Leslie’s eyes flickered and went out of focus, quivering in their orbits. Her breathing rasped and caught in her throat.
“Leslie.” Megan pressed on the pillow in an effort to staunch the flow of blood. God, it’s everywhere. You’ve got to help me. Please help me. This girl isn’t supposed to die. How can You let her die like this? She’s just a child. For a moment she experienced déjà vu, remembering how she had felt on the rooftop three days ago when Gerry Fletcher started slipping from her grasp, started sliding into that four-story fall to his death or serious injury.
She’d lost Gerry, but the boy had never hit the ground. The Rapture had swept across the world in a twinkling and stolen Gerry from that fall.
There’s not another rapture, God, Megan reminded. She kept the pressure steady, hoping it was enough. “Leslie.”
The girl shuddered and stopped breathing for just an instant.
“Leslie,” Megan called louder. “Stay with me. You stay with me now.”
Leslie’s head rolled toward her. Her eyes tried to focus. She gagged; then a worm of blood crept from her mouth and leaked down the side of her face.
Panic set in. Megan figured that the bullet had pierced one of the girl’s lungs. If that was true, Leslie’s lungs would fill up with blood in a matter of minutes and she would asphyxiate. Megan tried to remember what to do, tried to remember if she was supposed to turn Leslie over or try artificial respiration or—
Without warning, the MPs, with their rifles up and ready, suddenly filled the hallway.
In some distant corner of her mind, Megan heard them talking quickly over the walkie-talkies, reporting the situation to the provost marshal’s office, requesting backup and an ambulance.
Megan looked up and saw Corporal Kerby leading the MPs. The young soldier’s eyes reflected shock, but he conducted himself with confidence and purpose. Two other MPs stood on either side of Kerby, pointing their weapons at Megan.
“Back away from the girl, Mrs. Gander.” Kerby’s tone was polite but firm.
Megan couldn’t believe what was happening. “She’s bleeding.”
“I know that, ma’am.” Kerby came into the room, but he remained left foot forward so he presented a smaller profile. “Back away from the girl now.”
“She shot herself.”
“We need to take care of this situation, ma’am.” Kerby kicked the pistol away from Leslie’s outstretched hand. It slid across the carpet to another MP, who entered the room. “Secure that weapon, Private.”
Dumbfounded, Megan watched. She hadn’t even thought to knock the pistol away.
The new arrival put a foot on the pistol. “Weapon’s secured, Corporal.”
“Don’t touch it. Forensics will want to examine it. They don’t need to sort through your fingerprints, too.” Kerby looked at Megan. “Mrs. Gander, I need you to move. If you don’t, we will move you.”
The concept was so alien to Megan that she had trouble comprehending. She couldn’t leave Leslie; she had taken responsibility for the girl.
“If I have to move you, ma’am,” Kerby went on, “I’m going to have you handcuffed.”
“Do you think I did this?” Megan asked. “Do you think I shot her?”
“Ma’am, I need to contain this situation.” Kerby’s voice remained low and controlled, but Megan heard the fear in his words striving to get out.
“One of your men shot her.” Megan couldn’t stop talking.
“Ma’am,” Kerby said, “you’re hysterical.”
“She could be dying,” Megan said more forcefully. God, make them listen to me. They’re not hearing me.
“Corporal,” the MP on Kerby’s left said.
Kerby gave a reluctant nod.
The MP slung his weapon and took a pair of disposable handcuffs from his belt. Megan recognized what they were because she’d seen them placed on kids she had counseled over the years.
“You can’t do this,” Megan said. “I’m just trying to help.”
The private lunged forward, caught Megan by one hand, and levered her over facedown on the carpet. Instinctively, Megan fought. The private put a knee in her back to hold her in place, pinned her hands behind her back, then fastened the cuffs around her wrists.
“You’re making a mistake,” Megan said, but she knew her voice was too high, too forceful to sound anywhere close to acquiescent.
“Yes, ma’am,” Kerby agreed hoarsely. “I reckon I made that mistake the minute I let you force me into allowing you into this house.”
Megan struggled against the cuffs, but they only bit deeply into her flesh and refused to give.
Outside, a siren screamed into the night.
Lost and panicked and hurt, Megan turned her head and stared at Leslie Hollister. Bloody froth bubbled at the girl’s lips as Kerby worked on her.
God? God, where are You?
Sunshine Hills Cemetery
Outside Marbury, Alabama
Local Time 2153 Hours
Delroy moved through the dark cemetery by memory and with the aid of the flashlight he’d packed for the occasion. The white halogen beam cut through the darkness, chasing the night back into two-dimensional cutouts between headstones and statuary, between plants and hedges. He struggled to keep his imagination from filling those impenetrable expanses with terrifying creatures. He felt like a child again, afraid of the dark and the sleeping dead.
Crickets chirped around him and bobcats screamed like dying women in the distance. The constant rain dripping from the tall oak, pecan, and cedar trees that cloistered the area created a rhythmic snare-drum effect as the drops splashed against stone and the muddy ground. The air came thick and damp, and he had to drag it into his lungs.
Gray patches of thin fog wound like a river through the headstones and family crypts that jutted up from the hilly land. Twice, feral red eyes gleamed back at Delroy when the flashlight beam caught them. He never saw what the eyes belonged to; whatever the creatures were, they scampered off quickly into the underbrush that ringed the graveyard.
Sunshine Hills Cemetery was blatantly misnamed. Trees shrouded the area, towering over the hilly and
