Page 24 of Trigger

“Canyou be serious for once?”

“Probablynot.”

“Howthe fuck did this happen?” Carter growled, letting his anger show. “Damn it tohell.”

Howdid it happen? First, I had a nice talk with Bazooka and ate a hot dog. Afterthat, I found myself running down a shady alley, trying to save my idiotpartner. And then someone knocked me out like some kind of amateur.

“Iblame you, by the way,” I said, feeling rightfully pissed.

Carterstopped his pacing.

“Pardon?”

“Icame to your rescue instead of calling for backup. Fucking hell!”

“Well,I didn’t ask you to.”

“Iknow you didn’t, you insensitive prick. Unlike you, I have feelings.”

“Right.”

Atthat moment, I hated him. I hated him for being my partner. I hated him forending up in this bunker. Maybe I even hated him for ending up in Shitsville,although I couldn’t blame anyone for that except myself.

Wewere silent for a while before he sat down next to me with a resigned sigh. Ishared the sentiment. I felt hopeless, too.

“So,”Carter said, stretching his legs. “Is it true that you’re Belgian?”

Ilooked at him incredulously. “Are we getting to know each other now?”

Heshrugged his shoulders. “Whoever put us here will either leave us here to rotor show up eventually. Either way, I suspect we’ll be here for a while. Do youhave a better idea?”

No. Ididn’t have a better idea.

“Yes,I’m Belgian,” I said finally.

“Youhave three languages over there, don’t you? Don’t tell me you speak all ofthem.”

“I do.My German is rusty, but I could probably remember enough to tell you to go fuckyourself.”

“Impressive.”

“I’monly half Belgian, actually,” I mused. “My father is Norwegian. I lived withmamanin Belgium until I turned eighteen, and then I moved to Norway to live withmy dad. I hated it there, though.”

“Why?”

“Icouldn’t fit in, probably because I didn’t get along with my father.”

Carterchuckled, but it lacked mirth. “Story of my life.”

“Whydon’t you share it? Take a load off.”

Hehesitated before speaking. “It’s a short story. I grew up in a small village onthe east coast. My father was a pastor, and my mother was a religious nutcase,so it was a match made in heaven. When I was old enough to take care of myself,I ran away from home and moved to the city.”

Hisface was pale in the darkness apart from a light flush in his cheeks. To myregret, his eyes were closed. I missed the jungle green.

When aray of light fell on his forehead, I gasped in alarm and scrambled to my knees.I cupped his face and tilted it to the side when he slapped my hands away.

“Whatthe hell?” he exclaimed. “Stop touching me, asshole.”

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