Chapter 16: The Dorian Collective

A Better Tomorrow, Part 1

Fayetteville, North Carolina 

April, 1946

The sound of gravel under tires. Only the sound of gravel under tires. Nothing coupled with the rolling treads of tanks or the crackle of gunfire just beyond a ridge, just the wonderful monotony of gravel, rubber, and movement. 

He’d taken a bus—several, actually—from the Disembarkation Port in New York to Fayetteville. Every mile felt like four until he started seeing signs for home. The open North Carolina land of his hometown rushed into his senses like the balmy wind pushing through his open window. 

He wondered how Alice would react when she saw him for the first time. He closed his eyes and pictured her—the waves of amber hair curled at her shoulders, the poise of her shoulders against the curve of her collarbone, the way she leaned all of her weight against one hip when she lost herself in thought. He smiled—her memory the only thing keeping him from his own nerves. 

“You got out. Lucky son of a bitch.”