"Heads up," Knuckles muttered. "Five-O at two o'clock."
A small group of police officers blocked the path up ahead. They didn't appear to be doing anything other than standing guard.
"The swimmin' hole," Preacher whispered, and headed left. "We'll circle back around."
They forged a wide path around the campground. Once they'd reached the creepily empty swimming hole, they entered the campground from behind. As they cut through the quiet campsites filled with tents and trailers but no people, a knot began to form in the pit of Preacher's stomach.
"Stop it right there!" A flashlight temporarily blinded Preacher and stopped him dead in his tracks. Instinctively he put his hands up. The light lowered and he blinked rapidly. Tall and wiry with sharp pointed features, the fast approaching police officer was young, no older than Preacher.
"Our campsite's over there, officer." Smokey jerked his thumb left.
The officer shined his flashlight over Smokey and narrowed his eyes. "Which one is yours?"
Preacher stepped forward. "We got three sites. Brown pop-up trailer dead center. Bunch of tents lyin' around and a couple picnic tables pushed together."
The officer's eyes widened only a fraction, but it was enough of a reaction that the knot in Preacher's stomach painfully expanded. He took another step forward. "What happened?" he demanded. "What's goin' on?"
"You need to go back." The officer gestured with his flashlight. "Go back to the park entrance and wait with everyone else. Someone will-"
Preacher took off running. Shouting erupted behind him, and he only increased his speed. The closer he came to his family's campsite, the noisier everything became. There was a loud clanging off in the distance, and someone was shouting. He recognized the voice. It was his brother-Joe was the person shouting.
Rounding a corner, Preacher skidded to a stop. Police and firemen were everywhere, crawling all over his family's campsite. Lights from a dozen or more heavy-duty flashlights lit up the roped-off area. Somewhere someone was crying-soft, feminine sobbing could be heard amid the angry shouting.
Preacher's gaze swept through the campsite, halting when he found Joe. Bent over the rope, Joe was nose to nose with an older man wearing plain clothes. Behind him, both Tiny and Crazy-8 struggled to hold him back.
"I don't give a flyin' fuck about your fuckin' protocol!" Joe shouted, his voice hoarse and strained.
Preacher blinked. Some several feet from the scene Max stood alone, his arms wrapped around his upper body, his gaze fixed on the ground.
"Who the hell are you?" an unfamiliar voice demanded. Preacher blinked again. Another officer with another flashlight in his face.
"You can't be here!"
Preacher shook his head. "What happened … ?" He trailed off as he caught sight of something in the shadows-the shape of a woman on her hands and knees, and another woman beside her, clinging to her. Two officers towered over them.
"Please let me touch him," the crying woman begged, her sobs tinged with hysteria as she attempted to reach around the officer's legs. "Please, please … I just need to touch him … "
June-it was June who was crying. And that was Louisa beside her, pleading with her, struggling to hold her back.
His heart pounding, Preacher's stare shifted to the human-shaped lump lying prone in the distance. Breathing became difficult.
Sudden noise drew his wavering gaze to the trailer where several figures had emerged. A heavyset man in uniform was staggering down the steps, a hand clasped over his mouth. The door hung open behind him and lights could be seen flashing from within.
Flash. Flash. Flash. Preacher blinked with each flash.
His vision tunneled, then widened.
Was that-was that blood on the trailer door? Not blinking, no longer breathing, Preacher stared at the blood smeared across the door until it became difficult to see. The painful knot in his gut was all he could feel.
"You can't be here," a voice said, muffled, sounding far away.
"My parents," Preacher attempted to say, not recognizing the sound of his own voice. His vision was blurring, his hearing fading-a quickly dying light bulb, Preacher was flickering before he blew out entirely.
A commotion broke out. Panicked shouts rang out across the camp as Preacher snapped to attention. He could see clearly, hear clearly, and think clearly once again.
"Don't you touch my brother! Don't you fuckin' touch him, you fuckin' pigs, don't you fuckin' touch him!" Behind the rope, Joe progressed from shouting to raging incoherently.