The lieutenant looked at Steven and the girl, standing before him, and the four soldiers who stood behind them, one to each strong dirty young arm.
"The others got the girl, eh?" he said.
"Yessir. When we first heard 'em, I started making enough noise to cover the rest of the boys." The sergeant grinned. "I swear, he came at me as neat as any commando ever did."
"God," said the lieutenant, and closed his eyes for a moment. "What a thing. Let this war be the last one, Sipich. So this is what happened to New York in six years. Maniacs. Murderers. Worst of all, wolf-children. And the rest of the country...."
"Well, we're back now, sir. We can start putting it all back together—"
"God," said the lieutenant again. "Do you think the pieces will fit?" He looked at Steven. "What is your name, son?"
Steven snarled.
"Take them away," said the lieutenant wearily. "Feed them. Delouse them. Send them to the Georgia camp."
"They'll be okay, sir. In a year or so they'll be smiling all over the place, taking an interest in things. Kids are kids, sir."
"Are they? These kids, Sipich? ... I don't know. I just don't know."