Dylan swallowed.
“Did you want to?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because sometimes there are situations where every option is terrible.”
Dylan looked away.
Walter said:
“That's why I stopped.”
Dylan finally understood.
The old man wasn't hiding because he was ashamed of being strong.
He was hiding because he remembered what strength had cost him.
The Attack
The attack happened three nights later.
Walter was leaving the pavilion.
The parking lot was nearly empty.
He heard footsteps.
He stopped.
A figure moved behind a parked van.
Walter did not run.
He waited.
“Daniel,” he said.
No answer.
Another figure approached from the opposite side.
Walter's eyes narrowed.
Two.
Not one.
The first man rushed him.
Walter moved.
He avoided the strike and pushed the attacker into the side of the van.
The second man came from behind.
Walter turned.
Blocked.
Countered.
But age mattered.
His knee screamed.
His shoulder protested.
He stumbled.
The attacker grabbed him.
Then a voice shouted:
“HEY!”
Dylan.
He came running across the parking lot.
He hit the second man hard enough to knock him away.
Marcus followed.
The attackers fled.
Dylan chased them to the street.
Marcus stayed with Walter.
“You okay?”
Walter nodded.
“My knee.”
“Can you stand?”
“With help.”
Marcus helped him up.
Dylan returned breathing heavily.
“They're gone.”
Walter looked at him.
“Thank you.”
Dylan shook his head.
“You saved me first.”
Walter smiled.
“That was different.”
“No.”
Dylan's voice was quiet.
“It wasn't.”
Police arrived.
The attackers were gone.
But they had left something behind.
A small metal case.
Inside was an old military identification card.
Walter stared at it.
His face became pale.
Marcus asked:
“What?”
Walter turned the card around.
It belonged to one of the three men who had supposedly died during the extraction thirty years earlier.
Dylan looked confused.
“What does that mean?”
Walter answered: