As If We Were Prey

Cover

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Contents

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p. vii-vii

Commandos

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pp. 1-12

From up here in my room, when I look out across Orange Street with my dad’s army surplus binoculars, I can look directly over at Darryl Hannenberg’s house and see into his room. Right now he’s pacing back and forth, and I can see his head and part of his shoulders over the cafe curtains hanging in his window. It’s twilight, the time he always goes up there...

Traveling Einstein

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pp. 13-30

If you happened to be sitting out in front of a gas station in a little town like Wolverine sipping a cold root beer in the heat, you most likely would have heard Art Bewley’s ’47 Dodge Power Wagon approach town about five minutes before you saw him...

The Trees Growing Up Around Us

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pp. 31-44

I’m sitting outside of Willie Carter’s house, or at least it’s who is sitting next to me in the car. “He talked fast, always stitches, I tell her. And I tell her the reason we’re stopping “Honor,” I tell her, though I had little sense of that back I tell her about the life I lived, as if telling it could coax ...

We Are Living in the Future

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pp. 45-56

Inky Sewell held his dip net close to the light, lifting and grunting under the weight of over two hundred smelt. “Fucking-A! Look at that!” he shouted. “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, lots of ’em. Let’s get outta here before the law comes.”...

Therapy

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pp. 57-64

We’d been out road hunting. Cofer drove, and I watched for partridge in the trees. When we saw any, we’d pull the truck over about a hundred yards from where we spotted them and then sneak up through the woods and open fire...

Perfect Bass

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pp. 65-78

We were out in the lily pads on Bridge Lake. It was overcast, but God, was it hot. Must have been ninety degrees. Willis was rowing, or at least trying to row. He isn’t much good at rowing. He makes too much noise when he lets the end of the oar drop into the lake...

Mystery Park

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pp. 79-92

Ray Munger was holed up in the Mercury Motel just east of Negaunee, looking out the window to check the Ryder rental truck parked outside his room. Experience had taught him that even in the U.P., teenage vandals would think nothing of trashing the cab for the standard CB radio or the chrome mirrors he had insisted be installed so he could negotiate “idiot traffic” in the city...

As If We Were Prey

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pp. 93-112

Thirty years of teaching, George Houck was thinking, was like hacking through lunch meat, a phrase he’d remembered from the only novel he’d ever read. He was sitting in his office overlooking the student parking lot, recovering from his first-hour independent shop class...