Sargent saw a rat run scurry across the concrete, shouts at Safin to “hit the damn thing!”

“Fuck it all, I’m trying to,” Safin said, and shot after shot followed the creature to its hole in the crumbling wall. “It got away.”

“No doubt to plot against us,” Sargent mumbled half-humorously.

“Hold,” Safin aimed—BAM BAM BAM—and he shot away, chipping and splintering the interior. The blasts echoed from wall to wall, with Sargent watching and pulling a cigarette out from his pocket.

“Let’s get a light,” he said, and Safin kept one eye on the hole while the hand free of the trigger navigated the deep expanse of his pocket for a lighter. “Let’s kill this stupid thing.”

Safin underhanded the small plastic and red lighter which landed in Sargent’s open palm. He pulled the device to his lips, sparked it, and then suddenly saw the rat’s head poke out from the hole. “There!”

BAM BAM BAM —the wall was a wreck and the rat was, still as of yet, to be seen dead. “Fuck it. Fuck him.”

“Want the lighter back?” Sargent asked, a more pronounced glimmer of enjoyment now seeming to radiate from his face, no doubt from the hunt.

“Who needs it? I found a bunch of them back at the last stop.”

“What do you care? You don’t smoke.”

“I might. I’ve started all sorts of new things since joining up —I have an idea.”

Safin started to back away from the rat’s hole, slowly at first, and then quicker. Sargent watched with slight interest, the lamp of his cigarette washing his face in light. He sat down on a low wall of rumble. Safin made it to the other side of the exposed room’s wall, and quickly pulled, primed, and tossed a grenade from his belt.

“Fucker,” Sargent fell back behind his seat.

BOOM! The scream went from one side of the room to the other and back again.

“Fucker!” Sargent said as he got up, any glow of pleasure now stricken from his face. “Fucker!”

Safin rushed to the site and examined the ruins. The previous hole had been blown somewhat bigger, but the rat wasn’t there. “I don’t see him.”

Sargent looked around for his cigarette; the sky was a dark blue, penetrated with occasional whites, and a tame fire burned in one of the room’s corners and elsewhere. “Fuck-er. You owe me a cigarette.”

“I don’t smoke…Where’s my rat?”

Sargent saw a faint flicker of orange and picked up his smoke. He blew the dust and dirt off before putting it back in his mouth. He sat down again—same spot—and tried to enjoy himself, again.

Safin finally left the hole to try and investigate the rest of the scene. He let his boots crunch heavy on the floor’s debris.

Sargent—cigarette in mouth—slowly took off his helmet to run his dirty fingers through his hair. “My neck’s got a kink,” he said, rubbing it with his hand. “I think I got it back—

A sound.

Safin immediately took out and tossed a grenade into the other room before jumping on his stomach.

BOOM!

Sargent, for his part, threw the helmet back on and fell back behind the wall, both men with their rifles quickly aimed at the door.

“Who’s there—

BAM BAM BAM.

“Stop shooting dummy,” Sargent yelled.

“They come out, then I’ll stop.” BAM BAM BAM.

Sargent pulled his helmet down low over his eyes and wondered if he should throw his own grenade. You can always get more, he thought.

“What if it’s the rat?” Safin asked.

“We’ll shoot it.”

BAM BAM BAM.

A moment of silence —the fire crackled.

“I’ll check it out,” Safin said, and he crept close to the door.

Sargent kept the helmet low over his eyes and his gun still aimed toward the dark opening. He hoped it was the rat —mostly because he’d rather it be something without a gun, but also because he really wanted to see that rat dead already. “Bring it over here if it’s the rat.”

Soon Safin was almost at the door, neither of them hearing anything else.

“It’s a cat!” Safin yelled over his shoulder. Looks like the grenade got it. What’s a cat doing here? This is no safe place for cats.”



He went to get a closer look and Sargent yelled back at him, “Let’s go back out the way we came in. I don’t trust that exit.”

“I want to see if there are any more,” Safin said as he took a step on a wire —there was a light click and he barely had enough time to turn around before a loud—even louder than the grenade’s—BOOM filled the hallway and dust and debris came raining into the room. Sargent ducked low and pulled his helmet down. It settled.

“Fuck…”

He got up and stared at the blacked doorway. “Fuck.”

He began to creep over, rifle in hand, when suddenly it dawned on him that he didn’t want to go that way at all —even for a few free lighters. He quickly turned around and started to back out the way that they had come in. After a slow couple of steps he let his gun rest and took a cigarette and the lighter out of his pocket.

“Fucking cat…stupid fucking rats,” he mumbled.

He exited the room, cigarette-yet-to-be-lite dangling from his lips, and as he turned the corner a rat quickly ran by him and cut him off. “Fuck!” he yelled and fell backwards, his gun hitting the ground and discharging a shot right into his face.

His body slumped to the ground before it was, eventually, and much later, consumed by rats.