Sara Reinke - Backwoods

He glanced into the bathroom, then once more into the bedroom to be sure it was all empty. Then he left, closing the door behind him to block out that horrible stink, and frowned.

Where is she?

“I took her.”

Andrew whirled, startled, at Edward Moore’s voice. The older man walked down the corridor toward him. He had his pistol in his hand, and this time, when he raised his arm parallel to the floor, drawing aim on Andrew’s head, Andrew doubted any semblance of rational self-control would stay his trigger finger.

“Where’s Dani?” he asked. “You son of a bitch, if you’ve hurt her…”

Moore drew back the hammer on the nine-millimeter with an audible, ominous click! “I don’t believe you’re in any position to be threatening me, Mister Braddock.”

Conceding, Andrew lifted his hands. “Where’s Dani?” he asked again, his voice softer now, pleading. “Where have you taken her?”

Moore studied him down the line of his gun sight for a moment, then said, “My lab.”

“Why?” Andrew asked.

“To make her tell me where my daughter is,” Moore said, closing the distance between them first to mere feet, then inches. “To make her tell me what you’ve done to Alice.”

“I haven’t done anything to her,” Andrew said.

“ Liar.” Moore pistol-whipped him, smashing the gun barrel into the side Andrew’s head. The impact left him staggering sideways, then crashing to his knees, breathless and dazed.

Moore planted his foot against the base of Andrew’s spine and forced him down onto his belly, his shoe heel digging brutally into Andrew’s kidney. Cramming the pistol barrel against Andrew’s temple, he seethed: “Tell me where Alice is. Tell me right goddamn now, or so help me, I’ll—”

“ Daddy, no!”

There she is, Andrew thought, recognizing Alice’s voice even as his mind abandoned him and he passed out. She’s right… behind you.

“Hey, Germ.”

In his mind, he could hear Beth’s voice, could see his sister in her hospital bed, with death so close and pervasive a thing, it had changed the way the air in the room had smelled to him, felt against his skin.

“Hey, Bess,” he’d replied, because he’d been able to see it in her face, the gaunt frailty there, her ashen complexion. The shadow of death. That’s what he had thought of when he’d seen her face, her pallor. Wasn’t that something out of the Bible?

Beth had started to cry, the brave façade she’d affected for their parents crumbling while alone with her brother. Her eyes had flooded, her tears rolling down her cheeks, and her bottom lip had quavered, her voice growing choked and strained.

“I’m scared,” she’d whispered, and he’d leaned over, letting her coil her reed-thin arms around his neck and cling to him, shaking as she’d wept.

“Don’t cry, Beth,” he’d breathed, even as his own tears had welled up and fallen. “Please don’t cry.”

He opened his eyes, disoriented for a moment, so certain that the dampness of his face, the warmth of tears had come from his dead sister that her name lay poised on his tongue.

Beth.

Instead he looked up at Alice as she leaned over him, her dark hair spilling in cascade of tangled waves over either shoulder to frame his face. Her pale cheeks glistened with tears, her slim body trembled and her lips quavered as she hiccupped for breath.

“Get away from him.” Moore snatched his daughter by the sleeve, dragging her backward.

“But, Daddy,” Alice began in protest.

“He’s dangerous,” Moore said. As he spun her around to face him, his expression shifted from murderous rage to sudden, inexplicable shock. “You’re crying.”

“I am?” Seeming as shocked as her father, Alice blinked, her hands fluttering up to her face. “I am,” she gasped, then began to laugh, as if delighted by the tears she felt on her cheeks. “Daddy, look, look at me! Look!”

Andrew sat up, grimacing as he cupped his hand gingerly over the swollen, bloody knot on his temple where the pistol had caught him. “I’m not dangerous,” he growled at Moore. “You’re the one who hit me.”

“And you’re the one who burned my house to the ground,” Moore snapped, pointing the gun at him again. “A woman died in that fire, you son of a bitch. A good woman who was my friend, a better mother to Alice than her own has ever been. You had no goddamn right…”

There was more, but in his dazed state, it took Andrew a moment to process. “What?” He shook his head. “Wait a minute. You…you think…?”

Somebody firebombed his house, Suzette’s voice echoed in his mind. They think it might have been a group of animal rights zealots. PACA, I think they’re called. People Against Cruelty to Animals.

“You think I had something to do with that?” he asked Moore, stricken. “You think I’m part of that group, PACA?”

“What else would you be doing here?” Moore demanded.

“I’ve told you. I was working out here. I don’t know anything about your house or this PACA organization. All I know is what Suzette told me. I’m sorry that happened. I’m sorry Alice’s nurse died, but I didn’t have anything to do with it. Why the hell would you think that?”

From outside, they heard a sharp, sudden burst of automatic gunfire, followed by another, then another. Overlapping these came a sudden, reverberating shriek from somewhere out in the forest, an agonized scream that, like the gunshots, quickly echoed again and again.

“What the—?” Andrew turned to the nearest window, startled.

“He sent the soldiers into the woods a little while ago,” Alice whispered, eyes enormous with fright. “He told them you were out there, that you were dangerous, Andrew.” Stricken and trembling, she said, “He told them to kill you.”

“What?” Andrew asked. “Who said that, Alice?”

He knew, of course. With a sinking feeling, he knew what she’d say even before she opened her mouth. “Major Prendick. He’s the one who told Daddy you set the fire that killed Martha.”

“Alice, stop it,” Moore said. He reached for her, but she shrugged him away, scurrying to Andrew.

“He told Daddy if he let you leave, you’d bring the others back. The PACA people.”

“Alice,” Moore said, but Andrew stood, blocking his path, positioning himself between father and daughter.

“He said you’d try to hurt us again—hurt me again—like they did in Boston when they killed Martha,” Alice whispered, curling her fingers anxiously against his shirt.

Oh, Jesus, no wonder Moore hates me, Andrew thought in dismay. No wonder he’s had it out for me all along.

“I’d never hurt you,” he said to Alice. “Either of you.”

“I know,” she replied. “But Daddy believed Major Prendick. The soldiers did, too. Now they’re out there looking for you. And they’re all going to die.”

Andrew turned to Moore. “What’s out there with them?”

The older man didn’t answer, simply stood there and angry, Andrew marched toward him. “What the hell is out in the woods?”

He reached out, jerking the gun from Moore’s grasp. With a frown, Moore moved to snatch it back, and they tussled together, grappling over the pistol, staggering and stumbling in wide, clumsy circles.

“Andrew, no! Please!” Shoving her way between them, Alice held out her hands like a school crossing guard, tearful and pleading. “Both of you, please stop!”

In that moment, the lights overhead made a strange sort of noise, like the snap-crackle-pop! from old Rice Krispies cereal commercials, then, with a staccato flickering, they abruptly went dark both inside and out, plunging the entire compound into darkness.