“Jesse,” Mira whispered, but before she could say anything else, could plead with him to wait a little longer, he bolted.

“I’m here,” he shouted at the air before veering in the direction of the river. He ran, screaming, hoping the noise would get their attention and they’d start after him, making way for Mira to get out of the fields and off the property for good.

“I see him! There he is!”

The mob followed Jesse. They chased after him in their wild fury, their anger fueling them onward. It looked to be a crowd of fifty, if not more. Many carried rifles, their hands raising them high in the air as they trampled through the grass. Others held a hand on their hip as they ran, ready at any moment to aim their gun and shoot. They carried stolen lanterns taken from the plantation to light their way.

As they ran toward Jesse, one managed to get ahead of the rest, and when he’d gained enough speed, when at any moment he’d have finally caught up to Jesse, he stopped in his tracks. His hand pulled the pistol from his hip’s holster. He fired a series of reckless shots, not even trying to aim, believing he’d get his target.

The others behind him suddenly stopped too, each of them aiming and firing.

Bullets rattled in the air, one after the other. Pop, pop, pop. Like firecrackers Mira couldn’t see. Jesse ran faster, hoping with speed he’d escape the bullets, but there were too many. Pop, pop, pop, they continued, and down Jesse went, falling, falling, and as his body collided with the dirt, Mira heard their clamoring cheers.

XXVIII.

THEY WERE LIKE dogs. All grunt and growl. A pack of wolves ready for the take. Yellow-teeth-filled grins as they hollered. They jumped and raised their rifles and pistols in the air, arms stretched high like a praise toward a god they believed would one day welcome them, but there was no god here, not for this. They shouted yes and woo-boy and even hallelujah, some of them, grateful they could stop their chase.

These were the men Mira had feared her whole life. They were what her mother had tried to warn her of, to keep her away from. They were the dangerous ones, the ones who would slip into your room at night to inflict their terror. They were the cross burners, the ones who turned the magnolias and the oaks Mira loved into lynching trees. They were the ones who haunted her nightmares. She watched as they gathered, this mob of men full of ecstatic anger, as they came for Jesse.

“We got him!”

“Is this the one who did it? We need the one who did it.”

“There was another one, wasn’t there?

“Must have went toward the river. Maybe we can catch them before they get to the swamps.”