Chapter Twelve

Wrath Cometh

J oan shakily grabbed the flashlight from where it was mounted on the side of the garden door, flipped it on, and walked toward the growls. Max and another dog faced each other, their low snarls filling the night. Their bodies were tightly coiled, and neither backed down.

She used the flashlight to scan the area, looking for the other dogs. None were in sight, but the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. They could come from anywhere. Rage or not, Joan knew she was in over her head. She also knew someone would die tonight, and she didn’t want it to be her.

She tilted the flashlight toward the dog facing Max. He was large, but that’s not what drew her attention as she stepped closer. White foam bubbled from his jaws, and long tendrils of saliva swung from side to side as he growled. He took a strange, shaky step to the side and lowered his nose, then raised it. He followed this by shaking his head in an odd manner. Suddenly, his entire body trembled like he was having some sort of seizure. For some odd reason, it reminded Joan of the last time she saw Carrie. The dog’s crazed eyes jerked around and landed on her for a moment before they returned to Max. His bared fangs and tight, rippling muscles showed the fight was already on.

Joan’s thoughts went into overdrive as her focus snapped back and forth between the two. Adrenaline coursed through her body. Time seemed to stretch; each second felt impossibly long as her mind frantically tried to grasp the pieces of the puzzle. The pulse in her temples kept a pounding rhythm, her heartbeat thundering in her ears as the world blurred and sharpened in alternating waves of panic and focus.

Every sensory detail felt magnified. Sights, sounds, and smells bombarded her brain, distracting it from the crucial task at hand. Joan grasped at fragmented thoughts, scanning through past knowledge, trying to make sense of what she saw. The answer was just out of reach, tangled in fear and confusion.

Then, suddenly, she had a mental snap, like the gears finally locked into place and the information came together in a flash of clarity as the fog lifted.

Carrie’s trembling and jerky motions. The foam at the dog’s mouth.

Rabies.

Suddenly, the rabid dog sprang at Max. Guttural snarls cut the air, and their jaws snapped at each other before they collided. The force of the impact sent them rolling head over tail. They recovered instantly, twisting and turning as they tried to gain a grip on the other. The strange dog did a crazy lurch sideways again.

Joan didn’t think. She charged in, her shotgun raised over her head like a wild woman. Max backed off; seemingly like they planned it. She swung downward with everything she had, striking the dog’s back. He yelped, then snapped in her direction as he turned to lunge at her. Max grabbed him by the side of his throat and began shaking with enough force to lift the other dog off its feet. There was a short struggle before the dog’s body went limp. Max held on as his deep growls dwindled.

Panting and trying to regain her equilibrium, Joan considered what she knew about rabies. Not much. No one spoke or even thought about rabies anymore. What she remembered came from her childhood over sixty years before. Foaming at the mouth and hydrophobia were the obvious signs. Then she remembered that once outward signs of rabies appeared, there was no cure. Was it still that way?

Carrie.

She was dead. No, Joan couldn’t accept that without seeing it for herself. Carrie and her mother had to be alive.

What if all of Jeb’s dogs were in some stage of the disease? There had to be over a hundred of them. She doubted he ever vaccinated any of them for anything.

Fear caught up to her, and an iron grip squeezed her chest, pulling tighter with every breath. Her heart pounded so violently it had to find a way out. Sweat trickled down her back, and her hands trembled as she gazed into the night, feeling the other dogs watching and waiting. Every nerve in her body screamed for her to hide and escape what she knew was out there.

Her mind cycled through worst-case scenarios, amplifying every possible horror until even the most remote possibility felt inevitable. Mental whispers were drowned out by the roar of anxiety. Time warped, slowing down so that every second led up to the moment of choice. Her stomach twisted into knots.

Willow floated in her mind, sweet precious child. No, not Willow, Carrie. Joan’s confusion blended their images inside her head. Her heart couldn’t tell one from the other.

Slowly, reason returned, and the fog of fear lifted. A rabid dog had bitten Max. It or another infected dog had bitten one of Jeb’s sons.

Joan had no idea what the rabies protocol was if a dog had its shots other than confinement. She knew she shouldn’t touch the dead animal. She had to get Max away from it so she could clean his wounds.

Jeb could deal with his kid. Joan’s concern was for her best friend.

“Good boy, Max. Come.” She hit her palm against the side of her leg. Max turned in her direction, his jaws still clamped on the other dog’s throat. He whined, and she called him again. “Max, come.”

His mouth opened. There was a soft thud when the body hit the dirt. Max walked to her side; his eyes glued to hers. Joan went to her knees. He pushed his entire body into her, almost toppling her over.

“You’re such a good boy,” she told him softly as she ran her shaky hands over his fur. She probably shouldn’t touch him either, but she didn’t care. She let the fear go. It could and most likely would come back, but she would face it.

Max’s front leg was wet. She lifted her hand away and knew it was blood. “Okay, boy, we need to go inside so I can see if the blood is yours or his. You did good,” she assured him. He followed her to the house, her hand on his neck steadying them both.

Joan turned the corner of the house and sucked in a deep breath. Lucy. She walked around the truck. There were four punctured tires and windshield damage. It was fixable, but it ramped up her anger to rage again. She took several deep breaths. Lucy was a truck. She could be fixed. It didn’t matter. Joan had to look away.

The front security door on her house and the main door were shot off the hinges. Items from inside were dragged out and littered the ground. Most of it destroyed. Joan carefully stepped over items and moved around larger pieces of furniture to get inside.

It was worse.

Bags of food storage were torn open, and cans tossed everywhere. They’d smashed a bottle of olive oil. A slick, glossy film seemed to cover everything. It was too much to deal with, and the mess wasn’t a priority, it was just something to keep her rage up.

Gazing around, she realized she couldn’t close the front door behind her for security. If the Hoggs or the dogs came back, she would be in trouble. This had to be quick.

Max followed her into the bathroom this time. She flipped the light switch, but it didn’t work. Jeb or his sons had most likely pulled the wires out of the fuse box. She propped the flashlight on the counter and turned on the water. She took a large towel from the cabinet and wet it before resituating the flashlight on the toilet seat so she could see Max.

“This might hurt,” she told him after she sat down on the floor. Her fingers still trembled.

He had a small flap of skin on his snout. It wasn’t bleeding, but it was a puncture wound caused by a bite. Max stayed perfectly still as she examined every inch of him. She cleaned his fur with soap and water, then poured peroxide over the actual bites she found. Thankfully, most of the blood belonged to the other dog. She ran her fingers through Max’s fur one last time to be sure she hadn’t missed anything. Leaning in, she took a moment to breathe in his scent.

Joan needed this, even knowing she didn’t have much time. They could die tonight. It was a very real possibility. After a sharp shake of her head, she moved, grabbed the flashlight, and faced the mirror.

There were deep lines etched into her forehead, and her eyebrows were drawn together in a tight furrow. The crow’s feet and deeper shadows around her eyes reflected exhaustion. Her lips pressed into a thin, taut line, and the corners of her mouth pulled downward as she stared at herself. Her once-brown hair had been straight, and now it was a mass of white curls that she’d allowed to grow because getting it cut was a pain in the butt.

She leaned in and stared into her hazel eyes. Wrath and determination stared back. Joan had never killed a person. Before her son-in-law, she’d never considered that she could. She hadn’t been there for her daughter Sammy. She wasn’t there for Willow until it was too late. It could already be too late for Carrie, and Joan refused to think about that possibility. It was time to fight back. She should have stopped her son-in-law. She’d buried her head in the sand, but she knew the signs of abuse, and it started with control. Neither Willow nor Carrie deserved the life they were born into. Joan was done minding her own business when a child’s life was on the line.

Her attention turned to Max, and she crouched down beside him. She might lose her best friend tonight. She didn’t think she would have survived Jeb Hogg this long if it weren’t for Max.

“I need your help,” she said. “It’s Carrie. We need to find her. Her mom too. I can’t do it alone, and this is dangerous.” He stared back, intelligent brown eyes telling her he would do whatever she asked. He whined and pushed his head into her leg.

The Hoggs abused their dogs. Joan had taken more pictures of their atrocities the year before. The sheriff’s department, after several lawsuits filed by Jeb, stayed clear of the family. Her new evidence did nothing.

She took a deep breath and allowed the fear to fade even more. A child’s life was at stake, and this ended tonight. Maybe there were advances in battling rabies that she didn’t know about, and Carrie could be saved. Joan would hold onto the thought and do whatever it took.

She stood among her damaged things that meant little right now. Her thoughts tumbled around what had to be done and how to do it. She would take the fight to them. It was the only way Carrie and Susan had a chance. Help wouldn’t arrive for hours, and she couldn’t wait.

Joan was in excellent shape despite her age. The deep hatred she felt for Jeb pulsed within her brain. She allowed the rage to build further. It would give her the strength to do what had to be done.

Jeb had added a large metal barn for the dogs about two years before. She could no longer see the daily abuse that had burned into her soul. Deputy Berger warned her to stay away from the Hoggs. His warning hadn’t stopped her. Due to her occasional night surveillance operations, she knew their property almost as well as she knew hers.

Joan pushed a wisp of hair from her face and spotted one of her ball caps on the floor. After twisting her hair onto the crown of her head, she pulled the cap over it. The dark color would help keep her white hair hidden.

The house no longer felt like home. It had been violated. She knew it could be cleaned, but it didn’t help the sadness at seeing so many of her things destroyed. She reminded herself to focus. Carrie was all that mattered now.

Joan’s closet suffered the least damage. They’d dragged some stuff out, but most of her things were still inside. She located a long-sleeved black pullover and black cargo pants with plenty of pockets that she liked to hike in.

The rack of knives she kept on the kitchen counter was gone. She had a hunting knife in the root cellar that would work. She also had bear spray if they hadn’t found it. She’d ordered the stuff after her first mountain lion sighting. She went into the bathroom and pulled the can from the back corner of the cabinet. She didn’t care that Dale Berger warned her she would spray herself if she used it. The deputy could go to hell.

A twelve-by-twelve strong box was in the back of her closet, hidden behind a stack of clothes, and they hadn’t found it. She carried it with her when she went for the hunting knife. She left the strong box behind. Deputy Berger knew about the underground hideaway. Everything Willow would need was in the box. Joan didn’t like the deputy, but she had no choice but to trust him if she didn’t survive. She probably should have been nicer to him through the years.

Joan didn’t think about death as she prepared. Her life no longer mattered. She thought of the suffering they’d put the dogs through. She thought of the bruises on Carrie and her mother. With crystal clearness, Joan knew it was Jeb Hogg and his sons or Carrie and Susan.

Joan had been on this path for a long time.