The hooded man walks the line, kicking barrels from under the rebels’ feet. They’re not even suspended high enough to snap their necks in the fall; no such mercy. A rotting peach splashes Hedrick’s knee.

He’s trying to remember their days in the mountains: fervency, philosophy, unity of mind and body. The Master, small and old, saying they all had within them the strength to move worlds.

The hooded man steps toward him. Hedrick drops his center, leans in and throws.

The gallows rack barely gives him time to bug his eyes before they all hurtle, together, out into the crowd.