

"Pretty slim," the shorter woman replied after a period of deep thought. "Should probably gag her so she can't scream for help, though."

"Good idea." The leader picked the white blouse that lay dangerously close to the fire, tore off a sleeve, and wrapped it around the victim's mouth. "We're done here. No time for the full song and dance number. Around here someone might actually be able to put one and one together and not get confused. Everyone find their clothes if they lost them and get ready to head out in five minutes, and God help you if I catch you taking your time."

The pack obeyed his orders, picking up their clothes and otherwise removing every shred of evidence that they had been there, and vacated the space. The victim was left to die alone after hours of pain and suffering and the memory of the song that the dark woman had so happily been humming as she did her work, a song that had once meant everything to the dying woman but now was only an element of fear.

At the edge of the woods, the leader looked at the two blondes who had followed him, blinking dazedly in the grey light of false dawn. "You did good for me today, guys," he said, and they preened proudly. "Sunrise is coming soon, and you should be home by then. Take care of yourselves, okay? I don't want you getting into trouble over this. Go home. Don't let yourselves remember what happened here. It was all just a dream, a dream you're not going to remember in the morning. You'll know the next time you're needed. Go on with you, what are you doing standing there and staring at me?"

They looked at him blankly for a moment, then jogged off towards the town where they lived with their husbands and children. Once they were gone, the pack faded back into the deeper woods to start their trek back to their safe haven. The lady in red looked at her mentor with puzzlement in her dark eyes. "Why do you let them keep going back? Wouldn't it be better to keep them with us? It'd give the lovebirds a little variety."

"Because they can't stay with us. You think I didn't watch them before I let them know we were here? They're stupid with some smart moments. They've been too deep for too long, even though they shouldn't be. They let themselves forget. I just come along every so often to remind them. Isn't much else I can do, unless you want to have to kill them." He flashed a smile for a moment. "Besides, you always need a bench. They may get us someday, but they won't go after what they got no reason to look for. Who's going to suspect a sweet Connecticut housewife of dirtying her hands with rape and murder? Not those cops."

"Like they'll ever be useful without you," one of the lovers said with a snort. "Querida, hold my hair up for a sec while I get this pin in place? Thanks. Look, old man, if you're not there, they're just gonna stay dumb-ass housewives who do the housework, take care of the kids, and fuck the husband."

The leader shook his head. "They came to me on their own. Something stirred in them, and they looked for me. It might not happen as often, but they'll remember every now and then, and they'll do things that might make you blush, and everyone's going to be amazed that I have such power even when I'm gone."

"Blow it out your ass," the woman replied, tousling what was left of the leader's hair.

"That's not your line either."

"Someone's going to have to explain that joke to me sometime," the lady in red said with a warning edge to her voice.

"Later, when we're in the DMZ," the leader said. The reminder that this wasn't their safe haven put an end to the talking and made them run faster to get home.

Precisely at seven in the morning, the voice whispered, "Good morning, greatness! It's morning again in America!" She came to consciousness with her husband's kiss and shuffled down the hall to break up the pillow fight between Louisa and Annemarie, her two daughters. The high-pitched screams reminded her that this was her purpose in life, to take care of her family, to make sure her children were happy and well-raised. Another scream flashed through her memory for just a moment, a lower register, a different meaning, an edge of panic. But it was gone before she could think about it too deeply, and she continued down the hall to break the fight up before Annemarie got her younger sister in a headlock again. That was always awkward.

The daily battle with the hyperactive children thus defused, she went into the bathroom for a quick shower. As the water flowed down, she felt a strange sense of foreboding, though she couldn't place it. It went away when one of the girls- Louisa this morning, she could tell by the heavy, insistent pounding- started knocking on the door, her signal to finish up and get dressed. As she fixed her hair in the mirror, just for a moment, the face she saw wasn't quite her own, but when she blinked, the vision was gone. Once she was in her white blouse and long skirt, she went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast, the same as it was every morning. She sneaked a look at the morning show and the actor being interviewed about a new movie, then called for her family. "Darling! Louisa! Ann-" But her voice caught for some reason, her throat grew thick so that she couldn't speak, and when she licked her parched lips nevously, she tasted cinnamon, sugar, and lemons. She took a deep, shuddering breath to steady herself, and there was a strange musky smell in her nostrils, the smell of rut and sex, and the memories started coming back to her...

"Annemarie! Hurry up already! You're going to be late for school if you don't hurry!" she yelled, and the discontinuity was gone, and she was back to normal again.