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5:45 a.m.
Skylar Mosely gunned the throttle on his old man’s fishing boat and the nose lifted high off the dark water, the current splitting white around the aluminum body. Squinting, he snaked around the bends of the river, watching the dark treetops limned ahead. His earlobes were red and stinging. His eyes watered in the cold push of air.
An hour ago, he’d snuck out dressed in layers of hunting clothes and hitched the boat to the pick-up. It was his dad’s truck and boat, and Skylar wasn’t allowed to take them out alone. But he’d decided to after his dad came home tanked and smelling not like his mom’s perfume. They’d yelled and cried and slammed things until he passed out, and she went to the Motor Inn Motel. This had been happening more and more, and Skylar figured t
