Chapter 3: Chapter 3

“I know that,” Trin said. He remembered the driver’s smoky eyes, the blonde mustache above lips pulled back in a grimace, each shot fired true. Not one astray, not one. “But whoare they?” he persisted. “Did you know them when you gunned?”

At Blain’s nod, Trin wanted to know, “The tall one, the driver? Who’s he?”

Blain laughed. “How do you know he’s tall? He stayed in the cab.”

It was no matter to Trin, tall or not. He had to know. Those hands, those eyes. “Who is he?”

“Gerrick,” Blain told him.

Gerrick.

* * * *

The evening sun slants into the garage, casting the chrome and steel in a golden glow. As Gerrick hefts a travel pack from the bed of his truck, he laughs at something one of the other gunners says. The crowd that followed the men through the outposts now jostles around the bay doors but Aissa won’t let them into the garage. They stand at the shadow’s edge and call out to the gunners, laugh, shriek, cry, anything to get the men’s attentions.