by Mike Kraus
Barbara, Wyndale, Virginia
“I won’t tell you again,” the man snarled. “Drop the rifle and put your hands in the air.”
“Let me see my son,” Barbara demanded, trying to keep the quake out of her voice. “I want to see a show of good faith.”
She heard a shuffling sound from the foot of the stairwell. A moment later, a short man with a crop of dark hair shoved Jack around the banister and squared to face her. His left hand gripped the boy’s neck, his right hand holding a pistol to the back of his head. Jack blinked at her with big brown eyes, fear written across his face and Barbara quelled the instinctual urge to take the man’s head off, as she’d risk hitting her son or cause the man to fire his gun. She turned the barrel to the side, keeping it pinned on the dining room entrance as the man took two steps into the hall and stood beneath the second-floor landing, using Jack as a shield.
“Here’s your son.” His eyes ticked to Barbara’s rifle. “Now, put it down.”
“If I put down my gun, you’ll kill us.”
“Not true.” The man shook his head, brow pinched in the middle. “Me and my buddy just want your stuff. We’ll fill your pickup with supplies and guns then be on our way. I want to be in Kentucky by morning.”
The short guy’s partner stepped into the foyer behind the leader, holding a pistol at his side. He was one of the men she’d hit with buckshot the other day and his work shirt seemed puffier on his left torso, likely bulging due to a thick bandage.
Keeping her face hidden, Barbara at the man’s injury, “But I killed three of your friends and hurt another.”
“Not friends. I recruited them from one of the markets earlier. Told them I knew someone who had tons of supplies. I’ve only known them a few hours.” He smiled cruelly. “Why do you think I sent them in first? You sure did a number on them, I’ll give you that.”
“So, you don’t want revenge?”
“I want to get the hell out of Virginia,” the man growled. “And I don’t want to shoot a kid, for real. It’s not something I want on my conscience. Just lay down your weapon, let us load up, and we’ll go.”
Barbara weighed her options, finding none that were good given Jack’s predicament. “Okay. Fine.” The words had to be forced out, like the last bit of toothpaste from an empty tube. “I’ll… I’ll put my gun down.”
“Good decision.” The man looked visibly relieved.
Barbara held her weapon horizontally and stooped, bending at the knees, placing it on the floor while shooting Smooch a quick warning glance. The dog sat obediently on the top step, her left paw slightly raised and head low, her snout pointed toward the hallway, lips drawn back to expose her fangs.
Free of her weapon, Barbara stood and raised her hands, and the man shifted the gun from Jack’s head to aim it at her stomach. Relief washed over her, glad to have Jack in slightly less danger despite her own peril.
“Now, where’s that mutt of yours?” The man pushed Jack forward another foot.
“She’s at the top of the stairs.” Barbara’s eyes flicked to the door. “Injured.”
“Call her over. I can’t have her running around while we’re trying to complete our business.”
Smooch’s lips were still drawn in a half snarl, and while Barbara had no doubt she’d throw herself into harm’s way if given the opportunity, the dog was as much of a weapon as her rifle. If used at the wrong moment, she could end up causing more harm than good.
“I can take her downstairs and lock her in a room,” she offered.
“You can take her outside and chain her up,” the man commanded, squeezing Jack’s neck.
“Ouch,” the boy said, whining, tears at the edges of his eyes.
Smooch growled deep in her chest, her lips curled up to reveal the full extent of her polished white fangs.
“If you can’t get control of the animal,” the man waved his weapon at the basement stairs, “I swear I’ll put it down!”
“No!” Barbara’s eyes watered at the thought of it. She’d been holding back feelings of anger and desperation for the past ten minutes, struggling to stay strong for Jack’s sake, and the dam suddenly broke, hot tears streaking down her cheeks, her breath coming in gasps. “I’ll just shut the door, okay? Just don’t hurt my son, please!”
Jack’s lips quivered at the sight of his mother crying. “It’s okay, Mom...”
“Let’s go,” the man waved his gun. “Get the dog. I’m starting to lose pati--”
A vehicle flew up the driveway in a rumble of gravel and the man stepped away from Jack, peering out the sidelight. He still held the boy’s neck, but there was space between them, his gun sliding to the side so the weapon was pointed at the wall. Barbara made a break for her rifle, but there wasn’t enough time to guarantee a kill shot. If she made a single mistake then she – or worse, her son – would pay the price. The man turned back, adjusting his grip on Jack’s neck and giving the boy a little shake.
“Who is that?!”
“Oww!” Jack yelped and squirmed. “You’re hurting me!”
“Why don’t you shut up?” The man redoubled his grip, drawing a high-pitched squeal from the boy. Barbara held out her hand as if to intervene, as though she could reach out with an invisible hand and grab her son back, but Linda got to him first.
“Get off my brother!” The cry went out from the top of the stairs a split second before shots rained down from the landing above, transforming the tense scene into a whirlwind of light and noise. Two rounds shattered the hardwood but at least one struck the man as he dove ahead, shoving Jack in front of him, electing a pained howl as he moved.
Body surging into motion, Barbara launched herself at the man, slamming into him as her son tumbled past them and they went down in a tangle of arms and legs, Barbara clawing at his face, biting and scratching at any exposed skin. The man raised his pistol to shoot her, but Smooch was already beside her master, clamping down with her fangs onto his wrist and jerking his hand up so his two shots struck the ceiling, gun flying away to clatter across the floor.
The man screamed and swung his free fist, hitting Barbara with a glancing blow across her head, though instead of disabling her it empowered her, an instinctual rage blossoming in her chest as chills streaked up her back. She would end the man. Death was no longer an option. Only victory.
Face buried in his neck, teeth clamping on the soft, hot flesh of his throat, she bit down, her jaw clenching tight, the muscles and tendons beneath the skin of his neck stretched taut as she gnawed. His flesh broke, and she tasted blood as it gushed between her lips, the man letting out a guttural, panicked cry as he panicked, shoving her away, punching, striking her with three glancing blows across her cheeks and chin.
Stars exploded in Barbara’s head as her hold loosened but she shrugged off the pain, shifting her hold, grabbing the bite wound with her fingers and digging her nails into the broken flesh. The man thrashed and bucked, but he only had one free hand as Smooch tore and ripped at his forearm and wrist, rending them to shreds. Warm liquid sprayed across Barbara’s face, followed by a hot, salty, penny-rich taste on her lips. A major artery had been torn based on the amount of blood on herself and the floor – but by which one of them, Smooch or herself, she didn’t know.
His attempts to hit her turned into a flailing escape, screaming as he tried to fight off the tenacious, blood-soaked woman and her dog. But Barbara had latched on to him, using her weight to keep him pinned, Smooch’s tugging keeping his one arm out of the fight. The man grunted and spat, bucking once more before a sudden weakness took him and he fell back against the tiles.
Finally, as the last of his life drained out of him, Barbara let go of his throat, blood dripping from her lips and chin as she slowly stood, a crimson avenging spirit, locking eyes with the last intruder at the end of the hall. While he still held his gun, it shook in his hand, his face a mask of horror at the sight before him, Barbara and Smooch both slowly stepping over the shredded corpse at their feet, beginning to make t
heir way down the hall.
Caught in a vengeful bloodlust, Barbara flinched as her own name found its way through to her still-ringing ears, realizing after a long moment that it was Darren, calling out to her, his voice sounding small and far-off, echoing from a different world altogether.
“Barbara!”
She snapped back to reality at Darren’s bellow, glancing down at her red-stained hands, then back up at the man in front of her who was backing away, gun hand shaking even worse than before.
“Be careful, Darren!” Barbara yelled as she searched around for her rifle, the man giving her a final terrified expression, eyes ticking between her, her dog and the second-floor landing before he threw open the front door and lunged outside, his gun raised. As soon as he stepped out, several rounds of incoming fire peppered his body and he stumbled and crashed in the yard.
“Mom!”
“Oh, baby,” Barbara cried as she grabbed Jack, squeezing him tightly to her chest, red transferring from her soaking clothing onto his arms and skin as she held him, kissing his cheeks, wanting nothing more than to hold him and never let go. “Where’s your sister? Linda? Linda!”
Without waiting for his reply, Barbara pulled Jack along beside her, staggering along the hallway as she called up. “Linda! Linda! Are you up there?”
She reached the bottom of the stairwell, eyes cast upward as her stomach twisted with dread, not wanting to see what had become of her daughter but forcing herself to look, anyway.
To her deep relief, Linda flew down the stairs taking two at a time. “Mom! Mom!”
“Baby!”
Barbara caught her on the way down, the girl’s weight driving her to her knees. She gripped Jack in her right arm, Linda in her left, squeezing her children tight.
Darren was visible through the open doorway, standing in the yard, rifle pointed at the man he’d shot while he nudged the body with the toe of his boot. Marie was moving fast up the walkway, holding her AR-15 with the barrel pointed upward, rushing to the front stoop where she took one look at the blood covering Barbara’s face, hands, and chest, gasping in shock.
“Are you okay?” the woman asked with breathless concern. “Is there anyone else in the house?”
Barbara nodded slowly, then shook her head with indecision. “I think there were only five, but I’m not certain.”
Marie gave a terse nod and marched down the hallway only to be met by a limping Smooch. Blood smeared the German Shepherd’s face and chest, her fur a wet, ruddy brown color. She whined painfully but still pushed forward, intent on making her way back to her master.
“Smooch!” Jack cried, seeing the wounded animal, breaking from Barbara’s grasp to run to her. The boy skidded to his knees, throwing his arms around her neck, her nuzzling him with her bloody muzzle, whining and whimpering the whole while.
“Careful,” she warned. “Poor girl is hurt bad.”
“Smooch, no!” Jack cried, releasing the dog and gently touching at the fur surrounding her injured neck. “What did they do to her?”
“I think she’ll be okay, honey,” Barbara assured him, more a side thought than anything else. “Just be careful with her, okay?”
“Okay.” Jack nodded, his bottom lip sticking out.
Barbara wrapped both arms around Linda, squeezing her once before holding her away. “What happened? Where did you go? Why weren't you with your brother?”
Linda’s cheeks were wet, her eyes swollen from crying. “I’m so sorry, Mom. Really, I am. We heard the gunshots. I got the gun from Sam’s bathroom, just like last time. Then I ran to Jack’s bedroom like I was supposed to, but he wasn’t there. That’s when the man came up and found him in the other bathroom. He shot his gun, and I got scared. I hid under the bed and waited. I’m so sorry.”
“That was a good decision,” Barbara dismissed her apology, “You did amazing, sweetie.”
“I snuck out when I heard your voice,” Linda continued. “I watched the whole time until I found my chance.”
“That was a good shot,” Barbara smiled, holding Linda out at arm’s length, wiping a bit of red from her daughter’s cheek. “Weren’t you worried about hitting your brother?”
Linda was already shaking her head. “No way, mom. The men got distracted by Darren coming. I watched the guy who had Jack. His gun was moving around. I knew I could hit him! I just knew I could!”
Linda’s expression was so fierce and full of fire that Barbara didn’t doubt her for a second.
“Did I do bad?” Linda’s expression began to droop, and Barbara gripped Linda’s arm, staring hard into her eyes as relief and pride coursed through her body, filling her heart and chest.
“No, baby. You didn’t do bad. You did so good. And I love you more than I can even explain right now. You did so, so good.” Linda’s smile returned, shining like a gift of gold.
Shoes shuffled on the porch and stepped into the foyer, and Barbara glanced up to see Darren watching them with a drawn expression, his face going pale when he saw the blood spattered across most of Barbara’s body.
“Why don’t you two run some warm water in a pan for Smooch,” she said, standing and addressing her children. “We need to get her cleaned up and see how bad she’s hurt. Go through the dining room. The hallway is...”
She glanced at the intruder lying near the kitchen table in a massive pool of blood. There were corpses in the house, her children had witnessed – and taken part in – the slaughter, and there was no use in trying to hide it from them. That small sliver of innocence was forever gone, and no matter how much it bothered her, she’d have to learn to give it up.
Barbara sighed and shook her head, watching as Linda and Jack hustled through the dining room and entered the kitchen, going for the pots and pans below the sink, Smooch trailing behind as Jack talked to her.
Watching her children alongside her, Darren spoke in a low, grim voice. “I’d ask if I killed that asshole outside for a good reason, but after seeing this….” He trailed off, looking at the bodies, letting out a low whistle. “Are you okay?”
“You did,” she nodded, sniffling as she turned to face him, throwing her arms around the man’s wide, round shoulders. “And I am. Emotionally, anyway.”
“Sorry if I got here a little late.” Darren patted her on the back, giving her a gentle squeeze.
“You were right on time.” The tears flowed from Barbara’s eyes, carving out paths of white among the red.
“Well, that’d be a first,” Darren chuckled. “Make sure you tell Marie that. She’s always complaining how late I am.”
Marie marched up the front path on cue, stepping inside, eyes narrow slivers as she glanced in the corners of the room.
“I checked all around the house and didn’t see anyone,” Marie said, breathlessly. “I think we’re clear.”
Barbara nodded, her emotions on the edge of breaking, expression slack as she started wiping the blood and tears off her face with a conflicting sense of horror and relief.
Marie rested her rifle against the door and threw her arms wide. “Come here, darling. It looks like you could use another hug.”
“I could use about a hundred hugs,” she replied with trembling lips.
Barbara fell into Marie’s embrace as Darren patted her gently on the shoulder, crying on her friend’s shirt, smearing her with blood as distant thunder boomed and rumbled across the evening sky.
Chapter 17
Tom, Virginia Beach, Virginia
Tom woke shivering on the couch, shoulders shot through with a chill. He turned onto his side and curled into a ball, bringing his knees tight against his chest, but even that didn’t help, and he continued to feel the deep cold settling into his bones. With the temperature too much to ignore, he opened his eyes, greeted by a silent, relatively dark room, lit only by the shades of pale light entering from the bathroom window and around the blinds.
Sitting up with a grumble, Tom yawned and smacked his lips, checking his watch to see it was 10:17
AM. He leaned forward, snatching a bottled water he’d been drinking from off the table. Top off, he tilted it back and took a mouthful, swishing it around before standing to spit it in the vanity sink before moving to Samantha’s bedside. Sometime during the night, she’d tossed off the throw cover and climbed beneath the sheets and comforter to bury herself in piles of warmth. Lifting one corner, he saw she was clutching a pillow to her chest, holding another tucked between her knees.
He leaned down and gave her shoulder a shake. “Hey, Sam. It’s time to get up. We need to get moving again.”
“What time is it?” she asked with a stir.
“Almost ten thirty in the morning. I think we got some pretty good sleep last night, but the power went out.”
Samantha put her arm outside the covers for a moment before grabbing the corner and throwing it back over her head. “Too cold!” she cried.
“Not too cold,” Tom replied and flipped it back down.
“Bad dad,” Sam said, snatching the blankets and diving beneath them once more. “Too cold. Sleep.”
“You’ve got two minutes to get up and moving.” Tom circled around to the other bed. “We need to get back on the road pronto.”
He did the same to Jerry, pulling the covers down and giving him a gentle shake on the shoulder, careful not to touch his wounded arm.
“What time is it?” The young man moaned as he stretched his legs beneath the blankets.
“Time to get up,” Tom muttered. He gave the young man’s foot a wag as he went by. “We need to pack up and get moving. With the power out this is no longer a safe harbor.”
Tom went to the dryer and retrieved his and Jerry’s clothes, bringing them out and tossing them at the foot of the bed.
“Sorry, Sam,” he shrugged at her. “You wore your clothes to bed.”
“Did she get a shower?” Jerry suddenly sprang from beneath the covers and sorted through his clothes, still favoring his injured arm, tucking it close to his chest. “Did she already have coffee?”
“No, and no.” Samantha finally tossed off the blankets with a wistful smile. “But I slept so good.”