The sun sags below the shoulders of the Ganiyegi Mountains, its purple-orange glow fading onto the tattered blacktop of State Route 17. Traffic is light—a tractor-trailer traveling home after its last delivery in town; a sputtering sedan full of teenagers heading into the woods for a night of troublemaking. Both vehicles exit the town of Eden Falls, famed for the series of waterfalls from which the community took its name. Just as the highway opens to a long, flat stretch, the sedan swings out, its engine struggling to provide the power needed to pass the big truck. Its occupants whoop and cheer as their rusty steed slides back into the proper lane, its rear bumper moving within a few feet of the semi.

The truck’s air horn blares through the darkening night, drawing little more than laughter from the rowdy teens. They fall silent as a green glow rises from behind an oncoming hill. The intensity of the light grows until a black coupe crests the incline, its rumbling exhaust vibrating the air.

“Jeez,” the sedan driver said. “Did you see those headlights?”

“Yeah,” a backseat passenger replied. “You should get some for this hunk of crap.”

A fresh bout of laughter erupted as they drove away.

* * *

Bill Kemper stood at the front door of his gas station, enjoying the peace with one last cigarette before closing up. Just as he prepared to discard the butt, the station’s windows rattled violently. “What the hell?” A chill ran down his back as a black coupe tore down the road toward the heart of  town. Bill watched the car’s taillights shrink before turning east. The eerie gleam of its headlights bathed the surrounding area with a sickly green radiance.

* * *

“Take a deep breath, hold it, and squeeze the trigger. You’ve got this, buddy.”

Just as the gun went off, Adam Kemper woke up in a cold sweat, his father’s words still lingering in the air. He sat up and rubbed his eyes as he looked out at the purple early evening sky. His eyes turned toward his closet and the rifle stored within, a weapon left abandoned for the past five months. He looked away, his breath hitching in his chest before he pushed the sadness down. With somewhere to be, he threw on a t-shirt and jeans before running downstairs toward the front door.

“Hold up, mister. You said you’d help clean the kitchen after your nap.”

“But Mom, I’m supposed to meet Paul and Terry at the store! Grandpa’s gonna give us Moon Pies!”

“Yeah, and a gallon of soda that’ll keep you up for a week. Now get in here and help me. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

Adam walked into the kitchen, huffing with each step. “It’s not fair.”

“Such is life, my dear boy.”

“I mean, you let Jenny go off with her stupid stoner friends.”

“Adam Henry Kemper, how do you know what a stoner is?”

“C’mon, Mom, I’m not a baby. I’m twelve.”

She smiled, her teeth biting back a torrent of laughter. The serious look on her son’s face rendered it impossible. “You look just like your dad.” A thin film of tears shimmered in her eyes as the joy they held burned to cinder.

“I miss him too, Mom. Every day.” He walked over to her and slid an arm around her. She squeezed him tightly and kissed the top of his head. “I’m sorry I was being a butthole.”

“You’re excited, I get it. Just try to remember what needs to be done around the house.” She paused, lingering on a thought before vocalizing it. “Do you want to go out to the range next weekend?” She felt her son’s shoulders droop against her side. “Hey, now, I used to shoot with my dad. I won’t embarrass you out there.”

“I don’t know, mom, I just—“ Adam took a deep breath; a quiver ran through his body.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I know you like being out there, and you’re good at it. I don’t want you to lose that. Think about it and let me know. You don’t have to decide right now. Okay, booger?”

Adam smiled. “Okay, mom.” He looked down at his feet; a sly grin curved his mouth. “So, can I go?”

“I’ll tell you what: go meet Paul and Terry, but, and this is important, you help with the dishes tomorrow, and you do it without attitude. Deal?”

“Deal!”

* * *

Adam rode out to his grandfather’s store to find his friends waiting impatiently. Terry held up a hand and mimicked looking at a watch. “We said eight o’clock, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” Paul replied. “That’s what we said. I mean, we were here at eight.”

“Shut up,” Adam said. “I was helping Mom.”

Paul and Terry shared a look and chuckled; Adam rolled his eyes.

“Evenin’, boys.” Bill stepped through the front door of the station. One hand clutched a trio of Moon Pies; the other held three bottles of Sun Drop. “I trust you’re staying out of trouble.”

The boys nodded and thanked him as he handed out the treats.

“Hell”—Bill scratched his chin and smiled—“what better way to end the first day of summer vacation than with a belly full of sugar?” He turned and placed his hand on Adam’s shoulder. “How’s your mom doing?”

Adam shrugged. A ring of chocolate outlined his mouth. “She’s okay, I guess.”

“Be sure to help her out however you can. The same goes for your sister.” Bill sighed and brought a hand to rest on the back of his neck.

“You okay, Grandpa?”

“Yeah, buddy, I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me that a cold beer won’t fix.” He stood still for a moment, scanning the street. “Be careful on your way home tonight. Some souped-up hot rod came flying through a little while ago. I don’t know what it was, but something about it didn’t sit right with me.”

“Sounds pretty cool,” Paul said.

Bill narrowed his eyes at the boy; Paul shrank down on his bike. “I’d give the lot of you a ride back, but that damned truck is giving me fits.” He stared off into the distance until something in his mind clicked. “Green headlights”—he snapped his fingers—“if you boys see green headlights coming, be sure to give a wide berth.”