8
Tim had lounged in the shadows around Lola’s bird.
The grapes had come by, the fueling crew in their safety-identifying purple vests. Once they’d cleared, the reds from ordnance had rolled in with cans of 7.62 mm cartridges, Hydra rockets, and rounds for the 30 mm cannon. They’d checked over the personal weapons hanging in their door clips, though it was clear that the FN SCARs hadn’t been used. He’d hovered in the shadows as they checked the barrels of the Miniguns, but no maintenance was needed. Kee and Connie had left theirs as clean as he and John always left their own.
Once they all left, he set into pacing. He knew something wasn’t right. But he didn’t know how to fix it. When his sister came home from her first high-school breakup, he’d made her laugh through her tears and fed
