8 - Mercy

He doesn’t know I’m here for him. He thinks it but not in that way. At least that’s what I think. I think I would know if he didn’t.

There is nowhere to go and when there is it is more like there is someplace NOT to be, as in where ever the fuck we happen to be at that time. There is an art to getting ready too, or, not an art but another one of those shit sciences. It’s never a race but it always is, not to get left, not to be the one waiting. We hide shit a lot, never come back to it, that’s my guess because we never have yet. You never know when there will be some cool place to hold up. Some overlooked pancake mix. Some water.

“You tell me. Would you be able to fall asleep with him at our fire?”

He’s still looking through the nocs at the guy. I am watching his mouth hang, looking for a sign that my brother will not be angry with me for pushing bullets into the asshole we spotted a good shot from where were going to be sleeping tonight if we don’t die first. I go back to my scope. The asshole looks angry and is too stupid to get completely out of the sun to nap. He has that homeless-tan thing and is ugly. We aren’t tan, neither of us. Not even close. Anyway we can kill people now and I like to, especially assholes like this guy. He doesn’t say anything. He would never tell me not to. Either way the answer this time is an unspoken no and it has just as much value coming from him as the spoken kind. I ask him to keep an eye on the asshole for a while and I pick through a world of scenery and death below us. Hours pass and night comes and still I am looking, looking for assholes, food, just to be sure. I’m never sure.