Cricket made it across the river, scattering the gathered people like leaves. Decker would call him a foolish son of a bitch later.
Whitton’s voice dripped with disgust. “You’re one of them. The nightwalkers that never change.” The mare paced closer, nostrils flaring. “You’ll all die like flies once Ridgewater remembers.”
Like flies.
Whitton knew something.
Decker gauged his odds. There was a chance he could reach him before he could shoot, but it would be risky. Diplomacy was the better choice, so they could nurse the town back to health before finding him again. Willa would never forgive him if he let him go but now was not the time for this.
Distraction, then diplomacy.
The world slowed. White rolled in the mare’s eyes like billowing smoke and Whitton’s finger flexed against the trigger.
Metal slammed into the dirt behind him, but Decker was already moving.
Not to Whitton, taking him down like a creature of the night, but to the safety of the livery where he could dispatch him without the view of the people.
The doctor’s hand, cobbled together like a long-worn shoe, flashed in his mind.
Is this what you wanted with Nathan? With Laurie? Take from them to remake yourself? Or were you remaking Nathan into something worse?
Decker’s stomach lurched and he shook himself from disgusted awe, ducking as Whitton’s third shot buried in the corner of the building. He edged around the corner of the livery, blinking away the haze threatening his eyes as the sun beat down on them.
In the distance, a door creaked open.
Hoofbeats scattered, thundering towards the chapel.
A single bullet snapped back, grazing Decker’s cheek. The shallow wound blistered and burned.
