Chapter Fourteen

Hogg Flesh, Hogg Blood

J oan thought about taking Max’s leash but decided against it. If things turned as bad as she expected, the ability to run away could save him. His collar was thick leather and would protect his throat, so it stayed on.

She found one of her metal water bottles and washed it. The thing fit perfectly in her side leg pocket. She highly doubted any of Jeb’s dogs were friendly, but she loaded another pocket with Max’s kibble. If a dog showed signs of rabies, she had no trouble putting it down, but it was easier to picture harming Jeb over his dogs. In Joan’s current mood, she would do whatever it took.

She dug through her medical supplies and stuffed two stretch bandages into a pocket. She also grabbed matches before upending things on her floor to find any other item she thought she might need. Jeb said that burning down her house would bring the authorities. Burning his would do the same, and she placed two lighters and a small box of matches she used to light her wood-burning stove into a separate pocket. Joan holstered her handgun after being sure it had one in the chamber ready to fire. She didn’t own shotgun slugs, but the buckshot would do a lot of damage and cover a wider area. She mentally listed everything she could possibly need and added another flashlight that had twine wrapped around the handle and might come in handy.

She was ready.

“Let’s go find Carrie,” she told Max. He licked her hand before he took off and ran outside. He was halfway to the wash when she caught up to him. He hiked with Joan, and he knew where Carrie lived.

Joan realized Max had known something was wrong with his young friend. She had no idea if he scented it or if it was Carrie’s odd behavior, but he knew. He’d warned her about danger before, and she needed to pay closer attention when he acted strangely. If she had understood, none of this might have happened.

She shut down her feelings of guilt.

Clouds traveled above her, offering glimpses of the full moon. Its glow allowed her to see without using her flashlight most of the time. There was a section on her property where high canyon walls blocked the moonlight, and she had to turn the flashlight on, so she didn’t break a leg. She shut it off as soon as she could see again.

The hike gave her time to think. Her city handyman ability was little more than changing out a lightbulb. Now she knew about solar energy, wells, electrical wiring, voltage, and amperage. Most of the knowledge came from YouTube videos. All of it was for Willow. Joan wanted her to have a place to call her own when she got out of prison. Jeb had destroyed the safety net Joan had built for her granddaughter, and one way or another, it ended tonight.

Would Willow understand why Joan was taking on Jeb? She felt Willow would eventually forgive her if she didn’t survive. Her granddaughter had to be safe so she could live her entire life out here if she wanted to.

Fifteen minutes into the hike, a low rumbling growl came from the bushes. Max’s fur stood on end. He answered the threat with his own low rumble. They were too close to the Hoggs’ place for Joan to turn on the flashlight or fire her weapon. A dog fight could alert them too. The bushes rustled, and her heart pounded.

A reddish-brown dog stood between Joan and her rescue operation. Another one, black this time, came from the opposite side. They snarled at each other before turning crazed eyes on Joan and Max.

Rabies. The word swelled inside her head again. She lifted her shotgun like a baseball bat. The dogs attacked without warning. Max rammed the lighter one. The black dog made it past him and launched himself at Joan. She swung. The shotgun hit him with a solid thunk, but it didn’t even slow him down. Joan fell backward on impact. Her adrenaline was too high to feel pain. He grabbed her leg below the knee, his teeth sinking deep.

It almost felt surreal.

The stabbing ache was relentless. The pressure was far stronger than she expected. It felt as if he were crushing bone.

For a moment, panic took over. The realization of the attack was suffocating. Her instincts screamed to defend herself, overriding the pain to snap her from the paralyzing fight-or-flight decision that was too late. Joan lifted her upper body and punched the dog’s head with her right fist. It did nothing. She remembered the knife right as her leg was tugged, pulling her away from the other dogs.

She could hear them fighting. Max had to survive.

Suddenly, the knife was in her hand, and she drove it into the side of the dog’s neck over and over. He didn’t whimper or cry. His teeth stayed clamped on her leg, biting deep. He wouldn’t die, and Joan had no idea how much more she could take.

Suddenly, Max was there, his fury precisely what was needed. The injured dog didn’t stand a chance. Max rammed him with the force of a sledgehammer, and he released her leg. Joan sank into the earth beneath her, hitting soft sand. She gasped for breath. Burning pain shot through her leg. After the dog stopped moving, Max crawled to her side and whined softly. Sniffing her face, he let her know he was okay as he assured himself of the same. She lifted one arm and touched his bloody muzzle.

“Give me a minute,” she whispered as she took a mental snapshot of her injuries. She bent her bitten leg slowly. It was still attached, and the thought made her smile despite what she had just been through. “Of course it was attached,” she chided herself softly.

“There are more dogs,” she whispered to Max. “I need to get up.” The words were for her this time.

She was in the middle of the wash, which was about twenty-five yards across. Too far to drag herself to one side or the other. She dug in her pockets for the bandages she’d thankfully brought. After a few minutes, she sat up. Gently, she pushed Max away.

“I’m okay, you big lug. Thank you.”

She knew that looking at the wounds was not a good idea. She used one ace bandage to wrap around her upper calf, pressing the pant material into the bites. It hurt, but she had to find Carrie and her mother. This couldn’t stop her. She wiped tears from her eyes and tried to shove the pain into its own box.

“Some tough gal I am,” she said to Max. He whined. “I’ll look at you next, but I doubt I can do much.” He had to be okay.

Joan had no idea how long she stayed there. Max had more blood in his fur and a nasty bite on his front leg, though it didn’t seem to faze him yet. Her biggest test was getting to her feet and taking a step. The dog had shaken its head while clamping down on her leg, and she knew it was more than a simple bite. There was likely muscle and tendon damage. Still, she took that first step and then another. She loosened the bandage slightly because her toes felt numb.

After a few shaky steps, she could put all her weight on the injured one, pain be damned. Her shotgun rested a few feet away, and she picked it up.

“You coming with me?” she asked Max.

The look in his eyes gave her more strength. He would protect Carrie just like he did her.

She could walk, but the injury slowed her progress. She also stopped every few minutes and listened to the night noises. There were more dogs on the prowl.

Her injured leg would make climbing the ridge difficult. She would crawl if needed. Nothing would stop her.

“We’re doing this slowly,” she told Max when she could see the jagged rocky hill they had to hike.

It took twice as long as usual to make it to the top. Finally, she could see the Hogg homestead below. She made her way to the bushes she’d used before to get her photos. She always took the time to scrub her footprints away with a branch before she left. This time it didn’t matter, but the hiding spot was a good area to look at the house and make a solid plan once she knew where the men were.

Going to her stomach, she slid through the dirt and positioned herself. She rested the binoculars beside her before she called Max to join her. It took him a fraction of the time it took her to slide in. Max panted softly, and the sound comforted her. Joan lifted the field glasses and scanned the area.

The campfire burned in the pit like it always had. With the unending supply of shaggy-bark wood littered throughout the ranch, Jeb had all the free firewood he needed. Joan resented the fire. Jeb used it to hide his crimes.

She checked the wrapping on her leg. Part of it was wet, but she wasn’t in danger of bleeding to death. The thought of rabies freaked her out some. Both the reddish-brown and black dog showed signs. She would get the shots and be okay. Max would stay with her while he was in isolation. She could do this.

After her mental pep talk, she panned the binoculars from barn to house. Nothing moved but the flames in the fire. She did it again from the opposite direction.

Jeb stepped from the shadows into a streak of silver moonlight, his face stony, unreadable. The brindle moved at his side, silent and watchful, muscles tense as if sensing the weight of what was to come. In Jeb’s arms, his shotgun rested easily, an extension of his cruelty.

Without warning, he raised the weapon, its muzzle now trained on the worn wooden porch of his home. The movement was swift but decisive, as if every muscle in his body had been preparing for this single act. Joan felt her pulse surge as she searched the dim porch, heart pounding as her gaze fell upon a figure standing there, caught in the starkness of her binocular lens.

It was one of Jeb's sons. His posture was rigid, as if even the slightest twitch might shatter him. The silence of the night split as the shotgun roared, its deafening crack tearing through the stillness, rolling through Joan’s ears. In a breathless moment, the figure on the porch seemed to hang suspended. Then, he crumpled. It was as if time had stretched, slowing the brutal descent. The soft glow of the moon caught him as he fell, casting a shadow across the wooden boards.

Joan held her breath. Then, slowly, the echo of the shot faded, swallowed by the night, leaving only the quiet, haunting rustle of the breeze.

Jeb Hogg murdered his own flesh and blood.