mumbling, “Should have dumped the bitch before. Should have shot her in the fucking head.” Before long, he began to snore.
Brook crept back onto the filthy mattress and burrowed under the edge. She pulled it up over her body, finding comfort in the weight, a sort of security she did not feel on top of the mattress. As the storm raged outside the window, she cried silent tears.
Her mind in a frenzy, she envisioned breaking the window with the chair, squeezing between the bus and the side of the house, and dropping to the ground. Running. But logic told her the plan wouldn’t work. There couldn’t be more than six inches of space. Even if she was able to make it out the window, she would more than likely become wedged, trapped. She wouldn't put it past these monsters to leave her there until she perished.
In another fantasy she imagined breaking the window, wrapping the broken shards of glass in a torn up piece of sheet for a handle, and stabbing her way to freedom, jabbing, slicing. Jase would be the first she would cut. She would watch his blood flow over her wrist and hand, relish the look of surprise on his face. But she soon recognized the lunacy of that plan as well. They would kill her for sure. Probably with the same piece of glass. Weighing heaviest on her mind was Jase's threat to use a chainsaw on her. Brook pulled her knees to her chest, held her feet in her hands, and imagined him cutting them off. There was no doubt in her mind he was cruel enough to do it.
Panic sent her into a quiet hysteria. After an indeterminate time, her crying eased and finally subsided. Her breathing slowed, and she fell into exhausted sleep. The storm raged on outside and then spent itself. Silence reigned.
Chapter 8
Lance pulled Old Reliable as far off the road and up into the trees as he could. After packing the travois, he covered the truck with camouflaged netting. Hefting the first load, he set out for home. Bruised purple clouds hung low over the mountains. Lance measured the sky with a knowing glance. All hell was about to break loose; he was certain of it. He hated to leave his truck here, but he doubted he would have time to finish unloading all his purchases, get Old Reliable to town, and ride his bike back before the rain hit.
When he reached the cabin with the second load, Gilbert was waiting for him, her head cocked expectantly. He was glad to see her. It would make this chore much easier and faster. She approached Lance and reared up on her hind legs, placing her front legs on his shoulders. He felt the bite of her hooves through his jacket, and laughed as she nearly knocked him off balance. This was a ‘Gilbert hug’ and Lance appreciated it, although it could be a bit overwhelming.
“Whoa, girl.” Lance released the travois and backed away, allowing her to drop to the ground. She began nudging his side, trying to nose into his pocket. With a gentle touch, he pushed her away.
“Now, you know better than that.” He patted the firm wedge of her neck, avoiding the sharp tips of her curved horns. He sometimes wished he had dehorned her when she was young, but he hadn’t wanted to leave her defenseless in the wild, and Gilbert did like to roam. She had an incurable case of wanderlust, but she always came home. His other goat, Belinda, did not rush to greet him. She never did.
“Work first, treats later.” He gave Gilbert a final pat before sliding off his heavy backpack and unloading the travois. Gilbert strolled around him as he worked, but Belinda hung back, peering at him with her odd yellow eyes. She had never warmed to Lance like Gilbert had. As a result, he hadn’t grown attached to her like he had to Gilbert. But she would produce for him, and in return he would take care of her.
He stacked the food items inside the cabin and grabbed the small harness from a peg near the door. Retracing his steps to the road, Gilbert following, Lance dragged the empty travois down for the last load. He threw back the netting and pulled the bales and feed from the back of the truck and loaded it onto the travois. Gilbert pried a mouthful of alfalfa from the bale, giving Lance a sneaky look as she did so.
“I saw that,” he told her with mock sternness. She gave her head a nonchalant toss, and stood still while he harnessed her to the loaded travois. He covered Old Reliable with the netting once again. It wasn’t a perfect camouflage, but she would be difficult to spot if a person wasn’t specifically looking for her. A light mist fell as Lance finished tying his purchases down; the pressure in the air swelled uneasily. He took a deep satisfied breath, drawing the tangy ozone smell into his lungs. Mountain thunderstorms always rocked his senses with their deep rolling booms, like massive explosions, so close it felt like he was standing in the heavens between warring clouds. The sense of anticipation worked on him like a drug as the earth prepared to be pounded, waiting impatiently for its thirst to be quenched. The scent of the trees and plants reached toward the coming rain as pheromones to a lover. For Lance, it was a full-body sensation when Mother Nature yanked up her stormy skirts and danced her brazen jig across the land. He could never get enough.
With a sound like a thousand wild horses thundering through a high pass, the storm arrived. Lance delighted in the rumbles, felt them reverberate in his bones, and thought of God. Gilbert seemed unimpressed with nature’s outburst, but she picked up her pace and they almost made it back to the cabin before the rain fell in sweeping sheets.
Lance unhitched Gilbert at the door of the shed. Pulling the candy bar from his pocket, he quickly peeled away the wrapper, and gave her the sweet treat. He could swear she smiled as she took it from his hand. Chewing, she ambled into the shed. Belinda was already inside and gave him a baleful glare as if to admonish him for being silly enough to stand out in the rain. Her bossy attitude made him grin, even as the icy water ran down his face and inside his jacket. He tugged the bales and feed into the other side of the shed and filled the goats’ trough through the slot he had built into the structure for just that purpose. Before heading to his cabin, he tucked the travois inside the shed and shut the doors, protecting the feed on one side, and safely enclosing the goats on the other side. They could wander tomorrow, but tonight they would be sheltered and cozy.
On his way back to the cabin, he closed the door on the small poultry shed and secured it against predators. He heard the soft rustling of wings, and a hen scolded him for the disturbance with a few quiet clucks. The ducks were hopefully ensconced with the chickens, but it was too dark to tell.
His muscles ached pleasantly, the result of honest hard work. He was tired, and that’s the way he liked to end his days. Tired, too tired to think. Too tired to remember. Tomorrow he would take Old Reliable into town and retrieve his bike. For tonight, he wanted only dry clothes, a hot meal, a book to make him drowsy, and his soft warm bed.
Chapter 9
Morning arrived. Its weak light barely penetrated the grimy window glass, leaving the room dim and cold. Brook slowly became aware of the sounds of a waking household. Someone said they needed coffee. Someone else swore, telling them to make it themselves. Brook remembered where she was and cowered deeper under the mattress. A sour smell filled her nostrils, and with a shock of embarrassment, she realized it was coming from her own body.
She could hear kitchen noises; pots and pans were banging against each other and cabinet doors opened and shut. Obviously, breakfast was being taken. Brook's stomach growled its willingness to eat, but she suppressed the need. Food wasn’t what she needed right now. What she needed was to escape from this hell.
The door to the room crashed open and heavy footfalls crossed the threshold. 'What the fuck!” Jase’s voice blared. “Where the hell did the bitch go?”
“What?” Benny asked, drawing nearer. 'Hey, where did she go?”
“That’s what I asked you, dumbfuck!” Jase retorted.
Brook held her breath; maybe they wouldn’t find her. Maybe they would think she escaped and go looking for her; then, she could sneak away.
“Hold on,” Benny said. “What’s that lump by the wall?”
An instant later, Brook felt the mattress pulled from her. She remained still, huddled beneath the blanket. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, like a child hoping they wouldn’t see her if she couldn’t see them. But, of course, she
