Read Online Cradle Lake by Ronald Malfi - Free Book Online Page A

and two other men
lifting
the injured boy off the ground. The boy’s head pivoted awkwardly. His limbs hung limply, and that white sneakerless sock was like a finger pointing straight at the heavens. A large smear of blood was soaking into the concrete.
    â€œDon’t
lift
him!” Alan shouted, already backing away in the direction of his house. “Are you crazy? Wait for a fucking ambulance!”
    Of all the absurd things and despite the gruesomeness of the scene, the group of kids recoiled at his language. One of them even pointed at him in astonishment, then covered his ears. It would have been comical under different circumstances.
    Alan rushed across his lawn and into the house, wondering where the hell he’d put his goddamn cell phone when, blowing past the kitchen, he realized there was a phone on the wall.
    Ramming one shoulder against the side of the refrigerator, he yanked the receiver off the cradle and punched 911. The operator came on and he stammered, “Ambulance! Ambulance!” Once he was connected, he prattled off what had happened, answering the questions he could while stumbling over the ones he didn’t know, such as the name of the boy who’d been hit and the woman’s name—
    (ask the woman her name we should get her name)
    â€”who’d hit him.
    Like earlier, something out the window caught his attention. He slammed the phone down on the handset and practically pressed himself up against the kitchen window.
    Two boys from the baseball game stood in his yard, their hands weighted down with oversized gloves, their baseball hats too big for their heads. They were staring in the direction of the backyard. Don appeared from around the rear of the house and bent to speak to one of the children. He held the boy’s shoulder and talked very close to his face, the brim of the boy’s baseball cap nearly touching Don’s forehead. The boy nodded and took off toward the street, leaving his friend behind. Don ran his hands through his thick black hair, then dipped back behind the house.
    Alan bounded down the hallway and cut through the living room, heading for the sliding patio doors at the rear of the house. The commotion roused Jerry Lee from semiconsciousness; the dog began barking as if at an intruder.Alan ignored him. Pulling the blinds back from the doors revealed a file of neighborhood men disappearing into the trees at the edge of the backyard. Don brought up the rear, hurrying now in a panicked jog.
    Alan yanked on the door handle but it wouldn’t budge. Futilely, he repeated this action two more times before he realized that the goddamn door was
locked.
He flipped the lock and the door whooshed open. Apparently, he’d been sweating for the past couple of minutes because the stormy breeze descending from the mountains froze the perspiration to his skin, causing a series of shivers to race down to the small of his back. He shouted Don’s name, but the man had already disappeared through the trees and down the rutted dirt path.
    Rushing outside, he nearly slammed into the boy who’d remained standing, wide-eyed and motionless, in the yard. The boy looked about eight years old. He stared up at him, disbelief still tattooed on his face. His ears bent under the weight of his oversized baseball hat.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Alan shouted, his voice loud enough to cause the boy to flinch. It was a ridiculous question to shout at an eight-year-old, anyway.
    The boy pointed at the dark gap between the trees where Don and the rest of the men had vanished just moments ago. A strong wind shook the trees, swinging the branches in front of the hollow. As if trying to close it up, hide it from sight.
    â€œThey took Cory,” said the boy.
    Without another word, Alan took off toward the opening in the trees. Shoving branches out of his way, he stepped onto the path and passed into the depths of the woods.
    Hardly any sunlight permeated the