by JD Salyers
Chapter Seventeen
Abel heard the truck before he saw the lights. It was a barely discernible growl that rode the wind, and it was coming from the main road. Who the hell would be outside at a time like this? He'd spent the last little while sitting in the recliner, thinking and dozing and waiting for Quinn to come back. She had to come back eventually, and she had gone the one direction he knew she wouldn't find help. He'd seen Patty's car heading out, and he knew that nobody was home at their place. Still armed with the rifle, he stepped out onto the porch to see who'd come to visit.
The headlights were a white glare across the freezing landscape, cutting sharply toward the tree line across from the house. He leaned against the partially destroyed front door frame and watched them bounce closer and closer. Then he glanced down at the foot of the steps that led to the front porch. Ethan's body was almost completely covered with snow now. Any other time, Abel would think the scene was almost festive, with the cedar branches hanging low with clumps of snow and the ground sparkling in the sudden light. Even the little fence post tops had caps of snow.
The driver stopped just short of the driveway. it didn't shut off, and whoever was driving kept the headlights on, too. Abel couldn't see what kind of vehicle it was from here, and the light gave him an instant headache when he looked too close. He toyed with the idea of shooting them out, then thought maybe that would be a waste of ammunition, depending on who, exactly, was here for a visit.
If it was law enforcement, if Quinn had somehow managed to get to a phone to call the cops...well, things were about to get interesting. That was a big if, he thought, so big that he wasn't even worried about it.
Two men stepped out past the lights and headed his way slowly, making their way through the snow with some effort. He stood up straight and went to greet them, coming down the stairs and walking their way. They would meet about halfway through the yard, far enough from the house that the men wouldn't see the condition of the door or the faint outline of Galloway's body. Abel thought that was good enough.
One of them raised a hand when he saw Abel so Abel blocked the direct light with a hand and tried to make out who was coming. Just barely he could see that the men didn't seem to be armed, the vehicle was a truck, and the truck had a circle logo on the door closest to him.
The power company. They were here to fix whatever had gone wrong with the electric lines.
“They got close enough to talk through the wind. “Still no power?” the one who had waved asked.
Take it easy, Abel thought, forcing his finger off the trigger of the rifle. He didn't lower it from his chest. “No sir. Phone's out too. Was hoping somebody called you fellas.”
“No need - we've got sensors to tell us where the problems are.”
The other man, the one who hadn't spoken yet, was looking past him toward the house. Or at least it looked that way. Since Abel couldn't see much more than their profile with the lights behind them like this, he wasn't sure. He stepped closer, angling his body to block the view. “Well, that's fancy.”
“Yep. I just wanted you folks to know we were out here working, so we didn't spook you.”
“Thanks for that.” The tension in Abel’s body made him want to scream, or punch somebody. He pushed down the urge. “I should let you men get to work.”
“We shouldn't be long. It's a regular problem. We're pretty good at fixing this end of the line.”
“I'll bet.” Abel forced a chuckle and watched them walk away. His hands itched to raise the gun and fire, dropping them as they walked. He didn't need outside interference right now, not until he found Quinn and got her safely out of the way. What if she came back up the mountain using the road? She would walk right into them, and that would be a big problem.
Abel had already dragged the dog's body around to the barn, and he figured he had time before he needed to move Ethan's body. He had even considered waiting for Quinn. It was her husband, after all. He could make her help him with it. But if Quinn came back too soon, he would most likely have to kill both of the linemen. That'd be two more bodies.
Shit was starting to pile up.
He sat on the tops step, above Ethan Galloway's body, with the rifle across his knees. He watched them walk back to the truck and go to work. They backed the truck up a little, to get it closer to the pole they needed. One of the men, he couldn't tell which one, climbed into the bucket and it started to lift. The other man climbed out of the cab and went to watch him. Abel could see the faint outline of the bucket man's safety lines, and he wondered if he could aim well enough to shoot one. That got a chuckle out of him, but he knew damned well he was too tired to even consider that.
The drink was wearing off, too, which made him feel irritable and tired. He didn't plan on any of this, and bed was starting to sound like a pretty damned good idea, but now he had too much of a mess to clean up before he could think of sleeping. “No rest for the wicked,” he muttered. Then he laughed, partly because the thought was funny and partly because who the hell said stuff like that in real life? It was just a bad...whatchamacallit...cliché.
The linemen's voices filtered out to him from time to time, but he didn't bother trying to listen. They were just working, getting the job done. He could admire that. For a moment he remembered what that felt like - to come home after an honest day's work and really relax, knowing he had done his job and done it as well as anybody could. It was a good feeling, but his last experience had been long enough ago that he barely remembered.
A stronger memory was the day he had walked away from that job, saying fuck it to everything that ever mattered to him. Right now, he couldn't remember what had set him off, but he knew it was bad. One of the problems with coasting through the days was forgetting things, and he'd been doing that a lot lately. Too much. He needed to get back on the horse, but every time he thought about it he just took another drink and turned his thoughts to something else.
The wind gusted hard against the side of his exposed face and he realized how cold he was, sitting here. He pushed up off the porch and shook himself. Then he looked down at the body under the snow, looked up again, at the men fifty yards away, and decided to go inside. The odds of them coming back over here were almost nonexistent. Why would they? They wanted to get home as soon as they could.
There was no need to sit here and guard a dead man.
He started to go into the house, then paused when he remembered the other reason he was out here - to make sure Quinn didn't come up the road, find the men working, and cause a fuss. He turned his head and looked that way, down toward Rick and Patty's place. It was damned dark, and he doubted he would see her coming anyway.
The wind kicked up again and one of the men let out a curse. Abel felt like it was burning his face.
Forget it. He was going inside. If the woman showed up, he'd deal with her then. He shot the linemen a salute that they couldn't see and stepped back through the front door.
It wasn't much warmer in here, and Abel thought it might help if he blocked the door. He wasn't sure how until he remembered how his Momma used to hang the blankets over the doorway to keep the heat in the main room of their house. Abel’s bedroom would freeze, but the cold sure as hell got him out of bed in the mornings. He smiled at the memory and went to find a blanket.
He was just coming back from the bedroom with both arms full of comforter when the lights came back on. Good. That made the waiting a little easier, anyway. The linemen would leave, he could stoke up the fire and wait in comfort for Quinn to come on back home. He wasn't sure how he knew she was coming, but he knew it, sure as he knew his own name.
He was in the kitchen, headed for the front door, when he heard a loud thump and then a shout. It sounded like one of the linemen, but...dammit, it was way too close to the house.
He dropped the comforter on the kitchen counter and headed that way. When he went to the back of the house he had leaned the rifle against the recliner's arm, and now he grabbed it and kept goi
ng, through the room and out the door, not even slowing down.
When he stepped onto the porch, he stopped dead.
The lineman who had spoken to him earlier was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking down at the body of Ethan Galloway. He was brushing off his hands, and it looked to Abel like the man had tripped over the corpse. The lights in and around the house blazed brightly, and when the lineman looked up his eyes were huge with fear and disbelief. “Dude!” he said. “There's a -.”
Abel shot him in the head.
He watched the man fall like it happened in slow motion. At the same time, from somewhere farther off, he heard the other lineman yell. When the first one hit the bottom step and then the ground and lay still, he turned his attention that way.
The second lineman was down from the bucket, and now he yanked the passenger door open and tried to climb inside. He was wearing a set of coveralls that looked like the kind a mechanic wore in the winter. They were padded somewhat to protect from the cold, and that made his movements slow and imprecise. Abel stepped to the end of the porch and took aim.
The rifle clicked when he pulled the trigger. Damn it.
The second lineman was still fighting to get into the truck while Abel dug into his pants pocket for more ammo, while he loaded the gun and aimed it, and even when he took the shot. Of course, by now all he could see was the man's back, but that was enough. He fired, watched the coveralls jerk forward, saw the windshield turn red, and fired again.
The man stopped moving. Everything stopped moving. The sudden silence hurt Abel’s head. He lowered the rifle, watched the two men for any sign of movement, and went back into the house to finish hanging his blanket.
The truck was going to be a problem, one he didn't feel like worrying about right now. He knew he should get rid of it, but there would be time enough for that later. If he left now, he might miss the big event - Quinn coming back.
In that regard, the truck might even help him out. She might see the truck, think help had arrived, and show her hand a little sooner than she otherwise would. She would walk right into his sights, and she wouldn’t even know it until it was too late.
Chapter Eighteen
Quinn didn't bother looking for fresh clothes. She grabbed the coat from beside the door, called for Retro to stay by her side, and left the trailer.
Plunging back into the woods, she immediately felt exhausted. The drink had helped a little, but her adrenaline had used up all those helpful extra calories in a hurry.
She had toyed with the idea of taking the road back to her house - the terrain was a lot more forgiving - but she didn't want to run across Abel out in the open. If she was going to become the hunter, she was going to have to stalk him for a change and take him by surprise.
It was an odd feeling, this new strength she felt inside. Most of her was still in shock and praying that this whole night had just been a terrible dream, but other than that, she was driven by a small spark of anger. This was the Catch that she had avoided her whole life, since the moment she saw her baby brother's pale, slack face, and now it was staring her in the face.
She had seen what the Catch had done to her own mother, and she suspected that if she didn't face this thing on this night, the same thing would happen to her. She might survive, but she would waste the rest of her days hiding from the pain and waiting for somebody or something to come and fix what had gone so wrong.
The idea of it made her sick to her stomach, and she knew she could never let herself become that woman. If she didn't fight back now, she might as well walk up to Abel Welch and let him shoot her in the head. That would be a better fate than fading into the shadow her own mother had become.
So she went back into the woods, moving more deliberately than she had on the way down. She didn't want him knowing she was on her way. She didn't want to show her hand before she needed to in order to take him down. Most importantly, she had already decided that she needed to get to the barn before he noticed that she was back on the premises. She was going to need a weapon and she didn't dare hope that she could get to Ethan and the key without him seeing her.
She was halfway up the hill when she heard the gunshots.
Confused, she stopped mid-stride, with one hand firmly on Retro's neck. She felt his muscles vibrating under his fur as he fought hard to keep himself from barking. The woods were black as night, and she didn't dare turn on her flashlight, just in case. That gunshot probably meant that Abel was still at the house, but she couldn't be sure. It had sounded that far away, but these hills and hollows had a way of changing sounds. He could be just over the next rise, or he could be halfway down the main road - she just couldn't be sure enough to use the light and show her position.
The snow was coming down hard. She had noticed it when she stepped out of the trailer, but here under the trees it wasn't accumulating too quickly. She was still soaked, still cold, but at least she could follow her own trail back up the mountain.
She hoped with every painful step that she wasn't making a terrible mistake. She hoped that whatever god that existed was with her. She hoped that she could figure out a way to kill Abel Welch before he could kill her.
If that was even his plan. She hoped so, because the alternative would force her to take her own life, and that went against every instinct in her body. She wouldn't allow him to touch her, though, and she wouldn't allow him to take possession of the home she was building with Ethan. Those memories were too pure, too precious to let him ruin them.
She was breathing hard again by the time she topped the far side of the ravine and started down into the deepest part. Her chest hurt from a combination of exertion and tension. What would she find at home? She hadn't heard any more gunshots.
The fact that Burns hadn't found her by now told her that he was dead. That added to her hurt, because she knew that his death was her fault. She tried to remember that he had died for her, and he had died willingly, but that wasn't much comfort, especially when she noticed at odd moments that Retro would stop what he was doing and look around, like he missed his big brother. It broke her heart every time he did it and she tried to give him extra scratches, but she had more important things to do. “Just wait, boy,” she told him, gasping a little, “As soon as we get out of this I'll give you all the treats and the toys in the world. Maybe a new brother, too.”
He panted up at her and turned his attention back to finding the way.
The clouds were finally breaking just a little, enough to let the moon shine blue across the snow but not enough to help her see all that much. The same tree cover that kept the bulk of the snow off her head also blocked the moonlight. If Abel was watching this way for her, that was a good thing, but it sure didn't help her navigate a safe trail. Once she got across the ravine, she had to slow down and watch her footing on every slope. More than once she slipped and landed on a knee or her butt. She climbed to the top wishing for a hot bath and a long night's sleep in her own bed.
She decided that she would get it, too, or die trying.
At the top of the ravine again, on the near side this time, she looked in the direction of the house but then turned away. Retro looked too. He even started that direction, but she didn't want him to do that. “Come on, boy,” she said, patting her leg. “Let's go.”
He ducked his head and followed.
She wondered if he could smell Burns from here. Did dogs know about death? Did they mourn?
She mentally mapped the house, land, and barns as she walked, making a plan. She didn't want to be scrambling when she finally faced Abel and she didn't want to be unarmed, either. She needed to move around for a little while without being seen. Going around the rear of the property, she would be able to sneak up to the barn without being seen, unless Abel was behind the barn waiting for her. She didn't think that was a possibility because it was so cold out, and the odds of her showing up here again were low. Why would she, since she'd already gotten away?
She wondered what the
gunshots had been, then decided there was time enough to worry about that later. If she was lucky, Abel had killed himself, and all this work was for nothing. She didn't think she was lucky, though. Better safe than sorry, Quinn.
The land was flat behind the barn, but she still had to be careful. There was a lot of deadfall back here, branches and even whole trees that were too skinny or knotted for the loggers to pick up, and any one of them could trip her up and cause her to break her leg or arm if she fell wrong. She picked her way, kept Retro close, and finally, just past the final line of trees she saw the wide field stretched out until it met the back of the barn.
It was dark against the white snow, but the lights inside shone brightly through the rear windows openings. She was glad she'd left them on for a moment, then changed her mind when she realized that the lights posed a problem.
If Abel looked toward the barn, he'd be able to see her moving around in there. She couldn't turn out the lights, either, because he would notice that, too.
Wouldn't he?
She paused at the edge of the field and watched for movement. When she spotted the white truck with the circle logo on it her heart began to race, but then she picked out more details and saw a leg hanging out of the passenger door. It wasn't moving. Underneath the foot, there was an irregular black spot. Blood.
That explained the gunshots and the lights.
The enormity of what Abel had done stole her breath, and instead of moving toward the barn, she sat down behind a tree a pulled her knees in, waiting for her heart to calm down.
Was he really planning to just kill anyone who came anywhere near the house? Was he that crazy? If so, she should just turn around right now and hike through the woods to the next mountain. Except that she was already running on fumes and with hungry coyotes on the move, she wasn't sure she'd even make it.
Besides, this was her home. No running, no whimpering in the shadows until help came. That could take a week. She needed to deal with Abel take back her home, and bury her husband.