Walk the Sky Read Online Free PDF Page A

corral dust.  
    Was this the Devil’s town?
    Once sundown was complete and night filled in the shadows, would there be demons roaming the street, looking for a sacrifice?  
    Either way, the boy was set to spend the last of his time on this good earth tied to that damned post unless Clay could do something to stop it.  
    Back up the street behind him, everything was strangely quiet and still.  
    Clay had expected the Reverend’s men to come pouring out of the house in pursuit of him, but that hadn’t happened. He thought he could probably thank George for that. His friend had a way of occupying the attention of bad men.  
    The two men who had dragged the boy down the street and then tied him to the wooden post now hurried off, disappearing into the shadows.  
    Clay hugged the building and counted to ten in his head. Time was running out. The little light left in the sky was almost gone. If he was going to act, he needed to act now.  
    Clay held his breath, gaining all his courage, before he stuck his head out to peer around the corner.  
    And found himself staring straight into the barrel of Joe’s revolver.  
    The Reverend stepped out from behind his right-hand man. “I am disappointed in you, my friend. After we opened our home to you, shared our food with you, this is the way you repay us?”  
    “Let the boy go,” Clay said. “Take me instead.”  
    “I cannot decide whether you just are not trying or the lesson escapes you, but I do not think you understand the situation. Trust me on this; you cannot give back what God has given.”  
    Then a hand came down, the muzzle of Joe’s pistol slamming against the side of Clay’s face, and everything went black.

 
     
     
     
    7.

    Clay was dreaming.  
    He knew he was dreaming because he was back home, in the parlor, sitting in his chair and reading a book. The house was still and silent ... though it wasn’t. There was a shuffling sound coming from somewhere close by.  
    Hello? he called out, but because this was a dream his voice made no sound.  
    The shuffling continued, coming from outside.  
    He stood up and turned to the window.  
    Hello? he called out again.  
    The shuffling was even louder.  
    Because this was a dream he did not have to walk to the back door. All he had to do was blink and suddenly he was there.  
    The book was still in his hand. It felt like it weighed one hundred pounds.  
    That shuffling continued, louder now, and faintly, somewhere beyond it, a whimpering.  
    It was coming from outside, in the backyard. He knew that just as strongly as he knew this was a dream. He also knew what he would find once he opened the back door. The same thing he had found that terrible night a week ago.  
    His daughter and Bolton’s son.  
    What the young man was doing to his daughter.  
    Clay reached out, gripped the knob, turned it.  
    He opened the door.  
    The book fell from his hand.  
    Clay wanted to scream but he could not.  
    All he could do was stand there, listening to the shuffling, to the whimpering, and watch his daughter tied to a post as the demons moved in to feast.

    *   *   *

    He came to suddenly with a start but knew he was still dreaming. After all, he could still hear the shuffling outside. Only, he realized an instant later, this wasn’t a dream.  
    Despite the pain circulating around his head, Clay tried to sit up.  
    He couldn’t.  
    He lay on the floor on his side, his ankles bound, his wrists tied behind his back. There was a long piece of cloth tied around his mouth. It tasted like dirt. It made it impossible to speak but still he tried, creating a low gagging sound.  
    “Shh,” a familiar voice whispered. “Quiet now.”  
    He went still. It was dark but his eyes had begun to adjust. He saw the bars in front of him and quickly recognized it as the jailhouse. He tilted his head back and saw George on the floor in the far cell, also tied up and gagged. On the bench in the middle cell between