FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

In the cockpit, the pilots paid all their attention to the desert of sand and rock which paraded a hundred yards under the aircraft. The venerable helicopter stirred vigorously and steadily the overheated air outside to maintain itself and the air and move forward in a din that would have been deafening without the helmets on the two soldiers. Beneath them, the landscape became rounded as the dunes became more and more important and imposed greater vigilance on the pilots who varied their gazes on the various indicators on the dashboard.

« Any news about the weather ? "

Lieutenant Carter was asking a question of pure routine. He could see in the distance in front of him the imposing mass of sand lifted by the violent wind which colored the sky of an ominous dark brown.

« No lieutenant, it's still the same forecast, as you can see. "

The fox sighed into his microphone. Once again, the weather had been right to announce the bad news.

« Okay, hook me up with the back cabin. "

His second complied without arguing.

" Dear crew and passengers, I regret to inform you that as expected, a sandstorm forces us to change our course to avoid a large grain of sand which persists in not falling to the ground. "

In the main cabin, the soldiers and ranks scowled a little, the cabin becoming quiet while the pilot delivered his message. Fred looked at the nearest speaker.

« We will avoid it easily but you must allow for a delay on the arrival of ..."

Carter looked at his co-pilot who held up two fingers.

" Two hours at least. "

The soldiers indeed felt a shift in the course of the helicopter. Now the soldiers could see through the portholes on the left the impressive mass of sand blocking the sky, attracting remarks from the most astonished and less experienced soldiers. For Fred, it wasn't the first sandstorm he had seen from afar, but it still had a little effect. At least he forgot his phobia of heights for a moment. Fred heard the speaker cut off, indicating the end of the message, and presumably the absence of any further bad news. He began to return his attention to his superior.

Indifferent to the discussions in progress between the living, the helicopter descended and remained about thirty yards above the ground, slaloming between the dunes which outlined a moving valley.

A loud alarm sound fills the pilots' helmets. The officers quickly understood the problem.

" We are tagged ! "

Carter groaned to himself. They were the target of fire. He frantically searched for a clue outside to find out more but his professionalism could do nothing to help him. In front of the aircraft, two rockets flew, leaving behind them a white cottony trail. His hands twisted the controls to clear the helicopter out of the path, praying silently and quickly that they could save the aircraft and the passengers.

The pilots felt a violent shock on the rear of the aircraft. The loud noise left no doubt that what was happening. Concentrated on the two rockets, they could not see a third device hitting the tail of the device which burst with a violent crash, dispersing the metal and the flesh on the ground.

The controls ceased to function and the pilots could only see death hit them head-on. The rockets made a massacre in the cockpit and when what was left of the Chinook fell to the ground, the pilots were long dead.

Since the time that Frederick Kaplan announced to his interlocutors who did not know him that he was homosexual, he had been entitled to the full range of reactions possible. Indifference, fun, contempt, hatred. Curiosity, interest too. But Fred would never know what Lieutenant Vincent might have thought or said about him.

Fred had barely finished his sentence when the helicopter swerved violently to his left. The device vibrated so much that a shock wave threw Fred against the window of the device. The impact on the cheek knocked him unconscious. The lieutenant was thrown back. He did not realize that the rear of the aircraft was spraying. In what remained of the falling aircraft it was only screams and fear and pain and when it fell to the ground not far away two jeeps set off, the delighted passengers brandishing machine guns in the sky of joy, spreading deadly lead in bursts of celebration.

--

The smoking debris were strewn about, along with the equipment and corpses, over a small area, clearly visible on the rocky, dry ground. The wrecked Chinook was flying low, which explained the low dispersion of the debris. In a deep silence, broken by the hot wind and the crackle of small scattered fires, a few shapes moved slowly, aimlessly, with vague eyes on the ground. The survivors were still shaken and half stunned by the rockets and the crash.

Sitting on his knees, massaging the back of his neck and looking around despite his still troubled vision, the corporal slowly came to his senses. The thin boar slowly rose to his feet, expecting every second to feel the sharp pain of a broken bone. But his skeleton was intact, although walking slowly, still a little haggard.

« Fuck you, guys..."

Around him, hardly anyone was moving. And they would never move again. Corporal Swift had enough combat experience to understand that in such a scenario survivors were scarce.

After a few steps, he noticed other victims on their feet through the black and gray smoke and heading towards him. His foot struck an elongated body that shuddered under the impact. Swift recognized Fred and then leaned over the canine and, noting that he was breathing, shook him cautiously.

" Hey ! "

He only got a more audible growl. He took the liberty of slapping the injured man on the cheek to make him react.

" Hey, sergeant ! "

Fred then opened his eyes which only let him see a luminous blur. He rubbed his face reflexively, gradually resuming the path of his thoughts, gradually remembers what had happened. He could feel the powdery, acrid taste of ash in his throat, forcing him to move his jaw in the hopes of getting rid of the excruciating taste. Karl turned to the other survivors.

" The sergeant is alive ! "

Fred was struggling to gather his spirits. He saw shapes still indistinct approaching, but he quickly recognized the American uniforms of his fellows.

" That... Where am I ? "

A voice still unrecognizable tried to reassure him.

« Don't worry, sergeant ! We are here ! You are fine ?

• I think so... Lopez ?

• It's me, yes...

• What happened ?

• I have seen everything. We took a Stringer. Maybe more. It's a miracle if we're still alive. "

Fred turned to the new speaker. Corporal Swift. Of all the members of his team, Swift was the only one to have served in a combat unit before being transferred to technical services. The only one that Fred didn't completely trust given his file.

« A Stringer ? But... The rebels aren't supposed to have them...

• It seems the sales season has started, sergeant.

• What is the situation ?

• Not brilliant.

• Be specific, corporal. "

Swift growled to himself. Fred had two major flaws in his eyes. Finally, three. Already he was a purebred bulldog. Swift, who was a boar, didn't like bulldogs. In addition, he owed his rank only to his function, while Swift had won his on the battlefield. Finally, Swift knew Fred was gay. Which was not done to ease the tensions between them.

As he spoke, Fred had regained his sight enough to contemplate the extent of the disaster for himself. Swift only confirmed his fears after he had completed his knowledge of their new situation.

" There are only 6 guys left, Sergeant. You, me, Lopez, Garcia, Findell and Ionescu, who are further away to lament. All the others are dead. "

Fred's gaze turned to Lopez. They were lucky to still have with them a nurse who could not but approve of the corporal's words.

« It's true sergeant. Besides, Garcia has a broken leg, he can't walk. "

Fred remained seated on the ground, trying to gather his spirits, a hand rubbing against his forehead. The day couldn't get any worse. Believing that he had caught his breath enough, Fred tried to stand up despite the nurse's warning. He proceeded slowly, leaning on him, on the lookout for any pain. Once standing up, Fred had the unnecessary reflex to brush the dust off his pants before looking around.

« Damn..."

What he saw did not bode well. The helicopter was broken and in flames, and the corpses posed in grotesque postures on the ground. A broken horn caught his attention. Nearby, he noticed Milton's body. Fred tried not to feel anything when he saw the fragment that pierced his heart. With some relief, he found that was not the case. Fred had hardened in his years of service, but he wanted to stay as being able to feel emotions. He had seen many men become cold and isolated so as not to crack.

Fred then thought of Lieutenant Vincent.

" The lieutenant ? "

The corporal looked in the direction of a body lying nearby. You couldn't see his face, but his head was at an impossible angle with the rest of his body.

" He had a broken neck. No doubt on impact. "

Fred looked at the body.

« What are we doing, sergeant ? "

Swift was asking a question of common sense. Their situation was not good and with the dead officers everything was now on Fred's shoulders. He had a little experience with it, but he had never been in such a situation. And he was going to have to assume because already, all the men looked at him while waiting for the continuation.

Fred looked around again, time for him to think and do things in order.

" Lopez, go take care of Garcia. Guys, take a look around and try to pick up anything that might be useful. Weapons, ammunition, food, drinks. Corporal, follow me. "

Fred set off, going where what was left of the cockpit had crashed.

" It's probably a waste of time, but I want to see if the radio is intact. "

Fred had preferred to answer before Swift asked the question. The boar followed him, looking around and trying to gauge his superior as well as possible. As he walked, he saw that Fred was not a fighter. He was indeed much more useful with a screwdriver in hand than with a gun. In any case, his superior seemed to always have his head on his shoulders. Swift knew that wasn't always the case. He was a little relieved.

Arrived at the cockpit, Fred looked around while Swift surveyed the surroundings. Fred asked a good question.

« Why didn't the rebels come to finish the job ?

• You know, in this region, the fighters are not professionals. They are nomads, for the most part just sympathizers. They strike, and they go.

• We were lucky then... How many of us were in this device ?

• Three pilots and... 17 passengers. "

Fred closed his eyes at the mention of the 13 dead of that day. Milton, Wraith, Dreiberg, Blake, Jupiter, Osterman, Kovacs, Veidt, Vincent and others... Guys he knew a little for the most part, which didn't change a thing. Fred felt sad to know that in turn, they were going to come home in a coffin.

" What are your orders, sergeant ? "

Fred was hunched over what was left of the control console. Everything was in pieces, as he feared. He noticed, trapped under a piece of debris, a half of a map with pencil notations on it. Fred took his cell phone from his pocket and was pleased to see that it was intact. Of course, there was no network, with the nearest antenna literally thousands of miles away.

« Finally a little luck..."

Fred used the GPS and located himself on the map, Swift let him. Fred looked at the horizon where the sandstorm was heading in another direction.

" There is a first aid station, but it's at least thirty kilometers from here. We will have to walk.

• Wouldn't it be better to stay here ? "

Swift was asking a common sense question.

" No, there is no shelter here. We're at the mercy of the sun and if these freaks change their minds, we won't stand a chance.

• It's against the back-up protocol, you know. "

Fred knew that, yes, just as he knew Karl was giving him this informal thought to make him justify himself more.

"You saw the storm like me, corporal. Here the sands are loaded with iron oxides and magnetite. I'm not sure of anything but I don't think our radars kept track of us with such interference. "

Swift could only approve.

" Besides, look. "

Fred pointed to the notes on the card.

" The pilot changed course, probably because of the sandstorm. I don't know if they had time to send an SOS or if they informed the base. We will have more chances at this aid station. "

Fred looked at the remains of the pilots and saw the identification plates glow. With a gesture showing his experience, he grabbed them and untied the duplicate before putting them in a pocket. He was going to have to do the same with the other victims.

Fred and the corporal walked back to the other men who had gathered with the equipment they had been able to save, which was not much.

" Here's what we got, Sergeant. Seven colts 45 with three magazines each. Two M 16s, but we have no ammunition. Grenades. Three for each. Knives too. The only thing out there, we could all do a Wolverine cosplay... "

Findell had tried a bit of humor to ease the tension in the group. The failure was total.

Fred smiled inwardly, however, thinking of the reference.

" We have water. Two pockets each. Enough to last two days, three while rationing. The same goes for food. Garcia has enough morphine to last a week, but we have no antibiotics, and barely enough to disinfect the wound. With his leg he won't be able to walk, and the stretcher is in pieces. "

Fred knew it. He pondered the problem, starting to pick up straps from the floor.

« I'll do one then, find me some pretty long and thick bars." It must not be missing in all this mess. "

While the survivors walked around the debris, Fred was busy picking up the plates as well as harness straps, trying not to linger too much on the faces of the deceased. He took the trouble to put the lieutenant's tag in another pocket.

Fred had then sat down in an armchair, beginning to intertwine the straps and tie them to the bars so as to make a makeshift stretcher. Next to him, Lopez was finishing tying the leg of a Garcia who moaned a bit when he fixed the harnesses in earnest.

« What will we do next, Sergeant ?"

Fred lifted his head and looked at the nurse.

" We're going to go east. There is a first aid station. We are far enough from the front I think to avoid any unpleasant surprises.

• Can't we just turn around and get back to the base ?

• No soldier, we are too far away. We just have to hope to find a radio there. In any case, we will be able to shelter from the sun. "

Fred looked at the nurse, noting the sweat on his face. Swift then threw crumpled shirts found in the wreckage of the packages between the two soldiers.

" Cover your head with that, otherwise it's guaranteed sunstroke. "

Fred noted the corporal's disregard for him. But he was right. Fred began to tie the shirt over his head, the advice being wise. He knew Karl Swift had served two years in the wilderness. Without looking at him, he questioned him.

« Anything else to add ?"

The corporal looked at his superior who was busy braiding. He had to admit that so far he was doing well, not making mistakes. And in addition, he applied himself to seek advice from men of experience. It reassured him a little. He had known so many officers who were too self-conscious to lead their men to their deaths this way.

" Yes. You guys will be hot. What must be avoided at all costs is sunstroke. You fall, you are almost dead. At the slightest sign of heat, isolate yourself in a corner and piss on the shirt that protects your head. "

Around him, the soldiers expressed their disgust, looking at the corporal, wondering if he wasn't joking. He wasn't kidding.

" It's the only way to keep some moisture on your head. Never use your water for this. If your supplies run dry, piss in the bottle and drink it. It's gross, I know. This will extend the delay by a day or two. Avoid speaking too to slow down dehydration and breathe as much as possible through your nose. In the desert, the less you open it, the better off you get. "

The soldiers looked at each other. All expressed their desire to arrive at the aid station before the end of their water reserves. Fred was putting the finishing touches on the stretcher.

" It should hold. Garcia will be comfortable, and we can also add the recovered weapons. Do you think we should leave now, corporal ? "

Swift looked at the sergeant again. Then he looked at his watch.

" We are still in the coolest hours. We can leave now but we will have to stop to avoid the hottest hours. The ideal is to walk at dawn and in the evening. Also, keep in mind that the night can be freezing, even here. "

Fred stood up, looking at his work, satisfied.

" Lay Garcia down then. We're leaving now. "

Lopez helped, as well as Findell, to lay the wounded on the stretcher, then the other men placed weapons and supplies between the legs of the wounded soldier. Karl pointed to the machine guns.

" We're going to take that too. Ionescu and Findell, take them.

• But we don't have ammunition ...

• I know, but potential enemies don't know it, and better to look better armed than to pretend you're harmless. "

For Fred, it made sense.

" We'll take turns carrying Garcia. Corporal, take the first serve. I will be behind you. "

Fred smiled inwardly at the double meaning of the phrase. It seemed to him that the corporal had understood that too, groaning a little as they lifted Garcia off the ground and began their walk in the dust and heat. In front of them, the desert of rock gardens where the first dunes rose in the distance.

Ionescu looked behind them one last time.

« Say... are we going to leave them like that ?" "

Fred turned his head.

" We have no choice, soldier. We would waste too much time burying them. We don't have the water for that. I noted our position, the base guys will take care of them as it should. "

It broke Swift's heart, but the sergeant was right. He would have liked to honor his fallen comrades in a more respectful way, but the protection of the living came first.

-

After three hours of flight, Greg arrived at his destination. He had seen the artificial peaks of the airport without joy and had quickly rented a car, driving as fast as possible on the wide avenue that brought him home. He had been driving for an hour towards his hometown. Francis never ceased to be present in his thoughts. He remembered that eight years earlier, the latter had accompanied him on this same road when he left for France after being accepted at the Rugby school. He remembered their respective joys upon his return, after he was accepted into the club.

The now dry eyes were struggling to hide the sadness he still felt, rolling dispassionately this time around. He knew it, he would probably never find again this feeling of seeing the man he loved again. Despite their recent separation, Greg still felt love for the one who had been his first love.

But little by little, he and Francis had moved away from each other. Without realizing it, they spoke to each other less and less, and only traveled towards each other with less passion and desire each time.

Greg hadn't planned on coming back here, he was supposed to go back to London, but because he had cut short his stay with Francis, he had some free time. He had decided to stop by his place.

His home... It had been eight years since he didn't lived anymore in Ladder Street, but somewhere it was still home. It was probably a common thing for everyone, but he had never had the curiosity to ask anyone.

Greg parked the car on the sidewalk and knocked softly on the door. The house was as he remembered it. The garden just in less good condition. It was obvious that for his parents this was not a priority.

He didn't want to make too much noise, just in case. He hadn't bothered to call before to verify that someone was there. He knew that for the past few weeks, Ed had been on leave to take care of the little one.

The door opened and Ed expressed surprise, smiling.

" Greg !!! What are you doing here ?

• Hello dad... "

Ed immediately sensed that Greg was not in good shape, really not. This prompted him to embrace him tenderly more firmly to show all his affection.

" Come in my boy ! It's a real surprise to see you !

• Glad to see you too... Dad is there ?

• No, he hasn't come home yet. Everything is fine ?

• Not really, no. I have... Need... "

Greg didn't finish his sentence. He hugged his father against him again and started to cry in his arms. Ed tried to console his son. Greg finally calmed down a bit.

« Excuse me dad, but it had to come out.

• It's normal. What's going on ?

• This is... Over between me and Francis...

• Oh... I am sorry... "

Ed was going to ask the why and how when a faint cry was heard from the first floor.

" Oh oh, Sammy is awake. "

Greg's gaze lingered on the entry wall as Ed went upstairs. Photos of his fathers' wedding, those with Bradley... And now there was also a photo of Jimmy in addition. In full police uniform, saluting impeccably.

Greg was still staring at the black cloth in the upper corner of the photo when Ed came back, with the little Sammy in his arms, his head resting on his t-shirt.

He stroked the face of the baby tiger, still only 14 months old. He gave him a wide, tender smile, showing his affection for the baby.

" It's the whole portrait of his daddy...

• Yes. Jimmy would be so proud of him. "

Ed had always had a hard time talking about his friend's fate. Greg knew Mark would have more. The baby smiled under the caresses and nodded lightly in the palm of Greg's hand.

" If Jimmy could see it...

• I never understood Gina's motivations...

• Love is a powerful feeling that can sometimes lead us to do the worst things. She loved Jimmy as much as he loved her. But when she found out everything her husband was doing in secret with us or others... She couldn't stand it and she broke down.

• To kill Jimmy... Ultimately, I understand the concept of crime of passion. But her daughter... "

The bear looked on with a smile at the little child who was nestling in the crook of his arms, catching the bear's index finger with his little fingers.

" I think it's because she saw Jimmy in her too. It did not work in her favor.

• When her execution is scheduled ?

• Eight months from now I think, but your father is doing everything to make sure that doesn't happen. That's why he left today, he has an appointment with the Governor.

• I find it difficult to understand his motives.

• Sometimes me too. But I accept his point of view. After all, his death would be pointless, since it wouldn't bring Jimmy or Dottie back.

• Losing someone you love like that...

• Loss is inevitable, one way or another. Carpe Diem. Take advantage of the present moment because it doesn't last, and once it's gone it never comes back.

• Leaving only memories, more or less good, and regrets, more or less intense.

• Joys too.

• Maybe.

• When you have digested your separation, you will understand.

• I hope so, dad...

• There is a reason ?

• Not even. It was... Just far from each other. Nobody deceived anyone, well not in the terms that we had defined...

• Defined ?

• We are men, dad... We have some... Needs...

• I understand...

• We walked away, that's all. End of the story.

• I am sorry.

• It's okay, dad... I imagine Mark would tell me that this is part of the experiences you end up having one day or another.

• It is true.

• What I don't understand is why a separation hurts so much if it's supposed to put an end to something that no longer exists. »

The bear thought, setting the baby in the middle of his playpen which now cluttered the living room. Greg noticed another difference. The place had always smelled of cigar. This was no longer the case.

" Great question... I think it's a story of lack, of withdrawal if you prefer. You know Greg, when two beings who loved each other end up separating, there is always a trace of this bond in the brain of the other, and getting rid of it is not that easy. Love is just chemistry, Greg.

• It's not very romantic.

• I know, and even I prefer not to think about it too much... But it's the truth. It takes time to recover and be ready for a new relationship. It ranges from a few weeks to a lifetime.

• Too bad we can't know in advance.

• I know you, Greg. You're solid, not the type to mope. You will recover quickly and you will find someone.

• Thank you dad... "

Greg didn't know if what Ed was saying was sincere or if he was trying to comfort or reassure him. But it felt good to hear that. He hugged the bear again, while little Sammy bubbled with his saliva, waving his rattle.

A familiar sound then sounds. The one from Mark's old pickup engine. The rott grumbled a little as he opened the door to the house, smiling when he saw Greg.

« Hey, son, what are you doing here ?"

The two rotts embraced tenderly. It had been months since they last saw each other and yet it had been for a day.

« I popped in here, dad, before I left for London.

• Weren't you supposed to see Francis ? "

Greg didn't answer. Mark understood as he looked at his son's face, gently nodding his head.

" I'm sorry, son. "

It gave Greg a slight smile. They understood each other so well.

" Dad used to tell me I'll get over it, but it hurts anyway.

• I know. It is the price to pay to be able to love.

• Do you really think it's worth it ?

• Oh yes. "

Mark was still hugging his son, looking at Ed who was making sure the baby didn't slip out of his playpen.

" It's worth all the heartbreaks of the world, you'll see. "

Ed returned his attention to Mark.

« Did the rendez-vous went well ?"

The father and son finally broke away.

" She hasn't changed. The power does not seem to go to his head, it is already that. But if she could have sent me to a stake, she would have.

• I expected no less from her.

• For the rest, she will think about it. She's right on one point. I pleaded her case, now it's in her hands. "

Mark walked over to the park, arms wide open.

« What about that little demon ? Did he eat well ?

• He ate well, he slept well, he emptied himself well too, that little pig. "

Mark took the child in his arms, exchanging a big smile with him. Little Sammy wriggled, taking Mark's cheeks with both hands, pulling on them.

" See Greg, that's what I hate the most about kids. Diapers. And yet with you, I had training ...

• Hey, sorry dad, but it's not the kind of thing you can master. "

Mark could only agree.

« Do you want to stay here tonight ?

• I do not say no... I don't have anything planned until next week.

• You can stay as long as it takes.

• It's nice but I think I'll be leaving tomorrow. If I stay too long here, I don't think I ever want to leave. "

Greg did his best not to look too sad that night, so as not to upset his fathers. Luckily, Sammy was there to lighten the mood. Even Greg had a hard time resisting the childish face of the one who by force of circumstances had almost become his little brother. Greg enjoyed the fact that the baby hugged him as much as he did.

Ed took care of the dishes after the meal was over, while Mark went upstairs to get Sam ready for the night. In order to continue the conversation started, Greg had followed him. He entered what was his bedroom. Greg noted the changes to the room. A new color on the walls, a changed window and instead of his bed, a cradle. Many toys were strewn on the floor. A changing table was located nearby. Mark put the little tiger on it and began to undress it. Greg didn't dare come in and stood at the door.

" He's not going to eat you, you know...

• I can imagine but... It's no longer my home... "

Mark smiles.

« Stop talking nonsense and come over. This house will always be yours too, you know that. No longer living here does not mean that you can no longer come when you want to. "

Defeated by the argument, Greg walked in as Mark removed the little tiger's dirty diaper before tossing it in the trash, a noticeable grimace on his face. Greg also tried to stay somewhat away from the source of the bad smell.

" Dad, I would like to know...

• Yes ?

• Why... To have acted thus... For Gina I mean... "

Mark sighed, thinking back to the events of the day.

" I didn't do it for her, you know. If this little guy hadn't been there, I would have moved heaven and earth to be the one who would have had the pleasure of pushing the button that would have killed her. "

Lotion and washcloth in hand, Mark began to clean the boy.

" Really ?

• She killed my best friend. And her daughter. And she tried to kill him too. If Jimmy's gun hadn't been empty... These are three reasons sufficient in my eyes to make her pay for his actions at their fair value.

• Why have you done everything to save her life now ? "

Mark smirked a little, thinking of something as he looked at Greg.

« Come closer then... "

Greg obeyed, and Mark handed him the bottle of lotion and the towels.

" But...

• Show me what you can do...

• But I never have...

• It's not a reason.

• Dad, I... never did that and then... I don't intend to have children you know...

• Do you think I would had a child and intend to have one the day before the judge makes you my son ?

• No...

• Sometimes life holds surprises. Sometimes unforeseen events do happen, and you have to be at least prepared. And even if you don't have kids, Greg, one day you might have to take care of a friend's baby. Like I did with my nephew. Do you think you will let a baby marinate in his dirty diaper until his parents come back ?

• It is true.

• You pissed on me enough when you were a baby to let me know how much a kid can't control himself, yeah. »

Greg, a little awkward, began to wash Sam, trying to be both firm and gentle.

" Don't be afraid to hold his legs firmly apart. He is not made of glass. And as long as he doesn't cry, you don't hurt him. He'll moan a bit, yes, but hey, they like to express their disagreements. I imagine they rehearse for when they are teenagers... "

Greg applied as best he could, Mark making sure the boy was dried off well before Greg put on a new diaper. Greg then put on new tiger some pajamas. Mark paternally stroked the baby's cheek.

"It was for him that I tried to save his mother's life, Greg. For him only. When I heard that his grandmother had died of heart failure, I knew he was going to be placed with a family. I felt responsible enough for Jimmy's death to know that raising his child would be the only way I could make amends. I would have sieged the social services offices for months if Jimmy hadn't specified in his will that we were meant to custody. "

Mark hugged Sam back, looking him straight in the eye.

" There's one thing I absolutely didn't want to do, Greg. It was to tell him one day that his mother had died in the electric chair. He will have enough to do with knowing that she tried to kill him. But tell him that his mother was executed... That's what I told the governor, Greg. This is the only reason I did all of this. It was Sam's life that I saved today. "

Mark hugged the little guy before putting him to bed in his crib where he quickly fell asleep. The two men went down to the living room for a nightcap. Ed had turned on the TV on a news channel like he did before going to bed.

" You're in luck... "

Ed turned up the volume slightly. A presenter gave the latest news in a tone that was as unconcerned and concerned as possible, a sign of her fatigue in doing a popular but ungrateful profession.

"... The political world is in suspense after Governor Irene Winther signed a pardon tonight to Gina Stewart, sentenced last month to the death penalty for the double murder of her husband and daughter. A staunch supporter of the death penalty, the governor had so far refused pardon to the last three convicts who have since been executed. Asked about the reasons for this gesture, the governor of Colorado said that a death sentence was only really effective if it did not cause other victims during its application without adding further comment. "

The three men stared at the screen, a portrait of the governor inlaid, revealing all her haughtiness and natural resolve.

Mark couldn't help but smile.

" She therefore saw her sentence commuted to life imprisonment without parole. In sports, the Denver Broncos have... "

Mark cut the screen at that moment, happy, relieved but also a little embittered to be in debt to her now.

Ed smirked at his husband, taking his hand. Mark hugged him. He had fulfilled his duty.

« So, are we going to bed ? "

Ed remained prosaic, pushing his husband and son up the stairs.

« Hey, where am I going to sleep ?"

Greg was asking a common sense question.

" The sofa is downstairs !

• Because you think we'll let you sleep on it ?

• But where ? There is no more bed in my room. Finally, my old one... "

Ed ignored Greg's complaint. Mark was the first to enter and Greg understood when he saw his father's bed.

« You want ..."

And why not ? The large bed could accommodate the bodies of three adults. His parents had always liked the comfort of a large mattress. It was ideal for a couple with different sleep schedules. Ed had been working normal hours ever since, but they still used to have a wide mattress.

" It won't be the first time, Greg.

• What do you mean ?

• You forgot ? When you were 4 or 5 and you had a big grief, you always came to take your nap on me or next to me. There was only that that could really calm you down.

• I was a child, dad...

• And now you are a man, I know that, but above all you are my son. "

Mark undressed quickly and found himself naked. As is Ed. It wasn't the first time Greg had seen them this way, but he had never slept in their company. It is a little worried that he slipped, naked, under the sheets of his fathers.

Instinctively, he shifted to his side to face Mark who was doing the same. He felt Ed stand behind him. Mark and Ed placed their hands on his side. Greg was totally surrounded by the body heat of his fathers. He feared the contact of their skin a little, but quickly, he realized that he was not feeling any sexual stimulation. He felt... Good. He was in the hollow of a hairy nest. A bit like in a male uterus. Neither Mark nor Ed were excited either.

Greg let himself fall asleep and fell asleep. Mark turned off the light and the three embracing men had a good night's sleep.

Well, until Greg started snoring in the middle of the night, waking Sam as well, who started to cry.

---

The little caravan arrived at the end of its short journey. The muscles of the legs strained with fatigue, the soldiers swallowed the miles one after the other in a setting of sterile and dusty rock. They had spent the hottest hours in the hollows of rocks to find some shade there, appreciating with relief the arrival of the twilight which underlined the yellow and golden shades of the first dunes. They had listened to Swift's advice and only spoke to change places, each carrying the injured three hours before giving way to one of their companions. Garcia internally cursed his broken leg that seemed to make him a burden to his friends. The first night was freezing and everyone was happy to see the sun warm them again before cursing it once the heat became intolerable again. The soldiers in charge of the useless assault rifles were looking around to try to spot and avoid danger, but throughout the two days of march they did not meet a living soul.

Evening was beginning to fall when they arrived at the foot of the first giant dunes.

" Here we are ? "

Fred looked at the map, checked the compass one last time before confirming it.

"It's right behind the hill. Beyond that are the dunes.

• Finally ... I thought I had to drink my piss ... "

Fred smiles a little under his shirt.

" It would have been another experience, Lopez. But we are at the end of our troubles I think. "

Subsequently, Fred had the opportunity to think back to those last words which belonged to the genre to never say. The stretcher was put on the ground, Ionescu and Swift took the opportunity to massage their aching arms.

Fred looked at the hill. What they were looking for was behind, but since they weren't sure of anything, it was best to be careful. He looked at the corporal.

« Swift, take the binoculars and follow me, we'll go see what's going on on the other side."

The corporal took the binoculars held between the injured man's legs, giving him a small nod to encourage him.

The hill was made of rock, an hundred yards high with a gentle slope but extending for a three hundred yards, the group being in the middle.

Swift followed the sergeant without arguing. He liked the fact that Fred was being careful. He had much less experience than him, of course, but he showed real leadership skills.

During the whole trip, they had only exchanged a few dozen words but that had been enough for the corporal to recognize in Fred some real qualities of a soldier. Not to the point of turning him into a lord of war, no. But in the face of adversity, he was up to it. Until then anyway.

When they got near the top, Swift lay down and started to crawl. Fred looked at him and without saying a word imitated him. The setting sun was behind them and they could see the small plain without being able to be spotted.

At first, Fred was happy. The aid station was there, five hundred yards behind the hill, the three stone barracks at the crossroads of two tracks, with two additional hangars. The places were busy because people moved from one house to another. There was no external power supply, but there was probably a generator because light appeared in one of the houses.

« Fuck..."

Swift was looking around through binoculars. Fred realized they were in trouble.

" A problem ? "

Swift held out the binoculars.

" The jeep near the house on the right. "

Fred watched and felt his testicles sink deep into his body.

The vehicle had a green two-headed eagle on its hood.

" Oh shit... «

Fred had recognized the emblem of the Sons of the Prophet, one of the many small groups that had bloodied the country for years.

It was also probably them who had destroyed the Chinook two days before.

" Damn, this desert is millions of square miles and we fall right on it. "

Swift whispered all his resentment. Fred was too scared to speak.

« What do we do, corporal ?

• You're the boss, sergeant.

• I know, but you have more experience, so what do you think is best ? "

Swift, still lying down, thinks a bit.

" Let's wait to find out more. "

Fred found no arguments to disprove the corporal. He was more senior, yes, but Swift had a lot more experience. The two men remained stretched out for ten minutes to observe the place, taking turns observing through binoculars.

" There must be five people. Maybe six, no more. It's playable.

• How are we going to do ?

• Haven't taken a strategy course ?

• Not really. On this point I will leave you to be the sole judge, corporal, you have more experience than me.

• Do you have confidence in the abilities of your guys ?

• They are mechanics. Like me... "

Swift grimaced. The unit in which he had been placed was responsible for the maintenance of the equipment. Although the men had a minimum of military training, they were far from being first-rate combatants.

" If only Garcia was valid... "

Swift resumed to his observation.

" No radio, it seems. I don't see an antenna anyway.

• Looks like it's just a small post.

• Ionescu and Findell may play just a small part, but in this case I would need you.

• I'm in.

• Are you sure ?

• I've fought before, you know.

• But this time, it's not one-on-one in the ring to defend your honor against an opponent who called you a queer... "

Fred sighed. He had never fought other than this way. But to survive, he was going to have to do it.

" I imagine you've never killed anyone...

• I never even shot anyone ...

• I can count on you ?

• I... I have to take them home. It is my duty.

• It's a yes then... Come on, I've seen enough. "

Returning after the men left behind, Fred quickly informed the other soldiers of the situation, who seemed dismayed. Swift crouched down, sketched a sketchy map on the sand with one finger, explaining his plan.

"Here is the situation. It is a small relief depot, it is used by the rebels as a second or even third category base for their supplies. There are only five men, six at worst. No radio, so we probably won't be able to call for help. This place is only a step for us. On the other hand, they have vehicles, I saw the traces which lead to this hangar. Speed and surprise will be our best assets. Findell, you're gonna stand here, with four grenades. At the agreed signal, you throw them there at regular intervals. It's to get the rebels out. Rest assured that there will be at least one stashed away in this house. Ionescu, that will be your role. You're going to stand here and once Findell's last grenade is thrown, you run over here and throw a grenade inside the house. Then you come back here. If it remained a stash guard, he will no longer be a concern. You will each have a Colt and ammunition to deal with any eventuality. And a knife too just in case. Lopez and Kaplan, you'll be here, with two colts each. Once the guards are out, you blaze them away. I will be here to cut their way back. No prisoner, is that understood ?

• Yes...

• I know you've never done that. To help you, you will think of Garcia, who will watch our back from his stretcher. And also to the 13 guys who didn't have our chance in the Chinook, this will give you a boost. Questions ? "

No one dared to open their mouth.

" We're going to eat and drink, and then Ionescu and Findell will go and get settled. Before the ridge line you will crawl around not to be seen. "

After the meal, the five men sat down. Swift had given everyone a role commensurate with their abilities, which didn't stop the group from being worried. But the memory of the 13 dead in the helicopter indeed helped them to forget a little the fear that was twisting their guts.

Fred was with Lopez. With Swift placed him in another location, they were in charge of shooting the rebels. Fred had never done this. Fortunately, it was dusk. He was unlikely to see the eyes of those he was going to have to kill. The only risk in the operation was to lose control and then shoot themselves. Fred was flabbergasted to see that the little camp was not guarded. Swift wasn't surprised. Why keep a secondary deposit, lost in the middle of the desert ? Especially since the rebels here were not professionals. Confidence in themselves and in the desert were what would lose them.

Swift was in place, he could give the signal to start the fight. He gave the agreed signal, an owl hoot. Ten seconds later, the first grenade exploded not far from the agreed spot. Four armed men came out of the lighted house. They had machine guns and began to fire. Swift had stressed the importance for them to stay tackled to the ground to avoid fire because a soldier armed in this way had a natural tendency to shoot horizontally. The night prevented the rebels from properly locating their opponents, especially since they came from a very well-lit room and their eyes were not yet used to the semi-darkness.

Fred bowed his head at the first shots, but he lifted it quickly. He saw the screaming figures and aimed at them. Lopez did the same and they fired at the same time. They emptied their magazines without aiming and when they stopped firing, the four men were on the ground. No one was screaming or moaning anymore.

Two more grenades exploded but no further movement was made. As agreed, Ionescu threw a grenade into the lighted house. The explosion destroyed the bulb, and certainly killed anyone who was in the single room.

Calm returned. Lopez and Fred had reloaded their guns but no one was moving. Both soldiers felt their breathing slow down and their hearts returned to normal. Fred was still feeling the adrenaline rush but he could feel his body getting used to it and regaining some self-confidence. Swift broke the silence.

" Everyone is fine ?

• I do.

• As well.

• The same.

• As well.

• I arrive then, do not shoot me, ok ? "

Swift left his spot and went to the center of the depot. The four men started to join him but none of them saw the rebel appear from a nearby hangar, and who threw himself screaming on the backs of Lopez and Fred.

---

The little house on Nail Street knew its usual mid-afternoon weekend activity. Standing in front of the sink, Daisy was slicing the vegetables into slices, a move quicker and more nervous than usual in her simple beige dress. She automatically looked outside and the street from time to time to distract herself from her task. She couldn't shake the slight anguish that gripped her stomach. Of course, this had happened before. She understood that in the army, a soldier, even a non-commissioned officer, did not do what he wanted and to expect a regular and punctual call from Fred was unreasonable. It had happened to his son not to give news for a week in a row, stuck by his schedule and orders from his superiors. It had been an agonizing week for her mother and his welcomed call. It had also helped her come to terms with the idea of sometimes only hearing irregularly. She didn't liked it, but she had to accept it.

This did not prevent the knife from striking down with more force and less precision than usual. Further into the fully open garage, leaning over the open hood of the red Thunderbird he had been proud of for a few years, John was concentrating on a recalcitrant spark plug, trying to forcefully pry the key out of the way to avoid breaking it. He knew what state of mind his wife was in. He had hardly got used to finding his son's room now empty. He knew that Fred would probably never come back here, or only for short stays. It pressed him, and made him proud all the same. He was almost amused by the anguish of his wife, knowing that she would always be a protector for Fred. Even when he would be 60, he would still be her baby boy. On the other hand, he never said that to him too, his absences and his lateness caused him points of concern. But Hell, Fred hadn't been under his authority for a while. He would still love him, but for him he was now free and independent.

In the street, a black car slowed down and stopped along the other sidewalk. The unusual fact for the time of day caught the attention of Daisy who felt her heart stop when she saw the large white star on the side. From the vehicle, two uniformed officers exited. Daisy put down her knife, feeling a few tears come to her eyes.

There was still a chance they wouldn't come here after all. There were no other families of soldiers in the immediate vicinity, but who knows ? Marching together, the officers set out for his house.

Daisy put both hands on the edge of the sink and gasped a little, her eyes completely misted now, her mouth half open, breathing hard at the top of her lungs, trying not to moan.

Standing in the middle of the street, the tigress in her blue uniform stared out into the open garage, feeling profound unease. A man was working in the open hood of his car. Obviously, he hadn't expected their arrival and hadn't noticed her. She turned to the young moose following her a little behind, a bar less than her on her shoulders.

" This is the most difficult, you see. Notify parents. It takes a good dose of empathy to help them at this time. "

The young elk showed its agreement.

« Do you want me to do it ?

• No, as a superior, it is my duty. You will do it soon enough. "

The young lieutenant was a little relieved, the two officers arriving at the threshold of the garage. That's when John saw them.

The bulldog will instinctively hold stronger the key he still had in his hand. The spark plug was still not released from its slot and he felt his strength start to flee him. Her voice was lower and strained. He knew what was going on but his mind refused to understand it.

" Yes ? "

At that moment, John saw his wife come slowly to him. She had a scarred face, wet eyes but keeping a proud and haughty body, a way for her to protect herself and anticipate the shock. The captain and her lieutenant greeted them as they should.

« Mr. and Mrs. Kaplan ?"

• Yes... "

The distorted voice was that of Daisy, who now stood next to John, her hand clasped around his.

« I am Captain Jammer. I... "

The officer handed a letter to the parents.

" It is my painful duty to inform you that your son, Sergeant Frederick Kaplan, was killed in action two days ago. "

The captain continued her speech for the occasion but none of her interlocutors could hear her anymore.

--

Naked in front of the bathroom mirror, Greg stared in front of him, the toothbrush agitated frantically in his mouth, still admiring the large ring that had graced his septum for years now. An addition that made him more attractive according to him, and a very good choice that he had never regretted. He was also having fun playing with those who pierced his nipples now. He had waited a summer to make this addition and he had also learned to protect them because in rugby scrums, it sometimes happened that the opponent used very unlawful tricks to weaken the first line of which he was part when it was impossible to the referee to see anything.

Once his ablutions were done, the rott went back to his parents' room to put on his clothes before going down to the kitchen where Ed gave him a nasty look, the fruit of his night snoring. It seemed to Greg that little Sam was doing the same. But who knows, with the babies.

Greg took his cell phone and checked his mail. The usual advertising, quickly dumped, of player agent offers he ignored just as well. As a good player that he was, Greg was asked from all sides but he had chosen to be his own agent and thus save on his expenses.

An email caught his attention. It came from the army. Why was he received such mail ?

He opened it and quickly he received a violent blow to the heart, hard enough to force him to put his butt on the table, whispering a

« No ..."

quickly filled with pain. He checked, but no, it wasn't a fake mail. His eyes followed the lines with increasing difficulty, barely noting the name of the senior officer signing it.

" Mr. Miller. You are receiving this message because a member of our armed forces has indicated your address to us as the destination of an important message concerning his person.

As a General of the United States Armed Forces, it is my painful duty to inform you that Sergeant Frederick Kaplan was reported dead in action three days ago.

The loss of a loved one makes any other consideration futile compared to the suffered loss. You just have to know that the entire United States of America Army Corps joins in your grief. "

Maybe there had to be other words but for the moment Greg gasped his pain and let his tears fall, whispering a

« Fred... No not you... »

He finished pronouncing embraced by Ed who understood that his son had just received sad news.

Mark came back from the mailbox empty handed from the mail they hadn't received. He found Greg crying in his father's arms. He too understood that misfortune had struck him. In his park, little Sam was held up, hanging on to the bars, worried to see the grown-ups being so sad.

Mark looked at Ed, who answered without questioning.

« Fred... you know, his mate from high school..."

Greg didn't need to spell out his father's words. And anyway, he was crying bitterly as Mark remembered the boy.

" Shit.... "

He had many memories of him. The deserved shouting he had given him, seeing him run away in the early morning half-naked a few days later from home. Then finding him by surprise in Matt's bar where he was not allowed to go due to his age, which did not prevent him from going anyway and letting Matt help him with his teen urges. Mark had understood that when he saw the teen watching the bartender like a child do to a big candy.

Mark felt sorry for the young man, and sad too. He hadn't had time to appreciate him, the boy showing that Greg's outing had only been a deplorable mistake.

Greg slowly regained control of himself, sitting in a chair, his head in his hands. Mark noted the powerful effect of his death on his son. They must have been very close. At least as much as with Francis.

Greg then picked up his cell phone, looking at the email again to convince himself of the matter. He then noted another email. Francis' address. The email came down to a short message.

" You can come back ? I need to talk to you. "

Greg tried to call him but he only got voicemail. He then remembered that Francis used to leave his phone off sometimes. He didn't bothered to leave a message.

" I have to go...

• Where ?

• To Francis. He must have received this email too. He must need me. "

His parents looked at each other and Mark intervened.

« Greg, you're out of the question driving in your state. Give us your keys, we'll bring the car back for you. "

Ed took his cell phone.

« I'll see if Cathy can babysit Sam for a while."

Greg gave his keys to the bear while Mark took his. Once the baby was left with its babysitter, the three men headed for the airport. Greg, still his eyes clouded with tears, took a ticket to return to San Francisco as soon as possible before sending a quick email or he informed Francis of his return without adding anything else.

Once on the plane, Greg could start to think again.

Fred... Greg remembered the conversation he had had with him about this.

" I know it's dangerous. But I will have a technical specialty, so there is little risk for me to go to the front... "

Greg bit his lip.

" Fred... You stupid... »

With his hands in his pockets, Greg walked slowly letting the other passengers walk quickly and pass him without problems, some glaring at him to stand in the middle of the aisle. Greg didn't care, quickly reaching the arrival hall, his eyes dull and his clothes crumpled. He looked at his phone, nothing new. He had just sent Francis his arrival time and if he wasn't there, well he would go home. Greg couldn't imagine coming back to his friend's house so soon.

Because yes. Greg was sure of it. They would remain friends. Despite their fresh break.

His attention was caught among the crowd by a familiar shape. Francis was there. Greg smirked a bit again, hugging his ex tenderly.

" Francis... I'm so glad to see you. "

His attention was then captured by another familiar form. A person he hadn't seen in years.

Right next to Francis, the black bear stood erect, his face crossed by the diagonal scar that had permanently closed his left eye years ago. Greg had been made aware but his schedule had not allowed him to go see Dave on his hospital bed. In any case, they had talked for a long time by telephone or the Internet. It wasn't the same, but at least they had kept abreast of new developments.

And then the contacts were spaced out as often happened, before ceasing.

Dave was there now, still so tall and strong. He had lost his eye in an assault. He had recovered, unlike his attacker who would never hurt or threaten anyone for ever. Being a police officer had a few small advantages.

Greg released the embrace, his face still sad despite the reunion.

« Why did you ask me to come to the airport, Greg ?"

Greg looked at Francis. It was such a preposterous question.

« Did you forget something about my house ? You had to tell me, I would have mailed it back to you. "

Greg found it hard to understand.

« But it's because ..."

Greg hesitated. Was it possible ?

« Francis, don't you know ?

• About what ? "

It was possible. And that made Greg's position more difficult.

" Francis, Fred is dead. Haven't you received anything ? "

The donkey opened his eyes wide, startled by the news.

« But ... No ... It is not possible ..."

He picked up his phone, stammering.

« I have so many e-mail accounts... I put aside professional stuff and advertising on weekends..."

Francis' face was startled, finally reading the news on his phone, tears starting to roll down his cheeks.

« Fred, no..."

Dave stood behind Francis, his large hands on the donkey's shoulders, saddened. He understood the pain of his friends, himself not having really known this boy.

Greg watched his friend Francis read the fatal message over and over again, understanding his feelings.

His attention then shifted to Dave, who was behind Francis, his hands gently resting on his shoulders. The gesture was all the more visible as the bear easily returned a head to the donkey. He could have easily rested his chin on his head.

The more Greg looked at the duo, the more he felt his breathing quicken. They were so close. And so confident in each other. And then it was such a coincidence that Francis and Dave were here at the same time ...

His breathing quickened again, feeling a form of anger rising in him.

Such a miraculous coincidence. And if...

Greg pushed the thought away. But Dave was now placing his hands at Francis's elbows to comfort him. Greg's uneasiness grew stronger. Weakened by the death of Fred, his mind gave free rein to his bad thoughts, his bad ideas.

But no, it was simply not possible. They had just broken up. They were still together the day before. They could not.

Greg's gaze was now on Francis's hand, which was gently rubbing the bear's fingers in return.

No. Greg closed his eyes, trying to put things back in order in his mind.

" Dave... It's great to see you again. But what are you doing here in San Francisco ? I thought you were still in Seattle... "

Dave looked at Greg. He noticed that the latter was not smiling. His tone was inquisitive for such a mundane question. Reflexively, he had hugged Francis from behind, showing his deep affection for him and Greg was about to realize it.

Francis looked in turn at his ex from the day before. He also saw that he was about to understand. This reinforced his guilt, regaining self-awareness and feeling his genuine grief gave way to remorse.

They both understood that Greg was about to find out. The latter hoped for a mistake, a bad interpretation. But he believed it less and less, and his anger grew more and more, managing to still keep control of his voice.

" Since when ? "

Francis bit his lip. He wasn't going to like the answer. He was not going to like anything but for him, lying or hiding was no longer relevant. He felt Dave's hands tighten on the muscles in his arms. He too was up against the wall.

Francis finally speaks.

" About a year and a half. "

Greg had expected the worst. It was even worse. A stab in the heart would have been better to take. Even if at that moment he had the feeling to receive one for good. He put his head in his hands, breathing heavily.

« One year ... Damn ..."

Greg hadn't noticed anything. Nothing in Francis's behavior, in his words, in his attitudes. Of course, they only saw each other a short time over the years. But nothing in their regular conversations would have made Greg think that the man he loved at the time was putting it deep behind his back.

" A year...

• I... didn't know how to tell you. I saw Dave again at the exit of a theatre. A pure coincidence. I hadn't planned anything, I swear it Greg ! "

Greg felt a pure anger rising in him. He had been honest, frank, regular. He had put all his trust in a man who had just trampled on him. The last person he had thought of. He chuckled a little. So it was true. Only those who are close are able to truly betray you. He barely paid attention to Dave's words.

" We're sorry, Greg. It was not planned. I came here only to visit a friend who has retired, that was it. We crossed paths, we recognized each other and that's it. It happened. We didn't knew how to tell you. We knew you would take it badly, we didn't want to inflict that on you. We wanted...

• To fuck me like I've never been in my whole life ? "

All of Greg's resentment leaked into his words. They were hurting the young couple. But they were sincere.

« I've had some fucking shits in my life, but this one, I thought I would never get it ! I didn't think I would get put this way by those I thought were reliable ! "

Greg's words were right and echoed unpleasantly in Francis and Dave's ears.

Greg was looking at traitor number one

« Fred is dead and you, you..."

Dave approached, just to try to calm Greg but the latter strongly pushed the hand that tried to comfort him.

« Stay away from me, asshole ! "

Dave didn't insist. Greg paced back and forth in the hall, quickly and suddenly spinning, completely consumed by the anger he was trying to shake off, but failed. He ends up approaching Francis one last time, glaring at him. Without adding anything else, he cocked his arm, pulled it back and before anyone could do anything, he slammed Francis hard on the cheek, knocking him to the ground. He thought to himself that the donkey was still falling when he started to walk away towards the exit.

« Take this one, faggot ! "

Dave preferred to help Francis get up. In the crowd, looks were amused, moved, scandalized. But no one dared approach an angry Greg who was heading for the taxis.

Sitting behind his wheel, the gray otter understood from the violent closing of the rear door that his passenger had just experienced a violent emotional storm. Having worked for years, he had learned to easily recognize this kind of twist. His client was impressive to see, his very broad build displayed great physical strength and his tears swirled with anger pre-teen maturity. The worst combination ever.

" Where are we going ? "

Greg looked out the window. Had he hoped that Francis would come and try to make up for it ?

Greg forced himself to push the idea away, rummaging through his wallet and brutally throwing large bills into the driver's hand.

" I do not care. Until where it will allow me to go. "

The driver counted the money. There was plenty to go far. In his mind, he selected a suitable spot to keep the angry rott away from any dangerous place, both for himself and for others.

The rott's phone then rang. He saw him wince on the screen and threw it out the window as the car started to roll.