by Jay Harez
A doctor had been flown in to see to Miguel, and though he was not up to full strength yet, these last ten days had done wonders for him. Curtis was of the opinion that all of these people had resigned themselves to chasing monsters for the rest of their lives like their ancestors and that they all suffered from chronic fatigue.
“We’re on an island,” Sam ‘Beta’ Turner said over the top of his Wayfarers.
“Yeah, I know,” Curtis said.
“Surrounded by salt-water,” Sam ‘Beta’ Turner added.
Curtis took another sip and Sam lit a cigar. Probably Cuban, thought Curtis.
“I still have questions,” Curtis finally said. He managed to lean back in his wicker chair and appear to be at peace.
“Yeah, I know,” said Sam ‘Beta’ Turner. “You could ask your girlfriend about it,” Sam said from behind his Wayfarers.
“Yeah, I know,” replied Curtis.
“Or you could focus on the fact that, Sonny, your hot new girlfriend is extremely rich and thinks you’re some kind of hero, though God only knows why,” Sam smiled as he said this.
Curtis had grown used to Sam’s sense of irony and had begun to enjoy it.
The island was stocked with enough food, supplies and spare clothes for a small army, or hunting party, thought Curtis. Despite this fact, Jahn had decided to catch dinner and had taken some fishing gear to a secluded spot on the other side of the island.
Curtis knew he would probably never have to work again now that he was a member of Keepers Reapers. He was slowly learning how the wealthy lived and he decided not to ask any questions. He decided not to ask about Specialists and ghouls. He decided not ask what else might be out there.
“Yeah, I know,” Curtis said.
Curtis also knew that he was safe here, on this island, surrounded by salt-water but he put the dart in his pocket anyway.
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