I recognized the pale hair and tilted my head toward him. “Dax, what the hell are you doing?”“There’s a goober outside. A few goobers, actually.” He tried to pop shells into the Winchester, but they clattered messily to the carpet. I sat up and forced my eyes to focus on his shaking hands. “Thought I’d take care of them before they attracted more.”“They are not goobers,” Tony croaked from the couch. “If you must refer to them by some stupid name, call them dingleberries.”“Okay, I have to go drop some dingleberries.”Tony smothered a cough. “That just sounds wrong, bro.”Dax successfully jammed in some shells. No one was sporting a nice tan after weeks without sunlight, but he looked even paler than usual. I made myself stand up, flinching as tired muscles unkinked and complained. “Dax, shouldn’t you use the silencer?”“Need more ammo.”Tony sat up. “How many are there, Dax?”“There’s a lot!” Dax almost dropped the gun when Evie tried to stick her nose into his hand.
