covered the twenty or so feet to the huddle. Soon excited voices reached him, all of them talking at the same time about the single gunshot that had torn the silence of the night. From the gestures, he guessed they were pointing to where they thought the shot came from, and, of course, there were at least as many directions as people.
They’d been in tents, though, and that would muffle the sound. Plus there were enough rocks around her to cause confusing echoes.
But then one man silenced them all.
“Mark Jasper didn’t come out of his tent. His kid was crying just a few minutes ago, but then he quieted.”
He saw Blaire grow absolutely still. “His kid?”
“He brought his four-year-old with him. I guess the shot may have scared him. But... Why didn’t Mark come out?”
Good question, thought Gus. Excellent question.
“Maybe he didn’t want to take a chance and expose his boy. They might have gone back to sleep,” said one of the women. Her voice trembled. She didn’t believe that, Gus realized.
Blaire turned slowly toward the tent that the man had pointed out. She didn’t want to look. He didn’t, either. But as she took her first step toward the shelter, he stepped over and joined her. To hell with jurisdiction. His gorge was rising. A kid had been in that tent? No dad joining the others? By now this Jasper guy could have heard enough of the voices to know it was safe.
He glanced at Blaire and saw that her face had set into lines of stone. She knew, too. When they reached the door of the tent, she stopped and pointed. Leaning over, he saw it, too. The tent was unzipped by about six or seven inches.
“Gloves,” he said immediately.
“Yes.”
Protect the evidence. The opening might have been left by this Jasper guy, or it might have been created by someone else. Either way...
He brought her a pair of latex gloves, then snapped his own set on. Their eyes met, and hers reflected the trepidation he was feeling.
Then he heard a sound from behind him and swung around. The guy who had announced that Jasper hadn’t come out had followed them. “Back up, sir.” His tone was one of command, honed by years of military practice.
“Now,” Blaire added, the same steely note in her voice. “You might be trampling evidence.”
The guy’s eyes widened and he started to back up.
Now Blaire turned her head. “Carefully,” she said sharply. “Don’t scuff. You might bury something.”
The view of the guy raising his legs carefully with each step might have been amusing under other circumstances. There was no amusement now.
“Ready?” Blaire asked.
“Yup.”
She leaned toward the tent and called, “Mr. Jasper? I’m the ranger. We’re coming in. We need to check on you.” No sound answered her.
“Like anyone can be ready for this,” she muttered under her breath as she reached up for the zipper tab. The metal teeth seemed loud as the world held its breath.
When she had the zipper halfway down, she parted the canvas and shone her flashlight inside.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed.
Blaire had seen a lot of truly horrible things during her time in Afghanistan. There had even been times when she’d been nearly frozen by a desire not to do what she needed to do. She’d survived, she’d acted and on a couple of occasions, she’d even saved lives.
This was different. In the glare of the flashlight she saw a man in a sleeping bag, his head near the front opening. Or rather what was left of his head. Worse, she saw a small child clinging desperately to the man’s waist, eyes wide with shock and terror. That kid couldn’t possibly understand this horror but had still entered the icy pit of not being able to move, of hanging on to his daddy for comfort and finding no response.
She squeezed her eyes shut for just a moment, then said quietly to Gus, “The father’s been shot in the head. Dead. The kid is clinging to him and terrified out of his mind. I need the boy’s name.”
Gus slipped away, and soon she heard him murmuring to the gathered campers.
Not knowing if she would ever get the boy’s name, she said quietly, “Wanna come outside? I’m sort of like police, you know. You probably saw me working when you were on your way up here.”
No response.
Then Gus’s voice in her ear. “Jimmy. He’s Jimmy.”
“Okay.” She lowered the zipper more. When Gus squatted, she let him continue pulling it down so she didn’t have to take eyes off the frightened and confused little boy. “Jimmy? Would you like to go home to Mommy? We can get Mommy to come for you.”
His eyes flickered a bit. He’d heard her.
“My friend Gus here has a horse, too. You want to ride a horse? His name is Scrappy and he’s neat. All different colors.”
She had his attention now and stepped carefully through the flap, totally avoiding the father. She wondered how much evidence she was destroying but didn’t much care. The priority was getting that child out of there.
The floor of the tent was small and not easy to cross. A small sleeping bag lay bunched up, a trap for the unwary foot. Toys were scattered about, too, plastic horses, some metal and plastic cars and a huge metal tractor. She bet Jimmy had had fun making roads in the pine needles and duff outside.
As soon as she got near, she squatted. His gaze was focusing on her more and more, coming out of the shock and into the moment. “I think we need to go find your mommy, don’t you?”
“Daddy?”
“We’ll take care of Daddy for you, okay? Mommy is going to need you, Jimmy. She probably misses you so bad right now. Let’s go and I’ll put you on my ATV. You like ATVs?”
“Zoom.” The smallest of smiles cracked his frozen face.
“Well, this is a big one, and it definitely zooms. It’s also a little like riding a roller coaster. Come on, let’s go check it out.”
At last Jimmy uncoiled and stood. But there was no way Blaire was going to let him see any more of his father. She scooped him up in her arms and turned so that he’d have to look through her.
“Gus?”
“Yo.”
“Could you hold the flap open, please?”
Who knew a skinny four-year-old could feel at once so heavy and light? The flashlight she carried wasn’t helping, either. She wished she had a third arm.
“Are
