Page 38 of Hearts Etched in Glass
“I have trained with many hunting rifles and shotguns. If you would have agreed, I would have loved to show you my hunting room. It is exquisite, so many boars. A lion’s head, an elephant and more. You’ll just have to see,” he explains, patting his friend’s shoulder beside him. I notice he sways a little in his movement.
“Interesting,” Lyle says sitting stoically on his log, staring the men down like the gaggle of knobheads they are.
“Were you in the war, Lyle?” One of Mr. McKinley’s friends asks, as Lyle just nods his head politely.
“I was going to participate in The Great War, but I was too busy. So many companies to run you know? The government would fall if they didn’t have my supplies.” I glare up at Mr. McKinley, his comment stoking the ever-rising anger inside me.
“You weregoingto participate?” I ask, venom dripping from my lips. “Like it was a choice?” Furrowing my brow, I stare him down, throwing some random sticks in the fire, then try my best to maintain my composure. “My brother was a prisoner of war. The krauts wrapped him in barbed wire and lit his flesh on fire. He came back scarred not only physically.” Taking my two fingers, I harshly tap my chest. “But scarred in his spirit as well.”
There is an awkward silence that creeps over the area, as no one dares to speak. I see Bobby’s hands start to twitch as I realize the drugs maybe kicking in soon.Looking around the camp I find Ronald’s face turned up, trying to hold in a laugh. Clearly the drugs are setting in, or he is just going to make an ass of himself, like he usually does. So I guess the next several minutes will tell which pathway we are on.
Ronald begins laughing, cupping his hand over his mouth. “Sorry! But that was just so depressing and serious!” Then he snorts. Mr. McKinley throws a stick in Ronald's direction.
“Forgive my son, he hasn’t studied war like I have,” Mr. McKinley explains.
“I’m going to begin hunting,” I state, grabbing my shotgun and motioning to Lyle. I hear one of the men yell for me, but I ignore them and just wave, going to alert Baba that they ate the cupcakes and to get ready for the debauchery to begin.
I shout behind me, knowing they probably will not understand the phrase, but if Mr. McKinleystudied correctly,then he will heed my warning, “Si vis pacem, para bellum.”
Chapter 20: Tilly
Limits,Bad Omens
Kenneth alerts us that the men have eaten the cupcakes and Bobby unfortunately ate one as well.
“Only one bite though, we were able to stop him from eating the rest,” Kenneth states with such nonchalance.
“What?” I blurt out.
Baba runs a hand down her face, smearing the black Norse make up she has placed upon it.
“Why didn’t you stay with him?” Marcus asks, as he rushes to gather our weapons. He hands me my shotgun as he places his holster on his shoulders.
“We were to warn you that they ate the drugs,” Kenneth says, loading his pistol.
“Youwere supposed to come back and be with Jacob and Baba.Youwere supposed to stay with Bobby!” I point at Lyle, who raises his hands in surrender, then points his thumb at Kenneth.
“I followed him,” Lyle murmurs, embarrassment creeping through his features.
Gritting my teeth in frustration, I shove Lyle’s chest, then Kenneth’s. “You left Bobby alone with those fucking assholes!” Then I storm off, the way Kenneth came.
Baba goes in one direction, Kenneth and Lyle follow behind her for support. As Marcus and I rush back towards the campsite, Jacob informs us that he will stay with the truck, to guard the weapons they stole from the men.
It takes us sometime to find the camp, for night has fallen and the path is hard to recognize.
I spy the bright orange, glint of the fire off in the distance.
Marcus grabs my hand as I try to run towards Bobby’s voice. “Til, we need to think this through love.” I yank my hand from his grasp and swing the 12-gauge,sawed-off shotgun forward from my back. I acquired it from the stack of weapons Baba stole from the rich pricks.
“They should have thought this through before leavingourBobby.” I sneer.
Marcus places his hands in the air in surrender. “Alright, love. Alright. Lock, stock and barrel, it is.” He shrugs his shoulders.
“No, it gives me a head start to create a war path,” I boldly state as I rack the shotgun. The sound calling to the darker recesses of my mind, caressing the malicious essence, that beckons to be released.
Marcus and I crouch, and softly walk around shrubs, to find a small space positioned behind a tent. It allows us access to spy on them and I can see Bobby sitting in a folding, camp chair. His handsome face is battered and bruised.
His trousers are crimson stained, shirt torn open with a superficial slash across his chest.
