The friendliest of all fires.
Behind closed eyelids, in sleep thin and restless, they were locked and loaded face to face behind rifle sights with the FADH platoon in the park. In the corner of her vision she could see the feet of the lynched man, pale purple-brown, but there was a wind now, his feet swinging back and forth, swaying dead wood, the stink of black rot and onions on the breeze;strange fruit. She heard Marc Hall’s yell, the crack of his pistol shot, but someone aimed wrong because Pelton was falling, on his back in the dirt, blood pumping from a hole in his throat as he grasped Tory’s boots, smearing everything red and brown.Blood! He needs blood! a medic yelled in her ear.Give it to him, Sergeant! And she put the muzzle of her rifle on Pelton’s forehead, watching as his eyes rolled and spun in fear, and she squeezed the trigger.