Chapter Nineteen
Destructive Chaos
J oan scanned the dark for the brindle, but it was nowhere in sight. Relief mixed with urgency as she spotted a thick, shaggy-bark tree about twenty feet away, its trunk wide enough to offer decent cover. Several dense bushes flanked it, creating a small haven.
“Max, hurry,” she whispered, nudging him forward as she made a dash for it. She slipped behind the tree, positioning Max in the small space at her side, her handgun at the ready, wishing she still had the shotgun. Her grip tightened, prepared to fire if she got the chance.
The flames from the house reached higher, their heat grating on her skin even from a distance. She cast a desperate glance toward the barn, knowing the animals trapped inside didn’t have much time before the fire reached them. Another sound interrupted her thoughts: a sharp, piercing whistle, drifting through the night from farther away than she’d expected Jeb to be.
A cold chill raced down her spine. Was it one of his sons? She hadn’t noticed the body from the dog attack lying in the yard, and if that son survived, she was now up against not just Jeb but possibly two more Hoggs. Any hope she had that the boys would help disappeared after she found the meth lab.
Joan calmed herself with deep, steady breaths so she could think. If she could reach the barn and open the cages, she could add to the chaos. Her rage had grown to something indescribable. She wasn’t going down without a fight, and she would not give up. Carrie and Susan were dead, and this was now retribution.
A shotgun blast startled her so badly she flinched. The boom was followed by a rapid volley of pops. Jeb’s ammunition was exploding inside the burning house. She crouched lower, her arm instinctively wrapping around Max, who leaned against her, tense but silent. The sporadic bursts continued, and she took another steady breath, tightening her other hand on the gun. There would be no running this time.
She glanced at Max, and her heart clenched. A three-inch flap of skin hung open on his left shoulder, blood matting the fur around it. The brindle would kill him in another fight. She searched desperately for a better place to hide. The realization was settling in that neither she nor Max would get out of this alive. She wouldn’t let that stop her, but her heart cried for her friend who had done nothing but give her love.
An eight-foot ridge rose up thirty feet away, its incline steep but not impossible. If they could make it over, they’d reach the dirt road on the other side. The road went east toward St. Johns, a small town with little charm but one critical feature: the sheriff’s department. Unfortunately, the road had little cover, and she doubted her leg would hold for a fifteen-mile walk. She would be a sitting duck for Jeb.
The only chance she had was to do the unexpected. She had to strike first before Jeb, or his sons had the chance. Jeb might be rabid, but she was prepared to match his insanity with her own.
She waited for the right moment. Roaring flames filled the air, drowning out every other noise. Now.
She met Max’s steady gaze, and he stared back, unblinking. “We’re going after him,” she said, her voice barely audible above the inferno. Max’s ears perked up, and he slowly blinked in acknowledgment. Not a whimper or bark escaped him. He was ready. “You need to pull me up that ridge,” she whispered, tightening her grip on his collar.
“Heel,” she instructed softly, and together, they began the slow, grueling climb up the mound of dirt and rock. With every step, pain shot through her injured leg, her joints grinding with each weight shift. She gritted her teeth and pushed on. Max climbed steadily, offering her just enough support to keep going. The hill felt endless. She could almost feel a hot gun barrel pressed against her back, ready to fire.
They reached the top, and Joan’s balance wavered as she took her first step down the other side, her legs ready to give out. She lowered herself carefully to the ground, dropping beside Max, both breathing heavily. They didn’t have time to rest, but her body refused to go on without a break. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the last of her water. She took a small sip to wash the grime from her mouth, then poured the rest into the cap, holding it out for Max. He drank it all, licking the plastic clean before looking back up at her.
After gaining her feet, she took a few cautious steps downward, keeping her body low, braced to duck if needed. Once her head was low enough to stay below the ridge, she straightened up and surveyed the area. The height of the hill tapered down at the ridge’s edge. She’d have a clear view of the driveway if she went there.
The fire blazed, casting an eerie glow from above and making her nerves prickle. The small town’s volunteer fire department wouldn’t be arriving any time soon. Friday nights meant everyone was at the football game, including the volunteers. By the time anyone got here, the barn and everything inside would be lost.
For some reason, the memory of Deputy Berger’s offhanded advice came back to her. It was after she’d purchased the shotgun. “If you aim that thing, shoot to kill.” She’d shrugged it off, but tonight, that piece of advice was her goal. She intended to follow it to the letter.
She made her way to the edge of the ridge and gestured for Max to sit. She took two careful steps forward, peering around a cluster of rocks. Her heart thumped. Jeb’s truck remained parked in front of the shed. There was no sign of him in the driver’s seat or in the corner of the yard she could see.
She took a cautious step into the open.
The blast came out of nowhere.
She was flung to the right as the buckshot tore into her left side, the impact like a wall of needles ripping through her. Pain exploded down her ribs, her shoulder, her thigh. She hit the ground hard, gasping. Her vision blurred. A dark, sick feeling swept over her. She barely made out Jeb’s shout above the ringing in her ears.
“Get him!” he yelled.
The brindle .
She didn’t need to see to know the dog was coming. Her gun had slipped from her hand when she fell, and she scrambled frantically in the dirt, fingers clawing at the ground until she felt the cold grip.
The brindle didn’t charge around the ridge as she’d expected.
Max’s body went rigid, his gaze snapping upward. Joan followed his line of sight.
The brindle stood above them on the ridge, framed in the glow of the fire like some demonic creature. He loomed, a hulking figure of muscle and fury, his lips peeled back in a grotesque snarl that showed every jagged, yellowed tooth in his mouth. Thick strands of foamy saliva hung from his jaws, dripping slowly to the dirt below. His amber eyes were feral, lit by a terrifying, unrestrained rage that zeroed in on her with pure, violent hunger. The deep growl that rolled from his throat vibrated through the ground beneath her.
He leapt.