didn’t it? No possessions meant he owed nothing to anybody, he could do whatever he wanted. And his life, so far, wasn’t so bad, was it? He’d had good times. He’d made people happy and had been made happy by other people and did his share of laughing.
He’d felt it at the wedding, right before the carnage and all, he’d felt just a glimmer of it. But now the full weight of it pressed up against his heart, and it felt pretty damn good.
He laughed. He laughed right out loud.
He was glad to be alive.
It was such a strange, giddy feeling that he had to say it, had to say the words, even though nobody could hear it.
So he said, “I’m glad to be alive, damnit. I’m glad.”
Chuckling, he flopped down easily in his beat-up old chair and turned on the lamp next to it.
The electrical current that shot through Henry’s body was strong enough to kill him almost instantly. He didn’t feel a thing.
Gator Boy
Keegan had tied the rope himself, cinched it tight around the boy’s waist, had tousled the straw-blond hair and said Okay, go get ‘em, boy so he knew there was no one to blame for what happened but himself. The gators were just too fast this time.
And he could say now that he’d had a funny feeling , had a sudden flash of dread as he watched Sammy wade out into the swampy water, watched the gators on the muddy isle perk up. But that could’ve been hindsight talking.
They’d done it countless times before. The rope, the boy, the gators. Sammy would go out in the water, start splashing around, and it was never long before the gators got interested and came after him. And when they’d get close, Keegan would yank the boy back, right out of the jaws of death as it were, and as the boy scrambled up on the land Keegan would snatch up his bow and let loose with an arrow right into the gator’s head.
It worked every goddamn time.
And Keegan himself grew up doing it with his own Pop. His father had taught him how to cinch the rope tight, how to splash around in the water, how to get the gator’s attention. He had more than a few scars from his days as the Gator Boy—mostly on his legs and arms but one nice one like a jagged bolt running down his jaw.
Keegan had learned from his own Pop’s mistakes. He’d learned the best ways to minimize the danger and keep his Sammy as safe as possible.
Yeah, it worked every time.
Except this time.
The boy had yelled, They’re comin’, Pa, they’re comin’! but Keegan had allowed his mind to wander in that one split second, that most crucial second. And then the rope had slipped a little in his callused hands when he yanked on it. Those two things were all the gators needed.
One of them got Sammy by the leg, dragged him under, the whole time the boy screaming Pa, Pa, help me, Pa! and then two more dove in on him and the water turned red as they tore him to pieces. And Keegan could only watch in numb horror as his son was devoured.
He stood there on the shore forever and wasn’t positive exactly when the cops showed up. But one of them said to him, You got scars, buddy. I guess you used to do the same thing as your boy there. And you got hurt more than once, by the look of it .
Numbly, watching the gators now back on the muddy isle, full on the flesh of his son, Keegan said I really don’t mind the scars. They’re all I got left , and the cops put him in the car.
Incident on a Rain-Soaked Corner
Getting shot in real life wasn’t anything like what he’d read about in novels. There was no ‘lancing pain’ or ‘sliver of fire’ along his torso. There was nothing that specific. What he felt was like someone had shoved him from behind, very hard, pushing him forward and off his feet so unexpectedly that he landed right on his face.
A second
He’d felt it at the wedding, right before the carnage and all, he’d felt just a glimmer of it. But now the full weight of it pressed up against his heart, and it felt pretty damn good.
He laughed. He laughed right out loud.
He was glad to be alive.
It was such a strange, giddy feeling that he had to say it, had to say the words, even though nobody could hear it.
So he said, “I’m glad to be alive, damnit. I’m glad.”
Chuckling, he flopped down easily in his beat-up old chair and turned on the lamp next to it.
The electrical current that shot through Henry’s body was strong enough to kill him almost instantly. He didn’t feel a thing.
Gator Boy
Keegan had tied the rope himself, cinched it tight around the boy’s waist, had tousled the straw-blond hair and said Okay, go get ‘em, boy so he knew there was no one to blame for what happened but himself. The gators were just too fast this time.
And he could say now that he’d had a funny feeling , had a sudden flash of dread as he watched Sammy wade out into the swampy water, watched the gators on the muddy isle perk up. But that could’ve been hindsight talking.
They’d done it countless times before. The rope, the boy, the gators. Sammy would go out in the water, start splashing around, and it was never long before the gators got interested and came after him. And when they’d get close, Keegan would yank the boy back, right out of the jaws of death as it were, and as the boy scrambled up on the land Keegan would snatch up his bow and let loose with an arrow right into the gator’s head.
It worked every goddamn time.
And Keegan himself grew up doing it with his own Pop. His father had taught him how to cinch the rope tight, how to splash around in the water, how to get the gator’s attention. He had more than a few scars from his days as the Gator Boy—mostly on his legs and arms but one nice one like a jagged bolt running down his jaw.
Keegan had learned from his own Pop’s mistakes. He’d learned the best ways to minimize the danger and keep his Sammy as safe as possible.
Yeah, it worked every time.
Except this time.
The boy had yelled, They’re comin’, Pa, they’re comin’! but Keegan had allowed his mind to wander in that one split second, that most crucial second. And then the rope had slipped a little in his callused hands when he yanked on it. Those two things were all the gators needed.
One of them got Sammy by the leg, dragged him under, the whole time the boy screaming Pa, Pa, help me, Pa! and then two more dove in on him and the water turned red as they tore him to pieces. And Keegan could only watch in numb horror as his son was devoured.
He stood there on the shore forever and wasn’t positive exactly when the cops showed up. But one of them said to him, You got scars, buddy. I guess you used to do the same thing as your boy there. And you got hurt more than once, by the look of it .
Numbly, watching the gators now back on the muddy isle, full on the flesh of his son, Keegan said I really don’t mind the scars. They’re all I got left , and the cops put him in the car.
Incident on a Rain-Soaked Corner
Getting shot in real life wasn’t anything like what he’d read about in novels. There was no ‘lancing pain’ or ‘sliver of fire’ along his torso. There was nothing that specific. What he felt was like someone had shoved him from behind, very hard, pushing him forward and off his feet so unexpectedly that he landed right on his face.
A second
Similar Books
