Sheriff Bearden ran up to us in his underpants.

“What the hell happened here?” he hollered.

Horace pointed the shotgun at him.

“Back up now,” said Horace. “You already gave me about a week’s worth of reasons to pull the trigger.”

Sheriff Bearden backed away from us. The members of the Farm were all gathered in the yard now, watching us. They were like a flock of penitents, all in their white pajamas, staring wide-eyed and strange at me.

“Tell them to back the fuck up,” said Horace, “and give us a clear path to the car.”

“Out of the way!” hollered Sheriff Bearden, and the Farm folks scattered.

I couldn’t look them in the eye. I couldn’t bear to see what they thought of me now.

“Move it, kids,” said Horace, and we obeyed, walking around the side of the house and into the driveway. The night air felt heavy, and the clouds were sparse and gray, the moon just a scrape of bone in the sky. We walked to the Trans Am, Horace behind us, the shotgun trained on Sheriff Bearden.

Only when we reached the car did I turn to look.

There stood Grandma’s house, dark and strange-eyed, my home. And in the front yard was the community, all my people, everyone who believed in me. They stood hangdog and watching, their bare feet stuck with mud, as their prophet abandoned them. As I abandoned them. I was supposed to lead them. I was supposed to save them. In that moment I loved them all so much I thought my heart would burst.

I saw the pain and disappointment on their faces. I saw how I was failing them, each and every one, how I was destroying their faith, what they’d dedicated their lives to, like I was the prophecy that hadn’t come true.

And then there was Cass.

“I don’t understand,” she said. She was crying, her face a mess of hurt and anger and bewilderment. “This was my purpose. It was what I was supposed to do with my life. How could you do this to us? How could you do this to me?”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Get in the car,” said Horace. “We ain’t got time for this shit.”

I saw the blood dribbling from his back, how it spread over his arms, how his hands shook when he held the gun. I realized he was going to collapse soon, that it was taking everything in him not to keel over and pass out.

Sheriff Bearden must have seen it too. He lunged at Horace, grabbing for the shotgun. Horace blasted him right in the chest. The man slumped over backward in the dust.