Chapters (110)
- Cover
- ALSO BY J. TODD SCOTT
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- PROLOGUE
- I
- II
- PART ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- PART TWO
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- PART THREE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- PART FOUR
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Excerpt from LOST RIVER
- LITTLE PARIS
- DILLON
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
She screwed the gun into his skin, making sure he felt every inch of the metal. Hoping he could smell it, almost taste it. “When I left that gun you gave Rodolfo with Máximo, I thought I’d never see one like it again. I used to wonder why you would send me this horrible thing. What was the purpose? What was the message? But when you showed up on the very same doorstep where I found it, I knew. I understood there are some choices that are already made for us. We’ve both been planning for this day.” She pressed harder, pushing his head farther back so he was staring straight up into the sun. “I have a mama, a papa. Do you understand me? Are you listening to me? Really listening? I told you once, and now, after this, I will not say it again. Do not dare call me your mija. You haven’t earned that right.”
She gave the gun one more twist. “If you do, I’ll blow your brains all over this field. And then, maybe someday, someone else will dig you up. Like they did my brother.”
She reached into his pocket with her free hand and pulled out the phones she’d made him bring. She tossed them on the ground at his feet.
“The truth is dangerous. Now we’re going to find out if you’ve been telling me the truth at all.”
THIRTY-FIVE
This time he knew he was dreaming.
Everything is dark.
PV2 John Newberry whispers in Danny’s ear as Danny tries to hold the boy’s stomach together. It keeps slipping away from him. It is hot in his hands, steaming. Not that it matters, the IED made from an old M795 155mm U.S. artillery shell (he knows this only because it’s a dream) blew Newberry’s legs twenty-five yards across a dirt road.
Then he is in a hut in Nuristan or he is in Eddy Rabbit’s trailer or he is in both at the same time, and he is having trouble breathing.
There are a thousand pounds of darkness sitting on his chest.
A bullet comes through the wall: a single Soviet 7.62x39mm round (again, he only knows this because it is a dream), leaving a band of furious light in its wake. It is like water in the desert: bright, unexpected, necessary.
Now a second round . . . this one close enough he can feel its passage on his skin. Heating the air next to his cheek, making his bad eye blink.
Someone is screaming.
Someone is calling his name.
How is something a choice when it isn’t a choice at all?
He grips his own gun tighter and aims it under his own chin.
The hut and the trailer and the grave or whatever are crisscrossed with blinding light—a hundred bullets.
Desert sun here and now and half a world away.
A hundred crosses.
—