Campfire

Tommy got up and left in a hurry, head stooped, clutching his arm. He headed out into the trees. Some looks went around the campfire. I was finished dinner, so I figured I could take this one. I stood up slowly, and picked up my machete.

Graham nodded too, from across the fire. He went to the RV, and came out with the one remaining gun we had bullets for, a big heavy revolver. I didn’t have to ask how many shots were left. We all kept count in our heads: 11. We saved them for each other.

Graham looked at me, and I looked at him, and we gave each other a sad little shrug and then followed Tommy, who wasn’t doing much to keep quiet.

We found him just out of earshot of the camp. We were far enough from the fire that our eyes adjusted, and it didn’t seem all that dark. The sky will still a bit blue. It was beautiful out here, especially since the light pollution from cities died of years ago.