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Tom had risen at first light and was going through a fluid tai chi workout. His tattered National Guard uniform hung from a nearby tree, drying in the early morning sun; he had washed it the night before. He wore only a pair of threadbare sweat pants. Near to hand lay his weapons.

Around him, men were carrying newly felled trees to various campsites. The settlers had decided to build log cabins for the coming winter and Tom's men were helping them. All but Dario. He had remained in his tent, refusing to come out. Tom understood his reticence all too well: one of the settlers had killed their friend Russo. Accidentally or not (and Tom had his doubts), the deed had been done and all of the Guardsmen had been deeply affected by it.

Russo had led them from the very beginning, guiding them along as carefully as he could. His years of experience had meant the difference between life and death too many times for his companions to take his loss lightly. Most of them had learned in the past two months to live with it, but the resentment was still there. Only Dario had refused to play along.

"Tom?"

He turned to see the big kid, Danny, watching him. "Yeah?"

"Whatcha doin'?"

Tom picked up and slipped on a tattered sweatshirt. "It's called tai chi. It's a form of exercise."

Danny stared blankly at him. "Oh." He shifted uneasily, looking down at his feet. Tom watched him. Danny rocked from side to side. "Is there somethin' I can do for you, Danny…?"

Danny's head came up and Tom saw that he was crying. "It was all my fault," he blurted: "It was me…"

Tom felt his stomach tighten."What? What're you talkin' about?" But he thought he knew.

Danny's hands rose to cover his face. "I was the one who shot your friend," he sobbed. "I thought he was shootin' at us…"

Movement to his right drew Tom's attention. Dario was standing outside his tent, rifle in hand, staring at Danny.

Stan moved like a somnambulist, legs working stiffly, eyes staring vacantly, hands moving as if of their own accord. The bark of the tree pressing hard down onto his left shoulder didn't bother him. Behind him, three other men were strung out along the length of the tree. They followed dutifully, aware that the recent disappearance of his son had shaken him badly. He had about him now the look of a man haunted.

They came to his campsite and, as one, turned and bent (careful to bend at the knees) and dropped the tree. Stan turned and started back along the trail. Doug reached out and caught his arm. Stan stopped, looked blankly down at the hand on his arm. His eyes moved up to Doug's glistening face.

"Hey, man," Doug grinned: "Let's take a break. We got the rest of the summer…"

It took a moment for Stan to register what he was hearing. "Huh?" He blinked, aware, suddenly, that he, too, was soaked with sweat. And exhausted. He looked at the faces of the other two men. They seemed to be waiting for him to dismiss them. He cleared his throat. "Yeah," he managed, finally: "Yeah… Let's call it a day…"

Doug opened his mouth to respond, but didn't. He watched Stan turn and walk away through the trees. For the first time that morning, Stan's shoulders seemed to actually sag…

Danny was on his knees, hands clasped before him, begging for his life.

"I didn't mean to do it," he wailed: "Don't kill me!"

Dario's finger had turned to steel around the trigger; his eyes were wide, his long, greasy hair hanging down into his face. His teeth were grinding audibly as he fought the urge to off the kid.

Tom, palms out, was watching Dario closely. "Don't," he warned: "Let it go, man. What's done is done…"

Dario's eyes shifted to Tom. "What?"

Tom sighed. "Russo's gone, man," he whispered: "Dead and gone…"

Dario's lips curled contemptuously. "I don't fuckin' believe you, man. You gone native on me?"

Tom shrugged. "It's just a fact, man- that's all. We don't need this shit."

Dario returned his attention to Danny. He took a step closer and placed the end of the barrel against the kid's forehead. Danny closed his eyes, sobbing uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry," he cried: "I'm so sorry…"

Because his eyes were closed, Danny never saw the shot that shattered Dario's skull.

Stan was walking numbly along the trail when he heard the shot. He stopped and turned in the direction from which it had come. Now what? He summoned up the will to run and started off. Maybe I'll run smack dab into the middle of a shootout, he thought. He ran faster.

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