He got up and searched the cabin, coming up with something he’d brought from the other cabin he’d looted. A large, rusted adjustable spud wrench. It would make a fine weapon, even, he thought, with the sharp point on the end. He cleaned it with a rag, and found his can of machine oil and lubed it up good, working the worm gear until it moved the sliding jaw smoothly. He slid it into a belt loop. He put the oil in his pocket, too, in case the bolts were rusted. Fine, fine. Shit. Night would not come quickly enough.He puttered and messed around the cabin, impatient for nightfall. He fed the dogs, and gathered up his gear, including the AR. He thought about taking the pistol he’d taken from the slavers, but he only had two bullets for that one. Hardly worth carrying for just two rounds.Dusk found him at the Simmons residence. He found his spot, and bedded down, waiting for the middle of the night. He hoped to see the feeding again, but he figured he was too late. That was probably. Sophie frowned. Her boyfriend was a terrible bluffer, but she believed he was holding a decent hand. He just kept getting lucky tonight."Raise," Emily smiled, cheerfully tossing in another ten buck chip. She was a bubbly little blonde, all smiles and pearly whites. Sophie had known her since middle school—before her tits had popped out of nowhere one summer and packs of drooling boys had started worshipping the ground she flounced across. Still, she was a sweetheart.Sophie had been a later bloomer, but she teased Em that she'd won in the end. Emily's more-than-ample, ivory-white cleavage could stun a man at twenty paces, sure, but Sophie could let her brunette tresses drape across the cinnamon cannons she eventually grew and flatten a whole platoon. It had just taken her until senior year to get the artillery up and running, that's all. She was the more athletic of the pair, to boot, though Emily had the supermodel legs-for-miles physique going for her. They joked about who would.
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