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[h2][center] Matthew Mearls [/center][/h2]

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Míra sniffed.

"Thanks man. I mean, you know, it'll be ok - we all knew what we were getting into, you know what I mean?" She chimed with false optimism.

It didn't last - but she didn't start crying. She just shook her head again.

"There's talk of getting the people in the community who help us and bringing them here - or to places like Goodnight - because the risk of them getting outed as collaborators is gonna be way too fucking high after this shit. We weren't just getting killed out there, some of us got taken - and someone's gonna break eventually."

Her jaw clenched.

"Sax." She forced out, like she'd been punched - or shot - and was trying to hide it. "That son of a bitch. I know he'd never give us up. I know it. He's a hard motherfucker. I think he was in the army or some shit. Fought in Vietnam probably, knowing him. Fuck."

Eventually her head fell, and she pressed her thumb and forefinger against the bridge of her nose - hiding tears, and not very well.

"I've gotta go back. I've gotta go back. I can't stay here. I've gotta go back."

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