Chapter One               

Was midafternoon before we finally get started.

First hour goes fast. Feels good. Exciting. Chatter away, plan the night, sure we'll catch a ride any moment. 'Cept we don't. Might be 'cause one of us is black. Might be 'cause we're both young. Hard to say. Doesn't matter. No one stops.

Get tired walking backwards. Stop. Lean against a highway marker. Try to decide what to do. Should've stayed home. Cold out here. Burrow into my silver and black Raider's jacket, stuff hands in my pockets, kick a rock. Study Big T out the corner of my eye. Dude looks older than thirteen. Could pass for a grown man. 

Not sure how that happened. Always bigger than me. 'Course that ain't saying much. Heck, let's face it. I look downright puny. Still got a few months before I'm a teen. 'Spect won't change things. Haven't grown much since the fourth grade. That's when we picked up our nicknames. Mine's Little T. If we're friends, LT. Not bad. Better than Taylor. Ma had reasons when she thought that one up. Made sense. Kinda.

Pickup blasts toward us like a bat out of hell. Watch an arm come out of the passenger window, bend backwards. Catch flash of metal, can falls into the open bed. Pickup brakes, swerves off the road. Stops beside me. Acid rock blasts out the open window. Pinched face. Blond hair.

"Need a ride?"

 "What?" 

Fingers tug a wispy goatee. He turns, reaches for the radio. Sudden quiet.

"Where ya goin’?" 

"K Falls."

Blondy's head bobs up and down. Guess he can still hear the beat.

"Cool. Hop in back."

Scuff my toe back and forth in the dirt, glance over at Big T. Shrugs. Driver guns the engine, slips the clutch. Pickup bounces forward a foot, stops.

"Time to rock, dude. Shake it if you're coming." 

Blondy turns away, reaches for the radio. Sudden blast of sound.

Shit, that's loud.

"Cool." 

Walk to back of the truck, climb into the bed. Kick a couple of beer cans to one side, sit down, back against the cab, knees clutched against my chest. Big T sits down beside me.

Pickup fishtails onto the highway.

                                                            ***

Don't know what I was thinking. Stopping to pick up these fucking kids. Stupid. Just fed up with Snail's blather. On and on about nothing. Shouldn't have brought him. Useless. Didn't add a thing to the meet. Not one goddam fucking thing. Except chatter. Day not going like I planned. Not by a long shot.

"What's with the nigger and his friend, Toad?"

See. There he goes again. Cannot shut up. A fucking two year old. Jesus. Hate to be called Toad. Does it all the time. Stupid fuck. Thinks it's cool. I'm short. Squat. Ugly. What of it? No need to rub my face in it. Got enough pocks and craters as is. Asshole.

"Turn that fucking thing down."

Christ. Have to tell him everything. Did turn it down. Something.

"Playing with 'em some. Got a problem with that?" 

Glance at him. He grins, fishes a can of beer from the cooler beside him. Pops the top. Hands it to me. Upend the can. Gulp down the beer. Throw empty on the floor. Belch. Swipe at my lips, lean forward on the seat, grip the steering wheel. Ignore him.

"Cool." 

Turns. Looks through the cab's rear window. Turns back. 

"What's the plan?"

Take my foot off the gas, touch the brake. Swing the truck hard right onto a gravel road. Fuck. Almost hit the old man's rusted out pickup. Wave. Dumb shit. Downshift into second. Give it gas. Dust boils out of the fender wells. Covers the other pickup. Fight the steering wheel, feel rear tires skitter on the washboard surface.

"We goin' to have him help with the practice?"

He presses flats of his hands against the dashboard. fights to keep his place on the seat. 

"Are we? What about the little white dude?"

Don't answer. Concentrate on ruts in the road. Fuckin' asshole.

                                                            ***

Sit with my arms spread-eagled along the back of the cab, fingers gripping the front wall of the pickup bed, stare into a dust and gravel tornado chasing the pickup's tailgate. Knuckles scrape when cab twists one way, truck bed the other, each time tire hits a pothole.

Glance at Big T. Decide he's not doing much better.

He's squirmed over to the passenger side corner of the bed. Used his long legs to brace feet against the fender well hump. Hangs on for dear life. Lips clenched, eyes squinted against dust pouring in over the side. Settling on his head. Turning it gray. 

We may be in deep shit. Can't be the way to K. Falls. Not sure where we're going. But don't like it. Not one bit.

Seems to take forever, but probably less than ten minutes, we ride like this. Ticked at myself for getting in the pickup. Should've stayed home. Heck, should've just stayed in bed.

Suddenly stop. Tornado catches us. Can't breathe. Dirt and sand everywhere.

"How 'bout setting out some cans for us?"

Wave a hand in front of my face. Cough, swipe shirt sleeve over watering eyes. Short squat man stands next to the tailgate, squinting up at Big T. Waves some kinda automatic pistol behind him.

Nothing there. Old refrigerator leans to one side, door open. Got your rusted bed springs. An old dresser, all busted up. No drawers. Ton of garbage bags. Plastic. Some black. Some green. Strung out up this little hill. Some kinda dump, maybe?

Need to get out of here. Stay quiet. Don't move. Maybe he'll not hurt us.

"Speak up, boy, can't you talk?"

Big T turns his head slightly. Frowns at me. I don't say nothing. He looks sideways at the man from the corners of his eyes.

"You got no tongue, boy? Answer him!"

It was Blondy. Snuck up. Leans against the cab beside me. Watches Big T. Behind him, heaps of rusted cans and broken bottles. An old sedan tipped on its side. Got no doors or motor. Been there a while.

"Whaat?"

Could barely hear him. Gotta be scared as me. Clears his throat.

"What you fellows want with me?"

"He talks." Blondy grins. "Tell him, Toad."

"Need you to set up some cans on that hill."

Waves toward a dry stream bed. Shitload of broken glass. Buncha bullet riddled cans scattered here and there. Got some shot up cans wedged in cuts on the far bank. What's left of a white paper target on a flat, wooden stake. Black bulls-eye's all in tatters.

Careful! Big T's standing up. Not good to look down on that white boy. Shouldn't do that. Huh uh. Big T waves his arm, back way we come in.

 "Need to get going. Long way to Klamath Falls."

Toad fellow looks up at him. Taps that pistol against his thigh. Nods. 

"Take you after practice." Raises the pistol. "Practice some, then drive you to town."

Big T licks his lips, glances at me, looks off down the road. See his fingers twitch.

"Well?"

He looks at the pistol, shoulders sag.

"Where you want them cans?"

"Cool." Blondy grins. "Now you're talking, dude. Set 'em up across that wash."

Blondy pushes off the cab. Walks over. Stands next to the Toad fellow.

Can't move. Scared. Need to pee bad I'm so scared. Nose snotty. Fight back tears. Hope they won't notice me.

Big T climbs over the tailgate, steps down to the ground. Turns back, leans in over the tailgate, sets his cell on the bed of the pickup. Eyes lock on mine, hands search out beer cans. Raises his eyebrows, jerks eyes to the left. Mouths: run. 

Close my eyes. Want to puke. Open them. Nod.

Stacks cans between arm and chest, wedges them against his chin. Grabs a last can in his other hand. Turns. Walks toward the wash. Jumps down onto the streambed. Stumbles. Cans squirt from his hands, clatter amongst rocks and gravel. 

Grit my teeth. Take deep breath. Slide forward. Grab the phone. Slide back. Close my eyes. Open them. Take deep breath. Slowly stand. Edge sideways along the cab. Stop at bed's side wall. Watch Big T bend over. Pick up a can.

Toad dude raises the pistol.

CRAACK.

Scares the shit out of me. Sound's sharp and ragged, hangs for a moment. Echoes in my ear. I freeze. Got one leg over the side wall, back still braced against the cab. Balance there. Spot a tiny brass casing pop from the pistol. Hear ting. Can flies out of Big T's hand. 

"Why'd you go and do that for?"

Big T extends his arm, turns hand back and forth, looks for damage.

"You could'a just as well shot me, ya know."

"Not likely. One hell of a shot." Toad fellow puffs out his chest. "Hold up another one and I'll show you."

"Don't think so." Big T hitches up his pants. "Gotta be getting’ on."

Ease over the side. Crouch in the dirt beside the cab. Want to run. Think I should help. Not sure how. Raise up. Peek over the bed rail.

"Goddammit. I said hold up another one." Holds pistol waist high. Points it toward Big T.

"Now! Or, I'll start practicing on your head."

Big T hesitates. Looks at Toad fellow out of the corners of his eyes.

"Pick it up, or you'll get a bullet for sure." 

Jabs the pistol at Big T.

Lower my head. Duckwalk steadily backwards alongside the pickup until leg catches the front bumper. Rest hand on bumper. Lever myself up. Stand for a moment. Look at my friend. Shake my head. Close my eyes. Panic. Turn. Run.

                                                            ***

Jesus. Now what? Asshole's fucking with that crossbow again. Snail, you stupid son of a bitch. Can't hit shit with that thing.

"Start his feet a dancing if he don't pick it up." 

Bends over, gets the crossbow shaft under his feet. Pulls up on the bow string. Cocks it. Fits a crossbow bolt in place.

"Maybe you'd like a taste of steel, boy."

Christ all mighty. Scaring the piss right outa that nigger. Gotta give him that. Listen at him whine.

"Why you gotta act like this? I never did nothin’ to you."

Gone far enough. Nigger's a mess. Got his head back. Eyes big as saucers. Nose holes you could drive a truck in. Stupid fucker.

"Ease up, Snail. Put that can on your head, boy. Gonna shoot it off."

Nigger slowly bends over. Feels around in the dirt for a can. Cocks his head to the side. Eyes dancin' like marbles in a bowl. 

"Quit fuckin' around and pick up the goddam can!"

Swing the pistol a few inches to his right. Pull the trigger. 

Spurt of dust next to nigger's foot. Jumps, looks wildly around. Bends over. Grabs a can. Straightens. Can you believe it. Got his fucking eyes closed. Extends his arms full length. Holds can by two fingers.

"That ain't gettin it. On your head." Raise pistol. "Come on, boy. Move!"

Opens one eye. Slowly balances can on top of his head. Can trembles. Gonna fall.

"Hold steady, or you'll make me miss."

Squeeze the trigger. The auto pops. Can jumps. Tumbles to the ground.

"Told you there's nothing to it. Got to quit that shaking. Might make me miss."

Got his eyes closed again. Fists clenched. Knees locked tightly together. Shaking something fierce. Goddam! Fucker's lost it. Dark stain creeps down his jeans.

"Look at that! Cool!" Snail grins. "Pissed his pants."

Reach in my pocket. Fish out my Buck knife. Walk up. Stand in front of him. Open the single blade. Kid flinches away.

"Hold still, boy. I ain't gonna hurt you."

Grab the front leg of his jeans. Slit the fabric next to the stain. Got tears in his eyes, trembles something fierce. Cut away the front of his pants.

"Looky here." Move to one side. "Ain't got no shorts on."

Boy drops his hands, tries to cover his dick.

"Who-ee." Snail leans forward. "This motherfucker's hung."

"Got the equipment. Can't let 'em anywhere near a white woman. For sure."

May have a big dick. But nigger's pathetic. Sniveling and crying. Scared to death.

"Get a can on your head, boy. Or I'll whittle that oversized pecker down some."

Nigger turns sideways. Cups his crotch with one hand. Picks up a can with the other.

"Please, mister. Let me go. You done had your fun. Let me go. Please."

"Quit your goddamn sniveling. You ain't hurt none. You're the one went and pissed his pants. Just helping you dry out is all."

Study him a moment. Fucker's big. But a sissy. Ruining my fun. Crying. Pissin' his pants. Sorry ass motherfucker. 'Nough to make me puke.

"Last can. Then you can go." 

Boy gets the can on top of his head. Stands stiffly at attention. Got his eyes closed again. Hands over his dick.

Snail nudges me with an elbow. Moves off a pace. Brings the crossbow stock to his shoulder.

What the fuck! NO!

Metallic vibration from the bow is loud. Bolt leaps from the crossbow. Kid opens his eyes. Tilts his head to the left. Tries to focus on the flashing metal hurtling toward him.

KERTHUNK!

Shaft buries itself in the kid's forehead just above his right eyebrow. Head snaps back. Eyes move up and to the right. Guess he's looking at the protruding shaft. Falls backward. Hits ground with dull thud. Twitches twice.

"Would you look at that. Cool." 

Snail lowers the crossbow.

"I missed."

"You sure did you dumb fuck! Went and killed him, dead. Got a dead nigger here. You and that motherfucking crossbow. Oughta stick it up your ass."

"Shit!" Snail scratches his head. "What the fuck we going to do?"

"See if you can pull that fucking arrow out for starters. You dumb fuck. Cops can trace that shit."

Idiot sets the cross bow down. Walks around the body. Kneels down. Looks at the wound. Grips the shaft sticking out the kid's forehead between a thumb and forefinger. Pulls. Lifts kid's head from the dirt. Puts his other hand on the kid's forehead. Pushes down. Jerks the bolt. Fingers slide off the end of the shaft.

"Fuckin' thing's stuck in his head."

Snail rubs at his nose with the back of his hand.

"Take more'n fingers to get it out."

"There's some fence pliers in the glove box. Try them."

Bend over the body. Take a look at the crossbow bolt. Sure as shit stuck good. Bitch to get out. Fucking Snail. What an ass wipe. Oughta just shoot the son of a bitch and leave him here.

"Shit!"

Look up. Snail stands by the pickup bed. 

"That little motherfucker run off." 

                                                            ***

Fight for breath. Sure I'm about to puke. Never been this scared. Never, ever. Lie on my belly between two rows of green garbage bags. Watch the two men move around the truck. Stare down the road we'd come in on. Should have kept running when had the chance, instead of crawling in here. Thought might help Big T. Couldn't just run away and leave him. Now Big T is dead. Sure of it. Next, they'll come for me.

Pull out the cell. Fumble it on, pray for a signal. No bars. Try to control my ragged breathing. Figure what to do. Listen to what they're saying. 

"You dumb fuck. Why'd you let him get away?"

"Wasn't my fault, Toad. Besides, who said it was me supposed to watch him? This was all your fucking idea."

"But it's your fucking arrow in that nigger's head, dick face. You're the one facing the needle. Not me."

"Lighten up, dude. He can't have gotten far. We'll throw the nigger in the back of the truck. Then chase him down."

"We need to get that arrow out first and them cans picked up. Get the fucking pliers."

Watch Blondy open the passenger door. Rummage in the glove box, while Toad fellow stares down the road.

"Got 'em." Blondy appears from behind the pickup. Waves the pliers.

Roll over onto my back. Study the hill. Wonder if I could snake my way to the crest without them seeing me. Take another glance at the phone, still no bars. Shut it off. Scared it will suddenly ring. Give me away. Turn over onto my belly. Watch them walk toward Big T's body. Take a deep breath. Use my elbows and knees, crawl slowly along the windrowed bags of garbage.