Chapter 12
The next four weeks pass in a blur of too little sleep and not enough time to pray. The rebels watch me with quiet resentment. Either Yong and Rosseau tell them about the Abu al-Ghuraba, or Maximov threatens them. I suspect a little of both. But gradually the jokes about pig-blood soaked bullets and bacon wrapped AK-47's subside.
Nothing, however, can shield me from Dillon Everhart's abject hatred. He singles me out every chance he gets.
"Get a move on, McCarthy!" he shouts. "We're not going back for you if you fall behind in battle."
I press my hand against my side and keep on running.
"What a bastard!" one of the upperclassmen says. "He's nothing like his brother."
"I hear that's why the Colonel sent him away," the other huffs as he runs. "For seven years, it was like he
