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?
It ricocheted off a light pole first, probably saving her life. But it still carved an ugly, ragged path from the corner of her mouth to her left ear, spinning her around and knocking her off her feet. Another bullet struck the same light pole, tossing tiny sparks, and even as Chayo waited for a third and final bullet to take him, he picked Neva up to carry her the rest of the way through the night . . . onward toward dawn.
Her blood soaked his shirt, hot and thick against his skin. It was precious and he wanted to save it all.
By then, other normalistas were running, too. His friends. All the boys he knew. There were more sounds of gunfire, of screaming. Dogs barking. The deep rumble of truck engines.
He called for help, kicked on doors.
But he never stopped, and never looked back.
—
MORE THAN A DOZEN BLOCKS AWAY an older couple took them in. They lived above their small candy store, Dulcería La Bonita, and Neva bled all over their tile floor. All the candy wrappers beneath the glass were impossibly bright, but none as bright as Neva’s blood. The old woman, Carmelita, wiped it all up with an apron, while her husband, the even older Amador—who reminded Chayo of Naranja—pulled the metal shutters over the storefront windows.
They all carried Neva upstairs in darkness, in silence.
So it had only been by candlelight that Chayo had finally gotten a look at her face.
—
THE STITCHES WERE FRESH so she still couldn’t talk, but they could watch Carmelita and Amador’s tiny television.
For three days, they did.
They saw the pictures from the morning after, the bodies and the blood still on the street, the piles of clothes and broken glass.
The rocks that some of the fleeing normalistas had thrown, and that others had used to mark where bullet casings littered the ground.
One report said that one hundred shell casings had been found. Another claimed it was more than two hundred.
Six normalistas had been admitted to the hospital, three more were dead. The rest were missing.
In the day right after the attack, some people claimed they’d seen the surviving students herded together and hooded, driven away in municipal trucks.
A day later, no one admitted to seeing anything.
One periódico claimed it had been shown a text from one of the normalistas who had disappeared:
HELP ME NOW I AM DYING
—