Read Online No Mercy by Lori Armstrong - Free Book Online

You’re like… a hero! They would’ve had a parade for you and stuff.”
    I didn’t answer. I wondered if he’d come to the right conclusion without my having to explain.
    “You didn’t want none of that, did you? Not because Grandpa had just died either.”
    Surprisingly astute kid. “No.”
    Cricket chirps rose and fell.
    “Can I ask you something else?”
    “Sure.”
    “Have you ever killed anyone?”
    My natural inclination was to lie. Yet, if he was serious about the military, he deserved to know killing was part of the job. “Yeah.” I yanked the flask from my boot and emptied it in my mouth. “Why?”
    “Just curious.”
    “Come on, Levi, that’s crap. Tell me why.”
    He didn’t look at me. Instead, he picked at a gummy chunk of unknown origin imbedded in the tailgate. “Mom tells me you’ve liked to shoot stuff since you were little.”
    “Lots of people hunt,” I said cautiously.
    “She wasn’t talking about hunting. She was talking about killing. In cold blood.”
    I didn’t point out that Hope had no room to be judgmental when talking about killing.
    He blurted, “Did you really shoot your dog when you were kids?”
    Whoo-yeah. Hope had a high opinion of me.
    It’d been a long time since I’d thought of Rufus, our Australian blue heeler.
    That brutally hot afternoon became so clear in my mind I could almost smell the cherry Kool-Aid. Dad was working second shift. Sophie had gone home. None of the ranch hands were around. Just Hope and me and a lazy summer day.
    We were swinging on the porch when we heard the most godawful howling. We followed the yelps to the end of the driveway and found Rufus cowering in the ditch.
    He’d been hit by a car, back legs broken, hips crushed. He couldn’t even drag himself out of the gully.
    Hope raced to pick him up. Happy as Rufus seemed to see her, in his paralyzed state he couldn’t even wag his fluffy tail.
    I’d stopped her. “Don’t touch him.”
    She wailed, “But we have to help!”
    The insistent cawing of black crows brought my attention to the cloudless blue sky and the bluish-black wings of the birds circling above us. Nature knew. I knew. Nothing would help poor Rufus.
    “Call Daddy,” Hope begged me over Rufus’s howls. “He’ll tell you what to do. He’ll send Doc Kroger. Hurry!”
    The vet was too busy to waste time on a lost cause. My stomach churned the Kool-Aid into battery acid. I knew what Dad would’ve done. No one liked putting down an animal, but it was a harsh reality of ranch life.
    My heart pounded. My palms dripped sweat. I’d made myself look at Rufus, the cattle dog my mom loved. Blood poured out his muzzle. Diarrhea matted the black-and-white fur on his rear haunches, proving he’d lost control of his bowels.
    I had no choice. “Stay here with him for a minute, okay?”
    Relief crossed Hope’s face. She’d nodded and dropped to her knees to stroke his head.
    At the house I’d unlocked the gun safe, removed the Remington, grabbed some ammo, and shoved them in my shorts pocket. I’d dragged a shovel, letting the distortion of metal grinding on rocks and gravel fill my ears as I trudged to the end of the driveway.
    Hope was bawling. When she saw the rifle, she began to scream.
    “Unless you want to watch, go on and get in the house.”
    “No! You can’t do this! I won’t let you!”
    I stayed mute. It was easier for her to be mad at me. I swallowed the hard lump of regret. Tears swam to the surface again. So when the lump returned, I’d let it stay there like a bone in my throat to keep the tears at bay.
    “P-please, Mercy, don’t. Wait until Daddy gets home. He can fix him. Daddy can fix anything.”
    I put a cartridge in the chamber.
    She screamed. Tears and snot streamed down her red face. “I’m telling! I’m calling Daddy at work to tell him you killed Rufus!”
    “Fine. Do it.” I put another shell in.
    “I hate you! And when Daddy hears what you done, he’ll hate you, too!” She’d