Page 125 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

They walked and walked. Boyle stopped frequently to shush him though he wasn’t talking, and held stock-still for long moments before shoving him forward again.

Finally, Remy said, “Why do you keep stopping?”

Boyle swatted him on the back of the head – but not hard. His voice was distracted when he hissed, “Shh, listen.”

Remy listened a moment. He heard night insects, several layers of them overlapping, and he heard a faint gurgling of water. Something rustled low in the brush ahead, and his stomach tensed with nerves. Daddy hadn’t ever mentioned wolves or lions in the swamp, but gatorsdidwalk on land sometimes…

“Listening for what?”

“Shut up.” Boyle shoved him forward, fingers digging into his shoulder, and Remy almost face-planted in the mud.

He knew what Boyle was listening for, though: Daddy.

If Daddy was alive – please, please, please let him be alive! – then Remy had no doubts that he was following them. And that, like Strider inThe Lord of the Rings, he would be able to track them, as keen-eyed as an eagle in the swamps where he’d grown up. Even so, Remy put a little more weight into each step, trying to leave clear footprints in the soft ground.

He’d become aware, some distance ago, that his eyes had adjusted to the dark much better than Boyle’s. Boyle tripped over obstacles that Remy stepped over, cursing and flailing, and dragging harder and harder at Remy, because he refused to let go of him. Each trip seemed an opportunity for escape – but a too-narrow opportunity. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to put any distance between them, and at this rate, the way Boyle was panting, and cursing, and talking to himself – “I’m gonna gut that fucker. When I catch him, oh shit, I’m gonna…” – Remy was afraid he might decide Remy didn’t need his legs to remain a good hostage, and shoot him in the knees.

They walked a little farther, and Remy could see that the ground dropped away, suddenly and steeply, ahead of them. Boyledidn’tsee it, because he kept blundering forward at the same pace.

Was this his chance? Finally?

Maybe. It was worth the risk.

Remy put his foot out into open air, and caught a glimpse of a deep, water-filled ravine. The other side sloped up gently, wooded with low-growing vegetation, and beyond a screen of trees, he saw the glimmer of moonlight on water. A lot of water.

First, though, the drop.

Remy closed his eyes, took a deep breath, clenched his teeth tight together, and let himself go.

“Oh, fuck!” Boyle yelped.

Remy flew through the open air, and he wrapped his arms tight around himself once Boyle released him, ducked his head, and was ready for impact when he landed hard on his shoulder, and started rolling downhill.

Boyle started yelling, and then kept yelling. Curses and threats to murder Remy and Mercy interspersed with yelps of pain and shouts of alarm.

Remy landed, finally, and gave himself a two-count to open his arms and be sure he’d reached the bottom. He had, just shy of the narrow strip of water that lined the lowermost point of the ravine. Boyle was still shouting – “motherfuck fucking shit fucking” – so Remy scrambled to his feet and cast a look around.

The water was a slowly trickling creek, and on the other side, the gentle slope he’d spied from above, a thinning of narrow tree trunks, and beyond that, a large and glass-smooth body of water, gleaming black in the moonlight.

Remy took off running. He was so tired, and his clothes were so heavy, his shoes full of water and threatening to slip off his feet, but he found a burst of reserve energy, and jumped the creek, and scrambled desperately up the hill toward the water.

Behind him, a splash. The sound of a body floundering in muck. Then Boyle shouted, “Stop! Stop, you little shit!”

Remy reached the first tree, and a chunk of its trunk exploded outward. He felt wood chips strike his face, and he closed his eyes and ducked his head on instinct. The report of the gun registered a beat later.

Boyle had shot at him.

“Stop!”

Remy crouched low, but kept moving, braced for a hit.

BOOM.

That wasnotthe crack of Boyle’s handgun. It was a much bigger gun, and as the thunderclap of its firing echoed away into the trees, a feminine voice shouted, “Get away from my son!”

“Shit,” he heard Boyle say, and then the gun fired again.BOOM.

Remy whirled toward the sound of it, and his eyes burned and blurred with a sudden film of tears. “Mama!”

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