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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

“What?” Shane asks. Like for a second he’s not sure if she’s serious.

“I did it. I stirred up the shit. Mitchell Erickson warned me. Told me not to go poking snakes.” She bites down on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying. The taste of blood brightens her tongue. “If somebody killed him, it’s because of what I did.”

“We all did it. It was all three of us.”

“No!” she says, angry. Not at him, but anger is anger and he shrinks back. “I was the one with the shotgun. I was the one who marched into the barn, who set up Jonesy and Virgil . . .” She doesn’t even mention that Jonesy ended up in the hospital with a broken nose and broken ribs, another vengeful spirit who will surely come looking for a pound of flesh. “It was me all the way—the hand on the stick, the finger on the trigger.”

“Atlanta, we have to find out who killed Chris. Make them pay. Bring them to justice.”

She laughs, but it isn’t a happy sound. “Justice. Who are you? The sheriff? The lawman who wants to bring order to town? Wrangle up the outlaws and make things right? We tried that already, Shane. And let me tell you: we were not up to the task.”

“But Chris would want us to—”

“Chris is dead!” she yells. “Chris doesn’t want anything now.”

“Atlanta . . .”

But it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t want to hear him. She grabs her bag, throws Shane the vodka. Then she pushes past him and walks away, threading herself between the stones of the dead, walking the wobbly walk of the drunken and alive.

That night she goes to clean her shotgun. Back to the coat hanger with a paper-towel wad at the end and a little spray of WD-40. Crumbs of powder tumble out the end of the barrel, and she finds an empty .410 shell in the breach, green casing uncrimped and openmouthed from when the gun last coughed up a spray of pellets.

Halfway through, she has to put the gun away. Can’t do it.

Can’t do any of this. Can’t solve Chris’s murder. Can’t bring him back. Can’t help Shane. She’s not equipped for any of this.

Her mother’s been hovering over her like a cloud of gnats since Chris died, and tonight’s no different, with Mama asking Atlanta if she wants anything at all, and Atlanta thinks, I could really use a hug, but for some reason she doesn’t say that and instead just shakes her head. Then closes the door and feigns sleep. This night. The next. And so many others after.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It’s the last day of school for the year. Atlanta passed. B-pluses across the board, except in Mrs. Lewis’s English class, where she squeaked by with an untidy (but still passing) C-minus.