I ASKED HESTER. She nodded, then spoke very deliberately. “How many grenades do you think they have left?” She shook her head, reached inside her coat, and pulled out a bottle of water. She took a swig, tilted her head toward the wounded side, and let the water do its work. She turned away, spit, and turned back to me. “God, that’s irritating,” she said. “Now that you bring it up, I don’t suppose you walk in someplace and buy just one.” “Right.” She was looking out a wide crack that some past farmer had tried to fill with cement. It hadn’t worked. “It’s getting dark.” “Yeah. I was thinking about that.” “Me, too.” “George is comin’ down as soon as it’s dark enough.” I looked around. “The yard light will cast a shadow on this corner, from about the big door over the whole left side of the place.” “They’ll shoot it out,” she said. “Damn thith thing.” “Be quiet and have some more water. No, they won’t. If they leave it on, they can see anybody who comes our way up the lane.”
