Page 73 of Landry

Camille didn’t care about the necklace or its dollar value. All she cared about was getting Billy Ray out alive. She moved to stand closer to Billy Ray. “You have your necklace. Now, leave us alone.”

“Give it to me.” Dion held out his empty hand, the one that had been slammed in the door.

Billy Ray reached out and slapped the necklace into Dion’s injured hand.

Dion cried out and backhanded the boy with the side of the pistol.

Billy Ray flew across the room, crashing into the small cot. He slid to the floor and lay there, blinking his eyes as if stunned, fighting to keep from passing out.

“You little bastard,” Dion sneered. “I should’ve shot you first, then collected the diamonds.” He held the necklace draped over his injured hand and pointed the gun at Billy Ray, his hand shaking, clearly not his dominant hand.

Camille couldn’t let Dion shoot the boy. He was only ten years old with his whole life ahead of him.

“Say goodbye to your mother, brat,” Dion said.

Camille threw herself at Billy Ray, crossing in front of the Dion.

The gun went off.

The bullet hit her in the side as her body continued its trajectory toward the floor. Her body landed on top of Billy Ray, and her head slammed into the bedframe. Her vision blurred around the edges.

Inside, she chanted, You can’t pass out. You can’t pass out.

“Want me to finish them?” a voice said through the fog of Camille’s mind.

“No need to waste another bullet,” Dion’s voice drifted to her as if coming from a long way down a tunnel. “Lock them in and set the building on fire.”

The blurry images of the two men passed through the door, taking the light with them.

If not for the pain radiating through her side, Camille would have thought she’d passed out. But she hadn’t.

The boy beneath her stirred.

Camille’s fogged brain cleared enough to know Billy Ray was alive.

“What happened?” he asked.

“They’ve locked us in.”

The sound of liquid splashing against the side of the hut made Camille’s heart sink to the pit of her belly. “They’re going to burn the shack.”

“With us in it?”

“That’s their plan,” she said.

Flames erupted outside the hut, shedding light through the cracks in the walls, illuminating what would be their coffin if they didn’t get out soon.

Camille rolled off the boy, the effort almost more than she could manage. When she touched her side, warm, sticky liquid coated her hand.

She couldn’t focus on her blood loss. Billy Ray had to get out of the hut. As old and weathered as the boards were, they would burn through quickly.

Camille half-crawled, half-dragged herself the short distance across the floor and ran her hands across the wooden floorboards. “Where is it?” she said, a sob threatening to choke her.

Billy Ray crawled over to her, pushed her hand aside and fit his finger into the hole.

Flames burned through the gasoline and consumed the walls, climbing fast. Smoke entered through the cracks in the walls.

Because they lay on the floor, they hadn’t yet had the worst of the smoke and heat.

---