“Not really,” said Gil. “What about marshmallows?”
“We, uh, don’t have those, either. But we do have sugar, some powdered butter, honey packets, and water.”
The other agent’s face contorted. “You can make marshmallows with that?”
“No, idiot,” Travis Nadler shot back. “I’m going to mix it together in a pot, put it over the fire, and make caramel, or a caramel-like concoction.”
“Sounds…nauseating.”
Gil sipped from his mug. “And comparatively indigestible.”
“Give me a break, guys, will you?” Nadler pled. “The chocolate portion will cancel your doubts, trust me. I’m making it using a combo of Hershey bars ganked from MREs, pudding mix and chocolate drink, reduced into a slimy, sweet mess of yumminess. You get the idea.”
August sniggered loudly, which soon turned into a full-on violent fit of laughter.
The other agents flashed stares at him, perplexed by his response and what might have been the cause of it. They’d never seen him react this way to anything. He’d always been scarily quiet and reserved and, most recently, a cantankerous, gravely introverted recluse.
Gil was the first to chance questioning him. “August? You all right over there? I get we’re all overjoyed at the weather clearing, but did you pop one too many Prozacs this morning?”
August Carter straightened and wiped a tear summoned by his body’s emotive response from his eye. “Yeah, Gil. About as all right as the rest of you, as any of us can be for the times in our current predicament, as utterly fucked as it is. To be clear, I wasn’t making fun of you guys, just reacting to the level of embarrassment we’ve achieved; dining on what could barely be viewed as the bankrupt equivalent of Lunchables and getting excited over the prospect of hobo s’mores for dessert. All the while, everyone else at the plantation are probably gorging themselves on gourmet goddamn everything.”
Opener in hand, Agent Nadler went about prying open cans of beans. “We still haven’t heard anything, have we?”
August sucked his teeth with a shake of his head. “Nope. Not a damn thing. I’ve tried initiating contact twice so far today and received squat in return. We’re officially being snubbed.”
“Or disavowed,” Gil joked.
“Well, fuck ’em,” the other agent spat. “Fuck them and the horses they rode in on. I’m tired of this shit. I miss my bed, my shower, and my clothes. I’m getting tired of smelling myself.”
August waved a hand. “This won’t last much longer, I assure you. I’ve had all I can take, and I know you guys are at your wit’s end. I don’t know what the justification is, and I don’t care anymore. Somebody has some real explaining to do. My men and I want answers. And we’re going to get them.”
Gil Norris agreed with a nod and rose. “August, you lead and we’ll follow, you know that. Now, gentlemen, if all of you will excuse me for a few, I need to drop a morning deuce.”
“Hey, Gil?” August halted him. “After you’re done pleasuring yourself, do a spot check on our security elements. Let those boys know the lunch bell will be ringing before long. Oh, and wash your hands.”
Gil shot August a salute and rotated away. “Will do. Got to locate the soap, though. Be back in five, ten, or something.”
August watched Gil disappear into the trees, and rotated back to observe the fire and the two agents across from him. He’d never felt this lost before. This mission should have come to a close days ago. There was no sense in his task force being held here, surviving on the vestiges of what remained of their food supply, wearing clothes they’d had on for days, all without a single clue as to why and no explanation as to what the hell was going on.
He hadn’t identified it initially, but August was now certain what it was. ‘A no-witnesses kind of thing’, as Gil Norris had earlier described it. This was Beatrice. She was purposely keeping him out here, away from the plantation, and that meant his team had to ride in the same boat. But why? So she could spend needed time alone with her new lover? August and his trollop of a wife rarely saw each other in the first place. If she wanted quality time with Dynamite Doug Bronson, the homewrecking whore hustler from hell, she could have it by means of simple deception alone and forgo the charade.
Something else was taking place here, though, something prevailing. And he’d made a pact with himself to do whatever was required to bring the truth to light, beginning the moment he returned to base.
“SA Carter?” Nadler prompted. “A question, sir.”
August answered him casually, placing his contemplations on pause for the moment.
“I don’t know why I’m bringing this up…but would it be okay to save some of this food and maybe offer some of it to those kids?”
August leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands.
The other agent added, “If not, that’s fine. It was just an idea. It doesn’t have to be a lot…just something to tide them over. They haven’t eaten in days.”
“Yeah, let’s do that,” August concluded. “Thank you, gentlemen, for pointing it out. I think we’ve done enough to them, no sense in starving them. See to it they get plenty to drink, too.”
The agents both nodded, smiled at each other, and went about their chores.
August leaned back and stretched his legs toward the fire’s warmth; then he heard something zip past his ear. A lightning-fast object darted through the fire, splitting the flames as it did, and directly after, the agent beside Nadler rose, wheezing, with both hands clutching his chest, attempting to catch his breath. Blood poured from a gaping hole through his fingers and soon began drizzling from his lower lip. He tried to speak as he fell to the ground at Nadler’s feet.
“Jesus Christ!” Agent Nadler screeched.
“Get down! Take cover!” August
