Twigs cracked all around them. The voices came from all directions. Chanting.
“Death is coming. Death is here. You’ll die on Christmas Day.”
A body came out of nowhere and jumped on the sheriff. Christopher’s mother turned. The sheriff was gone. She cried out for him.
“Death is coming. Death is here. You’ll die on Christmas Day,” the voices chanted. Getting closer.
Christopher searched his mother’s light, but he could see nothing but clouds. Nothing but darkness. The chanting turned into a single voice on the wind.
death is coming. death is here. you’ll die on christmas day.
The voice blew the wind through the woods and took the fog with it. Great twisting tornadoes carried the clouds back into the sky like a giant exhale. There were no more branches. No more trees. Except one.
They were in the clearing.
They were surrounded by the entire town. The sheriff had been thrown to the ground next to the tree. Every inch of the clearing was filled with a townsperson.
The tree house was lost.
There was no escape.
The mailbox people pulled out knives and rocks. Guns were pointed at Christopher from every angle. Christopher’s mother stood in front of him.
“Stand back!” she screamed.
The mob kept coming. Mrs. Henderson stepped to the front of the pack. Mrs. Collins walked next to her husband, her lungs wet and wheezing. Mrs. Keizer limped on her shattered hip. Christopher began to tremble in his mother’s arms.
“Mom! They don’t want you! They only want me! Please, run!”
She held him tighter and stood her ground. The mob walked closer. She backed up toward the tree. The sheriff staggered to his feet.
“Everyone back!” the sheriff yelled. “I am still the law!”
The mob stepped closer. Walking as one. Breathing as one. Christopher looked into the faces of the people drowning in their own fear and hatred. The pain was too much. He stumbled against the tree and fell backward when he saw the most terrifying sight of all.
Special Ed and Brady Collins.
The little boys raced into the middle of the clearing, their guns drawn. Their eyes white with murder. Each spoke in the voice of his grandmother.
“Brady is going to kill your mother, Eddie! Shoot him!” Special Ed said.
“Special Ed is going to kill your mother, Brady! Shoot him!” Brady Collins said.
In the final moment, they raised their guns and pointed them at what they thought was each other.
But the guns were pointed directly at Christopher.
“Listen to Grandma!” they said in unison.
And each boy pulled the trigger.
Christopher closed his eyes, waiting for the bullets to strike.
But the bullets never reached him.
Somebody got in the way.
It was the sheriff.
He threw himself in front of Christopher and his mother, taking the two bullets in his shoulder and back. He fell to the ground. The sheriff reached up for Christopher’s mother. His eyes lost like a child left alone. He tried to say her name, but the words caught under the blood in his mouth. He fought to stay awake. Stay alive. For her. For her son. She cried out his name just as he collapsed, bleeding and unconscious. The mob screamed in unison just as Jerry ran to the front of the crowd. Jerry looked at Christopher, his face twisting into a jealous rage.
“You took her from me,” he said. “She can only love one of us.”
Jerry raised his gun at Christopher.
Christopher’s mother grabbed him and threw him to the ground. Christopher felt her wrap her body around him like a blanket just as Jerry opened fire. The bullet ripped through her body.
But nothing touched her son.
Nothing but her light.
Christopher saw her light flash before him. One hundred billion pictures of a little girl thrown away by the world. The girl became a young woman through sheer force of will. The young woman met a man who was kind to her. The woman saw that man give up in a bathtub. But he gave her a son.
Her son was her light.
Christopher looked into his mother’s eyes. He could see with her light. He could see the answer. As long as she had that light, there would always be a chance.
The light began to dim.
“No, Mom!” he cried.
Her body started to give. Blood ran from her nose.
“Please, don’t go!”
The candle flickered in the wind of the hurricane.
“I love you, Christopher,” she whispered.
Then, the light of one hundred billion stars burned out.
Chapter 120
Christopher closed his eyes. The only sound his tears.