He’d had this gun for over ten years, one of the German-made models purchased before Interarms acquired the license and began manufacturing them in the United States. That’s a fine gun, the Interarms Walther, but Rudd liked owning a German one, something about it, the history yet unaltered. A mouse gun, the other men derided it as, yet Rudd had taken out his share and more thirteen days ago when it counted most.

The shooting was over and still no return fire.

“What the hell’s going on!” he yelled, now worried.

In response came the bark of Fenton’s Glock twenty-two, forty-caliber for chrissake, all fifteen rounds. Rudd instinctively tapped his own Glock nineteen nine-mm holstered on his ankle. Though a larger and more powerful gun than the Walther, the Glock was carried and considered by Rudd as a backup piece.

“It’s about time. We can’t have them thinking we’re out of ammo, they’ll be in here in a second,” he added.

“Sorry Rudd. I don’t know where Jill is, and Osmond’s passed out,” explained Fenton from the other room. “I took care of it as soon as I could.”

“Yeah. Next time, don’t wait for anyone else, just shoot.” He waited for a response but none came. Fair enough, Rudd was being a prick and he knew it. Just the beginning, it would get worse for all of them; they would all turn into pricks. Except for Jill maybe, and Osmond since he seemed to be sleeping through his withdrawals. “Say Fenton, come help me take another look at dry-storage after you reload,” offered Rudd as a kind of overture.

“Right away, boss.”

Smart ass. Burned through his and his sister’s inheritance, Rudd had heard of Fenton; but then it was highly probable that Fenton had heard similar things of Rudd. And what the hell did Osmond find enough of to get passed out on? All seemed quiet outside the west wall. Fenton had made the right choice in returning fire with his Glock, perhaps less so in selecting a forty-caliber model. Worst case: Rudd would give his nine-mm to Fenton when the forty-caliber rounds were all gone. Fenton would appreciate that, and he was already familiar with the Glock so it only made sense. Besides, you had to respect a man who carried a plastic gun.

Fenton came fast around the corner and had to pull up short when he saw Rudd still sitting on the top step. He dithered for a moment as if finding it difficult to abandon his plan of bounding down the steps the way he normally would, but he shrugged off the excess energy and sat down next to Rudd, who frankly looked as if he could use a little cheering up.

“Miles is fine,” remarked Fenton to break the silence.

“I’d call that a pretty rosy picture,” said Rudd.

“I mean the wound, it’s nothing. Jill was able to–”

“Spare me the fucking romantic adventures of Nurse Jill and her patients. I’ve seen quite enough already.” Rudd had grown somewhat possessive of Jill, and it ate at him that he could be so easily conquered by this … waitress.

“That’s neither fair nor kind, Rudd. She’s doing what she has to do, just like the rest of us.”

Fenton raised his eyes, looking straight at the other man as a way to underscore his defense of the woman. Rudd, though rankled by this declaration of loyalties (suddenly thinking: Jill plus Fenton? Jill plus Fenton?), knew that his friend was right. He decided to leave it alone, and that was something.

“Thanks for covering. You okay on ammo?”

“Box and a half, I’m fine.”

“You should say: ‘seventy-five rounds,’” but this was given with a smile. Rudd’s nature.

Fenton sighed. “Let’s call it a box and a half,” he said, feeling that it was, after all, getting rather late in the game for this shit.

“Right,” said Rudd, rejoined, “right.”

“So,” said Fenton, “I’m guessing we’ve got some bad news waiting for us down there.” He indicated the steps below them, the dry-storage cellar that lay beyond.

“I’d call that a pretty good guess,” said Rudd, and he thought, This is nice, how we can be friends here and make small talk, how no matter how bad it gets Fenton and I can still smile at each other. “I think it’s starting to hit me,” he added. “I’m getting pricky.”

Fenton put his arm around Rudd’s shoulder, said, “It’s okay, I know, I understand.” And he thought, I’m scared, ‘cause if Rudd goes down then it’ll be me, last, left alone.

The streets outside remained quiet as the two men descended the steps.