Across the river the Fornicators had put up their ramparts. We hunched in the drizzly rain wishing we were back home. Occasionally they would fire off one of their, what we called, splatter bombs. These were largely ineffectual and usually dreadfully off target. Once one landed in a nearby lake and killed a large amount of fish. That was a good night. We had a fish fry and Rudy played his accordion. We could hear them across the river doing that weird whistling thing they do whenever they sense we weren't completely miserable.
On Tuesday Jeroge said he shot one of them and it seemed to be the case because all day we could hear them rearranging their fortifications and firing their guns randomly.
After the third war the Fornicators had risen from mutations of their cerebral cortex. They were known as the Fornicators because of elevated testosterone and progesterone levels and because they spent about ninety percent of their waking hours having sex. One escaped prisoner said he had been impaled in every orifice repeatedly for several weeks. And, from the look of him, we believed him.