Page 65 of Jericho

We all watch as he points to the two spots on the map. We'll have to orient ourselves with our surroundings very quickly, and that can always lead to errors.

"And if we run into another tripwire?" Lark asks.

"I'll take care of the fucking explosives," Nyx says, and I want to wrap my hands around his fucking throat and squeeze for how he acted with Aspen.

The man looks bored leaning against the side of the SUV, somehow a part of the team but also not, if that makes sense. It's like he doesn't have a care in the world, but I wonder if it's because he honestly doesn't care if he sees another day.

Hemlock nods at Nyx, and I have to have the faith in Nyx that our president does. That's my faith in Hemlock, not the man that has an ass kicking coming soon.

"We'll have the guys take the ones out front and in the back," Lark continues. "And then we can—"

"Excuse me!"

We turn to see a feeble old man walking toward us. We chose this location because there's an empty lot, but it still puts us right in the middle of an occupied neighborhood.

"Are you fellas having trouble finding something?"

"We've got it under control," Hemlock says. "If you could go back into your house."

"Are you guys the SWAT team? I called the police last week about that house three doors down."

I don't bother to follow the point of his finger. It's in the opposite direction of where we're headed in a few minutes.

"I warned him before I called," the old man continues. "It's not like I didn't ask him to keep his trash cans off the sidewalk. It shouldn't be any surprise to him when you knock on his door."

"Sir," Nyx says as he stands to his full height.

The old man who has to be at least a foot and a half shorter than Nyx looks up at him, his lip curled like he won't take any shit off a heathen in his little town.

"It'll take more than you, young man," the old man says, standing a few inches taller.

I swear for the first time in my life, I see Nyx's lip twitch as if he's trying to hold back a smile.

"I was a commander of the 9th Amphibious Brigade in Vietnam in sixty-eight," the old man continues. "Don't let my size fool you. My balls are bigger than your head."

"Yes, sir," Nyx says as he lifts the sleeve of his shirt. I'll be damned if he doesn't have the Marine Corps insignia tattooed on his left bicep.

I can't forgive him completely for what he did but knowing he's a fellow Marine changes things a little.

"We'll take care of the guy with the trash can issue, sir," Hemlock says.

The old man nods at him before turning back and heading across the street to his yard.

"I love old people," Lark says with a quick chuckle.

We spend only another couple of minutes going over finer details about positioning before we head in the direction of the house.

The sharpshooters take their shots only a second before we step onto the property, and we have no way of knowing what's going on in the house.

"Five down, four to go," Lark says into the mic. "We have—"

Aro, the guy I'm teamed up with jerks to the side a second before he hisses.

"Fuck."

"What's fuck?" Hemlock growls into the mic.

"Aro is hit," I say, dragging him behind a tree by his vest.

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