Carrie ordered a hot dog with chili and cheese and a Coke, because she wasn't supposed to have soft drinks. She figured she might as well break all the rules she could at one time. Once she had paid and shoved the change back into her pocket, she took her dog and her drink and started back the way she'd come.
A glimpse of the field caught her eye. She liked how green the grass was and that they'd cut it to look like a checkerboard. The sand was reddish, and she'd watched in fascination as they'd wet it down before the game started. Her dad always said there was nothing in the world like baseball-the people, the energy, the loyalty to the team whether they won or lost.
Carrie stood in the arched opening that led to a section of seats and looked at the crowd, swallowing hard at the thought of finding her parents again among so many people. She took a deep breath and tried to think about what she'd been told to do if she was ever lost. There was no policeman she could ask for help, at least not that she could see, and there was no way she was staying put and waiting for someone to find her. It would be hours.
She tried to remember what their section looked like, and then it hit her. They'd been sitting just behind home plate. And from where she was standing now she could see the front of the batter, and she had an even better view of the outfielders. All she had to do was make it back to home plate.
Carrie breathed a sigh of relief and took a sip of Coke, wetting her dry throat. And then something curious caught her eye. A huge puff of smoke went into the air just behind the dugout. Players and people sitting in the stands scattered, climbing over each other as they tried to get onto the field. It looked like they were having trouble breathing and many of them were crawling on the ground.
The concrete beneath her feet trembled, and her shoulder bumped the wall as she lost her balance. And then there was a giant boom in the air that was louder than any of the fireworks she'd ever watched. Her Coke and hot dog dropped to the ground. Chaos erupted, and the people around her were screaming and pushing as they tried to run. Her bladder released, and urine ran down her legs as fear overtook her. She didn't know what was happening, but she stood in the middle of the fray alone, wishing for her mom and dad. She tried to run, but it felt like the ground was moving beneath her feet.
A man bumped her as he ran by, and she fell, landing inside the door to one of the restrooms. She huddled in a ball on the ground and screamed for her daddy as the earth fell apart around her. The people who'd been running seemed to fall away as the floor disappeared and the ceiling caved in.
A man leapt toward her and the opening of the bathroom, but she was too afraid to scream. She didn't want to die. She wanted her mommy and daddy. And she wanted Curt.
The man crawled in next to her, blood trickling from his head. Something huge crashed behind her, and the man screamed as the ceiling in the bathroom caved in. The entire lower half of his body was buried in the rubble, and Carrie just made herself as small as possible, her whimpers going unheard as everything crashed around her. The space in the doorway was getting smaller and smaller, and she couldn't see as clouds of dust filled the air.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I want to watch Curt play baseball. I'm sorry."
Carrie felt the hand of the man lying next to her as it reached for her, and she put her hand in his. She held on for dear life. And kept holding. Even as he took his last breath.
CHAPTER ONE
There was something about the time between three and four o'clock in the morning. When people with good intentions were tucked safely into their beds. When those without them crept into the alleyways like rats. And when warriors got shit done.
For Deacon Tucker, that meant it was time to get dirty.
The rain slapped against Deacon's face like tiny daggers. Lightning flashed-followed by sharp cracks of thunder-and the smell of ozone, wet dirt, and urgency lay heavy.
Deacon pushed his shovel deeper into the soggy ground, the muscles in his back straining as he lifted a mound of dirt and tossed it onto a pile over his shoulder. The four other members of his team did the same, each one stripped down to nothing but black cargo pants and combat boots, covered in a thick layer of mud. They worked in silence, an unspoken communication and familiarity between them.
The cemetery was old. It was a place where the oldest headstones told stories and the newer ones told a person's worth. It was where generations of those who shared blood now rested-a place for the elderly who had lived long and full lives and the young who had been taken too soon.