--donation bonus (day #17, post 4/5)--
Aiming was also a bit awkward for him. The path of destruction sprung from Colt’s hands, but just putting an open palm forward was too clumsy and inaccurate, he felt. He tried putting two fingers forward like a childish pistol, but that wasn’t doing it for him, either. In the end, he just used an unloaded gun and adjusted for the slightly off-center firing point for its invisible “bullets.” He found it much more comfortable.
After a while, though, he stopped. He did find the power interesting, but at least for now, a regular gun was still much more useful. The only upside he could see to this was that it didn’t require ammo. He supposed another plus might be that it didn’t have the potential to jam like a normal gun did, but Colt always made sure to take proper care of his firearms and stayed away from models that were prone to operating problems, anyway.
He bathed the kids in a wash basin one at a time, gave them fresh diapers, and then fed them.
‘I’m curious,’ said Bohwanox. ‘What do you intend to do with them when they are older?’
For a time, Colt didn’t answer. That was a question he had been dreading. “I’m not sure,” he eventually said.
‘Have you not given it much thought?’
“No, I have. I just. Haven’t come up with a good answer.”
‘Hmm. If you intend to stay on the run indefinitely, what kind of life could you provide for them?’
Colt only stared at them.
‘I’m guessing you don’t see a foster home as a viable option.’
“They aren’t going to grow up in a place like that. Not as long as I’m still breathing.”
‘What’s wrong with foster homes?’
Colt eyed the reaper. “Go haunt one for a few years and then ask me that question again.”
‘Is that personal experience I’m hearing or just the jaded view of an ex-cop?’
His mouth twisted distastefully. “Both.”