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

“Roger,” Jock said. “You know where to find me. But don’t make it obvious-like.”

“Like you coming here was?”

Now Jock glared at the ground, his boots digging into it. “I had no one else to try. I know he trusted you.”

“You got a plan for it?” she blurted.

“I might. But I don’t have much time. You?”

“Maybe. But what if we made our plans one and the same?”

“That could work. And then? It’s gung-ho time,” Jock said, and he stomped off glaring over his shoulders.

***

On the way back, Kanani felt like some small jungle animal about to be swooped up by a giant bird. Exposed, no armor, claws too small to pierce. Or maybe a snake could snatch her and eat her whole at any moment.

They had Wendell somewhere. What had he done now? What would they do to him?

She had lied to Jock—she didn’t have a plan. Not yet. But she knew how she would do it. It was how the smaller animals did it. Like her faddah had told her. Scrawny boxers. Artful boogie house bouncers. Even Frankie probably.

You had to react first and keep bobbing and weaving on your toes giving no one time to think let alone recover. You didn’t use your own fists. You only needed to make it work.

34.

There is no cure, Lett reminded himself, again and again. There never was a cure.

They had locked him back in the same cell underground where he’d been reunited with the commando—where the commando spent the last days of his life.

That man was dead now.

I’m dead soon.

Lett accepted this. They had pulled his hood off when they returned him to his cell, obviously not caring anymore what he saw or didn’t see. Because he was a goner. The one caged light bulb wanted to blind him, so he stayed to the farthest corner of the cell, sitting, letting his spine firm up against the hard wall. They’d given him a tattered and filthy T-shirt, Army-green boxer shorts. Then they threw him a raspy, soiled wool blanket so grimy it was greasy, and he drew that over his head to shield the light. He slept on his side, knees to his chest.

He looked forward to seeing his friends again. Tom Godfrey, and Holger Frings, his foxhole buddies. He expected them to visit him now, in here. But they never came, even when he begged out loud for them to come. This made him feel colder and more horrified than that image stamped on his eyeballs of the commando descending naked into that dark cavern forever.