BooksBarbecue
Back The Preserve
Chapters (56)
  1. Front Cover
  2. Half-Title Page
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright Page
  5. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  6. 1.
  7. 2.
  8. 3.
  9. 4.
  10. 5.
  11. 6.
  12. 7.
  13. 8.
  14. 9.
  15. 10.
  16. 11.
  17. 12.
  18. 13.
  19. 14.
  20. 15.
  21. 16.
  22. 17.
  23. 18.
  24. 19.
  25. 20.
  26. 21.
  27. 22.
  28. 23.
  29. 24.
  30. 25.
  31. 26.
  32. 27.
  33. 28.
  34. 29.
  35. 30.
  36. 31.
  37. 32.
  38. 33.
  39. 34.
  40. 35.
  41. 36.
  42. 37.
  43. 38.
  44. 39.
  45. 40.
  46. 41.
  47. 42.
  48. 43.
  49. 44.
  50. 45.
  51. 46.
  52. 47.
  53. 48.
  54. EPILOGUE
  55. AFTERWORD
  56. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

He passed Kanani in camp the next morning. They didn’t stop long to talk. Her eyes were puffy again and she kept her head down. Their mannerisms reminded Lett of two inmates in a stockade yard passing a secret, and the shapeless twill fatigues he was wearing for training certainly fit the notion.

“I should warn you,” he began.

Kanani formed fists and her face screwed up.

“You already know,” he added. “Frankie.”

She nodded.

“He gave me a ride up in a jeep. Seems to have some pull. Have you seen him?”

“Once, briefly. Two days ago. He was coming up from underground. I haven’t seen him since.” Kanani was peering around as if just mentioning the big man’s name would make him pop up from some hatch in the earth. “Please, stay clear of him.”

“I’m trying.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell her about Miss Mae, not yet, not here.

“What does Selfer know about him?” he added.

“Not much more than us, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.” Lett took a look around, if only to make her feel safer. “You doing okay?”

“I am. I don’t know why, but I am.”

“Maybe it’s the calm after the storm,” he said, thinking of his own ordeal.

“That or the calm before.” She took another look around. “Let’s keep it moving. I’ll be in touch,” she whispered, and she headed off down a trail, marching along with her head still down.

***

On paper—if there was any—Lett seemed to be responding to his treatment with flying colors. He seemed the model recruit incapable of anything deceitful, and certainly of anything unsound. In training, his new weapons instructor Jock Quinn seemed to want to confirm Lett’s elevated status—as well as his own. They had likely given Jock the duty because they considered him close to cured. So Lett did his pal Jock a favor and played it straight, ever the good recruit. Jock was playing his own role to the hilt, with his flagpole posture and staccato snare drum delivery and ball bearings for eyes. He even had a crew cut now despite his balding head, like a bird’s nest pared down by a windstorm. At the same time, Lett never stood at attention because Jock had never called on him to. He certainly didn’t call Jock “sir.”