Chapter 97

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Sam waits until the sun goes down to leave the RV. Or at least try to leave the RV. Can't stand being cooped up. The Man Camp loses a minute of sunlight a day now.

Wil isn't back yet. Good. Time to keep things moving forward.

She pulls on a heavy jacket. Heads outside. Notices the two men by the black trucks. The ones monitoring the RV since dawn.

Her insides feel bruised. Nothing on her face shows it. Walks with purpose up to the men. They weren't expecting that.

"Les sent you here to watch me, right?" Sam says. "Well, here I am."

One of the men shrugs. Picks something out of his teeth. Examines his thumbnail. Wipes something on his pants.

"Yep. There you are, girlies," he says. Pluralizes "girly" for some reason. It's like his mangled face can't end a sentence without an "s."

Sam moves a step backward. Takes another look at the scars cutting a reddish brown across the man's face. He looks like an infection scraped off a horse hoof, but still familiar. Clearly going blind in one cloudy eye.

"I'm bad luck. The last guy who followed me around shot himself in the face," Sam says.

"So I've heards," the man says.

The scrawny guy with the shotgun. It's him. He survived somehow. Didn't take long for Les to push him back out to work. Sam almost feels bad for him. More so for the sake of herself.

Sam scans for a shotgun. Nope. He must've wised up. Graduated to handguns. Or maybe the shotguns are in the truck.

The three stand there for a while. Sam. The scrawny guy. One of Les's random strong arms. Fiery and silent, like the last sliver of sunshine on the horizon.

"I feel like going for a walk," Sam says. Feels the raccoon jewelry brush against her sternum as she turns away.

"Not allowed, girlies," the scrawny guy says. Hacks something onto the ground in front of Sam's foot.

Sam tenses up. Wants to finish fucking up the scrawny guy's face. Files the feeling away for another time. It'll come soon enough.

"Have it your way thens," Sam says. Smiles to herself as she walks back to the RV.

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