Read Online Twilight by Brendan DuBois - Free Book Online Page A

than just record words or images, and I kept those thoughts in the forefront of my mind as I moved the spade around carefully, scraping away more of the dirt. I silently said a prayer for whoever I was uncovering, and I pledged the pledge of the young and innocent, that I would help make the guilty pay for what they had done to the people in this little farmhouse.
    â€œI’ve got a head here,” I said. “Give me some more light, please.”
    The crew backed away and I felt an irrational sense of accomplishment, because they were doing as I requested. I worked on as painstakingly as I could, uncovering the eyes, the long heavy nose, the rest of the short-bearded face, and—
    I said something loud, dropped the spade and recoiled, trying to get out of the hole. I fell back into the mud. The crew clustered around, looking at what I had uncovered as Peter grinned down at me.
    â€œCongrats, Sammy,” he said in a sarcastic tone that I didn’t like. “You’ve dug up a bloody cow.”

CHAPTER FIVE
    W e made our camp that night in the dirt turnaround in front of the burned-out farmhouse. By the time we had gotten out of that muddy field and had cleaned up and established what was really there—two dead cows and a calf—dusk had come, chilling the air. Charlie told us it was too dangerous to ride back to the motel and we were too tired to complain that much. Sanjay said, “I thought this area had been pacified,” but Charlie, who was cleaning his weapon on the hood of one of the Land Cruisers, replied, “Daylight you can pretend all you want about how safe things are out here, but I don’t like the dark. We start out now, we’ll be in darkness in less than five minutes, going back with headlights and taillights bright and shiny, telling the world our business. Sorry, Sanjay, that ain’t gonna happen.”
    So we moved the vehicles around so that they were in a triangular formation, to provide some semblance of protection, and the tents and mattresses and sleeping bags were brought out. Nobody suggested spending the night inside the farmhouse or the barn, and I didn’t find that surprising. While we were unpacking one of the Land Cruisers, Peter leaned in and said, “We could have had proper beds and hot water tonight if it hadn’t been for you and your bloody dead cows.” I pretended not to hear him and took out a bundle of aluminum tent poles.

    The tents were set up near the Land Cruisers and dinner was a quiet affair, with Peter muttering about how bloody unfair it was to have to cook supper when he had been digging out three stinking cows just a few hours earlier. His attitude was reflected in the food: sticky pasta and lukewarm tomato sauce, eaten off metal plates. I sat by myself, leaning up against one of the Land Cruiser’s tires, exhausted. My back ached, my wrists throbbed and it hurt even to move my fingers. A small fire was set up in the middle of our little camp, and Charlie was in charge of it tonight, making sure it didn’t get too large, too bright. It was nothing like the cheerful blaze we’d had the night before in the motel parking lot. It was a tentative, frightened fire that didn’t do much except light up the immediate surroundings.
    Jean-Paul broke away from the group, came over to me and sat down. He passed me a small metal cup and I sipped it, and started coughing. “What the—”
    â€œSome cognac, that is all,” he said. His voice had a touch of humor in it. “Everyone gets some cognac tonight, no matter what the High Commissioner thinks about consuming alcohol while we are working. We worked pretty hard today, especially you.”
    â€œThanks—I think.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, ‘think’?”
    â€œI’m not sure if you’re being sarcastic, that’s all,” I said. “Peter and the rest of the team look like they’d get me on the next airplane