Fallout (Crank 3)

… family resemblance. Maureen?

Hell, yeah. Just like me. Trey.

Leave her be. Grandfather.

What’s going on here? Preacher.

I am lifted. Supported.

Directed to a chair.

Someone hands me water.

I am mortified.

I AM ALSO CLAUSTROPHOBIC

With all these people clustered

around me. I feel like a grape,

being squashed into juice.

“Could I please have some air?”

Everyone takes one step back.

I can’t help but stare at Trey.

His dark hair is shot through

with silver. More salt than pepper.

The skin on his face is deeply

etched with a web of lines.

His eyes—black walnut—

are familiar. They are Grandfather’s.

He takes my interest as an invitation

to move closer again. Bryce stops

him with a hand to the arm. Excuse

me, but she asked for a little room.

Trey shakes Bryce’s grip.

Excuse me, boy, but I haven’t

seen my daughter in a long time.

I’m just taking a little inventory.

Bryce looks at me with eyes