His eyes scanned the perimeter of the farm as he walked toward the front gate. Years of paint balling had honed his peripheral vision. He was alert, ready to attack at a second's notice.

At breakfast Mose had stupidly suggested that his morning patrol was no longer necessary, but Dwight wasn't about to be fooled. If he didn't do something, he'd basically be sealing his own fate. In the months since he'd first seen it he'd memorized that fateful fax:

Noticed something suspicious at the edge of the field. Will investigate further and report on status tomorrow.

   Cordially,

      Future Dwight