Burn Daughters Page 15

  “Beat the dogs to a bloody pulp,” David told us. I wondered if he was starting to hallucinate.

  Clay looked from David to Brooke. “Is that what you intend on doing?”

  “You got a better idea?” Brooke said.

  Clay rubbed his jaw. “You’re just going to piss them off. I can’t let you compromise everyone.”

  “You can’t stop me,” she said. “Two pipes would be even better, don’t you think David?”

  “Hell, two pipes for each hand.” He pushed himself from the chair, and swayed. His hands were constantly doing something as if they’d lost track of what they should be doing. He’d become clumsy and unpredictable.

  “You can barely stand up,” I told him.

  “Fine,” he said, sinking back into the chair. “I’ll beat them sitting down.”

  “There has to be a better way. You two are too hasty.” Clay lifted one of the bottles of moonshine. “We’ve got plenty of this. If we could get them trapped in one room, we could burn them all. Then we’d only have to deal with the old woman. We can outrun her.”

  “Not her gun,” I pointed out.

  “What about David. His leg?” said Brooke.

  “It’s better than what you’re fixin’ to do. You’re only going to piss the dogs off,” said Clay.

  “Okay. Maybe a pipe isn’t such a great idea,” David agreed. “Maybe we need to weaponize the pipes into something more lethal.”

  “We could use the pocket knife,” said Brooke. She pulled the knife she took from old man Keller’s chest out of her pocket and held it up.

  “Needs to be longer,” David told her. “Something that’s gonna go deep.”

  “You’ve lost your mind,” Clay said. “You’ve all lost your minds.”

  “We don’t need your help, Emerson,” Brooke told him.

  “This is going to end badly,” Clay said, looking from Brooke to David.

  “What about glass from the broken window,” Evie suggested.

  “Evie,” I said, gripping her shoulder. “Stay out of this.”

  “But it’s real sharp. Look how it cut his hand.” Evie pointed at David. I saw it then for the first time, a long gash running from his index finger up his forearm. It was dripping blood. David didn’t seem to know it was even there.

  “Why not the glass?” Brooke said.

  Clay ripped a slender piece of fabric from one of the bed sheets wadded in a corner and wrapped David’s wound. “Glass is too weak,” David muttered. “We need something rigid…something that won’t break.” Clay stood back and handed David one of the jugs of water, telling him to drink. “I told Em I would protect her,” David said to Clay, pushing the bottle of water away.

  “Your plan is not going to bring her back. But you will be completely useless if you don’t keep up your strength.” Clay offered David the bottle of water again. David took it.

  “Perfect!” I heard Brooke’s voice in the other room. She appeared in the doorway, holding out a handful of slender metal scraps. They looked like some type of odd drilling bit, and long, the length of Brooke’s forearm, tapered and sharp at one end. “All we have to do is attach these to the pipe.”

  “Use the fishing line for that,” David told her.

  “There’s not enough left,” she informed him, holding up a section of line that was no more than a few inches long.

  David’s head flopped to one side. He looked at the window. “Old windows. They used rope to slide them up and down. Inside the casing.”

  Brooke started on the window, beating easily through the rotted casing using the metal pipe. She grabbed what was inside the casing and held it up. It was a three foot section of rope. She cut it with the pocket knife.

  “Shit,” David exclaimed. “It’s too rotten.”

  Brooke dropped the rope, but she did not look beaten. She grabbed the spiral ends of the drilling bits and shoved them into the pipe, leaving lethal lengths of sharpened ends exposed. Her eyes scanned the room. She picked up the metal fire iron leaning against the wall, placed the pipe on the brick hearth, and began to hammer.

  Dogs barked.

  Brooke hammered harder, every blow more violent than the last.

  When she was done, she stood, studied her work, and went to the barricade. David pushed himself from the chair, and with Clay’s help, he hobbled down the hallway after her. Evie and I followed.

  David grabbed the weapon from Brooke. There was blood on his leg, blood on his hand, and now blood in his eyes. He stabbed at our mattress blockade, repeatedly drawing back and plunging the sharpened ends of his weapon into the mattress until it spilled its guts. Clay raised a hand to stop him, but it was not necessary. David dropped his hands and slumped against the balustrade. Satisfaction was clear in his expression as he wiped sweat from his forehead. I’d never seen anyone look so distraught. It terrified me. It was no longer the dogs that were frightening, it was David.

  He turned to face us, thumping the end of his rod against the floor so that is stood straight. He resembled a proud farmer with a pitchfork. “How do you like my dog-gig?” he smiled. A wet sheen of sweat covered his forehead.

  I moved Evie so she was behind me.

  “I like yours just fine,” Brooke told him. “But what about one for me?”

  Skin bunched around David’s eyes in an almost painful stare. “You sure you got the balls for this?”

  .

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Hell yeah,” Brooke said. “Let’s kill some dogs.”

  Brooke set to work on her dog-gig and it was not long before both she and David were leaning over the railing, David with his tried gig, Brooke with hers, a short duplicate of the original.

  “I can’t reach them.” She leaned over the railing, her feet barely on the floor. She stretched even further, teetering. “I can’t get at them, David.”

  “Keep trying,” said David.

  “You’re putting too much weight on the balustrade,” Clay warned.

  They were both obsessed. “Let me try over here.” Brooke scooted around David and crouched, aiming through the balusters at the top of the stairs. They were like animals themselves. But each blow from her hand glanced off the target. She was unable to get enough momentum to pierce flesh.

  “It’s not working,” said Brooke.

  The dogs on the other side of the mattress blockade were growing more agitated. Their whines turning into uneasy yips and growls. David was too weak to do much more than stab at the air.

  Dog’s dived in and out.

  Teeth caught the end of Brooke’s gig.

  The pack snarled.

  Salivating.

  “Give me the shorter one,” David demanded. Brooke hesitated. He motioned for her to hurry up. “I got a better idea.” Brooke handed him her gig, and he struggled up to the top of the barricade.

  The dogs frenzy grew. They jumped within inches of him, crawling over one another, biting at the mattress.

  The Shepherd sat proudly below, out of reach, glaring. His eyes never moving from David.

  He stood out.

  Different.

  Elusive.

  Void of emotion.

  Well kept.

  Healthy.

  David’s gig came down, landing between one of the dog's shoulder blades. He turned to us, shouting. “I got one!”

  The dog retreated, a high-pitched scream coming from its mouth, David’s gig wedged in its shoulder. The dog fought to free itself.

  Evie clutched her ears. “Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop!”

  As David cheered, smiling at us, thrusting his arms high in a sign of victory, the mattress sagged.

  “Jesus!” Clay exclaimed. “Be careful!”

  It all happened so fast. Clay ordering David to get down. David laughing at the squealing dogs. I pushed my sister into the hallway, telling her to go back into the bedroom, to shut the door behind her. Evie did as I instructed, not questioning, knowing as I knew something bad was about to
happen.

  “Let go of the gig,” Clay shouted at David, “Let it go!” He rushed forward, but it was too late.

  The mattress buckled.

  David spilled onto the stairway, landing on top of the pack of angry dogs.

  They pulled him under.

  Buried him.

  I could not move my eyes from the horror of what was happening right in front of them. I could not close them. I don’t know why not.

  David’s hands tried to grab whatever they could, ears, a nose, fur, the railing. But he was only flailing, his hands finding nothing to grasp onto. Teeth ripped flesh. Screams of bloody pain pierced the air.

  Dogs came from every direction.

  David could not fight them all.

  He could not fight even one.

  Clay lunged crying out. “NO!”

  I grabbed for Clay’s shirt, knowing he meant to go over the mattress, too, if that’s what it took to save his friend. The back of Clay’s shirt slipped through my fingers. I found his ankles and held tightly. He stretched over the mattress, searching and reaching far for David. He clutched a handful of the front of David’s shirt, the other hand under an arm in an attempt to heave David’s writhing body up out of the livid dogs.

  But it was too late.

  David disappeared beneath a blanket of bloody fur.

  One of the dogs snapped mere inches from Clay’s face.

  Clay surrendered, melting back into me and the safety of the barricade, unable to catch his breath.

  The air was tainted with the smell of iron. Mangy fur stained the color of a blood moon. I couldn’t tell if the dogs were gnawing each other…or David.

  Clay sobbed. I held his body close. His shoulders shook in my arms, his head buried in my chest. I had never seen many men cry. Clay didn’t just cry, he sobbed. Sobbed for the loss of a close friend that was breathing only moments ago.

  “I’m—” Brooke began.

  “Just shut up…bitch,” Clay bellowed. “Just SHUT UP!”

  Brooke bowed her head and made her way to the other side of balcony.

  My gaze dropped to where Clay uncurled a fist. In the center of his palm was the military medal. David’s medal. It reflected light. And sadness.

  Brooke saw the Medal too.

  “Why did you have to take the short one,” she muttered as she slid down the wall to the floor and pulled her knees to her chest. There was no condemnation in her tone. Only sadness. “You’re no hero,” she said wiping tears from her cheek.

  Still holding Clay, I peered through the balusters at the black shepherd.

  King. The alpha.

  He was sitting proudly by the door.

  His hollow eyes were fixed…..

  On me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I never thought I would miss his stupid jokes,” Brooke admitted out loud.

  We sat in silence that night, disbelieving what we’d seen.

  My eyelids were heavy, weighted. Every time I shut them, I heard it…the gnawing of flesh, claws scraping tendons and bone. David.

  The sounds tormented and horrified us.

  Clay was restless, fidgeting into and out of sleep.

  It was the longest night of my life.

  A rooster crowed early the next morning, reminding those of us still alive that it was a new day. The sunrise brought no comfort in its warmth, only a reminder of time passing. Time that would eventually see an end to this nightmare. An end none of us believed any longer that would prove good.

  I felt dirty and disgusting, unbathed and ripe. Evie’s eyes were sunken, purplish underneath. Whenever she breathed in now, she whined out the breath.

  Covering my mouth, I whispered to Clay while Evie slept.

  “She’s going to starve us to death.” I glanced down at my sister asleep. “She’s not going to make it, if something doesn’t change soon.”

  Clay stood up, put a finger to his lips and urged me into the other room. He closed the door behind us and spoke freely. “If we can lure these dogs into the room below us, I think I can get us out of here. Do you trust me?”

  “With my life,” I told him.

  Clay inhaled deeply, savoring my words. “Good.” He stared deeply into my eyes. “These dogs, what do they want, Mill?”

  I gave it some thought. There only seemed to be one thing the dogs wanted. “They want us, dead.”

  “Let’s tempt them then,” Clay calmly returned. He walked to the window and pointed down toward the main floor. “If we were to dangle one of us out this window it would lure the dogs away from the stairs and into the room below. It’s like a parlor or a den, with just one door. One way in. No way out, once that door is closed. What does Evie weigh, like sixty pounds?”

  My heart accelerated and my stomach dropped. “Absolutely not!”

  “But—”

  “No buts. It’s not happening, Clay. Think of another way.”

  “There is no other way.”

  “No. I’m not even going to consider it.”

  “Okay, maybe there is one other way.”

  I folded my arms and glared at him. “I’m waiting.”

  He swallowed hard. “You’re the next lightest.” I inhaled sharply. He continued, “We can’t count on Brooke. You know it. I know it. There’s only one person here that matters to her, and it’s not your sister.”

  “If I were to agree to do it, what are we supposed to do once we get the dogs in the room?”

  “You’re going to have to stay suspended while I get downstairs long enough to close the door. Then they’ll be the ones trapped.”

  “Did you see what happened to David and Emily?”

  He gripped my arms. “Trust me, Mill, we’re going to test everything first. I’m not sending you out there until we’re certain it’s going to work.”

  “You still didn’t tell me the rest of the plan. Okay, so they’re shut up in the room. We’ll get no further than the fence before that woman lets them out.”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “How can you be so sure? What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m suggesting…we burn the house to the ground, dogs, and all. Do you want Evie to survive? Then this is what we have to do. For her,” he paused. “For all of us.”

  “If I can get them in the room why don’t we just make a run for it? It could work. Then you and Evie wouldn’t be stuck inside a burning house.”

  “I can get you down and us out before the fire takes hold.”

  “What if you can’t?”

  “Trust me. I saw what they did to Emily and David. I’m not letting the same thing happen to you. There is no other way. We have to burn it down.”

  I twisted away from him and paced. “You’re asking me to leave Evie with you.”

  His hand shot out, stopping me mid-stride. He pulled me against him and put his arms around my waist. “I’m not going to let anything happen to her. I swear.” He tilted my chin up, forcing me to look in his eyes. “You don’t get it, Millie. My parents prepared me for this. Drill after drill after drill, to see how fast we could pack and escape with all the necessities…like Evie and you. I’m quick. I can handle the pressure. I am not going to let you down. Please trust me.”

  ***

  We placed the jugs all along the balcony, lining them up exactly how Clay instructed, while Brooke and Evie dozed in the bedroom.

  “When we get the dogs into the room below us, we have to be ready,” he explained. “Timing is critical. It all has to be right.”

  He stopped me once while I was working to make it “right,” and told me everything was going to be okay. I didn’t have any choice but to believe him.

  We worked diligently, even beginning to hope that our crazy plan might succeed. We tied together every scrap of cloth we could find: old shirts, ties, linens, drapes. Clay made a sort of harness for me, tying it off around an exposed rafter in the bedroom ceiling.

  “You sure this is going to hold me?” I asked. He slid the knotted rope be
tween my legs.

  His hands lingered. He moved his fingertips up my thigh, over my hips, to my waist. His hands were warm. Clay’s eyes lowered to my lips, but he didn’t kiss me.

  “Yes,” he whispered. “It will.”

  “What?” I blinked up at him, forgetting what I’d asked.

  Clay cleared his throat. “See if you can put your weight on it.”

  “Oh.” The rope.”

  He shook his head and smiled. “Yeah. The rope. Focus, Mill. We can’t have you daydreaming. You need to stay alert.”

  “Then you might want to back up a little.”

  “Oh.” A blush spread over his cheeks. He stepped back, taking his warmth with him.

  The knots in the rope tightened under my weight. I bounced, testing my life line’s strength.

  “Now all we have to do is gauge the length,” Clay said. He moved toward the window and peered out.

  “One problem,” I said.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Evie. If we tell her, she will freak.”

  “You can’t be in two places at one time,” he told me. He cracked a smile and reached out, moving hair from my eyes. “You can’t comfort her and save us, so why don’t we let her sleep as long as we can. Brooke’s going to have to be told. She’s going to have to help me lower you out the window. It’s the only way.”

  I knew Brooke wouldn’t protest. It wasn’t her ass on the line.

  “Ok, I can do this,” I mumbled. I glanced out the window at the long drop down. Falling wasn’t what I was worried about. I was worried about the dogs. “What will keep the dogs from coming outside?” I asked Clay.

  He circled around me, double checking the knots keeping our makeshift rope together. “Don’t already be thinking up ways this is going to fail, Mill.” He sighed at my horrified expression. “They won’t. They’ll hear you and be drawn to the sound, which will be you at the window. Glass between you and them.”

  “How thick is this glass?”

  “Thick enough. You ready?”

  “Hold up.” I wiped the sweat from my palms, and then held the rope tight.

  “Remember. Trust me. I got you.”

  Hands on the windowsill, I paused before crawling out with the rope. I searched for something to hold onto, but found only rotted wood. Reluctantly, I surrendered my weight to the rope.