The Gathering of Brothers

chapter four

The older thief ignored the thought and continued to observe the world around him. It's pointless to worry until something goes wrong. if an error occurred. He kept his cool. as tranquil as he could manage. Nothing mixed. He was certain that the storm was out there, hiding in a sheltered spot, and there was no sign of it approaching. Despite the fact that he always felt this way while they were working. He was unable to permit himself to deny it or quieten it down. He just couldn't take the magnitude of that fateful temptation. Neurosis was ideal to be spoilt and gotten all worked up about during such a critical point in time. You didn't want it to fester into any reality because it would have felt excluded. He focused on the remaining shops in the row. Now, only hollowed-out faces remain. Skulls with scales. monuments to a past that would never return. It appears to be a computer game store, a takeout joint, a dry cleaner, and a hair salon. How much Jesus missed fast food. Fish and chips, pizza, and Kung Po chicken Oily kebab meat. Enchiladas with a ferocious heat and Thai curries. Once upon a time, they were all just a phone call or a short drive away. He had to fight to get rid of the taste of them. That kind of food simply did not exist any more. Or, if it did, it would be expensive. They had previously encountered a group of raiders who were imprisoning a chef. While they were making steaks and other treats, they had him chained up in a wagon. It appeared that the agreement was that if he stopped eating, they would force him to cook pieces of himself. Another desperate life for which you could not assist. Despite the fact that the steaks had a strong odor. He tried once more to control his hunger and worked harder at the gum. The child might have been able to find some relatively fresh bread or tinned goods when he got out of there. Perhaps some brand-new dry ration food. There wouldn't be much else, yet it would do. Food was no longer an indulgence or a pastime. It no longer piqued my interest. It was, without a doubt, fuel. You either ate or starved. He attempted to consider something, anything to take his psyche off the craving. On their way to the town, they passed by a church, and he was thinking about it. The derelict church with the tree sprouting from the roof. For some reason, he was unable to shake that image. It had stayed with him since he'd initially seen it. The joists and tiles appeared to have been punctured by the tree. Now, dead leaves were strewn over the roof tiles and falling off the branches. There had been crows on those branches. Or, at least, when he now remembered it, they were there. They are being observed by large, black forms. The older thief was certain that he had detected some unspoken judgment or warning in the shrieks and caws of the birds. Now he had icy, focused eyes. He allowed his attention to wander to the door that his partner had just passed through earlier. It appeared to be longer than it was. You were fooled by time while you were working and waiting. It refused to follow a simple clock tick. There was still no sound or movement. Nothing. which had to be beneficial. He did, nevertheless, keep his left hand over the g*n on his hip. Waiting bothered him. He was never happy about it. His unruly tangles of gray hair moved with the new gust of wind. He did not blink or yell at them to leave. He simply continued to stare at the door. He went through situations that he was frantic to keep away from. It was less like he was yelling at them and more like he was stopping them before they could surprise him. He looked back at the town to make sure nothing was going on there as well. It was a genuine rubble and soil sort of spot. Nothing more than a deteriorating ruin. Another chaotic footnote in the history of the world. The fearful, the god-fearing, and the perpetually weeping form yet another festering knot. The child might have been right. Perhaps there wouldn't be any difficulty here. They had gone into town last night to have a drink. The men there, lit by waning candles, were already beginning to resemble dead bodies. He was completely focused when the first shot was fired. The g*n was in his grasp as his left hand twitched over his hip. The gum flew out of him. Before he even realized what he was doing, he was speeding across the parking lot. He moved more quickly than his older frame seemed to allow. His boots drove him across the jigsaw puzzle of blurred borders that made up the unfilled parking spots. He tried to control his adrenaline by taking in air as he breathed. He envisioned an ocean of marshals sitting tight in there for him. He saw them equipped with tons of weaponry. He continued to move while looking over his shoulder. Nobody behind him. He increased his speed to a full pelt run after the second gunshot. His focus was on the shopfront. Nobody was emerging. He was unable to hear raised voices. He reached the defaced storefronts. The third and fourth shots rang out at that point. The boy's g*n. It was certain to him. That threatening bark. The rifle was perfectly healthy. He squeezed against the wall and turned his back to the shop. He looked at the ruined, barren horizon. It remained clear. That had to have some significance. As he moved along the wall, he rubbed the rough brick surface with his long coat. He entered the shop immediately. There is still no internal movement. Also, no more shots. He felt better because of the weight of the g*n in his hand, but he knew that was a lie that every g*n told you. Despite the fact that lying to me right now felt good. You needed to believe you were just a little bit more invincible from time to time. He kept his g*n close to the door and kept the door to his left. He surveyed the area. His chest hurling. His hands were slightly shaking. The parking lot. The path. The fields past. Nothing moved. Whatever had transpired there did not appear to be a trap. In fact, the sound of that rifle made it appear as though the entire world had stopped talking. He shook his left hand as he suspected, the weapon shook in his grasp. He needed to see what was happening in there. There was nothing else to do. He didn't give himself time to think as he leant quickly around. His heart was thumping quick and hard, as though to demonstrate it wasn't prepared to stop yet. He looked through the broke glass, past the cracked impression of his own drained face. He could simply see the faint framework of racks and a skeleton team of boxes and tins. Nothing more. No evidence of life. He wanted a superior view. He needed to set people off. He backed away from the wall, took a deep breath, and pointed the g*n at the window. He fired the weapon. His hands and head were filled with thunderous noise. The glass's sharp, bitter crackle could be heard miles away. He waited with ringing ears. He did another look around him. Nothing at all. Good. "Are you there?" He yelled into the broken glass before taking a quick second look. The shot's dust could not obscure his vision. There was no sign of movement inside. No sound He fought it all down, like putting out fires, despite the fact that every nerve in his body was telling him to run. He was starving, and if you wanted to survive, hunger had to win out from time to time. He clenched his jaw. In any case, living alone around here was awful quality of life. I am aware that you did not call me. However, I heard shots. Silence. He reviled softly. "I'm entering." He spun around, grabbed the door handle with his free hand, and stumbled into the room. He had never been good at grace. He had stepped on his lady's feet multiple times during their big day. Under pressure, he was so graceful. The shop was little and dull. Additionally, it was nearly empty. The air was heavy with g*n smoke. A couple of historical center piece tins and boxes sat on racks loved the last youngsters ready to be gathered from school. You could smell the age and the disregard in here. It was bristling against your skin, which you could feel. The older thief discovered a thin, stretched pool of blood at his feet. He followed it reluctantly to the counter. The boy had perished. Drooped on the ground at an abnormal point. He still had the rifle in his hands, and there was blood on his lips. He had frozen, wide-open pale eyes. The remaining thief approached him while watching the counter closely. There is no movement there. Simply a profound, hard shower of blood covering the wall behind it. A few holes penetrated the deteriorating plaster deeply. Both appeared to have made it, crashing through bone and meat before hitting the wall. The kid had performed well. Over the counter, the thief glanced at the two bodies. Both exceptionally elderly people men. older than what you typically see these days. Even when they were dead, they were nearly identical. It appeared as though something had torn its way out of their bloated and flabby backs and chests. Their hearts have soaring. A pair of small, plain handguns were close to their bodies. Matching brass pistols with snub noses.