The Last Child

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Levi was burning. His momma’s hair was on fire and the flames put hot claws in Levi’s face as he ran for the door. It hurt, and he screamed as they crashed through the screen and fell off the porch, house coming down behind them, everything dark, and what wasn’t dark, on fire. Levi thought maybe he was burning in hell. He knew he’d done something wrong, but that was later. Wasn’t it? Not now, not with his momma burning, too. He was confused and he was scared.

Hot as hell was.

Big as forever was.

But this was the house burning, and Levi knew where he was, the only place he’d ever been. He’d spent his whole life there and never left. His momma said there was nothing out there but pain, no place for somebody like Levi. So he stayed. And that’s where he was. He was home. He was burning in the yard…

… dying.

He opened his eyes to see if there was crows.

Sunlight in the barn.

He’s coming around.” Johnny bent over Freemantle’s face as the eyes flickered open. He saw confusion, fear. “It’s okay,” Johnny said. “I just need to get you in the truck. Can you get up?”

Freemantle blinked. There was mud ground into the crevasses of his scarred face. He looked up at the rafters, then through the open door. “It’s okay,” Johnny said. He took Freemantle’s good arm and tried to help him up.

The words bled into each other, made no sense, but the white boy had good eyes, dark and deep. Levi stared into those eyes, wondering at why they made him feel better. Like he’d seen them before, like he should trust them. He sat up, and the heat tunneled through him, the pain. He was still confused, still scared; then a tower of cool air spiraled down from some high, chill place, and he heard it again.

The voice

God’s voice.

So clean and strong he almost wept.

Why is he smiling like that?” Freemantle’s eyes were squeezed tight, his lips stretched so wide and tight it looked as if the cracked skin might begin to bleed. Jack stepped away.

“Maybe he likes gospel. Who knows? Let’s just get him in the truck.” Johnny helped him stand while Jack stayed clear. Johnny dropped the tailgate and Freemantle sat down, rolled backward. “All the way in,” Johnny said.

“All the way in.” It was a whisper, an echo.

“That smile’s not right,” Jack said.

Freemantle was on his back, knees bent, arms on his chest. The smile was wide and joyful. Innocent. The word sprang into Johnny’s mind. Pure. “Just get in the truck,” he said, and Jack got in. He closed the door and put his back against the handle, turned so he could watch Freemantle through the rear window of the cab. Johnny slid behind the wheel.

“His lips are moving,” Jack said.

“What’s he saying?”

Jack unlatched the rear window and slid it open. He turned down the radio and they could hear Freemantle’s voice.

“No crows.”

“Close the window,” Johnny said, but they could still hear him.

“No crows.”