He'd set deep roots in the bottom land, and now he met the captain's stare with no sign of weakening. Lent knew his father would never move. They were the last family, but Lent felt the roots and knew his father meant to take a stand. He only wished his rifle was closer by, and found himself wondering what weapon his father would use when the time came. He saw his father shift weight to send a stream of dark brown liquid toward the can perched on the porch edge.
Silent shots rang out as the two men's eyes met.
In the background Lent saw the gunmen tightening their grip on their shotguns. And he wiped his mouth against his shirt sleeve before folding his arms across his chest. A glimmer of something dark flickered once again on Cross' face, and Lent saw a smile spread across the captain's mouth . . . One day when he was much younger exploring the tall weeds behind his house, Lent noticed an older boy threading his way through the woods with a small bundle in his hands. Thinking himself alone and safe from watchful eyes, this older boy sank to his knees, opened the bundle and held out a tiny kitten which struggled and whined against its captor rough handling.