Dead Lands Pass the Ammunition
“Big D came back less than a week later.
Part of him, anyway.
Rex and Lennie were manning the south towers that day. I was in the bunkhouse cleaning my gun after doing time in the gardens. Time was, I could close my eyes and tell you about every scratch and ding in the barrel, every swirl and dark line in the stock, and even the way the trigger looked, all smoothed and worn down with grease from my hands. I kept one small bottle of Remington oil and an old rag in my bag. The rag used to be a clo...th diaper, I think. When I wasn’t on duty, I’d often run that rag over the shotgun’s barrel and over the stock, chasing away invisible dirt.
I heard their shouts and nearly dropped the gun.
They were muted, but the name—Big D—hit my brain as clear and clean as a church bell at ten paces.
“Big D’s back.”
I said the words without processing much, but my stomach dropped through my feet like a bag of ice hitting the floor before I made the door.
Others—half the camp at least, nearly thirty of us—stumbled toward the gate like a whole mess of flesh bags drawn by the scent of fresh meat.MoreLess
Part of him, anyway.
Rex and Lennie were manning the south towers that day. I was in the bunkhouse cleaning my gun after doing time in the gardens. Time was, I could close my eyes and tell you about every scratch and ding in the barrel, every swirl and dark line in the stock, and even the way the trigger looked, all smoothed and worn down with grease from my hands. I kept one small bottle of Remington oil and an old rag in my bag. The rag used to be a clo...th diaper, I think. When I wasn’t on duty, I’d often run that rag over the shotgun’s barrel and over the stock, chasing away invisible dirt.
I heard their shouts and nearly dropped the gun.
They were muted, but the name—Big D—hit my brain as clear and clean as a church bell at ten paces.
“Big D’s back.”
I said the words without processing much, but my stomach dropped through my feet like a bag of ice hitting the floor before I made the door.
Others—half the camp at least, nearly thirty of us—stumbled toward the gate like a whole mess of flesh bags drawn by the scent of fresh meat.MoreLess
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