* * *

While calm was being restored in Blessings, the hills above Aunt Sugar’s little house were swarming with Georgia State Police and officers from the county sheriff’s office, looking for Hoover Slade. Search dogs had been called in and were tracking Hoover’s scent from the blood he’d left in the stolen car, and a police chopper was flying recon for the police in the sky above.

With no legal authority outside the Blessings city limits, Chief Pittman and his men left the scene as soon as the state police arrived, with one of the deputies driving Melissa’s car home.

Sugar was so rattled and upset about what had happened that looking out at the police vehicles parked all about her property brought her to tears.

She couldn’t settle down to do anything she’d planned to do, so she made herself a cup of tea, added a bit of honey to sweeten it, and went outside to her swing on the back porch.

She could hear the hounds up in the woods, as well as the chopper circling the area. A couple of officers had been left behind at the house to coordinate the search areas and were standing at the hatch of one of their SUVs with a map spread out. She could faintly hear the radio chatter between them and the searchers.

There was a lump in her throat just remembering how Hoover had cursed her, saying ugly, hurtful things she would never forget. He and his brother had always been worthless, but never dangerous. Seeing him in this light made her fearful and ashamed.

“A disgrace. That’s what this is, a disgrace,” Sugar said, and took a sip of her tea.

* * *

Hoover hadn’t planned on the ensuing chase, but in his mind, he had practiced the run in this creek every day since they’d slammed the door on his cell, and again every night in his sleep.

He’d been running now for over an hour, and the longer he ran, the wearier he became. He never tired in his dreams, but the reality of this run was real. His face burned like hell where Melissa had scratched him, and his side ached. The muscles in his legs were burning, and his lungs felt as if they were about to burst.

He didn’t think the chopper overhead could see him in this creek from above, but he wasn’t sure. What he did know was if he got on solid ground, the dogs and the cops would eventually find the trail, so he put his head down and kept running until he ran out of creek. He’d come to the source and stared at the water bubbling out of cracks in some rocks on the side of a hill. He no longer had a choice. From here, he would be moving on solid ground.

When they were boys, he and Truman used to prowl through the abandoned shacks left up here from the old days of their grandpa’s moonshining, so he started that way, taking care to stay beneath the thickest trees and bushes.