Chapters (113)
- NATCHEZBURNING
- GREG ILES
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- PROLOGUE
- PART ONE
- 1964–1968
- CHAPTER 1
- CHAPTER 2
- CHAPTER 3
- PART TWO
- 2005
- MONDAY
- CHAPTER 4
- CHAPTER 5
- CHAPTER 6
- CHAPTER 7
- CHAPTER 8
- CHAPTER 9
- CHAPTER 10
- CHAPTER 11
- CHAPTER 12
- CHAPTER 13
- CHAPTER 14
- CHAPTER 15
- CHAPTER 16
- CHAPTER 17
- CHAPTER 18
- CHAPTER 19
- CHAPTER 20
- CHAPTER 21
- CHAPTER 22
- CHAPTER 23
- CHAPTER 24
- CHAPTER 25
- CHAPTER 26
- CHAPTER 27
- CHAPTER 28
- CHAPTER 29
- CHAPTER 30
- CHAPTER 31
- CHAPTER 32
- TUESDAY
- CHAPTER 33
- CHAPTER 34
- CHAPTER 35
- CHAPTER 36
- CHAPTER 37
- CHAPTER 38
- CHAPTER 39
- CHAPTER 40
- CHAPTER 41
- CHAPTER 42
- CHAPTER 43
- CHAPTER 44
- CHAPTER 45
- CHAPTER 46
- CHAPTER 47
- CHAPTER 48
- CHAPTER 49
- CHAPTER 50
- CHAPTER 51
- CHAPTER 52
- CHAPTER 53
- CHAPTER 54
- CHAPTER 55
- CHAPTER 56
- CHAPTER 57
- CHAPTER 58
- WEDNESDAY
- CHAPTER 59
- CHAPTER 60
- CHAPTER 61
- CHAPTER 62
- CHAPTER 63
- CHAPTER 64
- CHAPTER 65
- CHAPTER 66
- CHAPTER 67
- CHAPTER 68
- CHAPTER 69
- CHAPTER 70
- CHAPTER 71
- CHAPTER 72
- CHAPTER 73
- CHAPTER 74
- CHAPTER 75
- CHAPTER 76
- CHAPTER 77
- CHAPTER 78
- CHAPTER 79
- CHAPTER 80
- CHAPTER 81
- CHAPTER 82
- CHAPTER 83
- CHAPTER 84
- CHAPTER 85
- CHAPTER 86
- CHAPTER 87
- CHAPTER 88
- CHAPTER 89
- CHAPTER 90
- CHAPTER 91
- CHAPTER 92
- CHAPTER 93
- CHAPTER 94
- CHAPTER 95
- CHAPTER 96
- CHAPTER 97
- AFTERWORD
- BOOKS BY GREG ILES
- Copyright
- About the Publisher
Tom had hated to ask Drew to put himself at risk by offering help, but he’d had no alternative. To his credit, Tom’s young partner had not only offered his lake house as a sanctuary but also insisted on driving over immediately to treat Tom’s wound.
“There!” Tom cried, wincing as he raised his hand to point at a giant shed a couple of hundred yards up the road on the right-hand side.
“I see it.”
Walt eased the Roadtrek back to forty miles per hour, then thirty. The turn was forty yards ahead now. He braked steadily, then swung out to the left so that he could fit the van between the mailbox and a post on the other side of the asphalt drive.
Thirty yards ahead, a gravel offshoot led to the tall storage shed. Walt drove straight up to the overhead door and stopped with a squeal. Tom read the code off his hand, and Walt climbed out and entered it in the keypad on the wall.
The overhead door began to rise, and white light flooded the ground.
Walt scrambled back into the driver’s seat, then pulled into the garage as soon as he had sufficient clearance. Then he jumped out and hit a button on the interior wall. Thirty seconds later, the door rattled down to the ground and they were enveloped in darkness.
“Not bad,” Walt said in a grudging tone. “About the best we could have hoped for. How’s your shoulder?”
“Bad enough. I could use another Lorcet.”
“Should you take it, with your ticker weak as it is?”
“No. But if Drew has some Maker’s Mark in there, I’ll sure drink it.”
“Let’s find out.”
Tom felt dizzy as he sought the van’s running board with his foot.
HALF AN HOUR LATER, Walt leaned over Tom’s bloody shoulder and studied Drew Elliott’s handiwork by the light of the reading lamp Drew had used to see while suturing the wound.
“You sewed a drain into it,” Walt observed, “just like we used to do in Korea.”
Drew stripped off his gloves as Melba Price sponged the skin around the rubber hose protruding from Tom’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have used a drain if we were in a hospital. But if Tom insists on staying out here, I want it in there.”