ground. I dropped to my knees beside her, sobbing, my eyes streaming with tears from grief and pain and smoke. The ground near Grandma’s gray hair was wet, and I realized with sickening rage that the man I’d seen had been urinating not on Grandma’s chair, but on her body.
“ No!” I screamed at the sky.
I still hadn’t found my mother. I stood and hurried to the far end of the wagon, where the smoke was like a black wall holding me back. I saw a foot sticking out from behind the wheel. Dropping to my hands and knees I crawled under the smoke to where my mother was sprawled in the dirt. Her dress was ripped down the front, her swollen, pregnant belly sticking up to the sky, her skirts bunched to her waist, her privates exposed and legs splayed at an awful angle. She’d taken a bullet to the head and another to her stomach. Sobbing, I smoothed my mother’s clothes down to cover her nakedness. I collapsed on the ground next to her and curled myself into a tight ball of misery. I didn’t know what do. I wiped my tears with my bloody hands and cried out at the pain that burned inside me. I was covered in blood, but I was alive when everyone I loved was dead.
The wagon, weakened by fire, gave an ominous groan, lilted to the right, and then shuddered in warning. Before I understood what that meant, it collapsed on top of my mother’s body. I scrambled back just in time to avoid being crushed by burning wood.
They were all dead. Everyone but me, who’d been too cowardly to save them. I wanted to curl up and die beside them, let the fires burn away my anguish, but I was too yellow for even that. I scooted back as the flames burned hotter and higher. My eyes streamed, my lungs burned, and my heart ached. Then the wind shifted, and the flames moved to the long grasses on the outskirts. In a blink they caught like tinder and exploded into an inferno. I stood as the wind swept the fire along, realizing in moments I’d be trapped.
Instinct kicked in when the urge to survive did not. Keeping my apron to my face, I moved to the railings at the back of the wagon where my daddy kept one shotgun hidden and loaded for me and my mother. She’d probably been going for it when the Smith riders attacked. I didn’t have time to search for more bullets. From my father’s dead body, I took his heavy hunting knife. And then my feet were moving away as my mind stayed with my family.
The fire chased me, happily making sport of this run for my life. With each pounding step, I thought of my mother, my brother, my father, my grandmother. Their names alternated in my mind, keeping time with my steps. My chest felt as if it were held tight in a vise, a clamp determined to squeeze the air from my lungs and the blood from my heart. I raced to the shallow river and splashed across, the wet cold bringing me from shock into the full realization that whether I lived or died depended on what I did next.
Chapter Seven
DR. GRAEBEL gave Gracie a very detailed report. Her daughter had been in a motor vehicle accident, but seemed to have been extremely lucky to have walked away with very few injuries. She had scratches and a bump on her head they’d want to watch, but other than that she was fine. Gracie didn’t accept the doctor’s diagnosis until she’d held Analise and inspected her injuries herself. He was right, though. Analise seemed unharmed, just shaken by the experience. She kept apologizing, for being there or for something else, something worse. Gracie didn’t know. But tonight wasn’t the time to question her. Not when they were all so tired and anxious. Gracie couldn’t stop hugging her, kissing her, telling her she loved her. And for the first time in a long time, Analise let her.
Arms around her daughter’s shoulders, Gracie made her way into the front room and sat on the love seat beside Analise. The psychics were out of sight, upstairs finding their rooms. Their footsteps sounded like an
“ No!” I screamed at the sky.
I still hadn’t found my mother. I stood and hurried to the far end of the wagon, where the smoke was like a black wall holding me back. I saw a foot sticking out from behind the wheel. Dropping to my hands and knees I crawled under the smoke to where my mother was sprawled in the dirt. Her dress was ripped down the front, her swollen, pregnant belly sticking up to the sky, her skirts bunched to her waist, her privates exposed and legs splayed at an awful angle. She’d taken a bullet to the head and another to her stomach. Sobbing, I smoothed my mother’s clothes down to cover her nakedness. I collapsed on the ground next to her and curled myself into a tight ball of misery. I didn’t know what do. I wiped my tears with my bloody hands and cried out at the pain that burned inside me. I was covered in blood, but I was alive when everyone I loved was dead.
The wagon, weakened by fire, gave an ominous groan, lilted to the right, and then shuddered in warning. Before I understood what that meant, it collapsed on top of my mother’s body. I scrambled back just in time to avoid being crushed by burning wood.
They were all dead. Everyone but me, who’d been too cowardly to save them. I wanted to curl up and die beside them, let the fires burn away my anguish, but I was too yellow for even that. I scooted back as the flames burned hotter and higher. My eyes streamed, my lungs burned, and my heart ached. Then the wind shifted, and the flames moved to the long grasses on the outskirts. In a blink they caught like tinder and exploded into an inferno. I stood as the wind swept the fire along, realizing in moments I’d be trapped.
Instinct kicked in when the urge to survive did not. Keeping my apron to my face, I moved to the railings at the back of the wagon where my daddy kept one shotgun hidden and loaded for me and my mother. She’d probably been going for it when the Smith riders attacked. I didn’t have time to search for more bullets. From my father’s dead body, I took his heavy hunting knife. And then my feet were moving away as my mind stayed with my family.
The fire chased me, happily making sport of this run for my life. With each pounding step, I thought of my mother, my brother, my father, my grandmother. Their names alternated in my mind, keeping time with my steps. My chest felt as if it were held tight in a vise, a clamp determined to squeeze the air from my lungs and the blood from my heart. I raced to the shallow river and splashed across, the wet cold bringing me from shock into the full realization that whether I lived or died depended on what I did next.
Chapter Seven
DR. GRAEBEL gave Gracie a very detailed report. Her daughter had been in a motor vehicle accident, but seemed to have been extremely lucky to have walked away with very few injuries. She had scratches and a bump on her head they’d want to watch, but other than that she was fine. Gracie didn’t accept the doctor’s diagnosis until she’d held Analise and inspected her injuries herself. He was right, though. Analise seemed unharmed, just shaken by the experience. She kept apologizing, for being there or for something else, something worse. Gracie didn’t know. But tonight wasn’t the time to question her. Not when they were all so tired and anxious. Gracie couldn’t stop hugging her, kissing her, telling her she loved her. And for the first time in a long time, Analise let her.
Arms around her daughter’s shoulders, Gracie made her way into the front room and sat on the love seat beside Analise. The psychics were out of sight, upstairs finding their rooms. Their footsteps sounded like an
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