Day Two
July 22, 1952
Tuesday Night
Get to cover, get to cover, get to cover-that was the one thought and the only thought that River allowed his brain as he hit the dirt. There was no time to worry about losing the gun. There was no time to feel the gravel cuts in his face. He rolled, took a long leap and rolled again, waiting for an explosion of gunfire followed by a bullet tearing into his body.
No shots came.
No bullets landed.
The storm pummeled down but no one killed him.
He got to a boxcar, made his way underneath to the other side and ran to January.
She wasn’t there.
“January!”
No voice called back.
“January, where are you?”
She didn’t answer.
He searched, first frantically, then methodically.
She wasn’t where he left her.
She wasn’t at the parking lot.
She wasn’t at the boxcars.
She wasn’t anywhere.
He crumpled to his knees and put his face in his hands. The storm raged down, nipping at his skin with sharp little teeth.
He didn’t care.
January was gone.
She’d been taken.
He’d let it happen.