Chapter Sixteen

Relentless Vengeance

T he thought of Carrie snapped Joan from her trance, pulling her back to the grim present. She quickly scanned every corner of the dimly lit room, her gaze lingering on each shadow. Relief should have washed over Joan at not finding Carrie’s body, but instead, a thicker dread settled like a heavy cement block on her chest. The uncertainty was worse. Carrie was still missing, most likely dead, and that was somehow harder to bear. If there was even the smallest chance the girl was alive, Joan had to try.

A sharp, angry shout tore through the silence. “I’ll kill you, you damned mutt.” Jeb’s voice bellowed from just outside the bedroom window, thick with malice. A gunshot cracked the air, sharp and jarring.

Joan’s heart leapt. Max? She ducked low, instinct kicking in, and half-crawled toward the bedroom door, careful to keep her movements silent. The hallway stretched out before her, dark and filled with looming shadows. She stood and slipped the shotgun strap from her shoulder, bringing the gun to the ready. She couldn’t lose Max too; she had to be sure he was safe.

Edging toward the back door she’d noted in the living area, Joan steadied her breathing. The door was unlocked. She slipped outside, her movements a blend of caution and urgency. Cold night air prickled her skin, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of damp earth and fear. Somewhere nearby, a dog’s howl cut through the night, wild and anguished. But it wasn’t Max. Relief and dread battled in her heart again as she moved carefully toward the side of the house, pressing herself flat against the wall.

Peeking around the corner, Joan saw Jeb’s son, a bat raised, preparing to strike the brindle lunging toward him. The animal was faster. It sprang to its hind legs, teeth bared, snapping at his face until the man stumbled. He went down hard, his screams merging with the dog’s snarls.

Joan’s breath caught. This was her moment to get back to Max before he ran headlong onto the property. She had to move now .

A sound behind her made her stiffen. She turned and froze. Twenty feet away stood Jeb, his shotgun lifted, eyes gleaming with a deranged glee as he moved closer. Joan’s mind raced. She tried to back up, stumbling over her own feet in her haste. Her hand shot out to brace herself against the house, fingers scraping against the rough siding.

“I always knew I’d kill you, you crazy bitch.” Jeb’s voice was low, a poisonous hiss that sliced through the night, punctuated by a laugh that dripped with maniacal satisfaction. Bubbles of spit spilled from between his lips.

He pulled the trigger.

Click.

Nothing happened.

No pain. For a split second, Joan stared, heart still racing. Then, she ran.

“Yeah, run,” Jeb shouted after her, his voice dark and taunting. “It’ll be more fun to hunt you.” A shrill, piercing whistle followed, echoing across the night.

A deep, eager bark rose in response, and dread clawed at Joan’s chest. She could hear the dog crashing through the brush, closing in. She pushed herself harder, each step sending jolts through her injured leg. About halfway up the ridge, her legs gave way, lungs burning as she struggled to catch her breath. Precious seconds ticked by before she could force herself to move again, scrambling up the rest of the hill in desperation .

At the top, she stopped short. Max was gone. She searched behind her and there was no sign of the brindle. A hollow feeling spread through her chest as she looked down at her hands, her knuckles white against the shotgun’s grip. “I should have shot him,” she whispered, the words nearly swallowed by the wind. For a second, the weight of everything pressed down on her, almost breaking her resolve.

“Max,” she called softly, straining to listen as the night breathed around her, its quiet sounds carrying a strange, indifferent beauty. A distant owl hooted, and a cool breeze rustled the branches, but no familiar bark answered. She held her breath, focusing. If he’d been near the house, he would have come to her by now.

A shotgun blast shattered the stillness, its echo rolling up the ridge like a thunderclap. Joan threw herself to the ground, heart hammering as she pressed herself into the dirt. The scent of crushed dry grass and dust filled her nose, grounding her in the raw reality of her situation. After a tense moment, she rose slowly, crouching low as she moved into a steady, fast walk. Her leg no longer mattered. She kept her flashlight off. Jeb was close.

Several more shots rang out, from a greater distance but relentless. She wondered if Jeb was shooting wildly, or worse, taking down anyone, or anything, in his path. The thought of Max sent another chill through her.

A noise off to the side caught her attention. Instinctively, she shifted direction, ignoring the dizzying exhaustion that made each step heavier than the last. She pushed through the underbrush, branches scraping her skin. Then she heard it. A soft whine, low and strained.

Twenty feet ahead, barely visible in the cloud covered moonlight, Max stood with his head low, paws scratching desperately at the ground. Joan stilled herself, using the shotgun to steady her trembling hands as she took a cautious step forward. She swallowed, watching her loyal companion, his usually powerful stance replaced by a strange urgency.

Max whined again, glancing at her with desperate eyes before resuming his digging.

In the darkness, it took her a moment to realize what she was seeing. The pale sliver of a small hand peeked through the freshly disturbed dirt. She froze, heart pounding as a rush of memories flooded her; the laughter Joan seldom heard, Carrie’s wide, frightened eyes, and her quiet voice that haunted Joan. For a brief, paralyzing moment, her mind rebelled, refusing to accept what Max had uncovered.

It was Carrie.

Joan’s stomach lurched as reality hit with cold, merciless clarity. She dropped to her knees, feeling the grit of the earth press against her as she leaned closer. Glancing around, she saw no sign of Jeb and heard only the soft rise and fall of Max’s breathing. Gritting her teeth, she flipped on the flashlight, covering it partially with her hand to keep the glow as dim as possible.

The small body in the shallow grave was battered, almost unrecognizable. Max had uncovered her head and part of her right shoulder, her tiny frame lying in a bed of earth she would never rise from. Bruises darkened her face and neck, swollen beyond recognition. Horror rooted Joan in place, her gaze locked on Carrie’s broken form as tears began to sting her eyes.

A raw, consuming rage rose from within her, an emotion so fierce it nearly tore her apart. She clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms, needing something, anything, to hit, to break. But there was nothing here she could punish, nothing she could tear apart that would make this right. Neither anger nor sorrow could begin to contain the depth of what she felt.

A primal injustice ripped through her, fierce and unrelenting, taking over every rational thought. Her hands shook with an almost feral need to strike back, to make someone, no, Jeb Hogg, suffer for what he’d done.

There was nothing left to think about, nothing more to question. Her body vibrated with a brutal determination, an instinct to avenge every child who had ever been hurt by hands that should have held them gently.

The bitter, blinding hatred left no room for doubt. She felt the clarity, cold and precise, settle in her bones. It was too late for Carrie and her mother. But for Jeb Hogg, she could still serve justice. She would make him pay.