The Nomad's Vigil

In The Thick of Things

I wonder if she can see me? She said she’d be watching, and how can I know if this little bag of….whatever it is hanging around my neck, actually does anything. I mean, sure, that old guy, Old Dylan, Oracle seems to know what’s going on—crimeny he looked like he had been at it longer than Hollis.

But I wonder if she knows.

Does it keep her from coming here, right now, and dropping me back in Miami, let me see their faces for a few minutes to get me all worked up? No. No way. I mean, yeah, it does. I guess I wish it didn’t. But would have done that, just to mess with my head. Unless Oracle was trying to keep me from her. What if they aren’t bad?

But this guy, this guy is pretty bad. Invisible fucker, like barbed wire and Pac-man had a go-round and shoved it down this poor bastards throat. He doesn’t even look beat up—after a few rounds in his god-damn chest and having his leg chopped in half. But that was when he was trying to shove Hollis down his throat, now he looks…

Like me. Like some guy.

Cam and Hollis act like it is all easy to see, and…my gut just keeps telling me things are wrong but I can’t tell if it is the monsters or us.

People just tell me to keep shooting, and all I know is I can hit them.

Hollis says it, er, he might not be dead. The Major doesn’t look to held together, but I can’t tell if it’s the blood or the fatigue. Cam almost shot me. I almost shot her. Fucking missed.

Hollis still has his sword out. The guy on the floor looks better than the three of us.

I don’t think I am going to send this to Kelly.

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CHarrison Soullesszc

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