Five minutes later, Moe was back under his blanket, feeling like he’d climbed twelve stories to the penthouse suite. “Mr. Gafferson…” she rea... the thermometer and scribbled on her clipboard. “I figure you for a man who wouldn’t care to hear the percentage of people who die, not from their stab wounds, but from the infection they get afterward.” “You figure that right.” She didn’t look up. “Then I’ll save that speech for the next guy.” She finished her Red Cross routine by reaching behind Moe. She’d become badly exposed, and if he got to the north of her, cut her off from Acreage, the war would probably end right there. If he took the pass, she’d never make it home again. It was a reasonable strategy. Unfortunately, nothing the scouts said told me who they worked for, and my fingers were starting to go numb from the cold. The wooden hatch was badly rotted, and it offered little resistance as I crashed through, dagger drawn, and leapt down almost a full story to plant it in the first. More

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