“I won’t let you have it.”

Pierce regarded the statement with curiosity. He edged closer and the two men encircled one another as the ghoul watched achingly and whimpered from the table. The glass jars were now full with the heavy liquid. Boch leaned his body forward, the gun outstretched towards Pierce.

“It’s not ours to keep. It’s not meant for our time. It’s not meant for us”. Pierce slowly repeated the phrases. As he stalled for time, his mind raced towards a conclusive moment where he understand what was before him.

von Boch stopped. He regarded Pierce for a moment. A smile broadened his face. “You…you have no idea. You have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about, do you.?” He tilted his head as he put the question to Pierce. “Oh, Eugene. Oh, poor, Eugene.” By now, his voice was a whisper. “You have no idea at all, do you?”

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“Keep it lit!”

“More gasoline!” The fire drew down and night gripped the camp as the kid worked the heavy truck back and forth and freed it from its choke hold against the fence. In a moment, he was gone. The soft moans of the ghouls wove through the men.

“Aw, Sarge,…it’s MacKenzie, Sarge!” The guard glowered as he held his carbine towards the approaching soldier and stepped back cautiously.

“Come on, Linden, it’s me, man. It’s Frank Coyle!” Friends since the Civilian Conservation Corp. camp was renamed Camp Stark, Linden stumbled towards Frank and moaned. The two now stood as strangers. “Come on, man. Our families…”

“It’s not MacKenzie, Coyle” Another soldier was fixing his carbine on the approaching guard.

“Frank, for Christs-sake, it’s me!” The other solider fired a round and settled the matter entirely. Inside Barracks One, Pierce and von Boch fixed upon one another with murderous eyes.

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