patting him on the back.
“I wouldn’t go that far, sir.”
“We’ll see.”
“I’ll get out of your way,” said Evans, grabbing his tablet and rifle.
“Good night, Staff Sergeant.”
“Night, sir.”
Alex walked into the great room, searching for a seat. Unsurprisingly, half of the group appeared to be asleep. Breathing deeply, Ed Walker lay on an air mattress pushed under the windows to the right. He was turned on one side; his bandaged hip off the mattress. Linda and Charlie sat side by side on the leather couch, with their bandaged legs resting on small pillows on the coffee table. The soft, flickering glow of candlelight from one of the end tables exposed Charlie’s gaping mouth, though his buzz-saw-like snoring left little doubt about his status. Linda hit her husband’s shoulder.
“What? What happened?” he said, jolted out of a shallow sleep.
“I just figured out why we got kicked out of the basement,” said Linda.
“What do you mean?” asked Charlie.
“You sound like a foghorn.”
“It’s not that bad,” he countered.
“It’s pretty bad, my friend,” Alex said. “I’m starting to wonder how we still have the Jeep.”
“He probably scared everyone away,” added Ed.
“I used those nose strips,” said Charlie.
“I hope you stocked up, for Linda’s sake,” said Kate.
She sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the bullet-peppered wall to the left. She was partially concealed in the shadow cast by the La-Z-Boy occupied by his father. In the dim light, the room almost looked normal, except for the numerous dark splotches in the drywall and the various rifles leaned against the furniture or walls. Alex unslung his rifle and hung it on the wood-burning stove, taking a seat in one of the folding chairs set up around the coffee table.
“Sam should be right up,” said Alex. “She was getting the kids settled.”
“What about Ryan? He’s been up in his perch long enough,” said Kate.
“I’ll have a talk with him. I don’t think Emily will fall asleep without him in the basement.”
“I’d sleep better knowing he was upstairs,” said Ed. “He saved our skins yesterday.”
“I wonder where he gets that from?” said Linda.
“Runs in the family,” said Kate. “Alex’s dad served two tours in Vietnam as a Marine lieutenant.”
“I didn’t know your dad was in ’Nam. You should have said something, Alex,” said Charlie.
“He’s pretty much read every book and watched every documentary on the Vietnam War—twice,” said Linda.
“More than that,” added Charlie.
“Dad clams up pretty quick when the subject is brought up, except around his Marine Corps buddies,” said Alex.
“That seems to run in the family too,” commented Kate.
“Charlie, we can talk history anytime. Did Alex tell you about this rifle?” said Tim Fletcher, lifting his rifle off the floor and setting it in front of the lounger.
“Now he’s mister talkative,” said Alex.
“That’s not from Vietnam, is it?” asked Charlie.
“Damn right it is. I used this as a military advisor. Tracked it down by serial number when they switched over to those plastic guns.”
“He got a congressman involved,” said Alex.
“He was a TBS classmate,” said Tim.
Charlie twisted on the couch, trying to get a better look at the rifle. He grimaced in pain when his foot shifted on the pillow and slid to the surface of the table.
“I got it,” said Alex, lifting the bandaged leg high enough to replace the pillow. “How are you feeling?”
“A deep, throbbing pain has replaced the holy shit agony I was feeling most of yesterday. The pain pills help.”
Alex examined Linda’s foot. The hospital had provided a large, easily removable splint, which enclosed the bandages covering her ankle.
“What about you, Mrs. Rambo?” asked Alex.
“I’m still at the holy fuck level most of the time,” she said.
“Me too,” said Ed.
“You guys taking your pain meds?”
“No,”
“I wouldn’t go that far, sir.”
“We’ll see.”
“I’ll get out of your way,” said Evans, grabbing his tablet and rifle.
“Good night, Staff Sergeant.”
“Night, sir.”
Alex walked into the great room, searching for a seat. Unsurprisingly, half of the group appeared to be asleep. Breathing deeply, Ed Walker lay on an air mattress pushed under the windows to the right. He was turned on one side; his bandaged hip off the mattress. Linda and Charlie sat side by side on the leather couch, with their bandaged legs resting on small pillows on the coffee table. The soft, flickering glow of candlelight from one of the end tables exposed Charlie’s gaping mouth, though his buzz-saw-like snoring left little doubt about his status. Linda hit her husband’s shoulder.
“What? What happened?” he said, jolted out of a shallow sleep.
“I just figured out why we got kicked out of the basement,” said Linda.
“What do you mean?” asked Charlie.
“You sound like a foghorn.”
“It’s not that bad,” he countered.
“It’s pretty bad, my friend,” Alex said. “I’m starting to wonder how we still have the Jeep.”
“He probably scared everyone away,” added Ed.
“I used those nose strips,” said Charlie.
“I hope you stocked up, for Linda’s sake,” said Kate.
She sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the bullet-peppered wall to the left. She was partially concealed in the shadow cast by the La-Z-Boy occupied by his father. In the dim light, the room almost looked normal, except for the numerous dark splotches in the drywall and the various rifles leaned against the furniture or walls. Alex unslung his rifle and hung it on the wood-burning stove, taking a seat in one of the folding chairs set up around the coffee table.
“Sam should be right up,” said Alex. “She was getting the kids settled.”
“What about Ryan? He’s been up in his perch long enough,” said Kate.
“I’ll have a talk with him. I don’t think Emily will fall asleep without him in the basement.”
“I’d sleep better knowing he was upstairs,” said Ed. “He saved our skins yesterday.”
“I wonder where he gets that from?” said Linda.
“Runs in the family,” said Kate. “Alex’s dad served two tours in Vietnam as a Marine lieutenant.”
“I didn’t know your dad was in ’Nam. You should have said something, Alex,” said Charlie.
“He’s pretty much read every book and watched every documentary on the Vietnam War—twice,” said Linda.
“More than that,” added Charlie.
“Dad clams up pretty quick when the subject is brought up, except around his Marine Corps buddies,” said Alex.
“That seems to run in the family too,” commented Kate.
“Charlie, we can talk history anytime. Did Alex tell you about this rifle?” said Tim Fletcher, lifting his rifle off the floor and setting it in front of the lounger.
“Now he’s mister talkative,” said Alex.
“That’s not from Vietnam, is it?” asked Charlie.
“Damn right it is. I used this as a military advisor. Tracked it down by serial number when they switched over to those plastic guns.”
“He got a congressman involved,” said Alex.
“He was a TBS classmate,” said Tim.
Charlie twisted on the couch, trying to get a better look at the rifle. He grimaced in pain when his foot shifted on the pillow and slid to the surface of the table.
“I got it,” said Alex, lifting the bandaged leg high enough to replace the pillow. “How are you feeling?”
“A deep, throbbing pain has replaced the holy shit agony I was feeling most of yesterday. The pain pills help.”
Alex examined Linda’s foot. The hospital had provided a large, easily removable splint, which enclosed the bandages covering her ankle.
“What about you, Mrs. Rambo?” asked Alex.
“I’m still at the holy fuck level most of the time,” she said.
“Me too,” said Ed.
“You guys taking your pain meds?”
“No,”
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