41

A warm thickness spread down the side of Greg’s throbbing face. He touched it. Blood.

Greg looked up, squinting. A blur of a shadow stood over him. It became Donny. Donny’s eyes had softened. He bent down and grabbed Greg by the hand.

“I thought it was you … I thought you were the one who might of did it,” Greg muttered.

“Come on,” Donny said, his voice gentler.

They heard a grunt.

Wayne Carver stood in the doorway of the study. He aimed a rifle at them.

Was Greg really seeing this? The gun was black and stocky but with a long skinny barrel. Wayne wore tan combat boots, desert camo fatigues, and a Kevlar vest, looking like he just stepped off a military transport craft; all that was missing was the helmet.

“I knew it,” Wayne said. His eyes had locked on Donny.

Donny was still crouched, but his hands had raised. Greg’s arms went up.

“Little lover’s quarrel we got here?” Wayne said.

Donny cracked a smile for Wayne but it stretched thin. “Hey, come on, feller. I’m just playing Greg here. Just in case.”

Wayne stepped closer, his eyes darkening. “In case of what?”

“What about the dam?” Donny said. “Why aren’t you there?”

Wayne laughed. “Now, that there’s me playing you. I wasn’t there either. I only wanted to see if you’d really show. I guess I got my answer.” He aimed the barrel at Greg. “Get up, your back up straight. Turn around. Let me have the back of your head.”

Greg did so. He was on his knees, his back to Wayne and that skinny barrel. Was this a test, some joke? Greg couldn’t believe this was happening. His logic wouldn’t let it. He eyed Donny.

Donny lunged at Wayne. Wayne swung the butt of his rifle. It hit Donny’s stomach with a thwack, like a meat tenderizer on a steak.

Air launched out Donny’s mouth with a whoosh and he dropped, stunned, his eyes wide.

“Turn around!” Wayne shouted at Greg.

Greg did it. He felt the barrel’s mouth, millimeters from his skin, prickling up the hairs of his neck. “Listen,” he said, “you have to listen to me—”

A crack—a blast. Red mist and a roundish object flew over Greg’s head and hit the desk. It looked like a deflated gym ball dunked in berry jam.

It was most of Wayne’s head.

Greg jerked to the side. The rest of Wayne’s body thudded at the floor, almost on top of him.

Greg’s eyes found the doorway. Gunnar stood there, his stance rigid, still aiming his rifle at Wayne’s body.

Donny and Greg stayed in a crouch. Gunnar couldn’t stop staring, aiming at Wayne.

“Shit, boy,” Donny said.

Gunnar saw his father now, eyes wide too as if he’d only just now discovered him here. He released his stance, mechanically. He stood the rifle against the wall. He sat in a chair, leaning forward. He wore his dark paintball gear.

Donny scrambled over and hugged Gunnar. Gunnar hugged him back, squeezing, his fingers white from it.

Donny turned back to Greg. “Listen to me. I did it. Okay? I did this,” he said.

“No,” Greg said.

“No, dad,” Gunnar said.

“Be quiet. Please, be quiet,” Donny said in the tone of someone who just needed to think. He said to Greg, “I did it. I did it before. You know I did. That one time I did. So I did it again.”

Greg nodded. Okay. He would have demanded the same to save a son.

Donny kissed Gunnar on the forehead and stood facing the room. He looked around. He looked to Greg. “Take care of him?” he said.

“Of course.”

Gunnar was crying. Donny went back to his son and held him.

“Turn yourself in,” Greg said to Donny’s back. “Right now. I’ll help you. It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t control it. You can give them information.”

Donny turned back to Greg, eyeing him up and down as if recognizing Greg wasn’t what he thought. “That’s what I was going to do,” Donny said. “Then you come along.”

“You still can. You can.”

“Just don’t say anything about you and me, what we done. That it?”

“What do you think?”

“But what if they know? What if they already know? Huh? They could use that against us? Between us.” Donny’s face had gone pale with urgency, with anxiety, and a stream of drool and sweat and tears shone on him like someone had rubbed his face with an oil.

Donny had a point, Greg had to admit. “Just don’t say anything,” he heard himself say, his voice calming, in monotone. “You don’t know what they’re talking about. You know how to do that. You know how better than anyone.”

Donny stood again, between Greg and the doorway. “Sure. And I learned it all from you,” he said. He backed up to the doorway. Gunnar was watching him, his eyes stuck on his dad, pleading with his dad to look at him. Donny kept his eyes on Greg. “Want this house?” he said. “Karen’ll take you in. She just won’t love you. You’re not her type.”

Donny turned and headed out the door and down the hallway.

Greg moved to run after, but Gunnar in the room made him stop. He checked himself. Oddly, he had no blood on him except for a few specks. The trajectory must have gone right over his head. Maybe he had some on his back.

“You don’t have any on you,” Gunnar muttered.

A back door slammed shut.

A handkerchief stuck out of Wayne’s back pocket, a blue plume. Not knowing what else to do, Greg yanked it out and used it to wipe down Gunnar’s rifle as Gunnar sat there stunned, staring at the body. Greg grabbed Gunnar by the shoulder.

“Come on. We have to go. We have to go now.”