Read Walk the Sky for Free Online

him.  
    Oh sweet Jesus, they were going to find him.  
    There was another commotion outside.  
    Even though Bolton imagined they were coming for him, his curiosity took hold and he forced himself high enough on his knees to peer out through the window again.  
    Across the way, two men came out of the building, dragging Johnny by the arms. They dumped him in the middle of the street, where Bolton could see a red, oddly shaped stain on the front of the man’s shirt. It glistened in the sun.  
    Johnny, Bolton quickly understood, had been shot in the gut.  
    “How many others are there?”  
    Johnny lay on his back, in the middle of the street, his eyes tiny slits against the sun. His face wore the pinched and weathered expression of a man not only in agony but fear.
    “One last time,” said the man standing over him. He was tall and lanky and redheaded, and he appeared to be the man in charge. “How many others?”  
    Johnny coughed up blood, but remained silent.
    “Have it your way.”  
    Redhead cocked his pistol and fired a single shot into Johnny’s right leg.
    A jolt shot through Johnny’s body, followed by an agonizing scream.  
    “One more,” he said. “Just one more. Bolton.”  
    “Where is he?”  
    Bolton had witnessed this all from the mercantile window, but the moment he heard his name, panic overtook him. He climbed to his feet and backed away from the window. The shakes took hold of his entire body. He could barely feel his feet under him.  
    What now?  
    What was he going to do now?  
    Hide.  
    He had to hide.  
    Bolton backed away from the window, his mind racing, his heart pounding. The mercantile was a good-sized store. He might be able to find a small space somewhere in the back where he could go undetected, a cubbyhole behind some merchandise or inside an old shipping crate. Or, with a little luck, there might even be an exit in the back.  
    There was room for hope.  
    Not much, but at least a little.  
    Bolton turned to move deeper into the store. As he did, his right knee slammed into the corner of a display table. He muttered, more in frustration than in pain, and tried to save a jar of penny candy from falling off the tabletop.  
    It was a failed effort.  
    The glass jar hit the floor, shattered, and sent a wave of round hard candies scattering in all directions.  
    The sound was loud enough to wake the dead.  
    Every muscle in Bolton’s body tensed and he stood there for a moment, frozen, as if he were eight years old again and hoping no one would notice the roar of the candies if he didn’t move.  
    “The mercantile!” someone shouted from outside.  
    That was more than enough to get Bolton moving again.  
    He hurried across the wooden floor, almost slipping on the candies but managing to keep his balance. He took cover behind a counter near the back just as two men came through the front doors. Bolton couldn’t see them, but he heard their footsteps stop just inside the entrance.  
    Silence.  
    Then, quietly, the footsteps began to move, one pair headed toward the far side of the mercantile, the other pair headed toward his side.  
    Bolton closed his eyes.  
    Seconds passed.  
    The footsteps continued.  
    A boot heel crushed one of the candies.
    Bolton kept his eyes closed, praying—  
    please, God, don’t let them find me
    —and only opened them again when the hammer of a pistol locked into place.  
    The barrel of a gun stared back at him.

 
     
     
     
    9.

    Like every other man, woman, and child who had been placed on the earth, Reverend Titus Willard was a sinner.  
    He had no misconceptions about this. Despite his station in life, despite the extremely heavy burden the Lord had recently placed on his shoulders, Willard knew he was just as sinful as the day he was born. That was why he had to say his prayers multiple times a day, to communicate as closely as he could with God and ask Him to wash his soul clean of the sin that would then