For long moments, the fire continued to consume the camp, the roar of the flames mixed with the popping of the wood.

Astrea Starr stood unmoving in the center of the camp's clearing.

Slowly, she opened one eye.

Strange. She didn't... feel dead.

She opened her other eye, and slowly raised her hands in front of her face.

She flexed her fingers.

She... wasn't dead?

How... could he have... missed?

She slowly looked up, expecting to see the 76 soldier still standing there with his rifle pointed at her - only he lay sprawled on the ground, blood seeping from his head.

"Ohh! Wh-what - "

Then she saw him, leaning against the doorframe of the cabin she had been held in, a rifle by his side.

"Professor Grayson?!"

Earl Grayson smiled... then slumped.

"Professor!"

She ran to him, tripping over her own feet.

"S-see?" he half-smiled at her. "H-hunting's... good s-shot... "

"Don't talk," she said, bending down over him. Oh why hadn't she taken that first aid course when she had the chance?

"No... you're a good... Americana," he whispered, coughing. "You deserve... earned the power... sorry, so sorry... "

"Shhh... it's okay... " Astrea said gently, trying to drag him into the grass. "Easy, Professor - I forgive you..."

Her eyes widened a bit - she had said the words almost without realizing.

Oh, well - judge not lest ye be judged, she thought.

And it looked like she would soon be facing judgement herself. She looked up as the fire started to come over the cabin's roof.

"We're going to burn... "

"No,' the professor gasped. "Well... "

Astrea continued to drag him.

"No," he gasped. "Get... in the well... "

"What?"

He jerked his head. "By the... mess hall... "

Astrea followed his gaze, through the smoke and ash... there! About fifty yards away - a well made of cement and stone, topped with a wooden roof, crank, and bucket.

O-kay-y-y.

With her arms cupped underneath his, she began to drag the bleeding professor toward the well.

"Proud... " Earl Grayson looked up at her and smiled slightly. "... yourself, dear... I'm dying... "

"No way, Professor. I'm gonna get us both... Professor?

"Professor!"

He sighed, and his body stiffened.

Desperately, she shook him... to no avail.

He was dead.

"Ohh! Oh, God - !"

For a moment tears formed in Astrea's eyes, and her lips shook.

Then she stood. In the end Earl Grayson had given his life to save hers - now she had to make sure that sacrifice wasn't for naught. She'd cry for him later.

She turned and ran toward the well. Okay - herself, she could make it. She'd just -

She halted... and looked back.

The flames came closer.

She couldn't... not without putting her own life at risk. She -

Aw, damn it!

She bolted across the burning grass, back to where the Iron American lay. Quickly she scooped her arms under his, and began to drag him, ever so slowly, toward the well.

Fire lapped at his feet from the dry grass, as Astrea strained to pull him across the open field. The metal of his cyborg parts, though not hot enough to actually burn her, still was uncomfortably hot against her skin. And he was so... heavy!

"Aaah!" She dropped him to beat at the flames that caught on her pant leg... then, breathing heavily, she grabbed him again, and dragged him to the lip of the well.

Panting, she propped him up on the rim of the well - oh, Lord, there was no time! She pushed his body in, then rapidly climbed in after him as the flames closed in!

Astrea tried to climb down the rope - but the rope wasn't made for climbing and she never could climb the ropes at school, anyway. She slid down, down, until she landed atop the Iron American in the water below.

Unngghh... hurt her leg on the IA's body... maybe broke it...

She looked up to see orange twenty feet above her; the heat was incredible, even down here.

Terrified, she dug her hands into the soft clay walls - strangely, she thought of when she had left the top off her cans of Play-Doh when she was a child - and held on for dear life.

If she got out of this she'd learn to swim - swear!

Then the Iron American began to stir.

"Easy... we're in a well... "

"Wh-what?" He squinted through the darkness and the streaks of light from the fire above. A... black girl?

Americana. She'd changed back.

A wicked smile crossed his face.

He could still kill her.

He formed a fist.

"I saved your life, incidently. I dragged your sorry ass over fifty yards to this well."

He hesitated.

"What, you think that will save you?"

"No, actually," Astrea said testily. "Just wanted you to know... for the record."

Then she waited, waited for the blow that would finally send her into the abyss.

"This is yer lucky day, girl," the Iron American said, lifting himself out of the water by pulling on the rope. He began climbing out of the well.

"'Course," he grinned, "If you die down here it's your lookout. Heh heh."

Astrea squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. That... that jerk! Climbing out without taking her with -

Hey.

How was that rope supporting him when the fire was - ?

The Iron American had almost reached the top when the half-burned rope snapped - and down he plunged!

Astrea held fast to the side of the well, smashing her body up as close as she could, as the screaming cyborg fell past her and splashed into the dark waters below!

"Hmph. Serves you right," Astrea said with a smile. "Now how 'bout we go on up together after that firestorm passes -

"IA?"

She looked down into the darkness. There was no answer.

She froze.

"IA!"

From the occasional bursts of light provided by the flames, she could see only the smooth surface of water - with a rapidly-fading series of concentric circles left by his passing.

Astrea counted seven.

Astrea lay, aching, on the blackened field, the fire still burning but moving away from the campsite.

She had managed, barely, to climb up out of the well; she had pressed her limbs, hard, against the sides of the well. Then she had moved an arm up, then a leg, then arm again, slowly, inch by tortuous inch.

Truth to tell, she didn't even remember reaching the top. All she knew was that somehow, she had made it out onto the charred ground.

Slowly, she became aware that her wristwatch was buzzing.

It seemed as if it took an eternity to lift her arm to her chest.

"H-hi."

"Americana! We've been trying to reach you for half an hour!"

"Been kinda... busy, Roswell... " she smiled. "What's up?"

"You tell me!" the voice said. "You called, I hear all sorts of punches and threats and explosions and - ! Then the link gets cut off!"

Oh, that's right - she never turned off the radio; it must have finally disconnected when Americana's powers vanished.

"Like I said - been kinda busy," Astrea smiled.

She really couldn't help grinning - she was alive! Somehow or other, she was alive.

"You in Shenandoah National Park?"

Astrea sighed. "I don't know... "

"Big fire?"

"Oh. Yeah, yeah I am."

"Fire choppers are en route; trucks are already on the outskirts. I can be there in twenty."

"Twenty?" she said in mock exasperation.

Oh, boy, she thought, getting to her feet. Not good.

"Yeah, well, if someone hadn't been playing arond with your tracking signal, last time... "

Astrea began looking around the remnants of the camp for anything, anything that she could use to get away. If she was seen here they'd put two and two together, real quick.

"Uh, not that I don't appreciate that offer, Roswell..." Come on, come on!

"But there's about seventy Steel Nation guys running ahead of the fire."

Roswell uttered an expletive. "Not those guys again?"

"Ah, yep." Hey. In the back of one of the trucks - well, what remained of a truck - a motorbike?

The truck wasn't going to be moving, ever again, but maybe - ?

She heard Roswell barking orders over another channel while she pulled the bike from the truck bed. It was blackened a bit, windshield cracked, but otherwise looked driveable.

"Might I ask just what happened?"

"Long story short, three cyborgs and 76 soldiers just tried to kill me, then blow up the Capitol and the White House. I've stopped that from happening - armor, weapons, vehicles, all gone. The cyborgs... "

She wheeled the bike around in front of the burned out pile of cars.

"... well, the cyborgs are dead. Two in the field, one in the well. Some of the soldiers too.

"I'm going after the others. Americana out."

Just before her finger touched the disconnect switch, the radio blurted "Americana?"

She hesitated. "Yes?"

"You didn't... kill them, right?"

"Roswell! No!"

"Okay, okay! Had to ask, you know?"

Astrea paused for a moment.

"No," she said quietly, "You didn't."

Silence.

"You're right. Sorry."

Astrea sat lightly on the motorbike. It was covered in dirt and grime, but then, so was she.

She tested the brakes... she hadn't riden a motorbike by herself in, well... ever. Seemed simple enough. Throttle on the right, hand brakes - it helped that this was a dirt bike and not some behemoth.

All she had to do was follow the road through the forest - slowly. It should lead to a highway, eventually. She'd then follow the highway long enough to reach a town with a telephone or a bus station...

"...you okay?" the radio was still speaking. "You weren't hurt by the fire?"

"Hurt, Roswell?" she said, holding an old helmet in her hands, brushing off the visor with her shirt. "Not a chance."

Astrea looked up as sunbeams penetrated through the smoke.

"These are the fires of Jubilee."