the smuggler’s bible

Huron

“There’s something else inside him. More than there used to be.”

“That’s nice. Really poetic.”

“It’s literal.”

It took a week in the warrens to track down Huron. Juliet found him just as he was all those years ago—sitting in a frayed folding chair with a beer in his hand. He rolls his big sleepy eyes around the sheet metal hut.

“You know, for a while people had a lot to say about the Kuril run.”

“And now?”

“Well, now they’re mostly dead. Pulled under in your wake, I suppose.”

“Goddamnit, I didn’t ask for this.”

“Nobody ever does.”