Prologue
Opening credits track: Faster Gun – Little Big Town
Rock, snap, rock, snap, back and forth. Carey Wells rocks the retention strap on his scuffed black patent-leather holster while taking in the cool, pine-scented air. Standing outside his patrol Tahoe, parked just off US 84 in an old highway construction staging lot, consisting of nothing more than a large patchwork of asphalt, rock, and gravel, Carey leans against the front driver-side quarter panel. His right thumb continues to rock the retention strap as his left hand rests on his taser handle. A satisfying feel. He subconsciously loves the snappy click when the retention strap locks in place behind the pistol slide, securely housing the weapon. He equally loves the dull mechanical sensation of the strap rocking forward, as if summoning the Sig P320 to attention.
Hundred-foot loblolly pines sway and creak in the soft breeze flowing through their trunks and limbs like a steady ocean current carrying groaning galleons across the sea. The sun begins to creep over the horizon, turning the early morning sky a muted orange—the fragile glow revealing the highway cutting through the canyon-like walls of the forest. The faintest chill gifted by this late September morning gives the sweltering Texas summer notice its reign is nearing an end.
A couple of years back, Carey would never have been out working this early. Despite his shift beginning at 6:00 a.m., he’d usually leave his house no sooner than 8:30 a.m. He figured anything having to do with getting ready for work was work. His morning routine included rolling out of bed at 5:55 a.m., checking on duty with his laptop, fixing his hair, putting on his uniform pants, drinking his morning protein shake while skimming the news on his phone, brushing his teeth, and putting on the rest of his uniform. Afterward, he removed his bifocals and inserted his contacts. He didn’t like wearing glasses on duty. Wearing glasses, he thought, fostered an appearance of weakness and unnecessarily invited trouble.
Carey would then punch the code into the electronic keypad of the small gun safe sitting on his closet floor and retrieve his pistol and taser, sliding them into their designated places on his duty belt. He knew he didn’t really need the safe anymore after his kids had grown up and moved out, but somehow, Carey couldn’t bring himself to end the routine. It was a connection to a past he missed considerably. A connection to a time when his two boys were small and believed he was infallible. He remembered the hugs they gave him, wrapping their little arms around his neck as he engulfed them with his own. Pure love. And it was the best feeling in the world—more valuable than any amount of money. Carey never imagined how fleeting those moments were, until they slipped away—moments that transformed into memories tattooed on his brain and constantly tugged at his heart. He would give anything to relive those years armed with the knowledge to treasure such events. And now his sons had grown into young men he was very proud of. Carey was certainly grateful for the memories and bittersweet satisfaction of watching his kids mature toward independence, but he hated time for its thievery.
Now, Carey Wells is learning to appreciate the small things—like getting to work on time, early enough to watch the sunrise drown out the darkness he feels in his soul. He continues to lean back against the side of the Tahoe and welcomes the northern air breathing down the back of his neck and through his graying brown hair as the Sig’s protruding extended magazine inadvertently grinds another scratch through the first “R” in “STATE TROOPER” displayed on the side of his vehicle. Carey listens to the morning birds sing and warble while diligently scavenging for their morning meals against a backdrop of rhythmic chirping crickets. He finds it’s these small things that help bridge the gaps between the islands of joy he infrequently discovers, such as when one of his boys stops by to check in, or when he’s able to visit one of his old friends. Lately though, it seems, the islands are drifting farther apart, and the bridges are becoming far too short.
