Read Online Time to Die by John Gilstrap - Free Book Online

be found. Only a couple of hundred feet from water’s edge during high tide, those were the first places to be evacuated when a hurricane blasted through.
    What the heck were those people’s names? Peters? Parnell? Something like that. Something that began with a P . Parker! That was it. June Parker. Don’t ask him how he remembered that sort of detail, but it was the way his mind worked; the quirk to his personality that he hoped would one day earn him a detective’s badge.
    June Parker from Lincolntown. That should be easy enough to find. Pivoting the computer screen in his patrol car till he could see it better, Trooper Matt Hayes started typing.
    * * *
    Brad knew he was dead the instant he saw the gun. He lunged at Scotty without thinking, the instant the tiny gun fired. It popped twice and miraculously, impossibly, he missed! Brad didn’t know how, not at point-blank range like this, but sometimes God just steps in on your side at exactly the right time.
    Brad grabbed the revolver with his left hand and lurched it up and back, doubling Scotty over at the waist, while his right hand brought the barrel of the Sig down in a glancing blow across the top of the boy’s head. Scotty yelled as a gout of blood burst from his scalp. The kid wouldn’t let go of the gun. His forearm flexed and the tiny revolver fired again, this time launching a bullet within inches of Brad’s eye on its way to drill into the ceiling.
    Scotty’s strength surprised Brad. He fought like an animal, wriggling and kicking and cussing as he tried to break free and finish the job he’d started. To break the boy’s grip, Brad brought the heel of the Sig down hard on Scotty’s knuckles.
    Then the real screaming started. Gramma launched herself into the fray, her eyes red and wild. It was an animal sound, pure rage. She hit Brad with stunning force, leading with the heel of her hand into the tip of his nose. He heard a crunch, and his vision disappeared in a fog of tears and blood. There was another pained shriek as all three of them tumbled to the linoleum floor. He heard a clatter, and as he blinked his vision clear, he saw the little .22 skitter across the floor toward the locked back door.
    “Run, Scotty!” Gramma yelled. “Run as fast as you can!”
    The boy found his feet and Brad saw him staggering toward the door that led to the living room. “Stop!” he yelled, but the words only seemed to make the boy move faster.
    Gramma clawed at Brad’s face, her fingernails digging into the flesh of his cheeks as they searched for his eyes. He pushed her away with his gun hand, and delivered a half-powered punch with his left. Gramma grunted and rolled off of him onto the crimson-smeared floor.
    He had to stop the boy. Their only chance of survival was to stop him from running for help. Pausing long enough to snatch the .22 off the floor, Brad struggled to his feet and dashed for the living room. As he stepped over Gramma, she caught his ankle with her hand, and brought him hard back onto the floor.
    “Leave him alone!” she shouted. “If you hurt him, I swear to God I’ll kill you!”
    Brad rolled to his side, avoiding the anemic punch she tried to throw, and scrambled through the entryway into the living room, where Nicki was struggling to rise from the sofa.
    “Oh, my God,” she gasped. “What happened?”
    Brad didn’t stop to explain. He ran to the door, where he saw Scotty lingering in the front yard. When he saw Brad at the door, he ran.
    “Scotty, stop!” Brad commanded, and for an instant, Scotty did just that. He stopped and stared, his chest heaving from the effort, his face a crimson mask from the cut on his head. He listed a little to one side and holding his right arm as if it hurt, he looked to be all of eight years old. “Don’t make me shoot you,” Brad said. “I don’t want to have to do that. Come on inside.”
    “Scotty, run!” Gramma yelled.
    Brad turned to see the old woman approaching from behind, and he