The Gathering of Brothers

chapter two

He had never been able to forgive himself for flinching when they fired that initial shot. Flinched. He shut his eyes. established for himself that he was finished. That solitary second had appeared to last a dismal and perpetual forever. "Well, how's this going? You and I enter there together. “No.” The younger one gave a sharp head shake. "You must be outside keeping an eye. I don't need anybody strolling in. With just the two of us, this is the best approach. You keep an eye while I enter. We are both aware that you are far superior to the lookout. The older one stated bluntly, "I still don't like it." "I don't like you going there alone," I said. Additionally, I dislike standing on my own in public. Splitting up is a recipe for disaster. "See, we're a man down. Things must be done differently for us. The more established cheat attempted to squeeze the thought into his head however it actually wouldn't take. “No. Sorry. You entering alone irritates me. "Why not?" "You're skittish." I don't twitch. I'm okay. Yes, you are fine. You're not sleeping well, you're hungry, and you can't think straight. To me, that sounds good. The older thief had his lank, long hair covered by a wide-brimmed hat. His eyes were shielded from the sun's stifling glare thanks to it. His greying fringe, with a few greasy-looking strands, was constantly falling out and blowing across his dark eyes. He never hesitated or attempted to distract them. He saw no point in it. His beard was as untidy and long as his hair. While his young friend kept his face visible to the entire world, he covered it up. Don't get mad at me. I'm sleeping normally. I'm consuming my supplies. I am in charge. He tightened his grip on the rifle once more. "I'm sure you are." His older partner made no effort to appear persuaded. Look, I have to enter that room, okay? I'm better at reading people than you are. I'm not afraid to ask a little harder if I think they're holding out on me when I know they are. In contrast, you are way too nice. A smile had a wavy crease. "It's been quite a while since anybody called me pleasant." Uncertain of whether it was a compliment or an insult, his voice faltered. They never stopped walking despite the debate. Both of them were now being pulled in too strongly by the hunger. As they moved closer and closer to that tiny shop and the hazy hope of finding real food, their boots crunched over the dead ground. The virus air seeped through any hole it could track down in their ragged, battered apparel. Since they had passed the location in the opposite direction yesterday morning, they had been working on this task. This seemed too good to be true, even though they hadn't been looking for work. Now, it was bothering them. Another need to be attended to. The younger thief made the observation that, "You’d go in there and feel bad for them." "You'd feel sorry for them and give them something to take home." "And why is that wrong?" “Everything.” He had burning eyes. "Well, I'm still not sold on it," “I'll call if I need you. Okay? And if you require my assistance, simply begin shooting. I'll sprint over. Behind them, the older thief looked. It appeared as though the road went back a long way. They had not appeared to have walked that far this morning. From last night's desolate little camp, they had to be a good few miles away now. They had stayed away from the town, but they made sure to keep an eye on it just in case there were any problems here. Not that there was a guarantee of distance. In a similar vein, a plan was not insurance. He stopped himself when his hand twitched over his g*n. No point taking a risk presently. "I ought to acquire the rifle if I stay outside." "No way. The g*n belongs to me. It stays with me." "Then before I can do anything about it, any fight that comes at us is going to have to come pretty close." "Be nice to me." "Valiant words for the man with the rifle." I seriously do not comprehend your concern. Do you really see anyone putting up much of a fight around here?” The older thief bowed his head. "I simply don't feel a strong desire to curse us. That's it. He was acutely aware of the scarcity of food in the desolate and crumbling regions out here. This kind of robbery at a*****e was equivalent to killing an entire struggling town. Additionally, he was aware that his companion was even more starving than he was. So they needed to eat, no matter how others around them dealt with each day after they left. That was the current state of affairs. everywhere, for every man. You no longer had to care about any other man but yourself. You would die if you tried to live any other way. Unless, perhaps, you belonged to the group of men who congregated in the major cities. They prayed, whipped themselves, and poured their seed into a paper cup all day, weeping for all the women and children they had ever loved. In those days, that was what earned you sanctuary. a clean criminal record, a clean medical test, a willingness to provide samples, and a soul that is completely gullible A visually impaired identity nobility likewise made a difference. As if these fools, like all men, wouldn't die in the end anyway. Soon enough, the Lifeboats would return to retrieve them all. There was nothing that truly isolated them from that multitude of ladies and kids they'd covered or consumed a couple of years prior. It was only a matter of time and how you decided to spend it that everything was over. There were a lot of men out there right now looking for something to distract them from or practice being something else. They pretended to be completely different animals and cut themselves, changing their names. This world had deteriorated into a negative reflection of the place it had once been, with neither a governing hand nor any glimmer of hope. "We're off. Finally.” It was in sight. Where they are going. Presently visible, and getting closer with each step. Neither of them actually entered a run. They took as much time as necessary, monitored themselves. They looked around the land with scavenger eyes for signs of trouble. In front of the small row of shops was a large, empty parking lot whose surface was as damaged and cracked as the road. In its web of empty spaces, there were now only a few empty piles of rust and some flat tires. On the tarmac, there were a few old, dark burn marks. Shadows with nothing to project them in the daylight. Men had plainly set up camp here sooner or later. The majority of the shops were empty shells that had never been used, but the jewel in the crown was still unguarded at the center. The more established one had been amazed at what a limited number of clients they'd seen go in there yesterday however his more youthful friend had jeered and said he figured very few local people would wander this far out any longer. He reasoned that they were more likely to be the kind of men who tended to their fences and built little tokens to improve crop growth. "Looks good to me still." His voice was filled with all-too-clear avarice. He came to a stop and turned to look at the store and parking lot beyond. He ran his hand along his rifle as he licked his lips. The old rifle his father had. This g*n had taught him how to hunt. His stomach began to burn, he felt. The pain was familiar. nowadays, a part of the routine. His body was getting ready for what was to come. His yellowed eyes took a gander at the level, fruitless world around him and the shop in front of him like it was all simply one more objective. Another tiny kingdom for grabs. His traveling companion and partner in crime looked at him as he ran his dry, wiry beard through his greasy gray hair tangles. He was ill. He always did just before they took something from a place. Perhaps it was because he could always locate some trace of his previous life during these times. The window's worn-out, faded sales signs. The open sign on the entryway. The posters promoting new rentals of movies. Adverts for firecrackers, markdown liquor and lottery tickets. A bell would occasionally ring above your head as you passed through a door like that with a g*n. You would pause for a moment as a result. It was such a small, straightforward sound that it now sounded ghostly. It was spooky. When you heard it, you would feel a chill run down your spine. Only that no longer summoned a friendly face to serve or greet you with a smile. No, it now brought cover fire, cries for mercy, and occasionally bloodshed. He remained baffled as to why some men felt compelled to stock these establishments with whatever they could. It couldn't simply be tied in with bringing in cash or building any kind of a realm any longer. Perhaps it was more about giving back to the community, or perhaps it was just another way for them to keep busy and pass the time. Or perhaps it was a lingering sense of duty or old-fashioned muscle memory. a practice they had always followed. Motivation to get up in the first part of the day. That irrational belief was prevalent.