Burn Daughters Read online

  “Try not to pass out just yet,” Clay told him. He took my free hand and placed it over the wad of T-shirt. “Keep pressure on it.”

  “Where you going?” I asked. I didn’t want to stay with David alone. I couldn’t. He was hurt. I didn’t know what to say or do.

  A hand on my shoulder kept me from following Clay. “Pressure, Mill. It’s important.”

  “Where are you going?” I repeated.

  “To find some way to close that bite up.”

  “With what?”

  Clay took the flashlight. “Don’t know yet, but I’ll think of something.” He left David and I in the darkness.

  “Makes you nervous, doesn’t it?” David asked me. His voice was weak, his breathing labored. “It’s okay,” he reassured me. “I trust you not to let me bleed out.”

  “I’m glad you have confidence in me,” I told him.

  “You need more of it,” he simply said.

  “Confidence?”

  “Yep.”

  “I never claimed to be a nurse.”

  “You would look hot in the outfit though.”

  I laughed. “That was so predictable.”

  “What can I say, I’m a guy, although...” he paused. I sensed Brooke’s presence over my shoulder. Smelled her perfume. “Don’t get any ideas, because I’m taken.”

  I smiled. “Just so you know, nurses wear scrubs, David, not the outfit you’re imagining.” I shifted, keeping pressure on the bite.

  “I know, but there’s just something about a nurse’s authority that’s hot. A woman doesn’t have to show her tits to be sexy. I say leave a little to the imagination. Make a guy work for it.”

  There was a long quiet pause. “David?” I said into the darkness.

  “I’m still here,” he said. “The bite’s...not that bad.”

  “A dog just tried to make a meal out of you, how is it ‘not that bad?’”

  “He could’ve gone for my…how do I say this around virgin ears…my...um...pecker.”

  Brooke snorted somewhere in the darkness. “Typical,” she said. “Guy willing to sacrifice a leg as long as his penis still works properly.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be out there guarding the barricade?” David muttered. “Thanks, Millie.”

  “For what?”

  “For keeping my mind off my leg. It hurts like a mother—”

  “Look what I found,” Clay said. “An old tin lantern. Let’s hope it works.” He gently tilted it. “There’s not much fuel in it.” I heard rusted metal squeal. The lantern glowed white. Clay gestured at David stretched out on the floor. “How’s he doin’?”

  “I’m still alive so you can ask me. I’m doin’ wonderful. How about you?”

  Clay knelt beside David, took the rag from my hand, and gave me the lantern to hold. He lifted the rag. Fresh red blood bubbled from the exposed muscle and ran from the bite. “We have to stop the bleeding.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “We could cauterize it,” Clay said.

  David jerked his leg away. “What?”

  “Burning the flesh will close it up and stop the bleeding,” Clay explained.

  “Are you serious?” David snapped. “Hell no.” His brows drew together at the sight of Clay covering up his laughter with a closed fist. “You little shit, you got me. I thought you were seriously considering catching me on fire.”

  “I’d never do that to you,” Clay reassured David. “We’re going to sew you up instead.”

  David groaned. “How is that any better?”

  Chapter Eight

  Clay stood. “We’ve got to find a needle, some kind of thread, and something to sterilize it with.” He pointed to Emily. “Your turn to keep pressure on his leg.”

  “I can’t,” she stuttered. Her mouth opened in terror. She shook her head, backing into the shadowy gloom of the corner of the room. “There’s too much blood. I can’t do it.”

  “Brooke,” Clay called out. Brooke entered the room and reluctantly took my place.

  “Stay back and just wait,” I told Evie.

  “No. Don’t leave me.”

  “It’s safe. I’ll be back. I promise.”

  We rummaged through both rooms, looking for needle and thread, the things Clay needed to stitch up David and make him well. We didn’t have any luck.

  “I can’t believe in all this junk there’s not one damn needle or a spool of thread,” Clay said.

  “Look, I think I found water,” I said, holding up a bottle of clear liquid.

  “No. That’s not water. That’s corn liquor,” Clay told me. “Been here a long time. Look at the dust on the jugs.” He was pointing to large glass bottles lining the walls of the room I had not noticed. They were covered in dust, forgotten. “Moonshine.” He pulled the cork from one and took a whiff, coughing.

  “Great,” I mumbled, looking around at the bottles and whatever else I could make out in the room. It was as if the whole place had been frozen in time. No television. No plumbing. No power. The house abandoned. Lonely. There was a smell. Burlap. Familiar, like being in old Bernhardt’s Hardware Store in the feed section, downtown.

  “Those dogs are mangy,” Clay said. “Not kept up. No tellin’ what germs they have.” He gestured at the bottle in my hand. “We can use this to clean his wound.” He looked at me sternly. “But we’re gonna have to hold David down. It’ll hurt.”

  “That’s antiseptic, but there’s nothing here to stitch him up,” I old Clay.

  “Wait a minute….” He jogged out to the balcony.

  I followed, anxious to see what he found.

  He aimed the flashlight over the banister. “Look down at the base of the stairs. See that fishing rod?” He paused to look over at me. “We need it.”

  “Impossible,” I told him. The dogs stirred below us. One growled then slunk under the stairs, waiting for us to get stupid. “It’s impossible,” I repeated, shaking my head.

  Clay took hold of my hips and turned me toward him, gently grasping my arms. “Which of us is going to tell David it’s impossible?” I didn’t know what to say. “It has to be done.”

  “But the dogs….”

  “I’ve got a plan for the dogs. There’s a window at the end of the hallway there,” Clay nodded toward the dark passage. “I can climb onto the tin roof, make enough noise to draw them out. Someone will have plenty of time—”

  “Not gonna work,” I said. “You’re crazy.”

  “The rod is right down the stairs. It’ll take only a few seconds to run down there, get it, and run back up.”

  “What if that old woman is waiting down there?” I asked.

  “She went inside her house,” Clay reminded me.

  “You might be crazy enough to jump out that window there and distract the dogs, but who’s crazy enough to run down the stairs and get the rod?”

  Clay took my hand and led me into the room where the others waited, Brooke still holding the rag in David’s wound. He explained his plan, and I had to admit to myself that hearing it then while not looking over the balcony at the dogs made it sound almost plausible.

  Emily stepped forward. “Please, do this. You have to, for me.”

  Brooke threw up her hands, volunteering to retrieve the fishing rod. “Sure. Whatever. I’ll do it.”

  I followed Clay to the window at the end of the hallway. “Please be careful,” I told him.

  He grinned, opened the window and slid out. “I got this,” he told me. He swayed unsteadily on the tin roof, and then regained his balance, his arms stretched out. He clapped. He shouted. “I’m out here, you mutts! Come get your dinner!”

  With no response from the dogs, he jumped, teetering unsteadily, continued to call out.

  The roof trembled under his feet. The tin roof groaned. Suddenly, Clay sank, disappearing right before my eyes straight down through the rotted roof.

  “They’re leaving! The dogs are leaving!” Evie screamed from the balcony.

  “Oh my God, Cla
y.” I leaned out the window and yelled. “Are you okay? Answer me. Do you hear me, CLAY!”

  A resounding, “GO,” flew up through the hole in the roof from the porch below.

  I turned to Brooke. “Go,” I told her, pointing in the direction of the stairs. “Go. He said go! Get the rod.”

  Her hands came up in defense, she stepped away from me, her face pale. She wasn’t going to do it. Clay had sacrificed himself for nothing. I couldn’t let that happen. I ran, pushing her aside.

  Over the barricade.

  My heart leaped into my throat.

  I chanted.

  You got this.

  You got this.

  You got this.

  You got this...!

  Oh no.

  It’s dark.

  It’s dark.

  It’s dark…!

  Bump.

  Bump.

  Bump.

  Down the stairs.

  Please.

  Please.

  Please…don’t let there be any dogs in here!

  I felt for the fishing rod.

  Shit. Where was it?

  Something rubbed against the tips of my fingers, the rod, I snatched it up.

  I retreated up the stairs—

  Taking the steps.

  two at a time.

  I slapped the air behind me hitting nothing. My skin crawled. Even though the dogs were nowhere around, I expected to be taken down any second. Maybe by fangs, maybe by a bullet.

  Okay.

  Dark.

  Dark…barricade to go!

  I pitched the fishing rod over first.

  Scrambled.

  Got to get over.

  Got to get clear before they’re back!

  Falling over the top, I was safely on the balcony.

  I did it!

  Brooke screamed in the other room. I pushed myself from the floor and ran there, terrified something had gotten to Evie.

  Clay had Brooke cornered. He was fuming, enraged. His finger was shoved in her face.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” His entire body shook. He raked old rotten wood out of his hair. “I’m out there risking my ass for David and all you can think about is yourself?”

  “I…I...thought—” Her eyes darted for an exit, a way around him. I’m not sure he’d ever let her have it but we could all see, even Brooke, that Clay’d had enough of her.

  “I don’t know what I ever saw in you,” Clay shouted, and then walked away.

  “I thought you were kidding. The plan was so stupid to begin with,” Brooke said, following him.

  “Just shut up. Don’t ever talk to me again.”

  I stepped beside Clay as he approached. “How did you get back up here?”

  “I have no idea,” he told me, collapsing on the floor. He stuck his head between his knees. I could hear him gasping for air. I could barely hear him say, “I don’t remember.” He lifted his head to meet my gaze. “Did you get the rod?”

  “Yeah. I got it.” I set the rod beside him

  I admired the way Clay handled the situation. Without him, we would’ve all been lost. He knew exactly what to do. He flattened the eye of the hook, soaking it, his pocket knife, and some fishing twine in the moonshine. He had me wash my hands in it, and then he washed his own. We moved David next to a rocker by an old fireplace built into the corner of the room.

  “You don’t have to tie me,” David told us. “I can hold still.”

  “No.” Clay wrapped drapes around David’s hands and tied them to the arms of the chair. David was too weak to put up much of a struggle, and I wondered if he needed to be tied up at all in that condition. But I didn’t say anything to Clay. He was in charge, and I wanted it that way.

  “We’re gonna have to clean the wound before we sew it up. Once we start. There is no stopping,” Clay said.

  “You don’t have to tie me up. I can take it,” David repeated.

  Clay wrapped part of the old bedspread around David’s uninjured leg and secured it to the bottom of the bedpost. David was nearly spread-eagled on the ground.

  “Trust me,” Clay said, standing. “I need one of ya’ll to help me lay the rocker on its back.”

  “I don’t need to be tied,” David insisted. “This is not necessary.”

  “Are you ready to wash the wound?” Clay said to me, needle in hand. He looked at Emily. “Don’t hold the lantern too close, this moonshine’s flammable.”

  Emily turned away, her eyes red and swollen. Brooke nudged her way in where we were all gathered around Davie. “I can do this,” she said.

  “Don’t let that bitch touch me.” David tugged at his restraints. “Let me up. Dammit, let me up now.”

  Brooke dumped moonshine into his wound. The scream that came from David moved walls. His eyes rolled back in his head, and then he went silent.

  “Is he dead?” Brooke asked.

  “He’s out,” Clay told her. “And that’s a good thing—”

  Chapter Nine

  Saturday:

  Cling, cling, cling—the sound pierced the cracked windows of the house sending chills down my spine. At first I thought it was thirst that had my ears ringing, but the sound wasn’t in my head. It was real.

  Clay moved to the window and leaned a shoulder against the casing.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “The old rooster crowed.”

  I sat with my back pressed to the wall. Evie’s head in my lap. Her eyes were still closed. I let her sleep. Maybe by the time she woke we would be going home. I softly stroked her hair. The past twentyfour hours had done her in. I wasn’t sure how much more she could take before she just broke down. She’d not slept peacefully most of the night—random words spilled from her mouth, frightened mumblings from her subconscious.

  The others slept soundly. Scattered about the floor.

  Clay pushed himself from the window and made his way out into the hallway. He stood beside the barricade. I watched him through the doorway. He picked something from the floor and turned it around in his hand. It was a jagged piece of glass. His startling blue eyes found mine. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He pulled fishing line from his back pocket and made a sort of spear, binding the glass to an old broom handle.

  I set Evie’s head on my jacket and went to him. “Is she up?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry. She’s not coming anywhere near this house.”

  “But what if—“

  “Relax, Mill. Think about it. She’s got the shotgun. If she wanted to, she could have already stormed in and forced us to come out, but she hasn’t.”

  “Why do you think she hasn’t?

  “I don’t know. Maybe she’d rather pretend we’re not here. Maybe she can’t deal. Who knows…?” He scrubbed his face with his hands and exhaled.

  Together we made our way back into the bedroom. I stood over Evie. Clay stood looking out the window.

  “What’s she doing?” I asked him. He didn’t reply, and I moved next to him, looking out the window to see what he was seeing: the woman, on her porch, knocking a metal rod around in a triangle bell. Cling, cling, cling. The sound of the bell drew the dogs. They nipped at each other, gathering around.

  The woman threw handfuls of bloody meat at them. The dogs leaped and whined, chomping at the meat flying through the air. It must have been a rare feast for the dogs, because their ribs showed, they were little more than skeletons with fur. The sounds of the feeding pack was sickening. But as gruesome as it was, it made me aware of my own hunger. Help had to come soon.

  The woman looked pale standing in the morning light, her loose flesh transparent, paper thin. Red blood stained her long fingers as they disappeared into the metal bucket she held. “Don’t be greedy,” she scolded.

  The starved dogs wrestled with one another, growling and biting, as the last of the meat slapped the dirt. The dog she called “King” did not participate in the madness. He sat quietly on the edge of the porch; his belly must have a
lready been full. There was another dog as well, trotting around the periphery of the pack, a Border Collie, scrawny, pitiful, searching for some forgotten scrap of meat, but finding none.

  The woman set her bucket down. “Shut up you mangy curs!” she shouted, kicking at the two dogs who were in a scuffle. “Stop that blasphemy or I will beat you like the worthless beast that you are!”

  I moved away from the window and went back to sit beside Evie, lifting her head into my lap. Something about having her close was comforting. I needed that comfort. I needed her safe. I needed to be certain of it. Clay slid down the wall right next to us; his legs bent, his arms resting on his knees.

  I gently swept aside the hair that had fallen across Evie’s forehead, taking in all her freckles. “It’s hot,” I said.

  “It’s going to get hotter as the day goes on.”

  I glanced over at David spread out on the floor. “He’s been talking in his sleep. I think he might have a fever.”

  “Yeah, he’s pretty pale. He lost a lot of blood, needs to see a doctor.” I didn’t say a word. I didn’t see how that could happen. I didn’t see how we could ever get out of that place.

  “Somebody’s going to see the truck, Mill. It’s not that far off the road. They’ll come looking for us.”

  “Really?” My stomach growled.

  Clay smiled. “I’m hoping to be home by dinner. Whatcha think, could you eat a steak?”

  “I don’t know. This place has kind of turned me off of meat.”

  He chuckled. “Well, I’m starving. Yea, steak. Steak with ketchup.” His head rested against the wall. He shut his eyes as if imagining it. “With a tall glass of ice water, man. Water would be great right about now.”

  I licked my chapped lips. I refused to get caught up in the thought of something I couldn’t have. It did no good to think about water. Instead I wrinkled my nose and said, “Ew, you eat ketchup on your steak?”

  “Doesn’t everybody?”

  I shook my head. “Go see what she’s doing now,” I told him. He gave me a look. “It will make me feel better. Please.”

  Clay crawled to the window, peered out for a few minutes, and then dropped back to his knees. “She’s just checking things out.” He imitated the woman, his mouth turned down in a bitter ugly frown, his stare hard and unforgiving. “Shut up you mangy curs! Stop that blasphemy or I will beat you like the worthless mutts that you are!”