<div style="text-align: center">《 <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fmediaslide-europe.storage.googleapis.com%2Fmetromodels%2Fpictures%2F831%2F758%2Flarge-1598473238-e908776a59dcdce06c33d52939dad74b.jpg&amp;hash=8a63eeb1d486d8d18277180e9342a8e4" href="https://mediaslide-europe.storage.googleapis.com/metromodels/pictures/831/758/large-1598473238-e908776a59dcdce06c33d52939dad74b.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Miles </a>》<br/>
<i>Location: Highway 2 before KOA; stopped <br/>
Addressing: The Wilson brothers, the Morris brothers</i><br/>
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</div></div><br/>That was the thing about the Wilson brothers; they were kind of great once you got to know them, but before you did, there was always that awkward stage where you wondered if Josh had been dropped on his head once or twice as an infant. Miles had a modicum of appreciation for them, though, and he respected Jeb's good sense a touch bit more than that.<br/><br/>Speaking of sense, the man who most reminded Miles of his own son was coming up to them, pack strung over his shoulder and a sense of purpose in his step that told the older man he had decided to go beyond his comfort zone in showing a group of stragglers grace.<br/><br/>"Good plan," Miles confirmed. "We don't want to spook any green bloods into shooting into the dark." His gaze went to Josh. "And what<i>the fuck</i>were you doing standing in the middle of the road, boy? That's a great way to find the quickest road into a grave." Plus, he didn't need anymore people he knew to die today. There had been enough to last him a lifetime.<br/><br/>He adjusted the rifle strap around his shoulder and neck, pointing the barrel south as he began to walk west, towards the house that fronted Highway 2 and led down past the Wild West Lodging towards the tail end of the old KOA campgrounds. It was less than a quarter mile; still it was treacherous with darkness nearly upon them and no lights save the stars and moon.<br/><br/>Miles' feet stopped abruptly at Owen's question. He felt a hard, sharp clench in his chest and a tightening at the base of his throat, as strong as if someone were squeezing it from the inside.<br/><br/>"Loretta's passed," he said. His voice was hoarse, but there was an acceptance to his tone, as if it had happened long ago. Perhaps, in a way, it had. "This morning," he explained, "but she would have appreciated the thought, Owen."<br/><br/>With no more words needed, he turned and walked into the trees.