The Tracker
Page 28
Would other adults think this was my fault, too? Would they believe me? If Amy never talked again, there was no one else to corroborate my version of the story. Especially if Carl died. Not that he would tell the truth anyway. I started to panic. I wondered if I was about to go to juvie for a really long time. Or prison.
My heart started beating faster again. Tears formed in my eyes.
I stared at the blood on my hands. I felt more tears hit my cheeks.
Don’t be a crybaby, I scolded myself. But I couldn’t help it. It was like the dam was bursting open, all the pent up emotions from the past hour flooding out. I closed my eyes and tried to force the tears to stop. But all this did was start the film reel in my mind. A horror movie. I could feel the rage again, see myself flying across the room with my knife in my hand, hear the tear of his flesh throbbing in my ears.
I peeked up above the door frame.
I could feel so many suspicious eyes on me. The cops. The neighbors. Judy. All staring my way like I was the monster. I sunk down again, out of view.
I felt so alone, so afraid, so lost.
And I suddenly felt so guilty that I’d even caused this mess.
I just wanted to crawl out the other door and run away. Save them all the trouble of having to deal with a kid like me. Just run. This world had nothing for me.
No hope. No purpose.
No one to love me. No one for me to love. I wanted to run.
Run away and never look back.
FORTY-SEVEN
Tuesday, 12:17 a.m.
Washington, DC
Election Day
We had a few minutes alone. That’s all the FBI would give us.
Before the world started spinning like crazy.
We headed to the roof of her office building. We had spent many nights up there, sitting in two lawn chairs, drinking wine and watching the bright lights of the city below us. We had the Capitol Building to one side of us, the White House on the other. There was such incredible power in this town. And such unthinkable depravity. There seemed to be a very thin line separating the two for some people. What did Lord Acton once say? Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. I had experienced the full measure and ramifications of those words the past three days.
And I’d lived to tell about it.
The sky was dark, the city lights spectacular. It was a quarter past midnight. Natalie’s big story was set to release on PowerPlay’s political blog at twelve-thirty. It would hit the digital wire, and we knew from there it would go viral within minutes. By morning, nothing else in the world would be reported. It was Election Day. Twitter might explode.
It was done. I let out a deep breath. My first in seventy-two hours.
“You okay?” Natalie asked.
“I will be.”
We stood by the railing, gazing down toward the Potomac River. I watched the wind push Natalie’s hair around.
“So where do we go from here, Natalie?” I said.
She shook her head. “It’s going to be a very busy few weeks. There will be a lot more stories. Daily. A lot more excitement. It will die down eventually.”
“No, I mean us. You and me. What now?”
She turned, considered her words. “You know, you really hurt me, Sam.”
“I know. And I’ll spend my whole life trying to make up for it. I promise.”
She nodded. “I believe you.”
“But…?”
“But I can’t just let you off the hook that easy. You have to win me back.”
“I’ll do anything.”
“I propose a contest.”
“What kind of contest?”
“Well, I’m thinking ten pitches each, at fast speed.”
I smiled. “Really? I’m not sure that’s fair.”
“For you or me?”
I laughed. “Okay, fine. What does the winner get?”
She twisted her mouth up, her eyes dancing. “I think the winner should get to choose the beach destination.”
“We may have to take a skinny twenty-year-old cyber geek with us.”
She smiled. “I can handle that.”
“Good.” I pulled her in close, kissed her. “You got a deal.”
Chad’s E-newsletter
Chad is just getting started with Sam Callahan. To be notified of the next book release in the series, please sign up for his e-newsletter here: www.chadzunker.com/connect/
Acknowledgements
When you write for nearly twenty years before finally publishing your first novel, there are a lot of people to thank. I’ll do my very best to do that here, but I’m sure I’ll miss someone important. Please forgive me if I do.
To Katie, my wife, who stood by in support and love through the roller coaster years. This has been a wild and difficult ride, and it wouldn’t have happened without you. You were my steady rock and wise counsel when I needed it most.
To my mother, Nancy, who never stopped believing, supporting, and praying. You kept wind in my sails in so many ways. To Doug and Nancy, the best in-laws on the planet. To my whole family (on both sides!), thanks for the many years of unbridled encouragement. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for all of you.
To Thomas Aitchison, for listening to my publishing frustrations for more than a decade and never allowing me to lose hope or give up. To Sam Patton and John Wilson, who’ve both given me a lifetime of encouragement. To Mark Groutas and Chris Larsen for always picking me up with a positive word when I needed it most. To Alex Alexander, Jeremy Self, and Lee Rutter, for graciously giving me the space and freedom to chase after this for so long, along with my whole supportive family at CLT. To my forever family in Simonton, thank you.
To Beth Vesel, my agent, and her assistant, Brita Lundberg, for your faith, and for making the book so much better. To Steve Fisher, my other agent, for believing in it so much that you’re actually having conversations about a TV series in Hollywood.
To so many others in publishing who were there at just the right time, with a simple word of encouragement, or with key contributions at different points along my journey: Karyn Marcus, Will Roberts, William Callahan, David Gernert, Molly Friedrich, Lucy Carson, Seth Fishman, Jason Gurley, Taylor Stevens, Fred Burton, Hugh Howey and Lisa Erbach Vance. To my editor, Crystal Watanabe, for cleaning up my writing mess and making it presentable to the general public. To two incredibly generous and fantastic writers, Christopher Reich and Christina Baker Kline, who went above and beyond. To Mike Woodard, who always comes through for me in the clutch.
To Anna Ryan, Madison Lane, and Lexi Elizabeth, my precious daughters. You girls are the biggest reason that I never gave up on this dream, because I never want you to give up on yours. Reach for the stars — I believe in you! And finally, to Jesus, the perfect author of my story. Here, words fail me. Thank you.
Meet the Author
Chad Zunker studied journalism at The University of Texas, where he was also on the football team. He's worked for some of the most powerful law firms in the country, he's invented baby products that are now sold all over the world, and he's even helped start five new churches. He has wanted to write full time since he took his first practice hit as a skinny freshman walk-on from a 6’5, 240 pound senior All-American safety — which crushed both him and his feeble NFL dreams. He lives in Austin with his wife, Katie, and their three daughters, where he is hard at work on his next novel.
Connect with the Author
chadzunker@gmail.com
www.chadzunker.com
facebook.com/chadzunkerauthor
Table of Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
SAM CALLAHAN: Age Ten
FOUR
SAM CALLAHAN: Age Twelve
FIVE
SIX
SAM CALLAHAN: Age Thirteen
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
SAM CALLAHAN: Age Fifteen
SAM CALLAHAN:
Age Sixteen
SAM CALLAHAN: Age Sixteen
ELEVEN
TWELVE
SAM CALLAHAN: Age Sixteen
SAM CALLAHAN: Age Sixteen
THIRTEEN
SAM CALLAHAN: Age Twenty-Two
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SAM CALLAHAN: Age Twenty-Three
SAM CALLAHAN: Age Twenty-Four
SAM CALLAHAN: Age Twenty-Four
SEVENTEEN
SAM CALLAHAN: Age Twenty-Four
SAM CALLAHAN: Age Twenty-Four
SAM CALLAHAN: Age Twenty-Four
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
SAM CALLAHAN: Age Twenty-Four
TWENTY
SAM CALLAHAN: Age Twenty-Four
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
SAM CALLAHAN: Age Ten
FORTY-SEVEN
Acknowledgements
Meet the Author
Connect with the Author