I’m a weaaaasel!” the boy shouted as he dove over the chamiso bush in an explosion of powdery snow. “Woof! Woof! I’m a wolfie and I’ll eat you up!” his sister caroled as she raced after him, eight-year-old arms pumping. “Come back here, you little par de esquintles!” Eusebia Cortines yelled. Eric Salvador listened and grinned, cradling the shotgun in his arms and keeping his eyes moving over the field of view. You couldn’t keep kids in all the time, and this pair were more active than most. He was a stocky, muscular thirty-one years old, and his upper lip was very slightly lighter than the weathered dark-olive of the rest of his face, where a mustache had been until recently. A scar ran down from his cheek to the corner of his mouth, giving it a bit of a quirk. Black hair was cropped close to the sides and top of his head, showing with the hood of his jacket thrown back. He looked like an ex-Marine NCO from here in northern New Mexico. One who’d pulled a tour in the sandpit, Iraq, and one and a quarter on the rockpile—which was what you called Afghanistan, if you were in the Suck and hence among the connoisseurs of bad neighborhoods.
What do You think about Shadows Of Falling Night (2013)?
