Dying for Rain (The Rain Trilog - BB Easton Page 0,63
hole, but before I can take the first step, another wave of chaos breaks out. I cling to the tree as wailing police sirens get louder and louder and louder, followed by screaming and pushing and shoving worse than anything I’ve experienced up to this point. Reaching as high as I can, I grab the spindly branches and pull myself into the tree, praying that it will hold my body weight so that I can escape the crowd threatening to rip me to shreds below.
As soon as I climb above them, I see what all the panic is about. A massive tank, as wide as the entire street with a cannon the size of a telephone pole on the front, is charging straight toward the crowd, followed by two police cars and a SWAT SUV. People are climbing all over one another, trying to get out of the way as the tank lurches up over the curb and into the park. I can’t see if anyone gets run over, but a chunk of them seems to disappear in front of the tank as it turns and forces itself in between the hole that was dug for Wes’s grave and the rest of the mob.
Blue lights spill over everything as the police cars and SWAT utility vehicle pull in behind the tank and form a tight, square barricade around the hole. I notice that the riot cops have moved from their stations on the risers and are now marching up to the cop cars with their shields raised. One by one, they climb on top of the vehicles, facing outward in a ring of human turrets.
No!
My heart thunders in my chest, my hands shake, and my guts twist into violent knots as the driver’s side door to one of the police cars opens. Officer Elliott steps out, and with a solemn look on his face, he opens the back door to the cruiser. Governor Steele hoists himself out on the third try, and the car lifts a full six inches higher off the ground before Flip climbs out behind him.
Flip turns on his camera, which I assume is live now that Michelle is nowhere to be seen, and instructs the governor to stand in the center of their barricade with the SWAT vehicle behind him. I expect Officer Elliott to do another introduction, but Governor Steele doesn’t give him the chance.
He simply opens his mushy, shapeless mouth and bellows loud enough for me to hear over the madness, “Bailiff, bring out the accused!”
No! No, no, no, no! Somebody, do something! Elliott, please!
But Officer Elliott simply nods his head once, turns, and walks over to the other cruiser. Opening the back door, he reaches in and pulls Wes—my Wes—out by the elbow.
His hands are bound behind his back, and he’s wearing a burlap jumpsuit.
Not orange. Burlap.
The sight of him dressed like that rips a scream from my body. Somewhere in the crowd, another woman howls in the same heartbroken pitch, and I know his mama sees him, too.
“Elliott, do something!” I shout. “Somebody! Help him!”
But everyone is screaming. The riot cops are shooting people who try to climb onto the vehicles or who shoot at them first. Tear gas canisters are being tossed out like candy. The crowd is surging against the vehicles, making them rock back and forth. No one can possibly hear me.
But still, I scream.
I look to the driver’s seat of the patrol car Wes got out of and find Officer Hoyt gripping the steering wheel and staring straight ahead, his eyes at half-mast.
“Hoyt!”
Governor Steele says something I can’t hear and motions to the tank. A man steps out of it and walks across the clearing, but it’s not until he stands directly in front of Wes and turns to face him that I can tell who it is.
The executioner.
He’s wearing an all-black police uniform, and he has on a loose black mask that covers his entire head with two small eyeholes cut out. His hand is on a pistol holstered on his tool belt, and his focus is lasered in on Wes.
My Wes.
“Flip! Flip, do something!”
The cameraman takes his spot off to the side, next to Governor Steele. Everything is moving so fast. The crowd continues to slam against the vehicles in waves, making all but the tank rock back and forth, but with the riot cops standing on top, firing at anyone who climbs too high or shoots at them, nobody is able to do anything to