THE HOSPITAL SAID MY NINE-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER WAS GONE — AND MY HUSBAND BE.GGED THEM NOT TO LET ME SEE HER. TWO WEEKS AFTER THE FU.NERAL, OUR LOYAL DOG DR.OPPED HER YELLOW CARDIGAN AT MY FEET. IT WASN’T TORN. IT SMELLED LIKE HER SHAMPOO. AND THE SLEEVES WERE STILL WET WITH PURPLE PAINT.

He rolled.

He was up.

He was running.

Not at me.

At the back door.

I scrambled up after him.

Barefoot.

Slipping in the mud.

He reached the door.

He yanked the latch.

It opened two inches.

Then it slammed shut again.

Somebody was holding it from the inside.

“Jason!” I screamed.

“Hold it!”

“I’ve got it!” he shouted back.

Dale threw his shoulder into the boards.

The whole shed shook.

Inside, Ruby was screaming.

I grabbed the back of his jacket with both hands.

I pulled.

He swung his elbow back.

It caught me in the jaw.

The orchard went white.

I didn’t let go.

I didn’t let go.

Then the door flew open from the inside.

Hard.

Straight into Dale’s face.

He staggered back.

Jason came through the doorway.

Limping.

Running on a cracked leg.

He hit Dale full weight.

They went down together in the mud.

Scout was on them a second later.