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Dusk descends, and the sky is breathtaking in its intensity: gold and pink, orange so deep it could be pure flame. A disorienting paradox; hell should be ugly and bleak and without hue.
These are his men. His brothers; his family. They have followed him relentlessly, with such unwavering belief it astounds—and sometimes shames—him.
And for a moment he can only think it is better to let his blood stain the hard desert ground here, now, than to exist in the shadow of their obliteration. Better to give up than to go on. But the purpose born within him will not allow such an easy end. Get the fuck up and live. You have people to kill.
No, her consideration was born solely of one unarguable truth: because it was the right thing to do. Doing the right thing hadn’t mattered in the first half of her life; surviving had superseded any morality that might have shaped her. But she no longer had that excuse. Her life had been changed by one man’s act, and the sole price for receiving that boon was to one day pay it forward.
still, the sand continued to cling. The air—like raw earth—remained in his nostrils. The shriek of the wind—lunacy given sound—was a song that haunted him. The pain was ripe, fresh and new; this, he accepted. Enjoyed. Because it meant he yet lived, that the promise of retribution had not been stolen. But the sand, the air, that wail of madness…those were not things he’d expected to live on, to trail behind him like a deep, dark wake. To hunt him. Mock him.
Jake would not approve of his defection. He would expect Will to stay, to fight. He’d believed in structure, in hierarchy and the careful tiers upon which the military was built. But there’d been little choice. They wanted Will shelved. They knew how fucked up he was, and they didn’t want him anymore. Worse, they understood that, for him, it wasn’t over. That he had plans, and they didn’t include falling back in line like a good little soldier. Someone with bars on their chest had sent them into slaughter.
Of course she had doubts. She’d sprung from crazy, been raised by apathy, graduated with honors in the transference of rage, and was—generally speaking—jaded, skeptical, and hopelessly annoyed by her fellow man. But she was also smart, perceptive, compassionate and loyal. Her knowledge was valuable. Worth teaching. And deep down, only one question drove her: who would she be now if she’d never been saved? No one good or decent. Of that, she had no doubt.
