Michael Malone - Weebly

" And he had pantomimed the shooting like a movie
gangster. And Henry'd seen guys taking pictures of
each other standing beside the corpses of women sawn
in half. Boys standing there with dead eyes and innocent
smiles. What purpose served by stopping one? Still, he
had; grabbing a skinny kid's camera once, slamming it
to pieces against a jeep fender. The kid had backed off
fast.
Dusky red rolled up over the sky. The woods
behind Wild Oat Ridge were now on fire. Without
analyzing the fire's cause, Henry automatically mapped
its location as he loped down the steep graded road
while Night bolted ahead, then circled back, scout and
flank.
Around a corner, lights shone like steady fallen stars
near the side of the highway ahead. The ex-soldier
walked methodically on, limping now, noted
peripherally the motorcycle shoved onto the purple
flowering branches, recalled peripherally the dipshit on
a cycle who had kicked at Night outside Fred's Fries.
Then as he came up the flagstone path to the large
ranch house, a woman's scream cried out at him,