Cigarette still lolling from his mouth John Marshall led the way down a steep, wooded hill. His footsteps barely made a sound, scarcely moved the leaves. O’Neil followed a few steps behind, not out of deference but out of habit.

He always went by O’Neil these days. It’d been so long since anyone called him by his Christian name he wasn’t sure he’d answer to it if they did.

“You ever think a’ goin’ back?” O’Neil asked in a casual whisper.

“Not nearly as much as you do, boy,” came John’s quick response floating through the trees.

“Mighty powerful temptation to go back fer.” He liked to goad the older man a little. It passed the time.

“Watch yer lip. We all got our reasons, those nagging questions.”

“And here we are, back on Tennessee Road, skulkin’ bout like thieves and not in a warm bed with a…” But he trailed off. There was only so far you could goad a man about his kin.

John stopped and considered a yellowed leaf in the moonlight, “We’re here, cause there’s things what need doin’.”