Alvin Jones sat in the corner of one of the community huts, feeding a small fire to warm his hands. He had followed the largest group here after helping Palmer take care of Freeman and after threatening Phylicia. It was wrong to threaten the women that way, he thought. And the way Palmer took out Freeman. His head shook side-to-side subconsciously. Murder is murder, no matter how you try to dress it up as something else.
He was accepted into the group without questions. He had always been a loner, and, for whatever reason, most people failed to see him or acknowledge him. He walked in, did his work with the farmers harvesting the wild barley-like grain, and kept to himself.
When Osterlund showed up, just before winter, it caused him to panic a little. He went to great lengths to be elsew
