Rain hefted the jug. It was heavy enough that he had to help Delilah manage it, controlling its tilt so she wouldn’t have it all slosh into her mouth, as Jay had done to him.

“Oh, gawd, that’s awful,” Delilah said.

Rain offered the jug to others in arm’s reach. When nobody took it, he set it down on the ground by their feet. The fire’s light illuminated the contents.

Firewater, he thought. He’d thought it at the time, though it was closer to moonshine.

“Here,” Delilah said. She held out the blanket.

“I’m warm enough,” he said. Even in the dream, he felt the alcohol warming him from within, the heat of it, the buzz. Everything was fuzzy around the edges and his stomach felt ready to revolt if he moved, so he didn’t move.

“Here,” she said, again. She scooted closer, until her side pressed against his. “I’ll make you warmer.”

He didn’t resist as she arranged the blanket over their laps. He didn’t resist either as she slowly undid his zipper beneath the blanket. Everyone around the fire was talking, the fire had died down and nobody was stoking it or replacing the wood. Some people had started home.

She took him in her hand, easing him out past the zipper, and he made sure to fix the blanket so nothing was apparent.

“My brother,” she said. “He’s going out for the first time too.”

Rain nodded.

“Protect him?”

“If we’re even in the same place, sure,” he said, trying to sound normal. He glanced at Erin.

I’d been so worried about what she thought.

They sat like that for a bit, her hand moving. The fire snapped loudly, as a log broke, and they both jumped.

Nobody saw or cared. Delilah’s hand moved again beneath the blanket.

Rain let his head move, leaning it on her shoulder, nose and mouth in her hair. She smelled good.

“Talk to me,” Delilah said.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Tell me you’re a good soldier.”

“I’m a good soldier,” he said. His mind had been a blank.

“Some imagination, please. Tell me what you’ll do.”

“That’s what you like?” he asked, almost incredulous, but he couldn’t put much incredulity in his words without heads turning their way.

He felt her hair move as she nodded, and he definitely felt her finger move.

“I’ll make them beg for mercy,” he said.

“Work your way up to that,” she said. “And you’ll make them beg for God to save them.”

“I’ll make them bleed,” he whispered. She nodded fiercely. He added, “I’ll make them cry.”

“Weep,” she said. “Better word.”

“You’re so fucked up,” he said.

“Keep going. If you stop, I stop.”

“We’ll make them think they’re already in Hell, with the fear and the pain,” he whispered.