“Russell, you can't leave me.”
“Watch me,” he stated flatly.
“But Russell, what will I do!” She was frightened.
Gary brought his eyes away from the opposite shore. “Irma, I don't care what you do. There's the car, take it. Can you shoot a gun? There's ammunition and food to last you awhile, there's that damned bag of glass you stole. Take it and go somewhere, anywhere, I don't care.” He raised his glance once more to the Iowa shore, squinting. “I'm going over to the other side and get back in the army. I've been out of it four or five days too long.”
“I don't know what to do!” she wailed.
“Find yourself another man to sleep with,” he told her then, and shook off her restraining hand. “You'll get along.” Deliberately he walked away from her, walked toward the knot of people standing at the bridge.
She let him go for about fifty feet. “Russell.”
He turned his head toward her. “Yes?”
“Good-bye, darling.”
“So long, nineteen. Take care of yourself.”