Sunken Graves by Alan Lee (thriller book recommendations .txt) 📕

What the hell was he doing out here?

Lynch had something resting on his shoulder. He shifted and Jennings made out a long-handled shovel. Lynch came into the pouring rain to dig? Too muddy for the Bobcat.

The big man remained frozen. He was shining his light into the mud. Jennings risked another inch to see… Lynch was staring at the splitting maul and the surrounding footprints.

Jennings’ hands balled into fists, his right hand around the flashlight. Fool! Idiot, fool, rookie, leaving the maul. All his nerves were alive and screaming with panic now.

The light in Lynch’s eyes rolled, irises swiveling, searching. Still the man didn’t move and Jennings understood it…

Lynch was fitting puzzle pieces together and guessing the intruder was nearby and hiding. Based on the uneven footprints, Lynch might even identify it was him. And based on the scarcity of hiding places, might assume he was behind the mound of dirt. Lynch staying still, not playing the flashlight around, deciding what to do.

Should Jennings call the police? And say what? Help I’m a fool and I’m trespassing.

The truth was becoming obvious. Both men knew the other was there. Both wondering if the other had a gun.

WhyTheShitDon’tIHaveMyGun.

Slowly Lynch shifted and walked his beam into the ditch, saw it empty, saw the mess of shoe prints. A clang as he dropped his shovel. Bent over. Hefted the maul instead.

A soft voice. Words sung with a smile.

“Come out, come out wherever you are.”

Lynch wasn’t armed. Not with a gun at least because he wouldn’t have picked up the maul. Enough. Enough hiding.

Jennings counted to three. Went on two.

He rounded the tall pile of dirt and Lynch’s flashlight snapped onto him.

He lit his own and shone it into Lynch’s face.

“There you are, Daniel. Playing little boy games?”

“Peter. A little late for digging.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” said Jennings.

“I’m going to.” Lynch indicated the field with his maul and he grinned. “What brings you, Daniel?”

“You killed Craig Lewis.”

“I was told I wasn’t a suspect. A shame if his death goes unresolved. A shame if he whimpered and wept and no one ever hangs for it.”

“I know you did it. I know it all.”

Lynch began plodding around the trench, closing the distance. “Isn’t it ironic, Daniel, you here. At this particular hole in the ground. It’s so funny I could kill someone.”

They were talking loud over the rain. “It’s a grave.”

“Everywhere you look you see graves, I bet. You, the failed Green Beret. I called your brother. Had a great chat. Explained I was with the veteran’s hospital in Salem, reviewing your case. He told me the whole story, Daniel, about that terrible, awful, no-good day in the sand. About how two men in your company died. And you, the medic, escaped with only the minor loss of a foot. Your big brother, the successful son, told me about your psychotic breakdown in Landstuhl. I don’t know how you even get out of bed, Daniel.”

Jennings’ vision lurched, the sky burning with a hot sun for an instant. Memories forced into his mind, his guilt given a voice.

“I was you?” Lynch’s teeth were a crescent glimmer of white. “I’d lay down in the ditch and let me do the honors. You’re a lame horse, the runt of a great family, good at nothing, and you need to be put down. And you know it. No one would even notice you’re gone.”

Lynch was close now. One step more and he could connect with the long maul. Jennings fought for sanity, for hope, tried to remember where he was. Screaming about his missing leg, crawling toward his friends, wondering WHY he was in Afghanistan, wondering WHY he was in Lynch’s sunken field.

“You and I have a lot in common, Daniel. But you’re merely a flicker compared to an inferno.”

Jennings didn’t back away though Lynch was close enough to touch now. “In common?”

“The older disappointed brother, the shameful past, the current…fascination with Daisy Hathaway, the need for combat. I confess, we’re alike. The difference is, I overcame the world but you’re crushed under it.” Lynch raised his weapon with one arm. Set the heavy maul head on Jennings’ shoulder, the bit resting against his exposed neck. “The difference is, I get Daisy and you don’t. I win, you lose.”

“The difference is…” Jennings felt like a coiled spring being compressed.

“Speak up, soldier. Don’t whisper your last words.”

“The difference is, I’m a man. And you’re not.”

Lynch’s face lost some of its energy. He shook the flashlight at Jennings’ face.

“Don’t talk to me about being a man, little sergeant. I had it beaten into me, what a man is.”

“You buy and you bribe and you break, Lynch, because you don’t have what it takes.”

“I don’t have…? I’m rich, Daniel. You have nothing, you are nothing.”

“No wonder you’re obsessed with my family. You know you’re not enough. You want to be one of us. You think that’ll fix what’s wrong inside.”

“Close your mouth. Or I’ll tear it off.”

“It wouldn’t work, joining our family. You’d still be you. And I pity you.”

Lynch yanked the maul back, raking the sharp toe across Jennings’ neck. Jennings was pulled off balance, the rain water turning pink.

Sudden madness. Lynch taking a two-handed grip on the handle and shoving toward Jennings’ mouth like a battering ram to break his teeth. Jennings, instincts and training engaged, was twisting. The maul missing clean and Jennings inside now, getting both hands on the handle too, pivoting away, using his body as a fulcrum. Both flashlights forgotten in the mud. Lynch’s hands too strong, no release. Growling, fighting for the maul, Lynch behind. Sharp white sinking into Jennings’ shoulder, biting, tearing, and Jennings howled. He shrugged away. Releasing the handle with his right hand and elbowing backward, once, twice, hard bone into Lynch’s face.

Lynch flinching away from the awful blows and losing his grip on the maul. Flailing, catching Jennings’ jacket. Gripping, hauling him into a bear hug, the same that killed Craig Lewis. Jennings took a deep