Today’s wordage: 4,100
Today’s writing time: 2 hours
Total wordage: 136,300
Total writing time: 77 hours
“You going back to the sailors?” asked a blond man with a seamed face, clutching a rifle close as any lover.
“Surely if I am to find aid for your expedition, I will not do so from behind these walls,” Kitchens replied.
“I’d get over and to your friends before nightfall, then. They had a dread evening of it this last, and I shouldn’t expect the one coming to be better. A man shouldn’t be alone in these jungles.”
“Your advice is my command.” The clerk nodded, grabbed the rope, and climbed down the outside of the stockade. His suit, he realized, would probably have to be burned on his return to London. Though indeed, envisioning such an eventuality was itself the height of witless optimism give the exigencies of the current situation.
He stumbled across the field of fire, around bits of snapped bone, shattered Brass and the debris of repeated battle. Blood curdled in long, narrow puddles covered with flies. This was indeed not a place to be stranded.