Erica Spindler - In Silence

The cabin door was unlocked. He eased it open, then slipped through, pausing to listen.

It was silent. Too silent. The hair on his arms stood up. He inched across the main room, toward the kitchen. It proved empty. The small window above the sink stood open; flies buzzed around an overflowing garbage pail. He saw dirty dishes in the sink.

The cabin might be empty now, but it had been occupied recently. He swiveled, crossed to the bathroom. He found it as deserted as the other two rooms.

Only the bedroom remained. He made his way there, heart pounding. The first thing he saw was the bed, the nylon rope attached to the foot posts, the length coiled on the bare mattress.

Someone had been tied to the bed. The blood rushed from his head. He laid a hand on the doorjamb for support.

Not someone. Avery.

He shifted his gaze and froze. Peeking out from the far side of the bed was the toe of a boot. One he recognized-alligator hide, a deep green-hued black.

His father had worn those boots, made from the hide of a gator he'd caught, for twenty years.

Denial rose in him as he made his way into the room. Around the bed. His father lay facedown in a pool of blood, head twisted at an unnatural angle.

Hunter stumbled backward. Pivoting, he ran back through the cabin and onto the porch. His sister sat behind the wheel of the vehicle, door open. "Cherry," he shouted. "Use Dad's radio, get an ambulance. Tell them an officer's down."

She leaped out of the vehicle, alarmed. "An officer? Dad or-"

"Do it, Cherry. Now!"

Without waiting for her to comply, he returned to his father's side. He knelt beside him, felt for a pulse. Found none.

At a sound from behind him, Hunter turned. Lilah stood in the doorway, eyes on her husband. A cry spilled past her lips, high and terrible.

Cherry came up behind her and stopped dead. "Dad?" The color drained from her face. "No." She shook her head. "No!"

Lilah made a move to go to her husband's side. Hunter jumped to his feet, caught her in his arms, stopping her. She fought him, pummeling him with her fists, cursing him.

He held her until the fight drained out of her. He met his sister's eyes. "Help me get her outside."

Cherry blinked. Her mouth moved. He saw that she trembled. She looked a hairbreadth from falling apart herself.

"Cherry," he said softly, "it's a crime scene. The police-"

"We know who did it." Her voice shook. "Matt killed Dad."

His brother. His twin. A murderer capable of killing his own father.

And he had Avery.

"Where are they?" he demanded. "Where's Matt taken Avery?"

His sister looked startled by his question. Confused. "I don't… know. I don't-"

"Think, Cherry! They're on foot. Where could he have taken her?"

She shook her head, her gaze riveted to their father's still form "There's nothing out here. Nothing. Just the-"

"Canning factory," he finished for her. "Cherry, help Mom to the car. Then call the sheriff's department and the state police. I'm going after them."

Avery and Gwen waited by the door. Nearly an hour had passed since The Seven had found them guilty. They had made their plan; feeble though it was, it was their only chance.

"What's he waiting for?" Gwen whispered. "Where did he go?"

Avery didn't know. She had expected him to come for them right away. Perhaps he was preparing, setting the rest of his plan in motion, putting the final pieces in place. She shook her head, indicating she didn't know.

"Do you really think this will work?"

Avery heard the note of panic in her friend's voice. The edge of hysteria. Seven against two. What hope did they have?

"What do we have to lose by fighting?" Avery countered softly, more, she realized, to convince herself than Gwen. "They're going to kill us anyway."

From the other side of the door came the sound of footsteps. Avery looked at Gwen. The other woman's face had gone white. Avery nodded and moved to the far right side of the door. She took her place directly in front of it, though far enough back not to get hit when it swung open.

They heard him at the door, unlocking the padlock. Avery tensed, readying herself. The door eased open. She held her breath, waiting for the right moment. Praying it would come.

It did. Avery lunged at him, using her body as a battering ram, aiming for his middle. As she had prayed she would, she caught him by surprise, nailing him square in the chest.

Matt stumbled. The gun flew from his hand. She heard it clatter to the floor.

"Run, Gwen!" she screamed. "Run!"

Her friend did, her feet pounding against flooring as she tried to race for the stairs. Avery expected to hear the others coming to Matt's aid, expected him to call for them; neither occurred. She wondered if they had left the building, had left the dirty work to him.

Avery regained her balance and threw herself at him again, this time knocking him down. He landed with a grunt of pain.

"Bitch!" he screamed, slamming his fist into her face. Her head snapped to the side, the explosion of pain unimaginable. She couldn't catch her breath, realized she was sobbing.

He straddled her, put his hands to her throat and squeezed. She fought as best she could, twisting, turning. Flailing her legs. Her lungs burned. Pinpricks of light danced in front of her eyes.

Let Gwen make it, she prayed. Please, God, let her make it.

From below came the sound of something crashing to the floor. Matt eased his grip, straightening. Twisting as if to listen.

"What's going on?" Matt shouted. "Blue? Hawk? Have you got her?"

Silence answered. He released her, jumped to his feet, listening. Air rushed into her lungs. Avery sucked it greedily in, gasping, coughing.

"Hawk!" he screamed. "Talk to me."

Avery rolled onto her side, caught sight of his gun. A half-dozen feet to her right, just behind where he stood. Tears stung her eyes. Cuffed, what could she do?

A whimper slipped past her lips. Matt turned. Looked down. He saw the weapon, saw her gaze upon it.

He looked at her and smiled. "Is that what you're wanting?" He bent and retrieved it. "It's just not fair, is it?"

She dragged herself to her feet, took a step, stumbled and went down. Still, she didn't give up. She inched herself along the floor like a worm. Unwilling to say die.

He laughed as he followed, taunting her. "Gutsy little Avery," he mocked. "I admire you. I do. Such a shame it didn't work out between us, with my brains and your determination we would have made awesome babies."

He stepped over her, then in front, blocking her path. She lifted her head, met his gaze defiantly.

His teeth gleamed bright white against the dark shadow of his face. He lifted the gun. "End of the road, sweetheart."

Avery came to and found herself bound to a chair. Her head throbbed. Something liquid rolled down her cheek, then splashed onto her collarbone. Blood, she realized as what had happened came rushing back-Matt, the butt of his gun.

She was still alive. Why?

Her eyelids flickered up. Her vision swam. She made out a table, figures grouped around it, sitting in silence.

Seven figures. Matt and his generals.

One of them turned and stood. Matt. He picked up the lantern at his feet. A camping lantern, turned down low.

He lifted the lantern, brought it close to her face. She squinted against the feeble light, right eye burning. Bloody. He smiled. "You've looked better, Avery."

A retort sprang to her lips, it came out a garbled croak.

His smile widened. "In case you're wondering, Gwen didn't make it."

A moan escaped her, one of grief and denial. Of hopelessness.

He turned toward the table. "Gentlemen," he said, holding the lantern high, "I have good news. Ms. Chauvin has returned to the world of the living. For how long is up to her."