Page 2 of Rage

Caught off guard, the gunman stumbled backward. Samuel ran for his life. Not sure where to go. There was no place to hide. He sped past the horse, entered the barn. A slash of pain gouged his belly, left to right and up to his chest. He glanced down, saw blood soaking through his shirt, spreading onto his trousers. He didn’t know how badly he was hurt. Wasn’t even sure where he was shot. He could feel the warm spread of blood soaking the front of his pants.

Midway through the barn his feet tangled. He went down hard. His face hit the ground. Nose breaking on impact. Dirt in his mouth. An explosion of pain in his belly. Turning his head, he spat, saw blood. No time to stop. He tried to get up, but his arms refused to support his weight. He groaned as he rolled onto his back. His legs flopped uselessly. The gunman reached him. Breathing hard. Eyes as blank as a taxidermist’s glass. The pistol came up.

Samuel shifted his gaze up to the rafters. He wondered if he would be going to heaven. He thought about everything he’d done in the last year. The mistakes he’d made. The ones he hadn’t had time to fix.

I’m not finished, he thought.

The blast was the last thing he heard.

CHAPTER 1

There was no way they were going to find her. Not here by the creek where the ground was soft and brush grew thick along the bank. The path leading to this part of the woods was narrow and overgrown with weeds. Last summer, her cousin had gotten poison ivy on her ankle and it spread all the way up to her behind. That wasn’t to mention her little brother’s fear of spiders. The eight-legged creepers were big as quarters. Last time they played here, one crawled onto his shirt and he ran screaming all the way home.

Remembering, Mandi Weaver giggled. She was the best of the best when it came to hide-and-seek. Even when her older brother cheated while counting to ten, he rarely found her. She could hear him counting now as she sprinted down the path. She was barefoot today and her feet smacked the damp ground like clapping hands. At the curve, she ducked beneath the branch of a gnarly oak tree, then made a beeline for the creek ten yards away.

“Eight!” he called out. “Nine! Ten!”

Mandi knew her brother was already barreling down the path. She didn’t mind. She was a faster runner than her little brother; surely, he’d be found first. The little guy picked terrible hiding places. No, she thought with satisfaction, there was no way her older brother would find her down here.

“Ready or not, here I come!” came his voice from what seemed like a mile away.

Tongue sticking out in concentration, she ran past the big stump. The one with the mushrooms growing out the side. At the sound of the trickling water, she slowed, glanced behind her, and listened for footsteps. No one coming yet.

Breathless and giggling, she skidded down the incline on her heels. The creek was just ahead through the trees. At the big rock, she dodged left and hunkered down behind it. From a distance, she could hear her brother yelling.

“I’m going to find you!” he called out. “This time, you’re going to be ‘it’ until next week!”

She was breathing hard, making too much noise, so she put her hand over her mouth, and tried not to laugh. The air was still and humid and Mandi was sweating like crazy beneath her dress. Her feet were filthy. There was mud on the hem of her dress. She was looking around, thinking she might put her feet in the creek to cool off, when she spotted the weird pile of dirt. It looked as if someone had been digging. She’d been here just a few days ago and the mound hadn’t been there. No one ever came back this way. Their farm was the only one around for miles.

“You’re the worst hider in the world!” came her older brother’s voice.

“No fair!” her little brother squealed. “You cheated!”

“Did not!”

Mandi could hear them arguing, but her attention was on that strange mound of earth. Who would be digging back here and why? Buried treasure? A bag of money maybe? Curious, she left her hiding place and walked along the path, taking in a second pile. Too much dirt for a mole; the little vermin were always messing up Mamm’s garden. Not quite right for a groundhog either.

She studied the piled-up earth. A few feet away a straw hat lay upside down in the weeds as if someone had tossed it aside. It was the kind of hat her datt wore. Had someone dropped it? She looked around, vaguely troubled, but there was no one there. It was so quiet she could hear the flies buzzing. A lot of them. Too many …

That’s when she spotted the boot. It was a work boot, lying on its side a few feet from the hat. Why would someone leave their hat and a boot all the way down here? Craning her neck, Mandi sidled closer. Something sticking out of the boot. A stick? Some kind of cloth? It looked like the leg of the scarecrow her brother had put in the garden to keep out the crows. But why would anyone go to the trouble of burying a scarecrow down here by the creek?

Her feet took her closer before she even realized she was going to move. Though she was sweating like crazy beneath her kapp and dress, a chill quivered along her spine. Part of her didn’t want to see any more. She could hear her heart pounding, feel the hard thump of blood in her head.

Mandi stopped and looked down. She was standing on a low mound of freshly turned earth. Next to her foot, she saw something pale that was partially buried. The sweat went cold on her skin. Kneeling, she brushed at the dirt. Her tummy flip-flopped when her fingertips touched something rubbery and cold.

She cocked her head. Stared hard at it, certain her eyes were deceiving her. It looked like a hand. The skin was sticky-looking and covered with mud. Everything inside her went still. A hundred flies buzzed and suddenly the sound was deafening.

This was no scarecrow, she realized, and suddenly she knew something bad had happened here. For the first time, she smelled the smell. The same smell she remembered from last year when they found that dead buck in the woods.

Horror sent her stumbling back so fast she fell in the weeds on her backside.

“Eli!”

She screamed her older brother’s name as she scrambled to her feet. “Eli!”

Hide-and-seek forgotten, she spun and ran as fast as she could to the trail in search of her brother.

Visiting students at Painters Mill Elementary School is a tradition I’ve upheld annually since becoming chief of police almost nine years ago. For the last two years, my partner in crime, “Kip the Cow,” has accompanied me. Kip is an expert on school safety, the kids love him, and they actually listen to what he has to say.