82
" The profilers’ plan to coax me out of the woods resembled a comedy skit. During their search of my Cane Creek trailer, the feds had found dozens of books on the Civil War. And interviews with my friends confirmed that I was a bona fide Civil War buff. The profilers looked at all this Civil War “stimuli” and concluded that my hiding in the mountains was a form of role-playing. Starring in my own Civil War fantasy, I was a lone rebel fighting for the Lost Cause, and the task force was a Yankee army out to capture me. To talk On August 16, the task force pulled out of the woods while Bo and his rebels went in. They had to look the part, so the FBI profilers dressed them in white hats with the word “REBEL” stenciled in red letters across the front; and around their neck each rebel wore a Confederate flag bandanna.me into surrendering, they needed some of my rebel comrades to convince me that
the war was over and it was time to lay down my arms. Colonel Gritz and his crew were assigned the role of my rebel comrades. They were there to “rescue” me from the Yankee horde.
Bo’s band of rebels pitched camp down in Tusquitee, north of the town of Hayesville. Beginning at Bob Allison Campground – the place where I’d abandoned Nordmann’s truck – they worked their way west into the Tusquitee Mountains. They walked the trails, blowing whistles and yelling “Eric, we’re here with Bo Gritz to save you.” They searched for a week.
I lost it when I heard on the radio that the profilers had dressed Gritz’s clowns in “REBEL” hats and Confederate flag bandannas. I laughed so hard I think I broke a rib. "
― Eric Rudolph , Between the Lines of Drift: The Memoirs of a Militant
86
" Day slammed the door behind Johnson, leaving just him and his partner in the room alone. Day hit the lights.
“Setting the mood, Leo?” God grinned at him.
“I want to talk to you now.”
“You can’t always get what you want, Leonidis,” God rebutted.
“I want you,” Day said with no hesitation.
The room was deathly silent. After a few long seconds God responded simply, “No you don’t.”
“I do. Isn’t it obvious?” Day moved a little closer.
“You don’t know what the fuck you want. I’ve watched you for four years, jumping from bed to bed and fucking your way through half of Atlanta. I have one emotional night and all of a sudden you want me…fuck you,” God said in his gruffest voice.
Day’s body heated instantly at the sound. He moved even closer to where God was standing on the opposite side of the table.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was supposed to be saving myself for marriage, and even more so, I didn’t realize you were a goddamn virgin. How many women have I seen you fuck in that pussy-getting truck of yours, huh?” Day lowered his voice as he stood directly in front of God. “Just tell me you didn’t feel what I did last night.” He closed the small gap, not minding God’s height at all, and looked up into electric-green eyes. “Tell me you don’t want me too, and I’ll back the fuck off.”
God looked down at him and Day could see the uncertainty all over that ruggedly handsome face.
“Shit’s complicated, Leo.” God’s breath ghosted across his forehead.
“Make me understand, Cashel,” Day whispered and slowly brought his hands up to rest on God’s waist. "
― A.E. Via
87
" No offense, Sam, but you’re going off the road. Off the road! Sam! You’re going off the road!”
“No, I’m not; shut up,” Sam snapped as he guided the huge truck back onto the road, narrowly avoiding overturning in the ditch.
“This is how I’m going to die,” Jack said. “Crammed in like this in a ditch.”
“Oh, please,” Sam said. “You’re strong enough to tear your way out even if we did crash.”
“Do me a favor and rescue me, too, "
― Michael Grant , Fear (Gone, #5)
91
" Like most people I am smarter than some, dumber than others, skinnier than most, and fatter than a few, but none was ever more confused than I was. I flew with confusion always parallel to me, and a whole internal chase at my rear. The one matter that was not confusing to me, but seemed to escape all the others, was the fact that the only thing that was certain to become obsolete, would necessarily become wearied and worn, was the truth. I knew this in spite of the truth that I had had little truck with the truth in my life. It was not that I considered myself a resident in a den of lies, but rather that my history was shrouded and diced and soaking wet with hysteria and contradiction. Contradictions or no, my trajectory through life, though different from most, was, nonetheless, a trajectory. "
― Percival Everett , I Am Not Sidney Poitier
