If Kruger could see me now, crouching in the middle of vegetable bushes, he would think I’d finally completely lost my shit. When asked to determine the caliber of a weapon based on the sound alone, I can answer correctly nine times out of ten. But this? I don’t know shit about this. I keep sniffing at the crap, but everything just smells like wet dirt. “Fuck it.” I straighten and, fisting a bunch of plants in my grip, head back to my car.
