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Back Atlanta Burns Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication Page
  4. CONTENTS
  5. PART ONE: SHOTGUN GRAVY
  6. Sometimes she wakes…
  7. CHAPTER ONE
  8. CHAPTER TWO
  9. CHAPTER THREE
  10. CHAPTER FOUR
  11. CHAPTER FIVE
  12. CHAPTER SIX
  13. CHAPTER SEVEN
  14. CHAPTER EIGHT
  15. CHAPTER NINE
  16. CHAPTER TEN
  17. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  18. PART TWO: BAIT DOG
  19. CHAPTER TWELVE
  20. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  21. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  22. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  23. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  24. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  25. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  26. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY
  28. PART THREE: THE FARM
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  36. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  37. PART FOUR: KISSING FIRE
  38. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  43. PART FIVE: BAIT GIRL
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  46. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  47. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  48. EPILOGUE: THE MESSAGE
  49. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  50. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Guy reverses the Scion—again the tires spin. But then, suddenly, miraculously, they catch. The car whips backward into a laser-fast K-turn.

Two minutes later, they hit the road. Literally—the Scion slams up onto the asphalt with a bang and a rattle.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Nobody says boo. Only sounds are the car’s engine, the wheels on the road, the dog’s breathy panting. Occasionally Atlanta shakes herself loose from the shock and glances into the backseat to make sure the dog hasn’t chosen Shane as a meal.

Shane lies slumped, flycatcher mouth lolling. The dog sits, staring ahead. When Atlanta grabs her own seat to turn around and see, the beast takes his dry-blood muzzle and licks her hand.

She turns back around.

Eventually, Guy speaks.

When he does, it’s under his breath. “Shit.” Then louder. “Shit.” And finally: “Shit!”

He bashes the steering wheel with the heel of his hand.

“Yeah,” Atlanta says, because she’s not sure what else to say.

“Yeah? Yeah doesn’t cover it. So I’m sitting here thinking, right? I’m thinking, that’s a dog back there. From a dogfight. Except, that ain’t no normal dog. That’s no pit bull. That’s a rare breed. You know that?”

“Kinda.”

“Kinda? It’s an Argentine Mastiff. A Dogo Argentino.” On these last two words he throws a little spicy accent powder, rolling that r like a ball bearing rolling across a snare drum. He says it again: “Dogo. Argentino.”

“Sure. Okay. So what?”

“I heard something there today. I was sellin’ some vikes to some hillbilly cracker with a bum leg, and you know what he said? He said that someone had bought and was training just such a dog. You know who that someone is? Do you?”

“Just get to the dang spoilers.”

But she already knows the answer, doesn’t she?

They went and are staying with their uncle or something up on his farm in Little Ash . . .

This here is my farm, so I’m glad you found our humble operation . . .

Just trying to train this dumb piece-of-shit dog of our uncle’s to take the fuckin’ bait . . .

“It’s Ellis Wayman’s dog,” he says. He says it again: “Ellis fucking Wayman.”

“Oh, that’s not good.” Panic claws its way through her.

He hits the steering wheel again.

“Pull over,” she says. “Hurry.”

Guy steps on the brakes. Shane’s drug-slumbering form slumps forward, his head thunking against the window. Atlanta hurries outside, opens the back door.

The dog—the very special dog breed, the Dogo Argentino—stares at her.

“Go!” she says. “You’re free. Look. Out there it’s . . . trees and farmhouses and a bunch of walking hamburgers.” The dog just stares. “Liberty! Freedom! This here is your Emancipation Proclamation. Go!”

The dog’s massive body fails to move.