Bon Jovi was already shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”
Charlie felt a finger slide up her back. She shivered, and Zach laughed.
“Let my sister go,” Sam said. “She’s thirteen. Just a kid.”
“Don’t look like no kid to me.” Zach made pinching motions at Charlie’s chest. “Got them nice high titties.”
“Shut up,” Bon Jovi warned. “I mean it.”
“She won’t tell anyone,” Sam tried. “She’ll say it was strangers. Won’t you, Charlie?”
“Black fella?” Zach asked. “Like the one your daddy got off for murder?”
Charlie felt his fingers brush across her breast. She turned on him, screaming, “You mean like he got you off for showing your wiener to a bunch of little girls?”
“Charlie,” Sam begged. “Please, be quiet.”
“Let her speak,” Zach said. “I like it when they got a little fight in ’em.”
Charlie glared at him. She marched through the woods, pulling Sam behind her, trying not to go too fast, anxious to go fast enough so that Zach didn’t walk alongside her.
“No,” Charlie whispered. Why was she going fast? She needed to go slow. The farther they got away from the HP, the more dangerous it would be to break off and run back. Charlie stopped. She turned around. She could barely see the lights in the kitchen.
Zach had the shotgun in Sam’s back again. “Move.”
Pine needles cut into Charlie’s bare feet as she trudged deeper into the woods. The air got cooler. Her shorts were stiff with dried urine. She could feel the inside of her thighs starting to chafe. Every step felt like it was wearing away a fresh layer of skin.
She glanced back at Sam. Her eyes were closed, hand out in front of her. Leaves rustled under their feet. Charlie stopped to help Sam over a fallen tree. They walked through the stream, the water like ice on her feet. The clouds shifted, letting in a sliver more of moonlight. In the distance, Charlie could see the outline of the weather tower, the rusted steel structure like a skeleton against the dark sky.
Charlie felt her sense of direction click into place. If the tower was on her left, then they were walking east. The second farm was about two miles north on her right.
Two miles.
Charlie’s best mile was 7.01. Sam could do 5.52 on a flat surface. The forest wasn’t flat. The moonlight was unpredictable. Sam could not see. They could do an eight-minute mile, maybe, if Charlie paid attention, if she looked straight in front of her instead of looking back.
She scanned ahead, searching for the best path, the clearest route.
It was too late.
“Sam.” Charlie stumbled to a stop. A trickle of urine rolled down her leg again. She gripped her sister around the waist. “There’s a shovel. A shovel.”
Sam’s fingers felt along her face, pushed up her eyelids. She sucked in a quick rush of air when she saw what was in front of them.
Six feet away, dark, wet earth opened up like a wound in the ground.
Charlie’s teeth were chattering again. She could hear the clicking. Zach and Bon Jovi had dug a grave for Rusty, and now they were going to use it for Sam and Charlie.
They had to run.
Charlie knew that now, felt it to the core of her being. Sam could see, at least enough to see the grave. Which meant she might be able to see enough to run. There was no choice. They couldn’t stand here politely waiting for their own murders.
And whatever else Zachariah Culpepper had in mind.
Charlie squeezed Sam’s hand. Sam squeezed back that she was ready. All they had to do was wait for the right moment.
“All right, big boy. Time for you to do your part.” Zach leaned the shotgun butt on his hip. He slapped open a switchblade with his other hand. “The guns’ll be too loud. Take this. Right across the throat like you do with a pig.”
Bon Jovi stood there, unmoving.
Zach said, “Come on, like we agreed. You do her. I’ll take care of the little one.”
Bon Jovi said, “She’s right. We don’t have to do this. The plan wasn’t ever to hurt the women. They weren’t even supposed to be here.”
“Say what now?”
Sam squeezed Charlie’s hand even harder. They both watched, waited.
Bon Jovi said, “What’s done is done. We don’t have to make it worse by killing more people. Innocent people.”
“Jesus Christ.” Zach worked the knife closed then shoved it back into his pocket. “We went over this back in the kitchen, man. Ain’t like we gotta choice.”
“We can turn ourselves in.”
“Bull. Shit.”
Sam leaned into Charlie, pushing her a few steps to the right, getting her ready to go.
Bon Jovi said, “I’ll turn myself in. I’ll take the blame for everything.”
“The hell you will.” Zach shoved Bon Jovi in the chest. “You think I’m gonna go down on a murder charge ’cause you grew a fucking conscience?”
Sam let go of Charlie’s hand.
Charlie felt her heart drop into her stomach.
Sam whispered, “Charlie, run.”
“I won’t tell,” Bon Jovi said. “I’ll say it was me.”
Charlie tried to grab Sam’s hand back. They had to stay close so that she could show Sam the way.
“In my got-damn truck?”
Sam waved her away, whispering, “Go.”
Charlie shook her head. What did she mean? She couldn’t go without Sam. She couldn’t leave her sister here.
“Motherfucker.” Zach had the shotgun pointed at Bon Jovi’s chest. “This is what’s gonna happen, son. You’re gonna take my knife and you’re gonna slice open that bitch’s throat, or I will blow a hole in your chest the size of Texas.” He stamped his foot. “Right now.”
Bon Jovi pointed his gun at Zach’s head. “We’re gonna turn ourselves in.”
“Get that fucking gun outta my face, you pansy-ass piece of shit.”
Sam nudged Charlie, telling her to move. “Go.”
Charlie didn’t move. She wasn’t going to leave her sister.
Bon Jovi said, “I’ll kill you before I kill them.”
“You ain’t got the balls to pull that trigger.”
“I’ll do it.”
Charlie heard her teeth chattering again. Should she go? Would Sam follow her? Is that what she meant?
“Run,” Sam begged. “You have to run.”
Don’t look back. You have to trust me to be there.
“Piece of shit.” Zach’s free hand snaked out.
Bon Jovi backhanded the shotgun.
“Run!” Sam shoved her hard. “Charlie, go!”
Charlie fell back onto her ass, slamming into the ground. She saw the bright flash of the gun firing, heard the sudden explosion of the bullet leaving the barrel, and then a mist puffed from the side of Sam’s head.
Sam spun through the air, almost somersaulting like the fork had, into the gaping mouth of the grave.
Thunk.
Charlie stared at the open earth, waiting, begging, praying, for Sam to sit up, to look around, to say something, anything, that indicated that she was alive.
“Shit,” Bon Jovi said. “Christ. Jesus Christ.” He dropped the gun like it was poison.
Charlie saw the glint of metal from the weapon as it hit the ground. The flash of shock on Bon Jovi’s face. The sudden white of Zach’s teeth when he grinned.
At Charlie.
He was grinning at Charlie.
She scrambled away, crab-like, on her hands and heels.
Zach started toward her, but Bon Jovi grabbed his shirt. “What the fuck are we going to do?”
Charlie’s back hit a tree. She pushed herself up. Her knees shook. Her hands shook. Her whole body was shaking. She looked at the grave. Her sister was in a grave. Sam had been shot in the head. Charlie couldn’t see her, didn’t know if she was alive or dead or needed help or—
“It’s okay, sweetpea,” Zach told Charlie. “Stay right there for me.”
“I j-just—” Bon Jovi stuttered. “I just killed … I just …”
Killed.
He couldn’t have killed Sam. The bullet from the gun was small, not like the shotgun. Maybe it hadn’t really hurt her. Maybe Sam was okay, hiding in the grave, ready to spring up and run.
But she wasn’t springing up. She wasn’t moving, or talking, or shouting, or bossing everybody around.