Ranger

A man with a broken clavicle cannot fight effectively.

Once he was down, I would get on top of him and hold him.

And I would shout for Trent to wake up.

And between the two of us, we would tie his hands and his feet with the utility rope I carried in my pack.

It was a bad plan.

It required surprise.

It required that he not be faster than I thought he was.

It required that the poker not miss or glance.

It required that Trent wake up and come to my aid quickly, and that Elise not panic, and that Dale not have a weapon close enough at hand to use from the ground.

Every element had failure modes, but I could not think of a better one, and I had run out of time to think of one, because at 10.32 in the evening, Dale said, Ranger,

How long you think this storm's going to hold?

I said, Probably through dawn, maybe into the afternoon.

He said, Long night.

I said, Yeah.

He said, I'm going to try to sleep.

He swung his legs up onto the bunk and lay back.

He did not get under his blanket.

He lay on his back with his hands folded on his stomach and his eyes closed.

His boots were still off.

His jacket was still hanging on the peg.