Probably there wasn’t going to be another fsh. We never knew for certain, but after the governments fell and the soldiers were all either dead or running away home, the only target that the gods had left to fight was each other. And they knew how messy their fights were for us mortals.

  So they bickered and they fought, but they kept their worshipers in mind during their battles and usually kept things from escating to the point where too many of us would die in the byblows.

  Michael and Thor were probably moving off a hundred miles or so before they resumed their battle. Michael because we were his subjects, and Thor because, well, it was only polite.

  I found my pants in the pile of clothing in the dressing area of the locker room, but not my shirt, and I wasn’t too worried about it. So I went for a walk through the old halls of the school while I waited for the post-fsh protocol to catch up to the point where I had duties again.

  I’m not exactly sure why, but I found myself standing outside the radio room. Grandfather had told me that they had cannibalized the equipment from the local air strip, from back when people still thought it was a good idea to fly, and that’s how Grandfather and his men kept in contact with the rest of the world, as well as being how his priests tracked the gods when they battled.

  I stood outside the door for three minutes before I opened it and stepped inside.

  The room was empty. I’d been inside a few times before, and sort of knew the yout.

  In the center of the room was the radar equipment. I didn’t really know how any of that worked, and I wasn’t supposed to. That was for the priests. But I did know how the radio worked, and so I went over and put on the headphones to listen in.

  “Traveling east by northeast at sixty two miles per hour. Thor is in pursuit. Warn Gables and West Nokos that they will soon be in range—“ someone was saying. “Last fsh was forty-two minutes ago. Estimated time until the next fsh is between sixteen and forty-three minutes if traditional patterns remain in effect. Osage, Linn, and Dougs county should prepare for impact immediately. Warn the citizens, this is not a drill. Prepare for imminent divine Fshes ranging from anywhere between tiers 1 and 6. Warning, this is not a drill. I repeat, Osage, Linn, and Dougs counties should be advised that a tier three fsh has gone off at Ashford Bends. The damage to the Benders is unknown at this time. Thor and Michael are not fucking around this time. I repeat—“

  Nervously, I grabbed the microphone. I’d made a few reports before, and so I began “This is Ashford Bends. We survived the fsh. I’m, um, not sure how bad the damage is, but my grandfather—“

  “Kid, drop down to channel eight to give your report—“ the speaker said, and then continued with his monologue as if I hadn’t spoken.

  I frowned and looked at the equipment. I’d only been shown how to change the channel once, but I figured it out again and managed to get onto the right frequency.

  “Hello? This is Ashford Bends, I have a report to—“

  “Who’s speaking please? What’s your handle?” It was a woman’s voice.

  “My name is Glen. Glen Ashford.”

  “You in line? For the Ashford nds I mean?”

  “Sort of? My grandfather is Norman Ashford, but I’m Paul’s third son. I’m probably not going to inherit anything. Does it matter?” I asked.

  “Just trying to figure out who I’m talking to. So. You survived the big fsh. How bad is it over there?”

  “The school is fine. I’m not really sure what to think because this is first time I’ve been outside of the school’s basement when a fsh hit. But the adults don’t seem too worried about it.”

  “That’s good, kid. Real good. Thanks for your report. Now get the fuck off the airwaves until the grownups return.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I agreed, and I hung the microphone back up and left.