A Stream to Follow by Jess Wright

Author:Jess Wright
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: SparkPress

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Agitated by the encounter, Bruce set off at a brisk pace to put some distance between himself and the cabin. He had wanted to fight back but knew it could ignite more violence. His brother had scared him.

Bruce was struggling to understand what had happened. Yes, Glen had guzzled the booze hard and fast. His war wounds were still festering. He was afraid the store would go under—furious because the silica battle was hurting business. But was his wildness a sign of something more malignant? Manic depression?

Their father could talk so fast it was hard to follow him. He could stay up all night hatching half-baked schemes to make money. Then some kind of switch would go off, and he’d grind to a standstill. Other times he had such a hair trigger that it took nothing to cross him. He would say vicious things—cut his boys down in a merciless way. Within a few hours he could be bragging about his sons to the neighbors. It was hard to predict which Robert Duncan they would find each day.

As a kid, Bruce had assumed he was the reason his father got mad. Some of those cruel words came back to him now. You’re a little snotnose … All you do is make us worry … Can’t you ever do anything right?

Bruce stared into the icy waters of the brook—a stream where he and Glen had played as boys. Answers weren’t coming. He was choking with anger that had no place. Stepping onto a sliver of land that jutted into the brook, Bruce picked up a large rough-edged rock from under the snow. With both hands, he held it above his head and threw it with concussive force into the stream. Three more rocks hit the water. Then other sounds pierced the frigid air.

Someone was firing an M-1 Garand, the rifle he had learned to use in the war. Eight shots rang out in rapid succession—an entire clip. Eight shots later, he located the source. It was close, at the east border of their property. The gunman was either target shooting or massacring a deer herd out of season. With another volley of bullets, Bruce’s thoughts careened from pictures of deer being slaughtered, their chests exploding with the impact of the big 30-06 shells, to a gun battle in Alsace.

Infuriated at the gunman, Bruce charged across the brook toward the sounds of gunfire. Before he made much progress, one more burst of shots stopped him. His mind flooded with memories of snow-covered bodies, lying still where they fell, congealed blood marking wounds that would never heal. He sank to his knees. I’m the one who’s going insane … Will it never end?

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