by Rawlin Cash
The news cut to an interview where someone was saying it was the worst attack on the government since 9/11.
Hunter took another sip of his whiskey. The man who’d turned up the volume turned it back down.
“Can you believe that shit?” he said. “What next? A nuclear attack?”
Hunter nodded. He drew on the cigar until the ember reached his finger, then stubbed it out in the ashtray.
“What’s the country coming to?” he said.
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He swore he'd never go back.
He was done with the CIA.
But they weren't done with him.
The nation is under attack.
There are more bodies in the streets than at any time since the Civil War.
The airports are closed. The borders are sealed. The president has been evacuated.
His country needs him.
But he's in no shape to be the man they want him to be.
He's haunted by his past missions.
The things they made him do.
But if one headshot could end this war, he knows he has no choice.
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