![]() His hands are steady, black hair shorn tight to his scalp. I spent some time on a base growing up and there’s no mistaking his poise. Are those dog tags beneath the cotton? Yeah. ![]() In a sweat-stained white T-shirt, he looks like he’s been working out, well-maintained muscles stretching the sleeves. He’d have to duck to exit the house without knocking his head into the doorframe. ![]() I really do.Ī floorboard creaks and the door edges wider, revealing the man holding the weapon.Įven in my exhausted, panicky state, I recognize that he’s a force of nature. A shotgun muzzle eases out through the opening and points square between my eyes. When they come looking for me, they’ll probably check the closest houses, won’t they? Or have I traveled far enough? The place where I’ve been living for two years seemed like it could only exist at the ends of the earth, so I expected to be running for another couple of hours until I got anywhere. The forest ends and I stumble to a stop, my breath wheezing in and out of my lungs. The utter loneliness and monotony and sadness. ![]() The howls of misery haunt my ears even now. Blisters have long since formed on the backs of my heels and fatigue plagues every one of my limbs. My lungs are burning and the tree branches are leaving scrapes on my face, my arms. Home Insurance Coverage: A Detailed Guide ![]()
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