The Serpent King(59)

He managed to stay standing, but gripped the door of his truck for support. He didn’t feel well at all. He couldn’t feel his legs or arms. His face was numb. His heart was working too hard. He couldn’t breathe. He had a coppery taste in his mouth. He was suddenly thirsty. And cold. He began to shiver uncontrollably.

He didn’t think he could drive and decided to try to flag down a car. His legs failed him so he crawled toward the road, fumbling in his jacket pocket for his phone. He dropped it in front of him and dialed 911.

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

“I think someone shot me.”

“All right sir, what is your location?”

“River Road. Is my mom there?”

“Okay, River Road. Can you tell me where exactly on River Road?”

“East of the bridge. I’m thirsty. Is my mom there?”

“Sir, I’ve got units heading your way right now, okay? I need you to stay with me. What’s your name?”

“Travis Bohannon. Is my mom there?”

“Travis, hang in there with me. We’ll try to get your mom. I need you to keep talking to me.”

“I need some water. I need some water. Can’t breathe.”

“Keep talking to me, Travis. Travis. Travis? Travis? Travis? Hang in there with me, Travis. Can you talk to me? Travis?”




Some fall in glorious ways. On green fields of battle as old warriors, surrounded by friends, fighting for their homes, fighting cruelty.

Some fall crawling in the dirt of Forrestville, Tennessee, in the dark, impossibly young and alone, for no good reason at all.





“I feel bad Travis’s not finding out the same time as me,” Dill said.

“Do you know where he is?” Lydia asked.

“He mentioned River Road.”

“Well, there aren’t that many places he could be. Here.” Lydia handed Dill her phone while she drove. “Text him. Find out where he is.”

Dill texted him. No response. Tried calling. Nothing.

“He texted me earlier. Maybe he ran out of battery,” Lydia said.

“He never runs out of battery.”

“Not in the pre-Amelia days.”

“Excellent point. Let’s drive River Road for a while. I don’t have to be home yet.”

“Maybe we can help him sell firewood,” Lydia said. “I can show some leg.”

“Yeah, but then people would stop to buy firewood and get a lecture about objectifying women.”

“So?” She turned onto River Road and drove a short distance before coming around a bend to see a wall of flashing blue lights. Forrestville police, White County sheriff. She slowed. “Oh wow,” she murmured. “Maybe someone had an accident.”

Dill craned to see. “Hope it wasn’t Trav.”

They neared. An officer stood in the road, wearing a reflective vest. He directed Lydia around the scene. A camera flashed.

Then they were able to see past the wall of flashing lights.

“Dill…is that Travis’s truck?” Lydia said, a rising alarm in her voice.

Dill squinted through the glare. He couldn’t discern the color of the truck with all the blue light. Another camera flash. Red. He felt a surge of adrenaline and dark dread. “Oh shit. Oh please, Jesus, no. No no no no no no no no no no no no. Lydia, stop.”

She stopped in the middle of the road. They jumped out and ran to the officer directing traffic. He didn’t look much older than them.

“Miss, I’m going to need you to move your car,” he said.

Lydia’s voice trembled. “Officer, this is our friend’s truck. Can you please tell us what happened?”

“Miss, I can’t at this time. There’s been a situation out here. I don’t know what information the family has yet so I’m not at liberty to say.”

Lydia fought tears, frantic and despondent. “Officer, please. I’m begging you.”

“Miss, I am sincerely sorry. I can’t give you any more information at this time. I apologize.”

Lydia broke down.

“Please,” Dill said, also starting to lose composure. “Please tell us where he is.”

The young officer had a pained expression. He glanced from side to side. His fellow officers were putting up crime scene tape. An officer took a photo of a bloodstain on the pavement.

The officer leaned in close. “County.”

They didn’t even stick around long enough to thank the officer. They tore away.

They drove in deathly silence. The engine whined as Lydia pushed it, going twice the speed limit most of the way.

Please God. Please God. Please let him be okay.

They squealed up to the hospital, parked haphazardly, and bolted inside.

Time seemed to slow for Dill as he looked around the garishly lit emergency room. There was a strange disconnect between what he saw and the way his mind processed it—or rather, didn’t process it.

Travis’s father, sitting in a corner, beating the sides of his head with his fists and weeping, two police officers standing next to him, looking uncomfortable.

Travis’s mom, lying on the floor, sobbing, three nurses stroking her back and trying to comfort her.

Something broke loose inside Dill’s mind. Something that had been moored against the roaring tumult. It came untethered and crashed around with reckless abandon—burning, shattering, consuming. He stopped seeing color and all became a swirling, howling, leaden gray desolation. But the pain hadn’t arrived. The way the sea recedes before a tsunami, so every part of him receded. And then the pain struck.