Free Twilight by Brendan DuBois Page B

how come his tent-mate Peter looked so much like us and not like him.

    As I slung my rucksack into the rear of our white Toyota Land Cruiser, I looked again at the house and thought that I hadn’t taken a photograph of the entire farm. I had taken dozens and dozens of photos of bloodstains and bullet holes and clothing and even of some dead cows, but not a single one showing this farmhouse and its buildings standing alone. I got my digital camera out of my bag and was setting up the shot when Peter’s voice called out, sounding strained: “Charlie, we’ve got visitors, coming up the driveway.”
    I turned and saw Charlie standing by the hood of one of the Land Cruisers, his M-16 in his hands, looking down at the driveway. A black pickup truck was grinding its way up, its tires and sides muddy. Karen, who was at my side, whispered, “Oh, shit, this doesn’t look good, doesn’t look good at all. That’s a militia truck if I ever saw one.”
    I saw what she meant. The truck had a powerful engine and fat tires with thick treads and the windshield was gone, as were the side windows, the easier to fire weapons from inside the cab. Three guys were in the front of the cab, all wearing clear-glass goggles to protect themselves from the wind while driving fast. Four other guys were in the back of the truck, leaning out to look up at us, all of them with their own goggles pushed back up on their foreheads. They seemed to be in their twenties or early thirties, they had on blue jeans and fatigue coats, and the only thing that reassured me—besides the presence of Charlie—was the fact that there were no weapons visible.
    Sanjay stood behind Karen, looking over her shoulder. “I thought this place was pacified. What are they doing out in the open? Don’t they know Charlie could call in some helicopters, some backup?”
    I said, “Weather’s too bad for helicopters, and they know that. Maybe they’re just on a scouting trip. Maybe they’re—”
    â€œJean-Paul,” Charlie said, keeping his voice even and his gaze focused on the truck. “Get your crew behind some cover. Now. And why don’t you get on the horn and start talking to your people?”
    For once, Peter didn’t argue, and for once, Jean-Paul didn’t have to repeat Charlie’s orders. We all scattered but I stayed close to Charlie, who was still keeping his gaze directed down toward the driveway. Karen was whispering something to Sanjay and I looked over to see that Jean-Paul had the satellite phone in his lap, talking low and urgently. I couldn’t see where Peter and Miriam were. There was a faint click and I wondered what the noise was. Then I clasped my hands together as I realized it was Charlie, switching off the safety on his M-16. His voice still low and casual, he said, “That you, Samuel?”
    â€œYes.”

    â€œThink you can get in the rear seat of this Land Cruiser, without raising your head, and get something for me?”
    â€œSure I can,” I said, feeling reassured just a bit, like I was contributing something.
    â€œGood. On the floor there’s two black duffel bags. Bring me the largest of the two, all right? That’s very important. The largest of the two.”
    â€œYou got it,” I said, and I crab-walked back to the door and opened it up. I looked inside, at the jumble of gear and bags and equipment, and saw the two duffel bags. But which one was the largest? It was impossible to tell from where they were situated. I looked at them, trying to decipher which one was largest, when Charlie said, “I need that bag now, Samuel. And I’m not fooling.”
    Shit . I pulled the bags out, both of them heavy, and saw instantly which one was the largest, I dragged it over to Charlie. He stepped away and said, “Unzip the top, will you?”
    I pulled back the heavy zipper and said, “It’s