Scene 1: One Day by the River

The pharmacologically induced epiphany Zach Hays hoped for never materialized. Instead, he woke up sharply conscious, lying diagonally across the bed of his old '52 Dodge pickup. Overhead, the sky was a hazy, metallic blue, the sun a hot spotlight. Sweat ran down the sides of  Zach's face, and his T-shirt and blue jeans were soaked.

Some of it was spilled beer. Empty cans were scattered around Zach. A pool of warm beer was just beneath the small of his back, as a matter of fact. A light breeze brought momentary relief from the noon sun as boughs of locust trees moved gracefully with a soft sigh. Zach remembered he had parked his truck on the levee near Sibley last night. He knew without looking that to his left the Missouri River oozed slowly eastward between tree-choked banks a quarter mile apart. He sat up and his head hurt.

Before he woke he was dreaming about the dead child again. And the river--wider than his own Missouri River: slower, wilder. A dream River. There the sun was also hot, and a steamy mist rose from the slow water. The toes of Zach's boots touched the water. The child lay on its back, no longer floating except for one arm that dangled slightly away from its torso, moving ever so slightly with the tiny, lapping waves. There was gunfire. One, two shots.

Now, no longer asleep and dreaming, Zach heard a third sound. It was a sharp metallic click. A "tink," that however brief, Zach knew to be the sound of a bullet piercing sheet metal. A second later the little sound was followed by the distant, muffled crack of a gunshot. Zach rolled on the truck bed, righting himself before he vaulted over the side rail facing the river. He saw the fresh bullet hole through the lower corner of the driver's door, cursed under his breath, and ran around the truck to the other side, opposite the shooter.

"What the fuck," he said out loud.

He crouched by the rear wheel and took a moment to gather his thoughts.