P Deutermann - Spider mountain

“Anything?” she called quietly.

“Nope,” I said, walking back to where she was standing. As I examined the cabin for any signs of life, I thought about going inside. Even the side windows had bullet holes in them, courtesy of my temper tantrum with Nathan’s shotgun.

“No way,” Carrie said, reading my intentions. “She probably has it booby-trapped.”

“Get the car keys,” I said. “Then let’s go around in back.”

About the time she opened the Suburban’s front door a match flared on the front porch, and we both spun around, guns coming up. Grinny Creigh was standing in the front doorway, turning up a kerosene lantern. We hadn’t heard a sound until she lit the lantern.

She didn’t even look at us until she got the wick where she wanted it, dropped the glass, and then lifted the lantern with one hand and picked up her own shotgun. She held it by the receiver. It was an old-fashioned, heavy steel double, and she held it as if it were a willow wand. She didn’t say anything, just looked at us. Her massive body looked like a small silo with a human head on it.

“Police officers,” I said, loud enough to be heard in the house. “We’ve come for the children.”

“What damn children?” she said calmly.

“Mingo’s dead,” I said. “Hayes killed him. There’s a couple dozen feds in Rocky Falls right now. They’ll be here soon. Give us the children and we’ll leave you alone.”

“What children?” she said again.

“The ones you have for sale,” I said. “Like the one you showed that doctor the other night, when you asked him if he could take more than one should you need to unload the whole mess of them.”

She studied my face in the lantern light. If she was impressed with what I’d just said, she gave no sign of it. “How’s Brother Hayes?” she asked.

So she knew what had happened. Two could play this game. “Where’s Rowena?” I countered.

Her face twitched. “Away,” she said. She turned to Carrie. “You that Harper girl, went off to work for the state?”

Carrie said, yes, she was. Her shotgun was still pointed in Grinny’s general direction, but not right at her.

“I recollect your little sister,” she said. “Pretty little thing. Went missing in the river with your papa. Real shame, that was.”

Hold on to yourself, Carrie, I thought. Don’t go doing what you want to. “She’s trying to provoke you,” I muttered to her. “Watch out for creepers.” She grunted through clenched teeth but started looking around at our perimeter. The shotgun was still pointed in Grinny’s direction, however.

“Just give us the children, Grinny,” I said. “We don’t want you. The feds do, but it’ll be an hour before they get here. Give us the kids and we’re out of here.”

“You the one shot down my Rowena, ain’t you?” she asked, holding the lantern a little higher.

“She kidnapped Special Agent Santangelo here and then pulled a gun on me. I shot her before she could shoot me.”

“Blowed her head clean off, didn’t ye,” she said. “Had’ta plant her in two pieces, we did.”

Carrie raised the barrels on her shotgun to point at her. “That’s what shotguns do,” she said. “Want to see?”

Grinny looked first at me and then at Carrie’s gun. Then she did a curious thing: She smiled. It was a twisted, faintly triumphant smile. Then she raised two fingers in a V, mumbled some words, and spat between them. I felt Carrie stiffen beside me.

“There now,” Grinny said. “Count the hours, missy.”

“I’m so very not scared,” Carrie said.

“You should be, missy.” Then she turned to me. “Ain’t no children here,” she said. “Everybody in these parts knows I’d eat ’em if they was. Boil ’em in oil and then eat ’em for breakfast, so everybody says. You people get on outa here. Them revenoors want to come in here, they better bring ’em a warrant.”

“Count on it, Grinny,” I said. “And pack your bags. You’re going away.”

“No,” she said, “You the ones going away.” She carefully set the shotgun down on its butt against the wall, reached sideways, and pulled on a chain that was attached to something in the floor of the front porch. We heard what sounded like a trapdoor dropping, and a moment later every damned one of her dogs was piling through the latticework under the porch, unlimbering a yard of slavering canine ivory each, and coming our way.

We both scrambled into the Suburban with maybe one second to spare before they were all over the vehicle. I zapped my window up and started the engine, while behind me I heard Carrie’s gun go off as three snarling dog heads appeared in the left rear window trying to get in. One dog lost its head while the other two went screaming, earless, for cover. Grinny had disappeared and her front door was closed.

I backed up in a hurry through a sea of snapping, snarling, growling beasts. My shepherds were very wisely keeping their heads down in the way-back. I illuminated the front of the cabin with my brights again, but there was no sign of anyone else getting ready to take action. Carrie had rolled up her window and was reloading the shotgun.

Nathan had taken the children somewhere. I was sure of it. Grinny didn’t care if the feds did come; they wouldn’t find anything. I was also sure she didn’t keep meth or any other drugs here, so her cabin would reveal nothing. I’d been bluffing about feds coming, anyway. Most of the action would be in the two sheriffs’ offices, in both counties, for some time. I backed the car up some more and then turned to head back down the field. All that bravery and we’d flat-ass struck out. Bounced off, once again.

“Now what?” Carrie asked. She was getting good at asking that. And then it occurred to me that Grinny might have been simply lying. They were all in there, kids and Nathan, down in the basement or in that cave or whatever it was behind the cabin. Short of going back and shooting every last dog, there was no way we could to force our way in there. The dog pack continued to surround the vehicle, making more noise than ever, as we drove off. They were everywhere, snapping at the tires, trying to jump up on the hood and the back door.

“They could be in there,” I said. “I’m not taking Grinny’s word for fuck-all. Let’s lose these dogs and then come back.”

“Lose these dogs?” she said. Two of them had locked their jaws on the bumpers as we rolled down that field.

“Well, hell, at least thin ’em out,” I said. I kept the Suburban rolling down the field in first gear and half-lowered my window. I shot the first mouthful of teeth that jumped at the window and then the next one after that. They backed away then, but still followed us down the field, raising absolute hell and lunging at the vehicle from every direction. Carrie lowered her window and blasted two more with the shotgun as we finally made it into the tree line. The dogs quit at the edge of the field. We rolled up our windows, and I turned on the vents to clear the gunsmoke.

“Let’s go over to Laurie May’s,” I said, putting the vehicle onto the dirt road leading down to the big creek. “We’ll come back through that crack in the ridge.”

“And do what?” she said. From the sound of her voice, the dog pack had unnerved her. To be honest, it had unnerved me, too. That had been very close.

“There’s that cave on this side of the ridge, right down from the crack. We get to that, make noise, and attract the dogs. Then we kill every one of them. We’ve got two shotguns and my rifle. Then we walk down there and get close to that cabin.”

“The stealthy approach, hunh?” she said.

“They know we’re back. If the feds do show up, all the better. If not, I still want those kids. She knows we know, so maybe she won’t kill them all out of hand.”