Ranger

His pack was still at the foot of his bunk.

Zipped, the top flap buckled down.

He was not going to sleep.

He was going to lie there and wait for me to think he was asleep, and then he was going to open his eyes and move.

I gave him four minutes, then I stood up.

I said, loud enough for him to hear, but in a normal voice, going to hit the head, don't open the door for anybody.

He didn't answer.

His eyes stayed closed.

I walked toward the secondary door.

The poker was in my right hand at my side, low, angled so that the barrel of it ran along the outside of my leg and was not visible from where he was lying.

The flashlight was in my left hand, off.

The stove was between me and his bunk until the last step, when I had to come around the end of the stove to reach the toilet door, and that last step would take me within arm's length of his pillow.

I took the first step.

He did not move.

I took the second step.

He did not move.

I took the third step, which brought me around the stove, and I raised the poker as I took the fourth step, and I brought it down across his right collarbone with everything I had.

It made contact.

I felt the bone give.

I heard him make a sound that was somewhere between a grunt and an exhale.