PERFECT!! OMG CAN’T WAIT!!!
Travis shivered and thought about closing up shop, but he wasn’t sleepy yet, and sleeping was about all he could do when he sneaked into Dill’s house each night. Not a word had passed between him and his father at work. His father certainly hadn’t invited him home—not that he would have accepted such an invitation. He talked with his mom regularly when he went by to pick up food while his father was out. He didn’t tell her where he slept, but he assured her—on his honor—that it was in a safe, warm place.
The other reason Travis saw no reason to close up yet was that he was reading Nightwinds, the fifth book in the Bloodfall series, by flashlight. He’d managed to reread Bloodfall, Raventhrone, Swordfall, and Wolfrun in time to put away Nightwinds before Deathstorm came out in March. And that was even with starting his writing career.
His phone buzzed. A text from Lydia. Have big news. Tell you when I see you.
Hope it’s that you gave my story to G. M. Pennington’s agent and they want to publish it LOL, he texted back.
A set of headlights in the distance. An older model white Nissan Maxima slowed and pulled up behind Travis’s pickup. He set down his book, clicked off his flashlight, and hopped down. Two men got out of the Maxima. Travis didn’t recognize either of them; they were both wearing hoods that obscured their faces.
“Hey, gentlemen,” Travis said. “Get you some firewood on this chilly night?”
One of the men hung behind a little bit. The other stepped forward. “Yeah, man. How much?”
“Small bundle’s five dollars, big bundle’s ten. Cut you a deal on the whole rest of what I got if you’re interested.”
“Lemme think about it, bro.” Something about the man seemed strange. He had a nervous, jittery energy.
The man who hung back joined his compatriot. “We’ll take a large,” he said.
“Okay.” Travis rummaged in his pickup bed for a nice large bundle.
When he turned around, the man pointed a gun at him. “Gimme your money, bro. Hurry your ass up. All your cash.”
Travis’s heart began pounding. His mouth went dry. His legs felt rubbery beneath him. He raised his hands. “Okay, okay, okay. No problem. No problem. Just take whatever.” He handed over his wallet.
The man seemed even more nervous and jittery than the first man Travis had spoken to. “What you got in the truck?”
Travis opened the cab door. He reached for his zipper pouch on the floorboard, where he kept most of his firewood earnings for the night. It was wedged under his staff. He picked up his staff to move it out of the way.
He heard a deafening crack and simultaneously felt a sledgehammer blow to his ribs. It knocked him into the doorframe.
“Shit, dude! Why’d you shoot him?” the other man screamed. “Come on, we gotta move.”
The man who shot Travis yanked the zipper pouch from his hand. The two men dashed to the Maxima, jumped in, and screeched away. Travis watched their taillights disappear over the rise. His brain told him that he should have gotten the license plate number, but it was too late.
He managed to stay standing, but gripped the door of his truck for support. He didn’t feel well at all. He couldn’t feel his legs or arms. His face was numb. His heart was working too hard. He couldn’t breathe. He had a coppery taste in his mouth. He was suddenly thirsty. And cold. He began to shiver uncontrollably.
He didn’t think he could drive and decided to try to flag down a car. His legs failed him so he crawled toward the road, fumbling in his jacket pocket for his phone. He dropped it in front of him and dialed 911.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
“I think someone shot me.”
“All right sir, what is your location?”
“River Road. Is my mom there?”
“Okay, River Road. Can you tell me where exactly on River Road?”
“East of the bridge. I’m thirsty. Is my mom there?”
“Sir, I’ve got units heading your way right now, okay? I need you to stay with me. What’s your name?”
“Travis Bohannon. Is my mom there?”
“Travis, hang in there with me. We’ll try to get your mom. I need you to keep talking to me.”
“I need some water. I need some water. Can’t breathe.”
“Keep talking to me, Travis. Travis. Travis? Travis? Travis? Hang in there with me, Travis. Can you talk to me? Travis?”
Some fall in glorious ways. On green fields of battle as old warriors, surrounded by friends, fighting for their homes, fighting cruelty.
Some fall crawling in the dirt of Forrestville, Tennessee, in the dark, impossibly young and alone, for no good reason at all.
“I feel bad Travis’s not finding out the same time as me,” Dill said.
“Do you know where he is?” Lydia asked.
“He mentioned River Road.”
“Well, there aren’t that many places he could be. Here.” Lydia handed Dill her phone while she drove. “Text him. Find out where he is.”
Dill texted him. No response. Tried calling. Nothing.
“He texted me earlier. Maybe he ran out of battery,” Lydia said.
“He never runs out of battery.”
“Not in the pre-Amelia days.”
“Excellent point. Let’s drive River Road for a while. I don’t have to be home yet.”
“Maybe we can help him sell firewood,” Lydia said. “I can show some leg.”
“Yeah, but then people would stop to buy firewood and get a lecture about objectifying women.”
“So?” She turned onto River Road and drove a short distance before coming around a bend to see a wall of flashing blue lights. Forrestville police, White County sheriff. She slowed. “Oh wow,” she murmured. “Maybe someone had an accident.”
Dill craned to see. “Hope it wasn’t Trav.”
They neared. An officer stood in the road, wearing a reflective vest. He directed Lydia around the scene. A camera flashed.
Then they were able to see past the wall of flashing lights.
“Dill…is that Travis’s truck?” Lydia said, a rising alarm in her voice.
Dill squinted through the glare. He couldn’t discern the color of the truck with all the blue light. Another camera flash. Red. He felt a surge of adrenaline and dark dread. “Oh shit. Oh please, Jesus, no. No no no no no no no no no no no no. Lydia, stop.”
She stopped in the middle of the road. They jumped out and ran to the officer directing traffic. He didn’t look much older than them.
“Miss, I’m going to need you to move your car,” he said.
Lydia’s voice trembled. “Officer, this is our friend’s truck. Can you please tell us what happened?”
“Miss, I can’t at this time. There’s been a situation out here. I don’t know what information the family has yet so I’m not at liberty to say.”
Lydia fought tears, frantic and despondent. “Officer, please. I’m begging you.”
“Miss, I am sincerely sorry. I can’t give you any more information at this time. I apologize.”
Lydia broke down.
“Please,” Dill said, also starting to lose composure. “Please tell us where he is.”
The young officer had a pained expression. He glanced from side to side. His fellow officers were putting up crime scene tape. An officer took a photo of a bloodstain on the pavement.
The officer leaned in close. “County.”
They didn’t even stick around long enough to thank the officer. They tore away.
They drove in deathly silence. The engine whined as Lydia pushed it, going twice the speed limit most of the way.
Please God. Please God. Please let him be okay.
They squealed up to the hospital, parked haphazardly, and bolted inside.
Time seemed to slow for Dill as he looked around the garishly lit emergency room. There was a strange disconnect between what he saw and the way his mind processed it—or rather, didn’t process it.
Travis’s father, sitting in a corner, beating the sides of his head with his fists and weeping, two police officers standing next to him, looking uncomfortable.