Chapter 37 #3
A scream cuts through the woods, emanating from where the small cabins are.
It sounds like a woman, but the scream isn’t for her; it’s something otherworldly, a sound I’ve never heard before.
Two quick gunshots ring out, and then the scream magnifies in volume, a hundredfold over what it just was.
Neither of us needs to see the two small bodies lying limp in the grass to know exactly what just happened.
Another cry pierces the air before a man yells.
A gunshot rings out and the world is silent once again.
A lineage lying upon the earth, the only place it will ever exist again, erased in seconds.
Tessa looks at me, tears pouring out of her in silent streams as she motions toward the sound, as if to ask, Should we go do something?
I shake my head and bite hard into my tongue, trying to channel my focus on the here and now, the pain grounding me to a spot on the porch.
I tell myself, There’s nothing you can do for them now, over and over.
I motion with my hands for us to scout around the house, and we check the windows for any signs of burners and meet back where we started.
“Where do you think they all are?” Tessa asks.
“I don’t know. They have to be around here, though. Where would everyone else be?”
We slink into the house; the kitchen looks as though a bomb went off. Tables are overturned; plates and utensils are shattered and strewn across the floor. Our boots crunch over the fragments as we try to avoid them without success.
We hear a loud bump from the master bedroom. Muffled cries escape from under the door. Immediately we both plant our backs to the wall on either side of it, moving slowly, listening for any other sounds. More muffled cries are followed by bumping on the floor, but no voices, and no footsteps.
I bring my gun up and point to the door handle, signaling for Tessa to grab it. I hold up three fingers and rhythmically bring them down.
Three.
Two.
One.
Tessa pushes the door in as I swing my gun around the frame, scanning the room from left to right, top to bottom, in seconds. But there are no burners in here, and then we see the source of the noise.
Tied up in the corner, back-to-back, with gags in their mouths, are Elaine and my aunt. Julie’s in bad shape, blood running down her head, like she put up a fight and was beaten for it.
Tessa and I race to them, quickly removing their gags and untying their hands.
“Are you two okay?”
“Julie’s hurt,” Elaine answers in a whisper, coughing from the dryness of her mouth.
“Let me see,” I say, turning my attention to my aunt, inspecting the top of her head.
It’s a bloody mess, but I find the source of it, a nasty open gash a few inches in length sliced across it, like the skin split due to a heavy blow.
I examine her eyes, noticing they’re not responding well. She’s clearly concussed.
“Where’s my mom?” Tessa asks.
Elaine shakes her head and points toward the bed, her eyes swimming with tears.
Confused, Tessa rises slowly, approaching the bed as though a creature is ready to crawl out from under it and drag her into the darkness. Then I see the look on her face change.
“Mom!” She can’t help herself, yelling the word as she rushes around the side of the mattress and drops to her knees.
I follow, my heart breaking at the sight. Tessa’s mom lies on the ground, a small pool of blood beneath her head, her hair matted and wet from the sticky liquid.
“Oh my God! Mom!” Tessa shakes her, trying to make her respond.
Grabbing Tessa’s shoulders, I pull her off. “Easy. We don’t know how hurt she is, so don’t shake her, okay?” Tessa nods and slides to the floor, leaning her back against the bed.
I place my fingers gently on Meredith’s neck, checking for a pulse.
After a few seconds, my heart nearly stops, a mirror of what my fingers are feeling.
Panic settles in, but I keep it deep within, not wanting to alarm Tessa.
I hold my fingers in place, keeping up the ruse that I’m counting out her heart rate, the sadness welling up so strongly inside me that I’m not sure how I’ll be able to tell her that she’ll never speak to her mother again.
But suddenly, a tiny bit of pressure makes her skin rise up into the pads of my fingers, sinking back down for nearly two seconds, and then rising again. Oh, thank God. I turn to Tessa, nodding in quick bursts. “She’s okay. Her pulse is very faint, but it’s there.”
Tessa dives onto her mother, holding her in her arms and brushing the hair out of her face. Aunt Julie and Elaine stand over us, tears in their eyes and hands covering their mouths.
“Where’s everyone else?”
“I don’t know. Dale and Jimmy ran out into the yard shooting when the men showed up, but I didn’t see anyone else,” Elaine explains.
Aunt Julie cries from the pain of her wound and from the unknown of whether her children and her husband are alive and well.
I know it’s not a consolation for the rest who are missing, but I tell her, “Greg is safe, by the way. He’s up in the sniper tower with Molly. They have the lookout secured, and they’re watching down on us.”
Her wet, crumpled face, saturated with blood, lights up. “Like guardian angels.”
“Yeah,” I say, thinking we’re gonna need more of those if we’re going to survive this. “Are you two gonna be okay in here? Tessa and I need to go find the others.” I turn to see Tessa staring up at me, a torrent of sadness and worry spilling out of her as she shakes her head.
“I can’t leave my mom,” she cries.
As much as I want her to come with me and finish this, I know, in this state, she won’t be any good anyway, which puts us both at risk.
“Okay. Stay then. Keep everyone in here safe.”
“I’ll come with you.” Aunt Julie takes a sudden step forward but nearly topples over, catching herself on the bedpost. Elaine steadies her and helps her sit.
“No, Aunt Julie. You’re too injured. Just stay here.”
My aunt slumps her shoulders and slowly nods. She doesn’t want to agree with me, but she also knows it’s for the best.
“Are you all going to be fine in here?” I ask the room.
“The real question is, Are you going to be fine out there?” Elaine says, reaching for my hand. She holds it and pats it with her other.
I take a deep breath and exhale at the prospect of facing this on my own, but somewhere deep inside me, I sense I will be. It might be pure delusion, but I can still feel it.
“Yeah,” I say.
“I know you will. You were the strongest little girl I ever met, and now you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known.” Elaine gives me an encouraging nod and lets go of my hand.
I smile and tell them to take care of each other before leaving the room and making my way back out into the kitchen.
I debate whether to check upstairs or downstairs first. Upstairs is noisier; the stairs creak more and there are a lot of corners, but I have windows I can jump out of if needed, and there’s more light. Downstairs has the armory and it’s quiet, but it also leaves me trapped.
I decide the armory is the spot my dad or Uncle Jimmy likely would have gone to, not wanting the burners to take it over, so I descend into the depths of the house, keeping my noise to a minimum.
The closer I get to the bottom of the steps, the louder a pair of voices become. I recognize neither of them, and I slowly poke my head around the corner, hoping to get a glimpse of the scene before being noticed.
Two men stand near the entrance to the tunnel leading back to the armory, chatting it up like they’re on watch duty at a mall.
Scanning the rest of the room, I see one of the cell doors is closed, bloody handprints stained across several of the bars.
My stomach drops as I wonder who’s locked in there, and whether they’re alive.
I grab two of my throwing stars, tried and true for taking down people quietly, and palm them.
After a deep breath, I emerge around the corner, hurling the objects one after the other into the burners.
The first one strikes the man on the right directly in his open mouth.
A second before, he had started laughing at a joke the other burner told, and now the glint of silver disappears into the blackness of his throat before a stream of blood begins to pour out of him.
He chokes, his body trying to dislodge the object from his throat, his tongue flailing as he grabs at his neck.
The burner heaves up air, only accelerating his choking on his own blood.
The other burner takes the star directly in the chin. My aim was a little high and now he looks like a member of the Mursi Tribe, the glinting, pointed disc jutting from his face as he lets out an agonizing scream.
With my knife in hand, I sprint at him, my sudden movement catching his eye.
He’s bewildered by my presence and the searing pain I’ve inflicted and almost forgets to respond.
His expression changes from a glare of surprise to one of anger.
Stamping his feet, he tries to rip out the object from the bone.
At the last second, he snaps to attention and raises his weapon, pointing it at me.
I have too long of a distance to close, my outstretched arm with knife in hand is still two full body lengths away from making contact with his skin, and I have no choice but to throw it at him.
It flips over on itself, tumbling through the air like a gymnast, before the handle smacks into his forehead, sending him reeling back.
The blade clangs against the concrete floor.
The burner brings his gun back up, but the second of time I bought myself allows me to slide forward.
Dipping below the gun, I punch him directly in the balls.
His hands involuntarily grab for them as he lets the gun drop to his side, the shoulder strap stopping it from hitting the ground.
I sweep the back of his leg, making his kneecaps smash into the floor and his arms splay out, catching himself on all fours.
Jumping onto him, I plant both of my feet on his back, riding his spine to the ground like a skateboard.
His chin ornament drives into the concrete, and a muffled scream emits from his sealed mouth.
I raise my boot and stomp his head. The structure caves and cracks, like an egg that’s been dropped onto the floor.
A pool of red spills out, the yolk having been released from the shell.
“Casey!?” a familiar voice exclaims.