over again like some kind of pink suction device. Stone poured a steady stream of the brew out, and though
half of it bounced off the slapping tongue, Excaliber quickly finished the bottle off. He stood back and burped, then turned
unsteadily and headed back to where he had been and lay down again getting into nearly exactly the same position he had been
minutes before. One eye closed, the other half open, his tongue hanging slightly out of his mouth like a flap out of a shoe,
he looked all in all the picture of pitbull contentment.
Stone’s mind was boiling. The responsibility of saving the whole damned state was on his back now. And he didn’t like it.
April too. He hadn’t even thought about her for the last two days—he’d been too busy just surviving, just keeping the wolves
at the door. He was just a mortal man. A
nadi
— yes, the term the Ute Indians had given him after they saved him from violent death. He with the gift of death. Yes, Stone
had it, but he also had a heart and a gut. And they both felt like they were about to explode. From the moment he had left
his father’s mountain bunker, Stone had been fighting. And though so far he had won them all, the battles had gotten bigger
each time, the stakes higher. It was as if he were rising in some kind of hierarchy of war. Some unknown battle plan taking
him somewhere he couldn’t even begin to imagine.
“April, April,” Stone sent out from his trembling mind into the star-riddled sky above, flashing with meteors, slivers of
light that slashed across the black and blue skies like swords leaving long, ethereal trails in their wake. “I’ve got to do
one thing first. But I swear I’ll get you. Hang on, baby. Hang on.” He did something he hadn’t done for years, and he felt
like a fool as he did it. But pulling a blanket up over his chest as he lay, head back against his rolled-up jacket, Stone
put his hands together in prayer, closed his eyes, and asked whoever ran this sick show to give his sister a break. To let
her live. And if she had to die—if it was her time—to not let her get raped or mutilated. But just take her—fast. With a bullet
or a bomb.
When he awoke with a start the next morning, Stone heard something growling at his feet and discovered his hands still clenched
tightly against each other, his teeth sore from having ground against each other throughout the chilly night. His eyes opened,
and he saw the pitbull about three feet directly in front of his face. It was staring straight down at something right in
front of Stone. He looked sleepily down, raising one hand to rub his swollen eye and froze in the air. A rattler! A big son
of a bitch too. This one looked to be six feet long. It was coiled back not two feet from Stone’s shoulder, coiled like a
spring, its head balanced up on its swaying body, tongue snapping in and out. It stared at both of them, unsure of which was
the more dangerous, and flicked its eyes back and forth, trying to keep both of them at an equal distance.
Stone was in no position to move fast, his entire weight on his side where he had been sleeping. But the serpent seemed more
concerned about the growls coming from the pitbull and the incisors that glistened in the rays of the morning sun. The snake
had probably been slithering by after night hunting, and Excaliber had seen it. It would have been better just to let it go
by. But then, growing pitbulls had to have their fun. Stone stayed absolutely still, as if he were a statue. Excaliber’s head
suddenly moved fast from the right, and the snake launched itself right up into the air, its jaws opened wide, fangs dripping
with poisonous venom. But the pitbull’s charge had been just a feint. As quickly as it started from the right, the dog twisted
his back and around like a Slinkie, and came in from the left. The timber rattler sensed the change in direction at the last
second, but it was too late. It
half of it bounced off the slapping tongue, Excaliber quickly finished the bottle off. He stood back and burped, then turned
unsteadily and headed back to where he had been and lay down again getting into nearly exactly the same position he had been
minutes before. One eye closed, the other half open, his tongue hanging slightly out of his mouth like a flap out of a shoe,
he looked all in all the picture of pitbull contentment.
Stone’s mind was boiling. The responsibility of saving the whole damned state was on his back now. And he didn’t like it.
April too. He hadn’t even thought about her for the last two days—he’d been too busy just surviving, just keeping the wolves
at the door. He was just a mortal man. A
nadi
— yes, the term the Ute Indians had given him after they saved him from violent death. He with the gift of death. Yes, Stone
had it, but he also had a heart and a gut. And they both felt like they were about to explode. From the moment he had left
his father’s mountain bunker, Stone had been fighting. And though so far he had won them all, the battles had gotten bigger
each time, the stakes higher. It was as if he were rising in some kind of hierarchy of war. Some unknown battle plan taking
him somewhere he couldn’t even begin to imagine.
“April, April,” Stone sent out from his trembling mind into the star-riddled sky above, flashing with meteors, slivers of
light that slashed across the black and blue skies like swords leaving long, ethereal trails in their wake. “I’ve got to do
one thing first. But I swear I’ll get you. Hang on, baby. Hang on.” He did something he hadn’t done for years, and he felt
like a fool as he did it. But pulling a blanket up over his chest as he lay, head back against his rolled-up jacket, Stone
put his hands together in prayer, closed his eyes, and asked whoever ran this sick show to give his sister a break. To let
her live. And if she had to die—if it was her time—to not let her get raped or mutilated. But just take her—fast. With a bullet
or a bomb.
When he awoke with a start the next morning, Stone heard something growling at his feet and discovered his hands still clenched
tightly against each other, his teeth sore from having ground against each other throughout the chilly night. His eyes opened,
and he saw the pitbull about three feet directly in front of his face. It was staring straight down at something right in
front of Stone. He looked sleepily down, raising one hand to rub his swollen eye and froze in the air. A rattler! A big son
of a bitch too. This one looked to be six feet long. It was coiled back not two feet from Stone’s shoulder, coiled like a
spring, its head balanced up on its swaying body, tongue snapping in and out. It stared at both of them, unsure of which was
the more dangerous, and flicked its eyes back and forth, trying to keep both of them at an equal distance.
Stone was in no position to move fast, his entire weight on his side where he had been sleeping. But the serpent seemed more
concerned about the growls coming from the pitbull and the incisors that glistened in the rays of the morning sun. The snake
had probably been slithering by after night hunting, and Excaliber had seen it. It would have been better just to let it go
by. But then, growing pitbulls had to have their fun. Stone stayed absolutely still, as if he were a statue. Excaliber’s head
suddenly moved fast from the right, and the snake launched itself right up into the air, its jaws opened wide, fangs dripping
with poisonous venom. But the pitbull’s charge had been just a feint. As quickly as it started from the right, the dog twisted
his back and around like a Slinkie, and came in from the left. The timber rattler sensed the change in direction at the last
second, but it was too late. It
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