Burn Daughters Page 10

  “Whatever happens,” I told my sister, “you stay close to me.”

  “You whores get over here,” the woman demanded, gesturing with the barrel of her shotgun at us girls. She spoke with a condemning tone. She pointed toward the house with the smoke. “Inside. Do not stand there. Off with you I said, disobedience is a SIN! Punishable in the eyes of God.”

  There was no empathy. Only nonsense.

  Her eyes traveled over us, locking on Brooke’s skimpy top and tight hip hugger jeans. She didn’t look at the guys with the same stern judgment. I got that about her immediately. “Inside,” she roared.

  Evie flung her trembling arms around me and sobbed. “I don’t want to go in her house, Millie. Don’t make us, please, don’t make us. I’m frightened of her.”

  The woman snapped, “Move!”

  Whatever you’re going to do, do it now, I thought.

  “It’s a single barrel,” Clay suddenly shouted. “She never reloaded.”

  At first I didn’t fully understand.

  But I saw the woman bleed of all color.

  I knew nothing about guns, but by the expression on her face he was right. The woman had screwed up. Majorly. She had been outsmarted by a teenager. It was a simple mistake, one that gave us a fair chance.

  As she fumbled to reload, but had nothing in the pockets of her bear-coat to reload with, Clay commanded us all to, “Run!”

  Chapter Six

  We ran into the old farmhouse. Evie and I in the rear. Our shoes pounded the ground, up the stairs of the house to the front door. I paused and turned, one hand on the door that would separate me from pure evil. It wasn’t the old woman, but the German Shepherd she referred to as King that climbed the steps after us. His head lowered. He snarled, showing teeth capable of destroying.

  I stared right at him.

  His eyes were dead.

  He was testing me. Seeing how far he could push me before I caved. The fear I used to have was replaced by something else. Rage. Anger. Disgust. The bastard had bitten David. The dog climbed the steps. One by one. Each step calculated and purposeful. His front paws clicked over the splintered porch boards. His black nose wrinkled with a snarl.

  He smelled bad like pungent, wet dog and impending death.

  Most of the woman’s dogs looked like they had the mange: hair loss and scabs, which wasn’t surprising since nothing about the Keller property was clean. But the Shepherd was different. He was clean. Beautiful even.

  The dog stopped; one paw raised, his tail straight and slightly wagging, although there was nothing friendly about the way he watched me. His black soulless eyes hardened, locked on mine.

  He never blinked.

  Neither did I.

  I knew King was going to lunge before he did it.

  Clay slammed the door before I could react.

  The Shepherd crashed into the other side of the door. The old door shuddered under Clay’s palms, but despite its weathered age held fast.

  Thank God we at least had a decent door.

  “Lock it, lock the damn door!” Brooke snapped.

  Clay searched frantically, his hands fumbling over the place a lock should have been. He turned to Brooke. “There’s no lock!”

  “Here,” David called out. “Come help me slide this table.”

  Brooke and I rushed to help David. Anything not nailed down in the room went in front of the door. I even stacked a couple of dusty woven baskets high on top of our growing mountain.

  Emily kept screaming, “No. This isn’t really happening. Take me home.”

  “Shut up, Em,” David yelled by then immediately felt guilty for it. Emily sank onto the floor in a corner of the room. In a catatonic-like state, she stared at the wall in front of her, wringing her hands. “Babe, come here,” David told her.

  Emily drew up her knees, hugging them to her chest. She rocked where she sat. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  Safe for the moment, David remembered his pain. “My leg. How bad is it?” He sank to the ground. “It’s bad isn’t it? I’m going to lose the leg. Oh God! I’m going to lose the leg!” Tears appeared in his eyes. “I’ll never play football again. Goodbye scholarships. My life is ruined.”

  “You take what you get and don’t pitch a fit,” Brooke told David, mocking his usually optimistic nature. “So suck it up and stop crying like a little bitch!” She turned on me. “And would you please make her be quiet.” Evie’s face was stained with tears, she had not stopped crying for Momma since we barricaded ourselves inside the farmhouse. “I mean it, SHUT her up!”

  “Yelling isn’t going to help,” I returned, my voice cracking. “Just give her a second to calm down.”

  Evie trembled in my arms, sobbing. “I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.”

  “Shh, it’s going to be okay,” I whispered in her ear, stroking her head.

  “Yeah,” David groaned. “Get your sister quiet.”

  Clay raised his hands. “All of you, listen. The woman has to go inside to get more shells. We need to calm down and think.” He crouched in front of Evie and turned her to face him. “You want to go home?” Evie nodded. “I need you to be very quiet for me then.” Clay’s voice was reassuring. “I promise I will take you home.” His eyes lifted to mine for a second and then returned to Evie. “Can you do that for me?” Evie nodded. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she said softly.

  “Ok, good girl.” He pressed a finger to his pursed lips, keeping the finger there as he slowly stood. “The witch can’t open it,” he said, pointing at the door. “Not by herself, and those dogs are not getting in.”

  The porch boards creaked.

  “She’s out there.” Emily got to her feet, her eyes wide. She clamped her hands over her ears. “Make her go away.”

  I moved between my sister and Emily, not wanting Evie to see her falling apart. I held my breath, cursed my heart for beating so loudly. I stiffened until my body was like granite.

  Clay pressed a finger to his lips and held up a hand to keep us silent.

  Something was breathing heavily outside, moving along the porch, we could hear its breath coming from the crack beneath the door.

  No one moved.

  There was a guttural growl. Paws padded over the porch boards. Claws scraped a window sill, and then the glass.

  “The glass is going to break,” Emily moaned.

  I covered Evie’s mouth again, afraid she would scream and rile the dogs.

  “You come out,” the woman called up from the yard. “Come out now!”

  All of us moved to the far wall of the room. “Maybe we should answer her,” Clay suggested. “Try to explain what happened again.”

  “Are you serious? Did you not hear her? She’s insane,” said Brooke.

  “We can make her listen,” argued Clay.

  “Okay Clay,” Brooke mocked. “Let’s go out, pet the dogs and smooth everything over with Norman Bates’ mother. So far your charm isn’t working on the woman.”

  “No!” Emily snarled. “We cannot open that door. If we do, we’re dead. This woman is a mental case, can’t you see it? We’re not walking out of here.”

  “Calm down,” Clay said. “Just an idea.”

  “Better show yourself,” the woman called to us. “A bunch of sneaks thinking it’s okay to snoop around on a lady. What you after here?”

  “She doesn’t get it,” Brooke snapped.

  “Well, I am not scared of any of you,” the woman shouted. “You hear, I am not afraid. You have to come out sooner or later. He knows where you’re hiding, always does. He’s going to make you sorry for not answering when he calls upon you.”

  “Who is the freak show talking about? He? Who’s he?” said Brooke.

  We heard footsteps out on the porch, the woman’s galoshes making a distinct squishing sound with each step. The dogs were moving from rotted window to rotted window, looking for a way in. The old glass wouldn’t withstand much before they shattered.
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  We were vulnerable.

  And it was dark. Night.

  My eyes darted around the room, seeing little. “Up there.” I pointed at the worn staircase leading to the second floor. The steps were steep and narrow. At the top of the staircase was a balcony with a banister. If we set up a blockade at the top of the steps, the woman’s dogs would have a hard time climbing over, and if they did, we could easily fight them off.

  “Come on, we’re going upstairs.” I grabbed my sister’s hand and pulled her along.

  The German Shepherd’s paws struck the glass. I heard glass crack.

  “We have to go now!”

  Chapter Seven

  The woman’s dogs were never pets. The dogs were never loved. The only human they’d ever encountered hadn’t been kind. They were no different than a pack of starving strays left to fend for themselves. They were unleashed hunters. Angry mistreated killers.

  And we were their victims. So, we feared the dogs more than we feared the woman.

  Darkness claimed the upstairs except for where the pale moonlight shone through a window.

  Clay banged his flashlight against his leg a couple of times, the batteries running low, until it flashed on.

  “Wish you would have thought to change those batteries,” David told him, sweating profusely. His leg hurt badly. Clay all but carried him up the steps. The rest of us directly behind them.

  “I’m scared! And thirsty.” Evie curled against my backside.

  “Where did your water go?” I asked.

  “I dropped it.”

  “Can you hurry up? I hate being last.” Brooke pushed against us, trying to bully her way to the front. I pushed back. I pushed for Evie. No way was my sister being last.

  The old plaster walls scratched my palms as I felt my way along, up, up, up the staircase. I was careful on the narrow wooden steps. Occasionally, a step was split, the runner missing, and our going was slow. I wondered what the landing would be like, if there would be a place for us to stand, to hide.

  My fingers brushed a cobweb, and I instantly withdrew my hand.

  “Can anyone else see?” Brooke hissed. “I can’t see a damn thing. Clay, mind shining that light down here?”

  “We have one light. Get over yourself,” he told her.

  “If I fall, you’re going to feel like shit.”

  “We could only hope to get so lucky,” David returned.

  “You know what David …screw you.”

  “In your dreams.”

  Brooke snorted. “Puke inducing nightmares you mean. You know what I just thought?”

  “That your breath smells like—”

  “You’re a one legged dog. That’s what I’ll call you from now on.”

  “Would you two give it a rest?” I told them.

  Something made a scuffling sound. We paused and held our breath. Clay aimed the light at the foot of the stairs, but there was nothing. Just dusty mahogany colored wood. I had the eerie sense we were being followed. Like something evil had attached itself to the back of our group and was now hiding in the shadows.

  Evie’s hold on me tightened. “It’s okay,” I reassured her.

  The steps creaked under our weight.

  We reached the balcony and for a moment I felt safe.

  Clay sat David on an old deacon’s bench running along one wall and helped Brooke and me barricade the opening. Clay’s flashlight lit up an old bed in one room; the mattress was moldy and stank. Clay handed Evie the flashlight; her hands shook as she held the light for us.

  “Here,” Clay said, flipping the mattress up on its side. “Let’s put this against the opening first. Then we’ll pack stuff behind it to hold it.”

  “What the hell is that?” Emily squawked. “Oh my god…is that blood on the mattress? Why is there blood!” She started to cry.

  “Emily, not now,” Clay snarled. “If you’re not going to be helpful, then move out of the way.”

  “Babe…” David started, but Emily retreated into a corner, her arms wrapped protectively around her chest.

  Clay was right; the mattress covered the opening like a gate, and we piled what we could find against it to keep it from falling over.

  A sound came from downstairs. Inside the house. Paws over the wooden floor. The dog’s noses searched us out. Dogs see better at night, right? Or was that cats? I couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. I knew dogs could smell fear, and we were dripping with it.

  We stood behind our barricade the only sound on the second floor our breathing.

  Would the barricade stop the dogs? Would it stop the woman?

  “See anything?” Clay asked.

  “The dogs are going to get in, they are! What are we going to do?” Emily was hyperventilating. “We’re trapped!”

  “First, you need to calm down,” Clay told her. “Those dogs can’t make it over the mattress. It’s impossible, but if they do—”

  “Wait. I thought you said it was impossible?” Emily whined.

  “If by chance they make it over, we’ll knock them on their asses,” Clay told her. “Here kid, let me see the light. He shone the flashlight on our barricade and the stairs leading up to it.

  One by one the woman’s dogs climbed the stairs. Scrawny. Starved. And we were food. They leaped. Their claws snagged the fabric of the mattress; the black Shepherd, then the boxer, then more. The dog she called King clung to the top of the mattress. He just hung there, snarling. Clay’s light hit the dog’s empty eyes. They glowed. Its teeth were long and yellow.

  “They’re getting over!” Emily screamed.

  Gripping my sister close, I moved her behind the others. My heart pounded against the inside of my heaving chest. My body trembled from adrenaline.

  The dogs were going to kill us. They were going to attack us the same way they attacked David.

  I shut my eyes, unable to stand the horror. Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t, please.

  I felt someone brush beside me, and I opened my eyes. Brooke was holding a chair in the air. She slammed it against the Shepherd’s head. The dog cried and fell backward, toppling down the steps into the others. But the dogs were relentless and returned, determined to get over.

  Clay joined Brooke, beating back the dogs every time one’s head came over the mattress with whatever they could get their hands on that would not collapse our barrier. White teeth and fast movement caught the quivering flashlight light.

  Then suddenly the dogs stopped. Either we’d scared them off…or something else had.

  “What is it?” Brooke whispered.

  “Where did they go?” I said. For a second, I thought the dogs had just given up.

  The silence was almost more unnerving than the attack. Clay leaned over the banister and directed a beam of light down below.

  The woman’s pasty-white face lit up in the open doorway of the farmhouse. She just stood there, shrouded in that big coat of hers, staring up the stairway. Her expression was hard and bitter like she sucked the center out of a dozen rotten eggs.

  Clay withdrew and pressed a finger to his lips.

  We waited, certain it was over, that the woman would come for us with her gun. But she never stepped foot in the house. “I hear you,” she called from threshold. “You can’t hide.”

  “If you let us go,” Clay yelled over the banister. “Your life will go back to how it was…no people, just you and your dogs.”

  The woman gaze slid over the inside of the home like she was considering coming inside. She wanted to. She wanted to force out, but whatever made her stay out, won and she never came in. “Get out of Father’s house!” she hollered instead. “Get out of his house!”

  “Pen up your dogs and we will,” replied Clay.

  She shook a fist. “Come out now,” she demanded.

  We held tight and kept silent, waiting.

  “I want you out by morning. This is HIS house. You’re not welcome here.” Her voice softened. “Stay,” she instructed her dogs. “Wa
tch them.” She turned away from the front door and vanished.

  “This is all your fault,” David told Clay. “What the hell were you saying to her out there?”

  “I was trying to reason with her,” Clay explained.

  “Yeah and how did that go?” Brooke said.

  “We wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you pushing it,” Clay told David.

  David snorted. “Oh really?”

  “Yeah. I’m the only one who—”

  “Ever does anything. We know,” David said, interrupting Clay.

  “Guys!” I said.

  Both guys shouted in unison, “What?”

  “Shouldn’t we be focused on getting out of here?” I asked. I didn’t like the old farmhouse at all. His house. The woman’s father. The man that made her what she was. A monster.

  “You’re right. Mill, we’re getting off track. Can’t do that. You watch the barricade,” Clay instructed Brooke.

  “Why me?”

  “If those sons-of-bitches show their heads, you whack them good.”

  “With what, Clay?”

  His flashlight bounced around, searching. He handed Brooke a walking cane he found propped against the edge of the deacon’s bench and the wall. “With this.” He turned toward David. “Here, let’s take a look at that leg.” He helped him into one of the two rooms off of the hallway, lowering him to the floor and kneeling beside him. Clay peeled away the blood-soaked fabric of what was left of David’s pant leg.

  David winced. “Shit that hurts. How bad is it?”

  Clay’s eyes lifted to mine. “Does the sight of blood make you sick?”

  “Only if there’s an obscene amount,” I told him, thinking of the barrel of blood outside the farmhouse in the yard.

  “Good. Then hold the light on it.”

  The Shepherd had bitten away a chunk of David’s leg. Muscle showed, shimmering red in the light. I crouched by the leg and held my breath, unable to keep the beam of light from shaking.

  “Try harder to hold it still,” Clay said to me, reaching out to steady my hand. “You okay?” I nodded. He pulled his hand away and tore the seamed bottom off his T-shirt. He pressed the fabric into a ball and placed it into the wound.

  “Dude, the room is spinning,” David said. He crossed an arm over his eyes, his head resting on his jacket.