Lucy could barely speak.
“What…D?”
“Is…he…gone?”
“I think so.”
The barn was quiet. Somewhere, across the field, a rooster was arguing with the sun.
“Why aren’t we dead yet?” Lucy asked.
“Because your friend is very…very…” Donaldson coughed up a chunk of something. “Good.”
“I can’t feel anything anymore,” Lucy said.
“Me neither.”
“I believe I can fix that.” Luther had returned.
He held a red plastic container.
“I’ve read that in most witch burnings, the victim died quickly from smoke inhalation,” Luther said. “Or from breathing in the fire itself. So I’m going to try my best to keep the flames on just the lower parts of your bodies.”
Luther poured gas on them. Donaldson turned his head, caught Lucy’s eyes.
“You know what, little girl? I never should have picked your ass up.”
“Hitchhiking can be dangerous, D,” Lucy said.
They reached for each other and held hands as they burned.
