Something bustled in the bushes off to John’s left.
He didn’t even think about it—he reached for his gun and moved himself into a more favorable shooting position.
He was ready for anything. Mentally, at least. His body still needed to recuperate.
He no longer felt that terror that he’d felt when first escaping the city. He knew how to act. He knew that if there was someone out there now, he’d be able to fight to defend himself. He’d do the best he could, and there wasn’t any more that he could do. No point in worrying about it.
That didn’t mean his blood didn’t turn cold and his heart didn’t start beating fast. It just meant he knew how to deal with those symptoms.
He took a deep breath and steadied his gun.
Another rustling in the bushes.
He saw them moving.
“Cynthia?” he called out.
No answer.
John waited. If it was someone, they knew he was there.
Suddenly, movement. The branches moved.
A rabbit jumped out from the bush. It seemed to see John, and it paused, frozen on the ground.
John breathed out a sigh of relief. It was just a rabbit. Just a cute little rabbit, rather than an orange-suited, gun-wielding, vicious criminal.
But it was more than just a cute little rabbit. It was large, quite plump. Pretty juicy looking, especially when John hadn’t had a proper meal in who knew how long.
John aimed at the rabbit and squeezed the trigger.
The bullet hit the rabbit in the hindquarters, which was a shame, since that was where a lot of the good meat would be.
The rabbit lay motionless.
John re-holstered his gun, and struggled to his feet to examine the rabbit. With the promise of fresh meat to cook and eat, John somehow found the strength to stand.
He hobbled over weakly to the rabbit and bent down to examine it.
“Are you OK?” came Cynthia’s voice, worried, as she crashed loudly into the little clearing.
“I’m fine,” said John.
“I heard a gunshot… I thought the worst.”
“Don’t worry any longer. I just got us dinner.”
Cynthia came over, a smile on her face. “You know, I had a pet rabbit as a kid. Normally it’d turn my stomach, seeing this. But I don’t even care.”
“I have a feeling I’ll be feeling pretty good after eating this.”
“Looks like your aim could have been a little better, though.”
She pointed to where the bullet had destroyed a good bit of the meat.
“Yeah, I guess you’re supposed to go rabbit hunting with smaller caliber bullets.”
“Whatever, it’ll still be delicious.”
“Did you find any water, by the way?”
“Not yet.”
“Give me a hand?”
John was starting to wobble a little, having trouble remaining in the crouching position.
Cynthia put her hand on his shoulder, but it didn’t help. It knocked him a little more off balance, and he fell onto the ground again.
“You OK?” said Cynthia, bending down.
“I’m fine,” said John, starting to laugh.
“You hit your head or something? Why are you laughing?”
“I don’t know. Don’t worry, I haven’t lost it or anything. I just… I don’t know.”
John didn’t want to admit it, but he felt happy. Maybe it was the rabbit. Maybe it was Cynthia. Maybe it was recognizing that he’d undergone some kind of transformation.
“Come on, I’m going to get this rabbit started. I figure we can risk a fire, right?”
“I don’t see how we can avoid it. Not with this rabbit.”
“I know, my mouth is already watering.”
“We’ll have to be extra careful, though. A fire might attract someone.”
“We’ll have to stay ready.”
“You mean the guns?”
“Of course I mean the guns.”
John was too tired to be of much good, but he helped Cynthia by telling her how to get the fire started.
“Keep the knife folded,” said John, as Cynthia unfolded one of the pocket knives. “Just leave the blade in there. It’s a lot safer that way, compared to having a long cutting edge out.”
“OK, now what?”
“Just strike the flint across the back of the blade. Do it fast, with a bit of force. There you go, that’s good.”
“I don’t think it’s still called a flint. That was like forever ago.”
“Well, whatever it is, it still works like a flint.”
Cynthia was getting some good sparks, and soon the tinder they’d picked up days ago was lit.
“Quick,” said John. “Get that tiny kindling on it.”
“Easier said than done. All you have to do is sit there.”
“I know. I could get used to this.”
“Don’t joke about that. Or you’ll end up acting just like my husband.”
It was the first time that Cynthia had mentioned her husband, now dead, in a long time. Or maybe she’d never mentioned him. John couldn’t remember. But he did clearly remember the sight of his dead body in Cynthia’s front yard, when he’d been on his way up to Valley Forge Park.
It felt like such a long time ago.
Did Cynthia still think of her husband?
Maybe things hadn’t been that great between them, judging by what she was saying now. Not that it meant she was happy to see him go. She’d sobbed like crazy, after all.
Soon, there was a little fire roaring, and John was feeling good enough to sharpen up a spit for the rabbit.
The spit was easy in comparison to getting the rabbit ready to eat.
“I can’t believe how much fur is on this thing,” said Cynthia.
John laughed. “What did you expect? It’s covered in fur.”
“I guess the real problem is I don’t have any idea what I’m doing.”
“Just don’t think of your pet rabbit.”
“Jerk,” said Cynthia, laughing, kicking a little bit of dirt up at him with her boot.
Suddenly, John had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“You know,” he said. “Things are…”
“What?”
“Going good.”
“You sound like that’s not a good thing.”
“It just has me worried. How often do we laugh?”
“Basically never. I figure we’re just happy to have some meat to eat soon.”
“I don’t know…”
“It’s been less than an hour. No need to worry. I’m sure things will go to shit soon enough.”
25
It was quiet for a while. He heard their boots moving on the hardwood floor outside. For the moment, they’d stopped attacking the door. He couldn’t remember how many there’d been. The adrenaline should have made his mind sharp. But it was foggy. Maybe it was the pain from the gunshot wound. Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was something else.
Miller didn’t regret anything. He didn’t regret the fact that he was going to die. He’d taken some of them out. That was what he wanted.
If there was a shred of regret, it was that he hadn’t thought about his plan more, and gotten to the leader. But it was unrealistic. He should have known that. He would have never gotten there.
His plan had sounded like something from a spy novel, not something from real life.
He’d done what he could.
These hadn’t been the men who’d killed his wife and son. But they were close enough. They were cut from the same cloth, so to speak. They were part of the same organization.
They started again.
Miller was reeling in pain. But he stood tall and strong.