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?
Martino took the offered glass of champagne from Xavier, who did look amazing in the clothes he’d bought him. It was a shame that he had to leave, but staring at the other man, and thinking of his prima, had given him an idea. “Xavier, I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to go to dinner as we’d planned, but I do have a question.” Martino sipped the champagne, which had somehow gone warm and lifeless. It was bitter, no longer sweet.
Martino poured the rest over the balcony.
“Your passport and visa are current, correct?”
PART THREE
TEJAS
FORTY
CHAYO & NEVA
Their most constant companions were murciélagos.
They had first appeared at dusk, when Chayo and Neva were starting to stir from wherever they had hidden for the day. As much as Chayo had hoped they could travel only at night by the glow of the moon and the stars, it was proving too risky—too easy to fall down a ravine, or simply lose their way when the sky was made unreadable by a thick smear of clouds. He had never been afraid of the night before—not of the animals that moved or hunted in the dark—but after Neva tripped and tumbled face-first into a shallow, rock-lined arroyo, he was all too aware of the dangers hidden there.
They had to travel with the true light of the sun.
Now the murciélagos were fading pencil marks in the sky at dawn when they awoke. Thousands of them turning in tight circles, calling to each other, catching the last few bugs. They were a tattered cloud visible for miles, their wings the sounds of thick hands rubbing together.
He and Neva watched them rise and fall and spin and disappear. There was some magic purpose or message in their movements, and they followed in their wake, moving slowly over the broken ground. The murciélagos nested in the cooler hollows and caves along the river, high up on the canyon walls, so instead of using the stars, Chayo traced the sounds of their fading wings.
Those pencil marks in the sky sketched out a path for them to follow, pointing the way.
A path they soon discovered others had followed as well.
—
THEY FIRST FOUND A RED BACKPACK, torn and weathered. There was a string of several numbers written in black ink inside. Maybe a phone number, someone to call if the pack or the person wearing it was lost . . . or found.
They saw a sole-less tennis shoe, just one, hanging upside down on a branch.
They stepped around other shoes handmade out of dirty carpet and rope.
They moved past discarded shirts and bandannas.
They walked among a constellation of empty plastic water bottles and shopping bags and tin cans.