Page 81 of Dark Sky

“Shit,” Kirby said. “We must have left it with Joannides. That was a dumb move.”

Earl said with irritation, “I wish you’d said something back then. It don’t help much bringing it up now.”

“He put the phone in his pocket just before I cut him.” Kirby shrugged. “I just now thought about it.”

“Fuck—another complication. We’ll have to go back andfind the body later and get that phone back,” Earl said. “We can’t leave evidence like that around.”

Kirby grunted and sighed.

—

As Earl pulled himself back up into the saddle, Brad moaned. It was a plaintive cry. Earl thought he sounded like an exhausted or severely wounded bird dog.

“Muh fuggin’ mouf huts,” Brad said.

“What?” Earl asked. “I can’t understand you.”

“He said his fucking mouth hurts,” Kirby said, translating. Kirby had always been able to understand the words his older brother said, especially when they were very young and Brad had a speech impediment that later was improved by therapy. Translating for Brad came naturally to Kirby.

“Ah,” Earl said. Then to Brad: “Suck it up. You’ll be fine.”

Brad moaned again and Kirby said, “He sounds like Chewbacca from theStar Warsmovies. You know, the Wookiee.”

Earl reached into his parka and pulled out his headlamp and turned it on. He kept it in his hand and raised the beam to Brad’s face.

His older son winced at the light and painfully turned his head. Earl could see the tiny hole in Brad’s face through his dense beard. The bullet had entered two inches below his left cheekbone and obviously shattered his jawbone on that side.

Brad leaned forward in the saddle and spit out a gob into the snow that consisted of dark blood with fragments of shattered teeth or bone.

“It huts,” he said.

“Well, hang in there,” Earl said, clicking off the lamp and dropping it back into his pocket. “I’ve seen worse.”

He turned in his saddle toward Kirby. “How areyoudoing?”

“I’m okay,” Kirby said through clenched teeth. He rode hunched over, with his arms tight to his sides and his head bent forward. “It hurts to breathe, though.”

“Where’d he hit you?”

“The lungs, I think. Or maybe just short of the lungs. I taste blood every now and then. It’s hard to breathe.”

“Can you keep going?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” Earl said. “I’ve got to say, Joe surprised me. He’s feistier than he looks. Where do you suppose he got that gun?”

Kirby shook his head. “I don’t know. Probably found it somewhere in that cabin.”

“Did you see it?”

“No.”

“I seed id,” Brad slurred. “Id was a fuckin’ siggle-shot dwendy-doo.A piece of shid.”

“What did he say?” Earl asked Kirby.

“He said it was a fucking single-shot twenty-two. A piece-of-shit gun.”

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