Cal dragged a bag to a grain silo’s base. “Yeah, this spot’ll do.” He dropped the bag. “Okay, James, bring the shovels.”
James stared over his own shoulder. Dead corn stalks littered a field, and beyond them, a farmhouse with plywood-covered windows hunched beside a dirt lane and a sun that half-peeked above a horizon.
“James!”
James hauled the shovels to Cal who snatched one.
“What the hell were you staring at?” Cal said. “Fooling with you, we’re going to lose the daylight we do have.” He started to dug, and James glanced at the house and road.
“Maybe we’re making a mistake,” James said.
“We??” Cal shook his head. “No, it’s your fault that what happened, happened.”
“Sure, but it was a mistake. Look, if we just tell the truth—”
Cal swung the shovel and whacked the silo. “Every man in Libertyville and Marienburg’s out looking! That’s over two hundred men!”
James swallowed.
“Do you get it now??”
James nodded.
“Are you sure?? Marienburg—a town which has absolutely nothing to do with this yet whose men have no problem hunting us—is just ten miles down the lane. Why don’t you walk there and apologize?” Cal shook his head. “Dingbat.”