Page 34 of Silver Brewer

And Letty’s on the ground.

“Cricket!” I cross the dirt in two long strides and dive for her. She lies on her belly with her hands over the back of her head. I gently roll her to her side, quickly skimming her body with my hands and eyes. Her chest rises and falls, and she’s gone pure white. “Are you hurt?”

“Did you hear that?” Her voice is a whisper, her lips blue and trembling.

“I did,” I say, looking up and off toward the trees. Those weren’t hunting shots. That was gunfire but not a rifle. Dammit, James. I glance back down at her. “Are you okay?”

I’m still not convinced she wasn’t shot with the way she dropped. Her front is caked in mud, the dirt sticking from the wetness of her clothing. She slowly sits up with my help, and I brush back her hair, finding grit and fine pebbles mixed with it.

“What happened?” I stare at her. The noise. It triggered something.

Her lips tremble as ghosted eyes stare up at me. “My brother. He was shot in the streets. A drive-by shooting. I saw it happen.” There are no tears or sadness, only hardness and fear. “He was only twelve.” I pull her to me and hold her listless body against my chest. My hand covers the back of her head. I know all about her pain. The loss. I’d seen too many, too young lose their lives in battle.

“We’re getting out of here,” I tell her, pressing her back by her shoulders. “It isn’t safe.” Then I tug her back to me once again, cradling her against my chest. Briskly, I lift her like a bride and stalk to our site.

What are you up to, James?

14

Shot through the heart

[Letty]

Owen.

All I can see in my mind’s eye is my brother. His smiling face with a bounce in his step and his hair flopping over his forehead. Him walking toward me. The call of his name and the twist of his head. He went down with three shots, right on the sidewalk before the middle school. At first, it didn’t make sense. Not my brother. Not on my watch. But he’d been mixed up with the wrong kids for far too long, longer than we knew. My brother. Dead at twelve.

Should I sell drugs? Would it help us with money? He was so innocent, hopeful and earnest, when he asked. A middle school student with his whole life before him and he was worried about our family finances.

Giant carries me up the slope and the few yards to our campsite. Once there, I demand he set me down. We quickly gather our things. I’m shaking, but my body works without thought.

“I’ll come back for all this,” Giant says, but I turn on him.

“No. No, we’ll get it all now and go together.” I’m determined he won’t leave me, and I don’t want to let him out of my sight. We collapse the tent, and Giant lowers the coolers. I don’t know how he got all the equipment here on his own, but we pile and fasten items to the larger cooler, building a makeshift cart. Giant carries the smaller one along with both our packs. It seems counterproductive to me to move toward the ranger station.

Until Giant admits he has a truck parked there.

I’m too out of sorts from all that’s happening to register I didn’t see a truck the night of the storm nor the morning after. It all becomes clear when we break through the trees near the back of the station. Giant signals for me to remain quiet as if we’re on a mission of espionage. He sets all the stuff in the bed of the truck and then helps me into the driver’s side of the cab, forcing me to scoot over as he enters. Once he starts the engine, he peels around the old station, the tires throwing up gravel and dirt as he circles to the front of the small structure.

“Fucking James.” Giant doesn’t look back, and neither do I, as I’m too stunned. It feels like we’re fleeing a crime. Fugitives on the run.

We bounce down a worn path, crushed between a wall of trees. Giant wants to speed, but the rough terrain prevents it.

The time passes in silence.

“Say something,” he commands, his voice full of an emotion I don’t recognize. I don’t even know if I can speak my full name.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Anything. Just talk.” Your silence makes me nervous. He swipes a hand over his longer beard, and I realize how damp I am. Everything processes in slow motion. My clothes are soaked. Dirt coats the front of me. My hair is a mess. Giant has a truck.

“Should we have searched for James?”

Giant swipes a palm over his hair and then slams the palm on the steering wheel. He shakes his head, lips clamped in refusal to discuss his brother.

“Ask me anything else.”

“How long has your truck been up here?” It seems like a silly thing to ask. He obviously parked up here and unloaded to prepare for us. Then he came down the mountain to get me.