They knew.
“Knew what?” he said. “That we were setting them up?”
Yes.
The wind gusted hard and with a strange touch of cool to it as a loud wave broke on the beach, and Arlen wanted nothing more than to remove his hands and get the hell off this porch, join Rebecca and drive and drive until they were far from this terrible place. He took a moment to will the urge down, and then he asked his next question.
“Who did it? Who came for you?”
He didn’t get a response this time. It felt as if a whisper slid through his brain, but it came too quick and too soft, and then he saw that Owen’s eyelids had fallen shut again, and he reached out and opened them. Peeled them back farther this time, saw more of the blue, felt something cold and sickly melt through his stomach at the sight.
“Who came for you?” he asked again.
McGraths. Tate and one of his sons. They came up the inlet by boat, and Tolliver came in by car. I went out to talk to Tolliver. While I was doing that, the McGraths snuck around from the inlet. I heard Paul shout.
The voice stopped then, and Arlen squeezed the boy’s shoulders and said, “Tell me. Keep telling me.”
I pulled the gun and ran back. Tolliver drew his, but he didn’t shoot, he just chased me, and I came back inside and they had Paul and I fired twice. I didn’t hit anything. I had a bead on Tate, I was ready to kill him, but Tolliver got to me first. Tackled me. Then Tate was on me. I think Tolliver intended to take me alive, but I’d fired at Tate, and so when he came, he came with the knife.
The voice was fading, like a radio signal going steadily weaker, and Arlen leaned closer to the dead boy’s face and squeezed his shoulders.
“What happened to Paul?” he said. “Please tell me.”
They took him.
“Is he dead?” Arlen’s voice was louder now, but he couldn’t help it. The moment had taken on the feel of a fever dream. A sudden, terrible headache had sprung to life in his skull, and his face was bathed in cold sweat. The world was unsteady around him. It was hard, holding the line open. It was damn hard.
Not yet.
“Where is he?”
With the McGraths.
“Why haven’t they killed him?”
They need to find out who he talked to. Who’s involved. They’ll wait for Wade. He’ll want to be there for the questioning.
“Who told them?” Arlen said. “Was it Barrett?”
Don’t know.
The voice was so damn faint, so hard to hear. He squeezed Owen’s shoulders and realized he was now hanging directly over the body. A drop of sweat fell from his chin and onto the dead boy’s face.
“Tell me what to do,” he said. “Can he be saved?”
I don’t know. You have to get my sister away. They’ll come for her next. For you, and for her. They’ll come for you all. He won’t let anyone stand now. Not after this.
“She’s gone. I’ve sent her away. She’s driving north.”
Arlen’s breath was coming fast and ragged now. The physical toll was something he didn’t understand, but it was fierce, his body responding as if he were pushing through a long, arduous march. His muscles ached and his head throbbed and that chilled sweat ran from every pore.
Good, Owen said. She can’t stay here. Neither can you.
“But Paul…”
I don’t know. Maybe. There’s still time. But there’s also more death to come. More than mine. If you stay, death stays with you. I’m certain of it. Follow my sister. Go with her now, and go fast.
Arlen thought about that as the waves broke and the wind pushed off the Gulf in puffs and put a crisp skim over the pool of blood beneath him.
“Paul is with the McGraths?” he said.
Yes.
“And he is alive?”
Right now. But there’s so much death around him.
“Can you get me to them?” Arlen said. “Can you guide me?” He was speaking with his lips almost at the boy’s ear now, could smell the coppery scent of blood. Each time Owen spoke, the voice was fainter.
I can.
The headache flared with a sudden, unbearable agony, and he had to release his hold and lean away from the body. The pain relented then, but he was awash in perspiration and felt a trembling exhaustion through every muscle, an odd dizzy sensation on top of it all, as if he’d gone too long with too little air.
“I’m sorry,” he said, leaning forward and grasping the boy’s shoulders one more time. “I’m so sorry.”
I know. A whisper now, scarcely audible.
“I’ll set it right,” Arlen said. The wind rose in another sweeping gust and sprinkled a few raindrops across the porch, and suddenly he felt alone and was aware, for the first time in several minutes, that he was staring into a dead man’s eyes. The reality of that had just vanished for a time; he hadn’t been seeing much at all, really, just hearing it. It was like entering a trance, but now something had pushed him away from it, back into reality.