“Who are you?” says Graham.
“Daniel’s friend,” says Braedon.
“I know that,” says Graham. “But who are you? How come I don’t know who you are?”
“Oh,” says Braedon. “I just moved here a few months ago.”
Graham doesn’t respond. They hear a dog bark in the distance, and the low rumble of a truck on Main Street. The other two boys remain behind Graham, their faces in and out of shadows made by a street light and recently leafed-out oak trees.
“You can have this if you want it,” says Daniel, holding the Molotov cocktail out toward Graham. The scent of gas has permeated the rag, an olfactory reminder of the little firebomb’s potential.
Graham shakes his head. “Hold on to it. You guys are coming with us.”
“Uhh…” Braedon hears himself say. “I can’t. I’m already in huge trouble.”
“You don’t know what huge trouble is,” says Graham. “But you’re going to find out if you don’t do what we tell you.”
“My parents are going to know we’re gone,” says Daniel. “And they’ll call the police.”
“This won’t take long,” says Graham. “We just need your help hiding something.”
“What?”
“None of your business.”
“Why do you need us?” says Braedon. “Why can’t you hide it yourself?”
“We don’t need you,” says Graham. “Just him,” he adds, eying Daniel. “He’s the only one small enough to fit through the pipe. And quit asking questions. It’s not like you have a choice.”
“No,” says Braedon. “We do have a choice.” He hears his voice quiver and hopes they don’t notice. “And we choose not to go with you.”
Graham laughs. “You are so dead, kid.”
Braedon reaches over with both hands and grabs the Molotov cocktail and lighter out of Daniel’s hands. He pulls the trigger on the long lighter, and a flame emerges on the other end. “I’m going to light this and throw it. And pretty soon a whole bunch of people will come over to check it out. You can either stick around and I’ll throw it at you, or you can get the hell out of here.”
Graham reaches behind his back. When his hand returns, it’s holding a pistol. “What did you say you were going to do?”
Braedon catches the light reflect off the gun’s short barrel. Then hears a click, and a bright flash blinds him.
CHAPTER 22
“Dad?” Clay places a hand on Judd’s shoulder. “Dad, are you awake?”
Judd opens his eyes and sees a star-filled sky. A single mayfly hovers a few feet above his face, and he feels a throbbing pain on the back of his head. The crickets and frogs are in a shouting match, but Judd can hear trout taking bugs off the river’s surface. He takes an inventory of his body, wiggling his fingers and toes, slightly bending his knees and elbows. Other than his hurting head, Judd seems to be all right.
“What happened?” says Judd.
“Give yourself a minute,” says Clay. “See if you can sit up.”
Judd takes a couple of deep breaths, then lifts his body into a sitting position. His head hurts like hell. He touches the backof it but feels no blood. He looks around to confirm that he’s still on Moen’s Bridge.
“What the hell?” says Judd. “Where’s the canister?”
“How’s your vision?” says Clay.
“I can see the canister is gone. Did I drop it in the river? And why are you here?”
Clay sits on the ground. “I followed you.”
