by Aborn, A. L.
Ally and I stare at him in silence.
“We’d be better off staying here, where all of our stuff is, where we know the land. We don’t need anyone else.”
“But Brad, you even said earlier, that the hunting has been hard around here. You’re going to have to go farther and farther away from home. Wouldn’t it be easier up there, where a group of you can go out together?”
“We still have plenty to eat here,” Brad looks around the room. For a brief second, his eyes pause on Meekah.
“Brad!” I am torn between confusion, anger, and… humor. He must be joking.
“What?” he says casually. “Everything is fair game now. After the other animals are gone, you don’t think that we’ll get so hungry that we’ll eat the dogs? Why do you think I let you girls feed them? They’re just another food source. And if you can’t see that, then you’re a weak link, just slowing me down.” He grins sardonically at me. “Meekah isn’t mine, it’ll be easier to do her first.”
I stare at him in horror. What has happened to him? What has made him so cynical? So intent on staying here? In this moment, I hate him a little. Pushing my bowl away, I get up to clear the dishes. My hands are shaking I’m so angry. I force myself to stay quiet, repeating that he’s just drunk, just ignore him, over and over. Ally somehow gets him to stumble to their bedroom and into bed. I hear them arguing and finally, his snores.
Closing the door softly behind her, Ally makes her way to me. “Sorry. I told you he’s been getting weird. Combined with the whiskey, he’s just being mean. Just ignore him.”
“What are we going to do? Do you really think that he’ll refuse to go? Will you stay?”
“I’m going,” she replies firmly. “Give him a few days and he’ll change his mind. He always hated change, but he will come around eventually.”
“About Meekah-.”
“Stop. We aren’t eating Meekah. We still have plenty of food, and we will have even more at Mom’s.”
“I mean, I always knew, logically, that it could be a possibility,” I ramble on. “But I can’t, I don’t think I could eat her, even if it’s the one thing to keep me from dying. I can’t.” My vision blurs for a moment, picturing Meekah’s golden brown eyes peering up at me while aiming a rifle at her. I just can’t.
Gathering me into a hug, Ally tries to calm me. “Just forget about Brad, forget about everything.”
“You’re right,” I say, “he is being a real dick.”
Pulling back from our embrace, we smile at each other, and finish up the evening chores.
***
I don’t want to sleep. I am a mixture of emotions. My body is curled around Meekah’s protectively in our small bed. My mind jumps from one topic to another. How could Brad say those things? Has living alone with us for so long caused him to change like this? What will happen in two weeks when Ally’s parents come back and he refuses to go? What will we do?
***
Something wakes me. I don’t even remember falling asleep. Groggily, I drag my eyes open. I can see that it’s dark outside through the window over my bed. I don’t hear anything, but Meekah is standing over me; she is tense, with the hair on her back standing on end. “What is it, girl?” I whisper, reaching out to stroke her.
All at once: the sound of dogs barking, glass breaking, men shouting words I can’t understand. It erupts through the house, pulling me out of my sleepy fog. Meekah moves as if to lunge off the bed toward the stairs. Almost missing, I snatch her back legs and pull her back to me. A deep throaty growl is rumbling in her chest. Through the chaos, I think I hear Ally scream something.
Gunshots.
Yelps.
The sound of the barking cuts off with the gunshots and doesn’t pick up again.
The dogs!
Did they just shoot all of Ally’s dogs?
Oh my God! What is happening? The sound of yelling and struggling continues.
Stumbling out of bed, I try to be as quiet as possible. My legs tangle in my blanket, making me almost lose my grip on Meekah. Freeing myself, I grab her leash and collar from my backpack, slip it around her neck and attach the other end to the heavy desk leg in the corner. No way am I letting her downstairs.
Still trying to tip toe, I grab my pistol from beside my bed. Its smooth black grip feels heavy and comforting in my hand. I am dressed only in a nightshirt and underwear, but there’s no time to get dressed. I need to get downstairs and see what is happening.
Slowly… ever so slowly… I place my feet carefully on the carpeted stairs leading from my loft bedroom to the living room below. An outer wall of the house is to my left, another wall to my right. As I pass the ninety degree turn in the stairs, peeking around the corner, I get my first glimpse of the living room. One of the dogs, my favorite of Ally’s, lies dead on the pine floor in a pool of his own blood. Anger wells up in me.
Who did this? Who is here?
HOW DARE someone come into my house and do this!
I can hear scuffling coming from the sound of the bedroom. Good, they’re still alive.
I can only see half of the living room; I won’t be able to see the rest unless I put myself past the wall on my right. Holding my gun steady in front of me, I hear a gruff voice. “Jesus, Andy. She’s only a girl. Do you need me to come help you?”
Ally?
Another gunshot rings out.
“Brad! No!” Ally screams.
Someone heaves a sigh of exhaustion. “Well he definitely wasn’t a little girl. Why didn’t you shoot him earlier?”
Someone snorts.
How many of them are there?
“You looked like you were having fun, Bill. Besides, I didn’t have a clear shot.”
“Where’s the other one? He said she would be upstairs. I doubt she slept through all this.” Another voice.
It’s only been one or two minutes since I woke up. I need to move. Think!
Finally, a voice I recognize. “Don’t forget, she has another dog up there and I’m sure she’s armed.” Adam.
Fucking Adam.
Footsteps.
A man, dressed in dark clothing walks out of Ally and Brad’s bedroom, right in my line of sight. I don’t hesitate. Squeezing the trigger, I miss his head and hit him in the side instead. Still, he drops to the floor.
Shouts of alarm ring through the room. I take a step forward and see another man. I shoot again, missing. Focusing only on what’s in front of me, I am not prepared for the man waiting in my blind spot against the living room wall. As my arm and gun push past the opening into the living room, an arm comes down on top of my own, pitching me forward. His other hand grabs me by the hair. I don’t have time to react before I am thrown brutally to the floor. With only my left hand to try and stop my fall, my face slams into the wooden floor. I taste blood.
I manage to keep a hold of the gun but before I can raise it, a heavy boot steps onto my wrist. “Drop it.” He shifts his weight in his foot back and forth, applying more pressure. It feels like the bones in my hand and wrist are being crushed. Involuntarily, my fingers release the gun. I grunt as his knee abruptly pounds into the center of my back, forcing my breath out in a whoosh. One of his hands sweeps the gun across the floor where someone else bends to pick it up.
“Tie her up. And the other one, too.”
Dazed by the fall and trying to pull breath through my compressed chest makes me feel like I’m paralyzed. Frantically, I try to gather myself. The pressure in my back lessens as the man on top of me leans forward to grab one of my wrists. I cry out in pain as my shoulder is wrenched behind me and up. My other arm is pulled up in similar fashion before my hands are tied together with something that feels like a shoelace. It’s tied so tight that I immediately feel my hands start to ache.
Satisfied that I am now incapacitated, the man climbs off me. Sweet air fills my lungs. Taking a moment to just breathe, I feel panic threatening to overwhelm me. My moment of rest is interrupted by a fist tangling into my unkempt hair. Th
e hand drags me upward, making my legs move spastically to lessen the pressure in my hair. Pulling me to my feet, I wobble unceremoniously before being thrown back against the wall. “That’s for shooting Tim,” my most recent assailant spits. My head rockets into the door frame, the angle of the wood catching me in the back. He glares indignantly at me as I slide to the floor.
Slumped against the wall, I take in the scene around me. I feel like I am on the edge of consciousness, but I am determined. I am not going to die here. I am not going to die here!
Turning my head, I see Ally slumped against the far wall. Her hands are also behind her back. She looks like she is unconscious. There is blood smeared down her face and on her clothes. Her own? I can’t see Brad, but I can only assume that he is in the bedroom behind me, maybe dead from that last gunshot.
The men largely ignore us as they begin pawing through the boxes of goods gathered in the center of the floor. They act like the body of the dog isn’t even there; they step on him and right through the blood, tracking it across the floor that was spotless only hours ago.
The boxes are emptied in minutes. How easy did we make it for them? Anything we deemed of value is all in one place. I feel tears prick my eyes. I feel helpless. And hopeless.
No!
I’ll fight until the end!
I start taking deep, calming breaths, attempting to steady my racing heart. Squeezing my eyes closed, I tell myself to use this time to rest and plan. Rest and plan. Rest and plan. I repeat it silently, like a mantra.
Opening my eyes, I find Adam standing in front of me. “How could you do this?” I croak. My lips feel swollen from where my face hit the floor and it’s painful to talk. “Why, Adam?”
Squatting down, he puts himself at my eye level. He looks… different. He’s dirty and unshaven, a contrast to the well-kept man that was here not long ago. He reaches out and touches my outstretched legs. His filthy, jagged fingernails make me shudder. “They’re all gone.” He whispers.
“What? Who’s all gone?”
“Everyone. Not enough food, not enough medicine. We thought it’d get better when spring came. But no. It only got worse.”
I feel like this is a different person in front of me. Now that he is closer to me, I see that his skin is slightly yellowed, his cheekbones more prominent. “Jake?” I answer.
He only shakes his head. “It was over fast. Too fast for me to bring him back here.”
“Why are you doing this? We would have helped you!” I shout.
“Shut that bitch up.” This from a man ransacking the kitchen cabinets.
“Why do you get all the medicine? I tried to go back to the feed store, but it seems, someone else had the same idea as us. All of it, gone. All of the food you have… it’s ours now.”
He turns away from me, rejoining the others. Looking at Ally, I see that she is rousing. She meets my eyes, but she still looks foggy.
Rest and plan.
The man I shot in the side is only a few feet from me. It looks like he bled out rather quickly. His comrades have left him on the floor, but not before stripping him of anything valuable. I count seven others, including Adam. Some of them I vaguely recognize; townies whom I had seen around but didn’t know their names. They all shared Adam’s dirty, crazed look.
These were men with nothing left to lose.
My head is spinning with the shock of it all.
Focus! Rest and plan.
I realize that the men are talking. “Andy, Bill, Joe... you guys with me. We’re going across the street. We’ll take anything useful we can find.” This man seems to be the leader, the one who had thrown me on the floor and nearly crushed my ribs.
The farm! Adam had apparently told them everything.
“You three,” he gestures at the others, “round up the girls and the dogs. Gather up whatever else you can fit in the truck. Meet back at my place.”
The four chosen to go to the farm file out. I hear an engine roar to life in the distance. They must have parked on the street and then walked up to ambush us.
Adam eyes me. “Where’s that dog of yours? Meekah, isn’t it?”
I glare at him coldly.
“And that medicine bag. Bet you got that tucked away somewhere upstairs, don’t ya?” Not waiting for a reply, he walks over and slides his hand down the wall behind me, gripping the bonds around my wrists. He pulls straight up, using the leverage on my shoulders to pull me to my feet.
His grip causes me to stand awkwardly, my back arched sharply, standing almost on my tip toes. I feel his breath on my neck, then his coarse whiskers as he says, “Why don’t you and I go see what you’re hiding up there?” His free hand slips under my shirt, cupping my breast roughly. I can’t do anything but walk toward the stairs when he pushes me forward.
He stops me in my tracks for a few seconds. I feel the cold barrel of a gun against the nape of my neck. “Don’t be thinking of doing anything stupid.”
I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe this is happening.
“Hey!” One of the two remaining men shouts, “Didn’t you already have that one? I think it’s my turn.”
Adam shifts the barrel of the handgun in the man’s direction. “Maybe later. You heard Al, start packing up all this shit.”
He pushes me forward again. I stumble on the first step. With my hands behind me, I can’t protect myself as I once again fall. I turn my head, taking the hit on the shoulder and side of the head. The carpet leaves my cheek burning.
Adam pulls me back to standing, again prodding me up the stairs. Behind me, I hear Ally cry out in pain. “What are you doing? No! Stop!” The rest of her words are drowned out, like she’s been gagged.
At the top of the stairs, I see Meekah, tangled in her leash in her fight to get to me. She whines as she sees me, tail thumping for a moment. Adam swiftly boots her in the chest. The kick knocks her back under the desk, where she whimpers once before going silent.
“No!” I try to get to her, but he shoves me down on the bed.
My face is in the nest of blankets, my rear up in the air. It’s hard to move with my hands behind me. I feel his hands on my thighs. He must have put the gun down. Thrusting his pelvis against my bottom, I freeze. Thinking as fast as I can, I swallow and force out the quietest moan of pleasure.
He stops. “Oh. Do you like it like that? You like it rough?”
He thrusts against me again.
Turning my head, I can just barely see him. I stare directly into his eyes, before pushing myself back against him. He grunts.
“Did you miss me?”
I nod my head in the blankets.
He leans over my hunched body, his clothed chest pressing against my back. His lips tickle my ear, both hands groping under my shirt and between my legs. Soft moans escape my parted lips.
Strong hands grip my sides before roughly turning me over onto my back. I shout as my weight presses onto my trussed-up shoulders. He pushes me over onto my side, easing the pain in my arms. I feel him fiddle with the cordage around my wrists and the pressure eases. Flipping me onto my back, he re-ties my wrists, though much looser now and in front of my body. There is a good five inches between my hands.
He returns to fondling my half-naked body. I push him back onto the bed, climbing up until I am straddling his hips. Looking uncertain, he moves as if to push me back onto the bed. Quickly, I push my hands down the front of his jeans. More confident, he leans back, watching me.
After a moment, he reaches down between us, to unzip his pants. I adjust my weight, leaning forward to put my hands on the bed just over his head. Pushing my knees forward, I pin his arms to the bed, his hands stuck between us. At the same time, I lift my arms and press the taut shoelace spread between my hands over his throat. Using my position, I straighten my arms and use my full weight to press down with hands and knees. I feel the pop of his trachea, his airway crushed beneath me. He struggles, but with my advantage, there isn’t much he can do. Snaking one arm out
from between us, he tries to grab the shoelace from his ruined neck, but it’s too late. His eyes bulge in panic before his movements weaken, and finally, stop.
***
Exhausted, I slump onto the bed beside him. Meekah! Diving off the bed, I crawl to her side. She lifts her head and feebly licks my hand. She’s alive! I leave her there before turning back to Adam. A large hunting knife is sheathed at his belt. Sliding it free, I hear one of the men downstairs call up, “Hey, why’s it so quiet up there?”
I freeze.
Quickly, I use the belt knife to slice the shoelace between my wrists. Where’s the gun?
There! He placed it on the shelf of the bookcase at the top of the stairs. Already, I hear heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Racing to the top of the stairs, knife in hand, I reach for the gun. But it’s too late, one of the men is coming up the stairs, only a few steps below me. There’s no time to grab the gun.
Buck knife raised; I stab at the top of his head before he can gain equal ground with me. The knife glances off his skull, sliding down into the softer flesh of his neck. He screams, but instead of dropping him, it seems to only enrage him. Clawing at me, he grabs ahold of my loose tee shirt. My hands are bloodied and the knife slips from my grasp. Wildly, I look around for anything to use as a weapon as he fights to subdue me.
Reaching out, I grab one of the heavy bookends from one of the shelves. Lifting it over my head, I use both hands to try to bring it down on his head. My angle is off; I’m too close to him. I can’t hit him as hard as I need to. Both of his hands are tangled in my shirt as we fight at the top of the stairs. I raise my arms again, but he ducks out of the way just in time. My momentum carries me forward and we are both falling down the stairs.
Landing at the half-way point, where the stairs take a ninety-degree turn, I luckily find myself next to him, instead of pinned beneath him. His neck wound is bleeding furiously, soaking into the carpet. Still conscious, he reaches down with one hand for the gun in his waistband. Shouting with the effort, I scramble up on to my knees and bring the bookend down on his face. Blood spatters. Some part of me is aware of the droplets on my face but I raise the bookend again. And again. I hear someone crying, and I realize that it’s me. I am sobbing and slamming the bookend into his distorted face. I don’t know how long ago I killed him, but I finally realize that he’s gone.