by Dean Ing
He snorted at his attempts at doublethink, turned up the fleece collar of his denim jacket against a cold breeze that scudded across Route 84 on the outskirts of Clovis, New Mexico. He knew damned well where he was going first, and if it took the full thirty days to make sure, he would spend them. Palma, back at her old post, would be glad to see him; might even find him a job or at least a cot and a computer carrel. In mid-February he'd be back in Santa Fe for mustering out and, almost certainly, a set of black synthosuedes with the sunflower patch.
He placed two five-dollar pieces between gloved fingers of his right hand, ready for the casual wave that might negotiate a ride as far as Lubbock or San Angelo. With his left hand he fumbled for the folded note Sanger had slipped him; read it again in the hard chill light of a winter sun.
You’re right, of course. Control would know we were together & we need to keep our noses clean. Good luck in wild country, I know where you're going even if you don't! I also know in my bones what Quinn will be up to. Can't wait to see if he makes it back. Interesting problem for us all-how to call your soul your own. Funny, when we were out for a little jog I always felt mine was my own. Call it therapy. Just wanted you to know in case I don't see you in Santa Fe.
S.
Not 'Marbrye', but 'Sanger'. No affectionate terminal phrases, no promises or complaints or worrisome strategies to enmesh him. Just the sort of note he had drafted for her, but had given it up when it said too much. He told himself it was stupid to wish she had said more; no one with a mastoid critic could afford that.
Slowly, he abraded the note to shreds under his hiking boot, then squinted toward the faint cough of a diesel in the distance. He tucked the camera out of sight because he did not want to answer questions about that telephoto lens. The thirty-mm. self-propelled warhead might not penetrate heavy armor, but it would stop a truck—or anything on four legs. Quantrill could not bring back the dead, but he could avenge them. Smiling, waving, he sought his ride into wild country.