{Scene 3, on the stairwell outside the apartment}

Larry: I don't expect you to understand why I'm doing this. I don't know, either. It's just something that I have to do.

Jenny: You don't have to do anything. You can choose your own destiny. You can stay here with me.

Larry: Yes, I know.

Jenny: Then why?

Larry: Because I can choose to do this, or not, but

But what? But fucking what? Jesus, it all comes down to this and I can't even think of why.

The word is there. It's there just out of reach of my ears, and as elusive as that man on the stairs.

I think I can hear it but the winds take it away. The clouds cover the moon and the stars before I can write it down and then when I wake up it's fucking gone again. Replaced by another word.

Replaced by this THOO-see-mohs cypher. What does it mean? What the fuck does it mean?

Jesus. Please let me have the right word for this. It's all I've asked for, ever. The right word.

Joe is like an animal, today.

He crouches over and snorts the air, smelling the wind for traces of our enemy. The look in his eyes is no longer even remotely human. They are glassy pits covering wells of darkness that go down forever and ever, just like the staircase from my dream.

It's all he can do to talk in short bursts that just about make sense.

We don't even bother to ask about Zeke. We know what's left of him is gone, too. We don't know how, or where, but we just know that if we went back to that cover and lifted it, we'd find nothing but blood underneath.

I think the God whose territory we're trespassing in ate them. I think Joe's been talking with that God this whole damn time.

I think Joe is going wants to get us all fucking killed.

But that doesn't matter now. Joe is going to die. We are going to kill him. We are going to shoot him and leave his body somewhere for the animals to eat, or the God underfoot, or whatever. And then we are going to turn back and try to find our way home to the firebase as best as we can.

It's a plan, but it's not a complete plan. We're going to have to think of a few things first. But we've made up our minds. We have to live, so Joe has to die.

But one of us has to make it happen. But who?

Jesus, it had to be Kevin, didn't it? Poor bastard. Poor stupid

Joe was ahead of us, up the mountain. He was positive the shooter was up there - I think that's what he meant, anyway - and was slipping ahead, low to the ground. Like he was a snake or something.

So Kevin got his gun, and started crawling up after him. I think he was making like he had to tell him something, but even I could see that was phony. Kevin's had the look in his eyes all damn day. Hate so thick you could slice it and cook it.

We heard a shot, but it was followed by a scream rather than the barked, animal grunt we were expecting. The scream was long, loud and girly, and Sam put his head in his hands right then and there. There was no question it was Kevin.

It took Joe almost a full hour to come down, and when he did Kevin was sliced meat. His arms were carved with strange signs and his belly was ripped open by the knife, which Joe held in a red, sticky left hand.

I think that's what killed him, in the end, but I think the signs were made while he was still alive and screaming.

Kevin's mouth was distended and swollen, like he'd been cracked across the face once or twice. Then Joe tossed the body down in front of us, and we realized he had a broken jaw. That and a mouthful of fresh, steaming shit.

An animal, marking his fucking territory...

Joe just looked at us. I don't know if he was thinking we were responsible. I don't know if he was pleased or angered by our expressions of shock. It's hard to read a mind that alien.

"We are here, for the night," he said, picking the body back up and taking it away.

We have to kill him, but one of us has to die to do it. And that's the problem.

If one of us pulls a gun on him, Joe will gut him before he can get a round off. He's that fucking fast.

And if all of us pull our guns on him, Joe will stare us down and keep us from doing it. He's that fucking scary.

We have to get his gun and his eyes looking a different direction, and shoot him in the back. This means that one of us has to draw him away, and get him to look at something, while the others take aim and fire. And that person will probably get riddled with fire in the process.

{Joe's off talking over Kevin, but we don't dare shoot him in the back now. Something just doesn't feel right about it. Why?}

Sam and Fred understand that we must do this, and one of us has to die. But both of them have reasons why they don't want to be the one. I understand this as well, but I don't want to be the one, either.

So tonight we will find a way to decide who does it. Who dies so the rest of us can leave this monster and his damn Shooter and get back to reality, again?

Did I just say that? Yeah, I guess I did. I don't recognize anything in this landscape. Not even the mountain we came from, just yesterday, seems like the one we crawled up and then down. And when we look behind us, in the darkness, we can no longer see our footprints in the sand and rock...

So we talked the matter over when we rested and Joe was off, howling into the wind like a goddamn wolf.

Sam: I got a girlfriend. She's got my kid.

Fred: I got a wife and two kids.

Me: I got... shit. I got no one. I had a girl, but she's left the apartment.

Fred: Well-

Me: But I got my writing. That's got to count for something.

Sam: I want to go back and finish my Doctorate in History.

Fred: The Marines were all I ever knew, man. I want to be doing this, just not like this, you know?

Sam: Jesus, look at that sky.

Fred: What is this, your side line in Meteorology? We got the point, pencilneck-

Me: He's right. Since when does the sky turn green during the night when there's no clouds?

Fred: Okay, we're in FUBARville. We knew that. Back to the point?

Me: Yeah. I mean, what's left? We've got people, we've got promise...

Sam: So what's the worst thing you ever did?

*silence*

Fred: I cheated on my wife.

Sam: You're kidding me.

Fred: No, I'm not. It's been a few times, actually. Always the same girl.

Me: After all you go on about her?

Fred: I can't explain it. I know I shouldn't, but she calls me, and I can't say no. I feel rotten afterwards for days, but she'll call me again, and I'll come.

Sam: So Fred, you cheat on your wife. Is that it?

Fred: Isn't that enough?

Me: And how about you. What's your big secret? You cheat on your GRE?

Sam: *long silence* I... um... well.

Me: Come on, out with it.

Sam: There was this girl. She said no, and I did it, anyway.

*stunned silence*

Fred: You're joking.

Sam: No. I'm not.

Me: Jesus fuck. That is low, man.

Sam: You think I don't know that? You think I don't fucking know that.

Fred: Worm low.

Sam: It was wrong, and I knew it, and I did it anyway. We were both drunk, yeah, but she was a little more sober than I was. She knew what was going on.

Me: You ever make it right by her?

Sam: No. I never saw her again. It was a grad party, and she was from out of town, and I guess she never told anyone.

Fred: Shit, man. That's fucked up.

Sam: Yeah. *crying* It is, isn't it? Jesus, I march in Take Back The Night parades and call myself a feminist, and I... I...

*silence*

Fred: So how about you, then? What's your big secret?

Me: Nothing. Nothing at all.

It all went silent after that.