The dark jungle

"The dark jungle," Cusick exclaims,
finishing his thought.
No one replies
and I throw a book across the patio,
and Charging Hawk chases after it like a bone.
"Insufferable, ungodly," I murmur,
shielding my eyes as
he devours the pages,
"repulsive."
I turn to Cusick,
"What was it you were saying, Cusick?"
"Oh, I was simply commenting on how
Preiner has disappeared."
"Ah."
"It appears he was last seen, uh, shirtless and by all accounts,
feral, with blood
spread—smeared, across his chest."
"And Potvien?"
He sighs,
"Something about the bottom of a cross being sharpened, I'm not entirely
sure."
"Good God."
Cusick shrugs his eyebrows
and I look through the screen,
reminiscing,
"Hurley, Ettestad, they're all gone."
"Gonzo."
Charging Hawk looks up at me in a random, primal gesture,
"Are you the Antichrist? Are you!?"
He turns back to his book.
"Well, I suppose we should go looking for them."
"More cannibals?"
Cusick smirks, and glances towards Charging Hawk;
the pages ripping from the binding one by one.
"Intellectual," he adds,
and we guffaw into the afternoon.