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Sajak

The raiders have moved on, mostly, but the sets are still smoldering. Sajak heaves a beam up and crawls from the rubble, heaving coughs through dust and smoke, a battered steel case in one hand.

Not far away, Trebek is sitting heavily on his heels, hands empty. “I couldn’t save them,” he mumbles. “All my writers, Pat. They hauled them off like cattle for the slaughter, and–”

“They took Vanna too,” says Sajak grimly, popping the case. “But they’re not out of here yet.”

He tosses over his spare double-barrel. Trebek catches it and chocks it with one practiced hand.

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