Covenant

COVENANT

Also by Brandon Massey

Novels

Thunderland

Dark Corner

Within the Shadows

The Other Brother

Vicious

Don't Ever Tell

Cornered

Collections

Twisted Tales

Anthologies

Dark Dreams

Voices from the Other Side: Dark Dreams II

Whispers in the Night: Dark Dreams III

The Ancestors (with Tananarive Due and L.A. Banks)

COVENANT

BRANDON MASSEY

Dark Corner Publishing

Atlanta, Georgia

Copyright © 2010 by Brandon Massey

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

ISBN: 978-0-9708075-5-7

For more information:

Email: [email protected]

Web site: www.darkcornerpublishing.com

“A life is not worth living until you have something to die for.”

-- Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

            The crack of a hunter’s rifle echoed across the lake, distant and brief.

            Untroubled by the sound, a familiar noise in these parts, Anthony Thorne tilted his face to the clear Georgia sky and let the morning sunrays caress his skin.  Beneath him, their aluminum bass boat bobbed on the tranquil silver waters of Lake Allatoona.  It was June, a week after school had let out for summer vacation, and there was no better place to be in the whole world than out fishing with his father.

            Seated across from him, his father sipped coffee from a steel thermos.  He was a slender man with a mocha complexion, salt-and-pepper mustache, and wire rim glasses, dressed that morning in a Georgia Tech baseball cap, checkered shirt, and khakis.  A silver Seiko sports watch encircled his wrist, band glinting in the sunshine.

            His father’s gaze rested on the tip of his rod suspended above the water, but his eyes were unfocused, as if he were deep in thought.

            It puzzled Anthony.  During the drive there, his father had been quiet, too.  Dad had never been especially talkative, but this brooding silence, broken only by the occasional terse comment or grunt, was weird even for him.

            High above, a falcon silhouetted against the sky circled the lake.  A flock of ducks cruised the waters, oblivious to the watching predator. 

            Anthony adjusted his fishing rod, the handle of which rested inside a slot alongside the boat.  A tackle box sat in a side compartment, full of lures and fresh bait.  He and his dad had been fishing together regularly since Anthony was ten, and the feel of the boat, and the sights, sounds, and smells of the lake, had become as familiar to him as his own neighborhood.

            The only thing that wasn’t normal was his Dad’s mood.

            “Nice out here today,” Anthony said, to break the silence.

            Dad glanced at him, gaze muddy.  “What was that, Junior?”

            “I said, it’s nice out here today.  A good day for fishing.”

            Dad grunted.  “We haven’t caught anything yet.”

            “I’m gonna catch me a big bass.  How much you wanna bet?”

            Dad didn’t respond.  He had retreated into that strange silence again.

            Anthony wondered if Dad was upset with him over something, though that didn’t really seem likely.  His report card had been excellent—he’d wrapped up his sophomore year with a 3.4 GPA, and had lettered in three sports.  Unlike some of his friends, he hadn’t gotten into any kind of trouble, and he’d been doing all of his household chores, without being nagged by either of his folks.

            Anyway, on those rare times when Dad had an issue with something he’d done, he came right out and presented the problem up front with Anthony, expressed his thoughts in clear terms, and then moved on.  He didn’t hold it in like he was holding in this thing, whatever it was. 

            Maybe he’d gotten into a big argument with Mom.  But on second thought, that seemed just as unlikely.  His parents got along pretty well—Anthony couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard them raise their voices at each another, and when they went out in public together, as a family, his parents always held hands, like a couple of infatuated teenagers.

            Something with his younger sister?  Again, not likely.  His sister spent all her time on the phone with her giggly girlfriends, and besides, she was a true Daddy’s girl, practically broke into tears if Dad so much as gave her a stern look.

            The last possibility he could figure was Dad’s job.  He was a sports writer for a big Atlanta newspaper, loved his work for all Anthony knew, and why not?  Thanks to Dad, he’d met several of his favorite pro basketball and football players and had a roomful of autographed jerseys, trading cards, and balls.  He loved writing and had actually decided that he wanted to be a sports journalist, too, and often fantasized about working side-by-side with his father in the newsroom, or maybe writing a column together.

            Job problems didn’t make much sense, so Anthony had decided to go ahead and ask Dad what was on his mind, get it right out in the open the way Dad liked to do with him—when suddenly the falcon circling overhead banked, dipped, and swooped to the lake’s surface.  The ducks took flight with a frenzy of squawking and batting wings, but the falcon easily overtook one of them, seizing the unlucky bird in its powerful talons and spiriting it away into the treetops. 

            Anthony glanced at his father.  Dad had followed the falcon’s hunt, too.

            “Better than watching
Wild Kingdom
, huh, Junior?” Dad smiled for the first time all morning.

            Anthony felt a loosening in his chest, like a stone rolling away from his heart.  “Yeah.  I wouldn’t want to be that duck.”

            “I wouldn’t mind being that falcon.  Duck tastes pretty good if you cook it right.”

            “You’ve eaten duck?”

            Dad nodded.  “Duck, rabbit, squirrel, squid, snake.”

            “Snake?  Dad, that’s gross.”

            “I had it in China when I was there covering a story on their national basketball team.  A buddy of mine dared me to try it, so you know I had to take him up on it.”

            “What’d it taste like?”

            “Like chicken.  A little beefier, though.”

            “Nasty.”  Anthony laughed.  “You have more guts than I do.  I wouldn’t have touched that stuff.”

            “If someone had dared you, you would have.  You’re like me.  You’ve got that I’ll Show You gene.”

            “What’s the I’ll Show You gene?” Anthony asked.

            “If someone says you won’t or can’t do something, then you have to prove them wrong.  Remember when Coach Tripp said you weren’t good enough to start?”

            Anthony remembered.  Basketball squad, freshman year.  Coach Tripp had put Anthony on second string, and when Anthony had asked why, the coach had flatly stated he wasn’t good enough to start.  Determined to prove him wrong, Anthony had put in long, grueling extra hours of practice, and by the third game of the season, the coach had promoted him to a starting spot at forward.

            Anthony shrugged.  “I guess I like challenges.”

            “Your entire life, Junior, people are going to challenge you.”  A shadow passed over his father’s eyes, and for the moment, that sense of his dad being submerged in troubling thoughts was back, though he continued to talk: “They’ll draw a line in front of you and warn you not to cross it.  They’ll threaten you with dire consequences if you do.  Most of the time, they’re hollow threats.  Other times, though, they’re serious about keeping their promise to make things tough for you if you cross the line.”