What Happened to the Soldiers. With Amanda. A Conversation with Dan Miller.

           IwentwithOllie.Hewasheadedforthestoragearea.Aswepassedthecooler,hegrabbedabeer.

           "Ollie,whatisit?"

           "Iwantyoutoseeit?"

           Hepushedthroughthedoubledoors.Theyslippedshutbehinduswithalittlebackwashofair.Itwascold.Ididn’tlikethisplace,notafterwhathadhappenedtoNorm.Apartofmymindinsistedonremindingmethattherewasstillasmallscrapofdeadtentaclelyingaroundsomeplace.

           Ollieledtheblousedropfromthelensofhislight.Hetraineditoverhead.AtfirstIhadanideathatsomeonehadhungacoupleofmannequinsfromoneoftheheatingpipesbelowtheceiling.Thattheyhadhungthemonpianowireorsomething,akid’sHalloweentrick.

           ThenInoticedthefeet,danglingaboutseveninchesoffthecementfloor.Thereweretwopilesofkicked-overcartons.Ilookedupatthefacesandascreambegantoriseinmythroatbecausetheywerenotthefacesofdepartment-storedummies.Bothheadswerecockedtotheside,asifappreciatingsomehorriblyfunnyjoke,ajokethathadmadethemlaughuntiltheyturnedpurple.

           Theirshadows.Theirshadowsthrownlongonthewallbehindthem.Theirtongues.Theirprotrudingtongues.

           Theywerebothwearinguniforms.TheywerethekidsIhadnoticedearlierandhadlosttrackofalongtheway,Thearmybratsfrom-

           Thescream.Icouldhearitstartinginmythroatasamoan,risinglikeapolicesiren,andthenOlliegrippedmyarmjustabovetheelbow."Don’tscream,David.Nooneknowsaboutthisbutyouandme.Andthat’showIwanttokeepit."