Barely dead, written by Jeff Crawford, Chapter 1.

It was unmercifully hot, but it was August, so it was supposed to be.

The air stirred, but hardly enough, to cause all the Spanish moss hanging from the trees

to sway.

The moss didn't feel dried out and brittle like usual, it was too laden with moisture

from the humid rich air that it fed on.

In spite of the air conditioning units that were giving it all they had, the skinny young

man who was losing his hair prematurely scrubbed his shirt sleeve across his brow again, there

was a darker stain on his gray shirt where he had mopped the sweat so often.

He looked up when he heard the door open.

He'd been waiting for nearly an hour for the man to become free in order to talk with him.

He didn't want to have this visit, but he didn't see where he had any other option.

All the other things he had tried, they had tried, had failed miserably, and now he didn't

know where else to turn.

The man walking toward him in khaki pants and a pullover sport shirt was one of the

few on the job that still insisted on carrying a revolver.

He didn't like the semi-automatic pistols that were so fashionable, he preferred a gun

with heft.

He wore it in a rig that was slung a little lower than the norm, as if he was some sort

of gun slinger.

He wasn't.

He had been the junior varsity backup quarterback in high school, and it somehow managed to

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