At the End of the Road by Grant Jerkins

By Grant Jerkins

From the seriously acclaimed writer of A extremely simple Crime, a chilling tale of a tender boy coming to grips with actual evil.

A crimson airborne dirt and dust highway on a sweltering day. A motor vehicle loses regulate, flips during the air. a girl crawls out, bloody and battered, staggers towards the boy at the motorcycle, the only she swerved to prevent. yet he runs away...

Kyle is ten in the summertime of 1976, and his global is all approximately secrets-secrets hidden within the maze of cornfields, in caves, within the embers of scorched earth, at the back of creaking doorways and down basement stairs...and within the darkest of hearts.

But there is a policewoman on the entrance door. The Paralyzed guy watches him from a neighboring porch. And irrespective of which manner Kyle turns, no position turns out secure anymore...

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They watched Buddy trample his way toward them, unable to alter his homicidal charge, and for a moment Grace and Kyle thought it had all been pyrrhic effort, as Buddy was surely going to come right through the fence and trample them both. But he was able to divert himself before hitting the fence with full force; in his turn he brushed the fence, causing it to bow out under his weight. And he bellowed in frustration and pain as the barbs caught his flesh, rending it in three long ragged streaks.

Do it,” Scotty said. His voice was different now. Husky and focused. “Take the spy’s eye out. ” Kyle knew that all of this was designed to put a good solid scare into him, that kids didn’t kill or maim other kids, but there was something in Scotty’s voice that told him that yes, actually, sometimes kids really did kill or maim or even blind other kids. That a kind of bloodlust sometimes infected them, and they did things they would have to bury and hide later when good sense came back to them.

Kyle recognized the layout of a rectangular, cultivated patch, but the plants growing there were beyond his scope of experience. They towered six or seven feet on thick stalks that sprouted clumpy buds and five-leaf clusters. Patrick had a machete, and he was slashing the most mature plants at the base. Patrick tossed the plants to Joel or Scotty—whoever was standing closer—and they would fasten the plants to a rope that was strung between two pines. They hung the plants upside down, and Kyle had seen a similar processing of plants in a tobacco barn where the broad leaves were fastened in bunches and hung upside down to cure.

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