He ran from the school, taking the long way around to avoid town. Harry was certain that when he found Tyler, he’d have to hide with the boy. It was far too dangerous to go into town.
“Tyler!” Harry yelled. It was getting tough. His legs were tiring and he was getting winded.
But he got to George’s street and his calls were more easily heard. “Tyler! Harry had to slow down. He limped some, catching his breath as he neared George’s house. “Tyler!” On George’s lawn he bent over to stabilize his rapid breathing, rest just a few seconds and then go into the house.
“Harry!” Tyler yelled.
`Smiling, Harry lifted his head. Tyler was standing at George door.
“I found it.” Tyler grinned. He used his body to push open the screen door and the big box was wrapped in his arms. “Look, Harry, I got it!”
“Stay there.” Harry lifted his hand. “We have to get inside.”
“Why?” Tyler asked, racing down the steps of the porch to Harry. “I got the…”
Bang.
Harry’s eyes widened at the sound of the shot and he watched in horror as Tyler was hit so hard by the bullet, it sailed his small body back ten feet and the child landed on the ground with a thump.
Harry raced to Tyler, screaming out a heartbroken and deep, “No!”
He wheezed and his chest hurt worse than when he got hit with a ball during the last little league game. And when Tyler lifted his head, it hurt, too. He was afraid, really afraid to look down at his chest. He had played enough video games. The last he remembered was feeling a tremendous hit to his chest and flying back. He passed out when his head connected to the ground.
But he had to look. He had to see how bad it was because it really hurt.
He opened his eyes, but had to keep them squinted. Wind whipped around him blowing dirt in his face. It took him a moment to realize it was a helicopter.
Then he lifted his head and peeked.
Nothing. His hands felt his chest. No bullet hole, no blood. It hurt like heck, but why was he not bleeding? Then he saw it.
The box.
It lay next to him and Tyler rolled to his side. A grin wide and bright smeared across his face when he saw was sticking in the top of the box.
It was a bullet.
Harry said there was something about that box and there was.
“Harry!” Tyler called brightly. “Harry, check this out.” He scurried to his knees, then got to his feet and grabbed the box. “The box saved my life. Look here’s the bullet.”
Tyler spun to look for Harry.
He saw him.
Not ten feet from where Tyler had fallen, Harry lay in a pool of his own blood, motionless. His head was turned to the side facing Tyler, his body bloody and tattered, ripped to shreds by bullets.
“No.” Tyler whimpered and ran to Harry, dropping to the ground. His knees slid in the blood and he let go of the box. “No. Harry?” Tyler shook him. “No. Wake up, Harry, wake up.” His little heart broke right then and there. He grabbed on to Harry, lowered his head to Harry’s chest and sobbed.
Harry was all he thought about, he couldn’t be gone. He just couldn’t.
Then Tyler felt someone grab his arm.
“Son, we have to get you on the chopper. Now!”
“No, I can’t leave him.” Tyler shook his head and then looked to the soldier who reached for him.
“I’m sorry, you have to go.” The soldier reached for Tyler, but the moment he tried to lift him, Tyler started fighting.
“No!” Tyler screamed. He grabbed hold of Harry and held on for dear life.
“Let go. We have to go!” With a hard jerk, the soldier yanked Tyler into his arms. He held his arm around Tyler’s waist.
Tyler kicked, his hands reached out, the entire time. “Harry! Harry!” he cried, lacing the name with deep sobs.
He was placed in a seat in the helicopter.
“This yours?” the soldier asked and handed him the box.
“It was Harry’s.” Tyler sobbed.
“I’m sorry,” the soldier said solemnly and strapped Tyler in and closed the door.
Tyler could still see out the window. He held onto the box, his vision blurry form the tears, his hand reaching for the window. As the helicopter lifted, he kept watching Harry
Judith may not have been able to see very well, but she could hear. It wasn’t long after Foster and Manny left to get the medication, maybe a half an hour, before the young woman died. Her infant son was crying in the arms of a stranger instead of in the arms of a mother he would never know.
The explosions went from constant to occasional, the gunfire from rapid to slow.
Then soon there was only a pop of a gun here and there until suddenly it was silent.
After hours upon hours of gun fire, there was silence at last.
The silence was broken when a lone voice began singing
Foster never returned.
Manny never returned.
She heard someone say it was well after three AM, and she was sick to her stomach.
She kept asking, “Has anyone seen Foster? Did he return?”
