Killers...5 liters...
"Garrett keeps his gun pointed at no one in particular across the lane as he looks to Gris. “I…can’t, everything is death, everything is lost.” He tries to breath and finds it nearly impossible to draw in breath as the tribal woman closes on him."
"Garrett feels his gun hand being pushed down and he feels Gris press into him, her bony arms wrap around his head and Garrett doesn’t think twice about letting his head rest against her throat."
"They stay like that for a few moments, Gris can see inside the hovel, she sees the bodies splayed out on the mattress and watches indifferently as the hungry pigs wander inside to investigate the carnage."
"Garrett loses himself. He doesn’t feel his gun slide out of his hand or his knees give way until he realizes Gris is falling with him and they’re both on their knees in the mud and the pig shit. He whispers, “I’ve killed so many, stood by and watched so many more. I can never go back, never be clean, never forget. There’s nothing for me but ashes.”
"Gris gives Garrett one single precious moment of self-pity before she speaks. “We’re killers. It’s what are, there’s nothing else now. We aren’t done killing either, not by a long shot. We have so many more to kill now. We abandoned her, they have her, we make that right before we waste time grieving over what’s been done and can’t be changed.”
