The moonshine disinfectant wasn’t enough, and three days ter the fever hit. I don’t remember much of the two weeks that followed. They put me in back of one of the trucks and had someone caring for me just enough that I didn’t die.

  I wasn’t alone back there. The other casualties of the gremlin attack were suffering through the same. Three of the men had died before the shooting had started and another two after that. Eight of us were sick.

  The caravan was down to a skeletal crew, but we kept going until we reached one of our stops, where the locals cared for the sick and injured until we recovered.

  When I had recovered enough to walk around, Niel came to talk with me.

  “You did good during the attack,” he told me. “Kept your head about you, followed directions, and helped lead the main swarm away from the trucks.”

  “Yes sir,” I agreed.

  “How would you feel about driving one of the trucks for us when we get going again?” he asked.

  “I think I could manage, sir,” I said.

  “It’s not a permanent position, you understand. We’re short handed. We’ve got a round hole and you’re the square peg we’re pounding into it for now, until we get back to base and fill our team back up properly.”

  “Yes sir,” I agreed. Then I realized “I’m not going back to the bend on time, am I?”

  “No. We’ll be stopping there and you can say hello to your family, but we need you to come to Texas with us. We’ve already negotiated it with your grandfather.”

  “Yes sir. Alright then,” I said.

  “How many bullets you got left?”

  “Twenty-eight, sir.”

  “We’ll get you a box from the stores in Texas when we get back,” he promised. Then he left, and that was it.