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Summary
“My name is Cooper Howard.”
He's gone. He's too far gone. Seen too many westerns and absorbed too many rads.
His head cants to the side, neck straining, leathery skin pulling taught, and she jumps when it snaps to the other side with a pained hiss. She measures her steps carefully with his, making sure she gains no ground on him, nor loses any. He makes for an unsettling silhouette from behind.
“My name is Cooper Howard,” he insists to himself, the words spit through tight lips.
