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Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a figure in the doorway, behind the screen, backlit by the eerie light of the TV.
“No!” he yelled as the dog leapt forward.
The gun blasted, flashing white, splintering the screen door.
Hot pain seared through his back.
He stumbled.
Fell to the ground.
His head hitting the dirt.
Tried to get away.
Panic surged through him.
Who? Why? Oh, God, help me . . .
He crawled, muscles quivering, bleeding, his fingernails clawing through tufts of grass, the smell of the marsh and cordite and blood heavy in his nostrils.
Bronco wanted to plead for his life, but no words came and he tasted salt—blood on his tongue.
Oh, God, he was gonna die.
Right here in his own damned backyard.
The assailant stepped through the door.
Slowly.
With measured and evil determination.
Oh, God. Please, no!
“Don’t,” Bronco croaked, spitting blood, sneaking another glance over his shoulder, the words stalling in his throat. His entire life, all those whom he’d harmed, the names and faces of those he’d cheated who would want revenge spun through his mind. “Help me.”
He couldn’t see the person’s face, but his body, backlit by the gray light of the doorway, was visible, and Bronco watched as the would-be killer cocked Bronco’s own damned Winchester.
Again.
“No . . . please . . .” Bronco tried vainly to scurry away, but his movements were sluggish, his legs unresponsive no matter how loud his brain screamed. He tried to push himself to his feet. His arm gave way, his hand sticky with blood and dirt.
It was too late. From the corner of his eye he saw the monster level the stock of the rifle against a shoulder, then carefully take aim.
Jesus, please have mercy. No, no, no . . .
Blam!
A light flashed.
His body jerked.
He thought he heard a dog barking, but it was far in the distance and grew fainter as Bronco drew his last, wheezing breath.
Time is slipping steadily through the hour glass, I feel it, like the rapid-fire beating of my heart. After so long, so many years, now the seconds, hours and days are moving so fast. Too fast. Am I ready? I have to be.
I slow my breathing, try to find an inner strength.
