Project Dakota: Rising of the dead
He turned on his heel, his boots crunching angrily on the gravel as he stormed back toward his vehicle, a storm of contained fury.
The silence he left behind was deafening, broken only by the ragged, grateful sobs of the man on the ground and the frantic, pounding rhythm of my own heart. We had won the argument, but as Moe and I moved to carefully, cautiously, lift the feverish, groaning man into the dark, metal belly of the truck, I couldn't shake the chilling certainty that we had just lost something much, much bigger. The cost of this single act of mercy was a debt that had yet to be called in, and I had a terrible feeling that when it was, the interest would be paid in blood.
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