From somewhere behind us came the sound of Ma's cry, high and frightened. I wanted to look, to check that she was safe, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from Dan. I couldn't stop the thoughts hammering through my head: Dan was shot. Dan was bleeding. Dan could die.
"Stay with me," I whispered, the words a desperate prayer. "Please, Dan. Stay with me."
Collins laughed—actually laughed—the sound oily and wrong against the backdrop of flames and Dan's labored breathing. "Ain't that sweet," he drawled. "The giant's worried about his little boyfriend."
I didn't look up, didn't give Collins the satisfaction. All my attention, all my being, was focused on the man bleeding under my hands. The rest—Collins, the burning barn, even Pa's unknown fate—would have to wait. Right now, the only thing that mattered was keeping pressure on Dan's wound and making sure he kept breathing.
"I'm okay," Dan whispered, though the pain in his voice told a different story. His fingers pressed weakly against mine, seeking reassurance. "I'm okay, Harlow."
But the blood seeping through my wadded shirt and the growing pallor of his face said he was anything but okay. And as I knelt there in the gravel, Dan's blood warm on my hands, I knew with cold certainty that nothing would ever be the same again.
"I'm okay," Dan gasped again, though the blood soaking through my shirt told a different story. His eyes, bright with pain, flickered toward the burning barn. "The animals—your father—"
A scream cut through the air, raw with anguish and terror. My head snapped up to see Ma on the porch, fighting against Newt's restraining arms as she tried to break free. Her face was contorted with desperation, tears cutting clean tracks through the soot that had somehow found its way to her cheeks.
"JEBEDIAH!" she wailed, the name torn from her throat like it was being ripped out by force. "JEBEDIAH!"
The sound of Ma crying Pa's name like that hit me harder than any physical blow ever could. In all my twenty-nine years, I'd never heard Ma scream like that—not when the flash flood took our lower fields, not when Knox was deployed overseas, not even when I was kicked in the head by that horse as a child. Ma was the steady one, the foundation that never shook. But she was shaking now, fighting against Newt with a strength born of pure terror.
A horse's panicked whinny pierced through the roar of the flames, followed by another, the sounds desperate and fading. Pa was in there. Pa and our horses. The animals we'd raised from foals, the ones Pa had taught me to gentle with patient hands and quiet words.
Everything became crystal clear in that moment, the chaos around me snapping into sharp focus like when I tracked through dense woods and suddenly found the trail I'd been seeking. Collins had my father. The barn was burning. Dan was shot. And I was the only one who could fix this.
"Dan," I said, my voice steady in a way that surprised me. "You need to keep pressure on the wound." I guided his good hand to replace mine over the wadded shirt. "Press as hard as you can."
"Harlow," Dan managed, his eyes widening as he realized what I was about to do. "Don't—it's too dangerous—"
"I'm getting Pa," I said simply.
Collins laughed from his position by the cruiser, the sound ugly and wrong. "Going to play hero, are you, big man? That barn's about to come down. You'll both burn."
I ignored him, focusing instead on Dan's face. I memorized every feature—his eyes, warm and frightened for me rather than himself; the stubborn set of his jaw; the faint freckles across his nose that only showed when he was pale like now. If this was the last time I saw him...
No. I wouldn't let that thought finish.
"I'll be right back," I promised Dan, my voice low and certain. Then I was on my feet, turning toward the barn with single-minded purpose.
"Harlow, wait!" Dan called after me, his voice weak but urgent.
Collins shouted something too, but the words were lost in the roar of blood in my ears and the crackling of the fire. In the distance, sirens wailed, growing closer by the second. Maybe that's why Collins didn't shoot me too—time was running out for his plan to work.
I sprinted toward the barn, my boots kicking up gravel, then dirt, then scorched earth as I neared the inferno. The heat hit me like a physical barrier, pushing against my skin with increasing force with each step. Sweat broke out across my body immediately, trickling down my bare back and chest. I'd forgotten I wasn't wearing a shirt anymore—it was currently pressed against Dan's wound, soaking up his blood.
The main doors were fully engulfed, orange flames dancing wickedly across the weathered wood we'd painted red just last summer. I veered left toward the smaller side door that led to the tack room, the one we used most often in daily chores. It wasn'tyet consumed by fire, though smoke billowed from around its edges.
I pulled my t-shirt up over my nose and mouth, a pitiful filter but better than nothing. The metal handle of the door burned my palm when I grabbed it, but I barely registered the pain. I yanked it open and was immediately assaulted by a wall of heat and smoke that stung my eyes and scorched my lungs with the first breath.
Ducking low where the air might be clearer, I pushed forward into what had once been the familiar tack room. Now it was an alien landscape of flame and shadow. The saddles that had hung on the wall were burning, the leather curling and blackening. The bridles were gone, either fallen or already turned to ash.
"PA!" I called, my voice barely audible over the roaring flames. "PA, WHERE ARE YOU?"
The smoke was so thick I could barely see three feet in front of me. I dropped lower, crawling on hands and knees toward the door that would lead to the main part of the barn. The floor was hot enough to blister, but I kept moving, driven by the image of Ma's face as she screamed Pa's name.
I'd never been afraid of fire before. As a boy, I'd been fascinated by it, drawn to the dancing flames in our fireplace or the bonfires we had for summer celebrations. But this was different. This fire was alive in a malevolent way, consuming everything it touched with indifferent hunger.
The main part of the barn was worse, much worse. The hayloft had partially collapsed, sending burning debris across the center aisle. The stalls on either side were filled with flames, but I could hear the frantic movements of at least some horses still trapped inside. They screamed in terror, a sound that cut through me like a knife.
"PA!" I bellowed, louder this time, fighting to be heard above the inferno. "PA, ANSWER ME!"
