by Megan Hart
Kelsey.
Dennis might’ve given up and run, counting on Ray’s fancy tap shoes to slow him down. Tried to get him far enough away from the truck to lose him, then double back. But with Kelsey in the cab, he was not going to run. Ray had always been rumored to have a taste for blondes.
“Who’s that?” Ray tipped his face to the air like he was sniffing it. “Betty Richards? Maybe Heather from the diner? Who’s that in your truck, Conroy?”
“Nobody. Step on back, Ray. I mean it.”
“Naw. Couldn’t be Heather from the diner. She’s kind of a whore, but even she has standards. And you, son, even a whore might have a hard time taking you on. Am I right?”
The insult shouldn’t have stung, not coming from someone so clearly out of his mind. Ray had never so much as said more than a word or two to him before this. He didn’t know anything about Dennis. But still, the laughter and the look on Ray’s face was familiar.
“I’m going to get in the truck now, Ray.”
“What’s in that truck, son? You stealing stuff from the Costclub?” Ray made an exaggerated show of looking over his shoulder at the open doors. “Nobody’s there to operate the registers. So that means you must be stealing it. Right? I’m right. Am I right, Conroy? You fucking lowlife thief? You fucking crazy ass?”
Dennis eased around the front of the truck, but before he could get more than a step, Ray was on him. Huge ham fists clutching at the front of Dennis’s shirt. His breath, stinking of something rancid and coppery. His eyes rolled. The sweat rolled down his temples and pooled in the corners of his lips, like tears. His mouth yawned wide again, his teeth bared. He bent his face to Dennis’s throat, sniffing.
Dennis kneed him in the groin. When Ray bent, Dennis slammed his knee upward, into Ray’s face. The bigger man stumbled back, blood spouting from his nose and mouth, his teeth lined with it. He growled. Then roared. He launched himself toward Dennis with his teeth snapping, crazy like a rabid dog.
The world filled with thunder and the stink of gunpowder. Ray’s shoulder and half of his chest disintegrated. Bits of blood and bone and things Dennis didn’t want to think about splashed him. Ray stumbled back, went to his knees, then hit the ground, face first. He didn’t move.
Dennis turned. Kelsey hung out of the cab, the gun in her hand. She smiled.
“You’re welcome,” she said. “Now. Let’s get out of here.”
34
Dennis hadn’t wanted to stop, but Kelsey had insisted she at least help him clean up a little before they went inside. Now, parked in his mother’s driveway and backed up immediately against the garage, she’d opened one of the packages of baby wipes he’d taken from the Costclub. He sat patiently, if awkwardly, while she used them to wipe away the gore on his face and throat.
“You should take your shirt off,” she said. “Your mom won’t like to see you like this.”
“My mom can handle it.”
Kelsey peeked into the side view mirror to catch a glimpse of the Victorian-looking house. A woman who lived in a house like that, she imagined, would be dainty and gray-haired, prone to lacy blouses and long skirts. She’d play the piano and garden. She certainly wouldn’t like seeing her son show up covered in a dead man’s spatter.
“Hush,” she told him, and he did. When he shrugged out of his shirt, she bit her lower lip and kept herself focused on her self-appointed task. It didn’t matter, she reminded herself, if his chest was tight with muscle, his skin tanned from the sun. If his biceps bulged when he moved to give her better access. If his nipples were pointed under her palms when she swiped the cloth across them…
His hand gripped her wrist. “That’s…enough. I’m clean enough.”
“Right. Right, sure.” She bobbed her head and, mindful of how tidy he’d been in the past, crumpled up the filthy wipes and shoved them into a stray plastic bag instead of tossing them all to the floor. She used a fresh one to clean off her hands. She looked at him. “Ray. He was sick. But not dead. And he didn’t…”
Dennis looked at her. “Didn’t what?”
“It’s just that I saw things.” Kelsey paused, but before she could answer, Dennis had bent to look through the windshield with a low mutter. “What? Is it your mother?”
“Could be. We need to get inside.”
He helped her down from the truck and they both stood for a minute on the gravel drive. It was far darker out here than it had been in town. She heard the whisper of a breeze in the trees lining the back of the property, and she shivered, wishing for a sweatshirt. An ornate metal fence about knee-high cut off the front of the house from the driveway, each piece tipped with a sharp spike. She could see no gate or opening, but when she made to lift her leg over it, Dennis pulled her back.
“Don’t.”
She didn’t ask more questions, just held back as Dennis looked up at the house with his hands on his hips. He didn’t look at her as he added, “No lights on inside.”
“You think she’s gone?”
He shook his head. “No. She’s definitely not gone. But she’s got the shutters down.”
Kelsey could see decorative shutters on the outside of the windows, but clearly he meant something different. “What kind of shutters? Like hurricane shutters?”
They were a hundred miles from any ocean, but Dennis nodded. “Yes. Something like that.”
She waited another minute for him to speak, but he didn’t. Kelsey shivered and rubbed her arms against the gooseflesh there. Her foot ached. Her wrist, thankfully, felt better. Her stomach rumbled. She was suddenly so exhausted she didn’t think she’d be able to keep her eyes open. She also had to pee.
“But she’s in there for sure?”
In reply, Dennis went around to the back of the truck and opened the door. He climbed inside and hopped down again within minutes, carrying a metal baseball bat which he swung experimentally hard enough to make a whoosh. He tapped it against his palm. Swung it again.
Kelsey rubbed her arms again and fought a yawn. “So. Can’t we go in?”
Dennis let the metal bat arc through the air, slowly, slowly, until it came down a few inches from the top of one of the fence’s metal spikes. In the next second, the entire fence erupted upward, going from knee-high to at least six feet. It impaled the bat, which wrenched from Dennis’s hand and hung, clanging against the metal.
Kelsey stared, so stunned she couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. All she could was stare at the fence, the bat, and imagine what it would’ve felt like had she indeed swung her leg over it the way she’d planned.
“No,” Dennis said quietly. “Not just yet.”
SEVEN
35
"You don't wanna do that." Dennis gestured at the fence toward which Kelsey was tentatively reaching.
She pulled her hand back at once. "Is it electric?"
He gave her a look that was at first solemn, then assessing, then a little amused. "I don't think so. But it could be. Good thinking."
Kelsey was more than used to men who thought because she had blonde hair and big tits that she also lacked a brain, so at first she was ready to be annoyed. Resigned, but annoyed. A second glance at Dennis showed her he was also looking admiring, and not at the way her ass bulged out of her too-tight skirt. He nodded at her, then gestured at the house.
"She might've made some upgrades since I was here last."
"Your mother." Kelsey looked at the house, the image she'd had originally of a woman with gray hair in a bun and skirts of lace fading into...well, she didn't quite know what. But something different than she'd had before.
Dennis smiled. "Yep. My mother."
"But you're sure she's inside."
He nodded. "Yeah. She's on lockdown, that's for sure. I thought as much. But then I thought maybe..."
Kelsey waited for him to finish, but he was already backing up, away from the fence. Toward the truck. "What?"
"I thought maybe she'd be looking for me. Waiting."
Kelsey knew that
tone, of someone who didn't want to admit how hopeful they'd really been. Or how disappointed they were to be wrong. She reached for him, but Dennis had already turned his back to her to focus on the truck. He opened the door, but didn't go into the cab. He looked over his shoulder, caught her with her hand out. Some inscrutable expression crossed his face, but before she could study it long enough to figure it out, everything went dark. And out here in the middle of nowhere, that meant inky black.
"Shit," Dennis said.
"What's going on?" Kelsey froze, mindful of how that fence had shot from knee-high to taller than her head in a second.
"They're on a timer. When I tripped the fence, it set everything else in motion. We should've moved faster."
Was he blaming her? She limped a step toward the giant shadow of the truck she could barely make out. "I'm...sorry? But can you tell me what the hell is going on?"
In the next second, a match flared, highlighting the lines and planes of his face. He held it close to a cigarette, then shook it out. The cherry glow at the tip of the cigarette wasn't bright enough to see anything by, but that glimpse of his face had been haunting enough. Narrowed eyes, thin mouth. Dennis had already proven himself handy with a gun and determined to survive at any cost, but now that hesitant charm that had earlier so slayed her had disappeared.
This guy looked dangerous and scary.
"Mom had...issues." Dennis drew on the cigarette, making the tip glow bright for a second before he went into shadow again. He threw it down, ground it out. "She wanted to make sure she was safe. That I was safe. C'mon. We'll need to move fast. You stay in the truck."
She recoiled. "What? No!"
"You'll be safer." He sounded no-nonsense, not interested in argument, and the way things were going down, Kelsey had no desire to argue with him.
But there was no way she was going to let him make her into a doll.
"I'm not staying out here by myself," she told him evenly, keeping her voice from hysteria. Men dismissed her easily enough as it was. She'd learned not to dissolve, it only made them less likely to pay attention to her. "What if something happens to you?"
He moved closer. "It could. Then you'd take the truck, and you'd drive the hell away from here."
"Why don't we just drive away now?" She asked.
"Because...it's my mother," Dennis told her. "I need to make sure she's okay."
Kelsey hated feeling stupid, and she sure did now. When was the last time she'd had anyone in her life she'd be so concerned about? Tyler, maybe, though the fact she'd bludgeoned him to death and dumped him overboard into the Atlantic Ocean to be consumed by sharks had taken some of the fondness out of her memories of him. It would be a long time before the memory of his bared teeth, snapping at her face, would no longer overlay the thoughts of him brushing the hair out of her face the first time he'd told her she was beautiful.
"Right. Sure. Of course." She nodded and stepped forward. "Let's go. I'm ready."
Dennis opened the truck door, sending light spilling out so she could clearly see his expression. It wasn't condescending, but it wasn't encouraging, either. "With that foot? You can't keep up. Stay in the truck."
"Keep up with what?" She cried, frustrated. Terrified, actually.
"That fence is just one thing. One," Dennis said. "She's got dozens, hundreds, of security measures in place. I know some of them, but I'm sure she's put up more since the last time I saw her. And I'll need you in the truck when I get the garage open."
Kelsey tested her weight. The foot was better since he'd wrapped it, but he was right. She couldn't run with it. And her wrist, while better, was still weak. She frowned, looking into the truck bed. Then at the house. "But how will I know you're all right?"
"Just wait for me. I'll be fine." Dennis looked grim and not that convinced. "You'll have the gun. Lock the doors. Don't come out for anything, for anyone, but me."
Her shoulder still ached from the last time she'd shot the gun, and Kelsey touched the bruised spot gingerly. "Fine."
"Start the truck. Get ready. When I open the garage, you'll have to back it inside. Can you do that?"
"Yes." She put aside her annoyance. He wasn't being a dick. He was matter-of-fact, setting out what she needed to do. She could do it.
Dennis waited until she'd climbed up into the cab and started it. He slammed the door and rapped on it. She looked down out of the window at him, her heart starting to pound in anticipation of whatever it was. Whatever was coming. She rolled down the window.
"Are you ready?" Dennis asked.
Kelsey said yes.
36
She looked so small inside the truck, her golden hair gleaming like sunshine just before the overhead light winked out. The engine roared. Dennis stopped himself from opening the door and making sure she knew what she was doing. He didn't have time to give her a lesson -- she'd said she could do it, and he'd have to trust her. Right now, he had to get inside the house before Mom's security system got fully into gear.
The fence had only been the first, and not even close to being the most extensive in Mom's arsenal. It didn't matter much -- Dennis wasn't planning on going up to the front door. Or the back. He needed to open the garage and get the truck inside, make sure the supplies would be accessible from inside the house. There was no key, no handle, no lock to pick. There was a small box set against the side of the wall with a keypad inside it. He knew the code. It was always his birthday. She never changed it.
That wasn't going to be the problem.
Dennis broke off a twig from the bush against the wall to flip up the front of the box. He used it to punch in the numbers, too, in case she'd added electricity to it. She hadn't, which meant that whatever waited for him inside was going to be worse than a little tingle. With a rumble, the garage door opened. Dennis pressed himself against the wall, bracing himself for anything shooting out as the door opened, but again, nothing. He knew better than to think she'd gone soft. He also knew the garage offered nothing for anyone.
Well. Nothing but possible death and dismemberment. He thumped the back of the truck for Kelsey to go.
He meant to jump around the front as she backed up, to keep the truck between himself and the garage, but the big vehicle didn't roll smoothly. It leapfrogged with a roar. He caught a glimpse of Kelsey's grim face through the front window as he jumped out of the way, still managing to get in front of the truck, though it was already halfway into the garage.
She stalled it there, the cab still fully outside the door. He could see her mouthing words of frustration. The engine ground.
Above them, the garage door creaked.
Shit.
"Move!" He slapped the hood. "Kelsey! Go!"
Kelsey, focused on whatever she was trying to do to get the truck moving, didn't look up. The creak of the garage door was even louder than the grinding, cranking engine. He looked up, catching a glint of metal from the underside of the door.
He slapped the hood again. The engine roared to life at last. Kelsey looked up with wide eyes, open mouth. Dennis jumped onto the bumper, fingers tucked tight into the grill, ignoring the sting of heat and sharp metal.
"Go!"
The truck moved with a jerk, nearly spilling him off. Dennis clung to it, looking up at the door. Metal glinted like teeth in a hungry mouth. The truck stalled again, this time just inside the garage door.
The door came down fast, without a sound, plunging them into darkness so thick and deep it made the outside seem as bright as a day at the seashore. It slammed into the ground so hard Dennis felt the rumble of it all the way through him.
His back stung. The door had skimmed his shirt, tearing it and scraping the skin beneath. It had come down so close there was no room for him to move. He clung to the hood of the truck, the metal searing his cheek.
The interior light came on as Kelsey opened the door. "Dennis --"
"Get back inside!"
Too late. With the door down, there was no place for them to go. She paus
ed with the truck door open, looking for him but clearly missing him in his place pinned between the truck and the door.
"Get back inside the truck," Dennis said in a low voice, trying no to trigger anything else set up to trip from a certain decibel level. "Close the door."
"But --"
Too late. From either side of him came a the ratcheting noise of metal on metal, gears grinding. The light from the truck didn't spread enough for him to see, but Dennis didn't need to. He'd installed them, after all.
"Get down, on the floor!" He shouted as he shrank himself as best he could in the space between the truck and the door, arms over his head.
They'd be little protection against the arrows, but it was instinct. Head down, arms covering his ears, he still heard the thwack-thwack of the arrows releasing from their ports built into the garage walls. Then the thud-thud of the steel-tipped, specially manufactured spear arrows as they punctured the sides of the truck in neat, carefully placed rows.
Round one.
Round two.
Then a pause. Dennis didn't move. He'd been holding his breath and let it out now as slowly as he could. Red sparks danced in his field of vision, but he wasn't going to pass out. One of the arrows had passed so close over him he swore it had parted not just his hair, but his scalp. A fine trickle of blood traced its way down one cheek.
He couldn't see or hear Kelsey, though the interior light was still on. If she wasn't dead, he hoped she had the sense to stay down, because the first two rounds were just a warning. Dennis shifted, wondering about the trigger. Noise? Motion? Or just timing? How long would he have to wait?
