Читать книгу Miss Hazel and the Rosa Parks League - Jonathan Odell - Страница 6

PROLOGUE

It was up to Vida to save her boy. With Nate in her arms, she fled through the back door and toward the darkened field behind the house. If she could get Nate to the bayou beyond, into the dark stand of cypress, he would be safe.

The two white men must have heard the back screen slap shut, because the lights of their truck were now cutting across the field. She turned. It roared toward her, plowing through rows of cotton, the bumper mowing down plants half as tall as men. They were almost upon her. There was no way she could make it to the bayou. Vida dropped down between two rows, cradling Nate beneath her.

The truck braked and she heard a door open. She peeked above the row. They stood only a few yards away, listening to the night, the headlights throwing their shadows long across the field.

Nate whimpered and one stumbled off in the direction of the sound.

The old man lurched after him. “Don’t!” he shouted. “You don’t want to kill nobody, son. Specially not no little baby. Specially not yore. . .”

“Shut your goddamned mouth! He ain’t my nothing,” the other one slurred. “That boy lives, I lose it all!”

The old man called out in a panic, “Gal! Stay down. You hear me? Don’t raise up.” He reached out and tugged at the barrel of the gun.

Vida leaped up and started off again.

Moments later came the first blast, followed quickly by the second. With blinding force, the searing spray of buckshot sent Vida and her child tumbling into darkness.

As the explosions echoed throughout the quarter, the lanterns in the shanties dimmed as quickly as they had come on.