by Lee Hayton
Was Blain already dead?
Scant light crept through a thin, high-mounted window. Exhausting itself as it fought through a loft stacked high with hay, it died before reaching the main bay.
Frankie closed her eyes and counted to fifty. When she opened them, the gloomy shapes resolved into harder-edged objects.
Blain lay in a dog cage halfway along the right-hand wall. Frankie focused in on him, not wanting to see what other horrors lurked here. When she gripped her hands tightly around the parallel bars, they were cold to the touch. Particles of rust and grime scratched against her sweaty palms.
Back pressed flush against the wall, Blain rested on his side. With no blankets for warmth, he'd pulled loose hay into a pile around his body. Judging from the current chill in the air, Frankie doubted it would be enough. If she turned tail and ran, he might die in hours rather than days.
But wasn't that why she’d come?
Frankie inserted the second stolen key into the lock. After rubbing her sweaty palms against her pants leg, she turned it then whispered, “Blain?”
He didn’t stir.
In the dim light, Frankie saw the smooth rise and fall of his sleeping chest. She stared at his face, at the strong bones of an actor or a politician. The type of face that would look great on currency. No wonder Rebekah had been entranced.
As memories pressed up into her vision, Frankie blinked rapidly and shook her head. She pulled the key back out of the lock and jangled the keychain against the bars.
That woke him.
Blain sat up, leaning his weight on his right hand, and stared up at Frankie.
“I'm letting you out,” Frankie whispered. “I’m sorry but I can't give you any weapons or food. Annie doesn’t know I’m doing this.”
But I hope that Rebekah does.
While Blain continued to stare, Frankie pulled open the door to his cage.
“You’ll need to move fast.” She waved her hand at him to get up. “Otherwise, Annie will see you.”
Blain rolled over then pushed up onto his knees. Frankie could see the stain where his wound had leaked into the absorbing fabric of his sweatpants. Though the material was looser than his jeans, the fabric still strained against the swell of his engorged thigh. A packet of Tylenol that Annie must have left with him lay unopened on the ground.
Penance?
As he gripped the bars to pull himself to his feet, Blain said, “If you don't give me any supplies, I'll be dead in a day.”
“That's not my problem,” Frankie said. “Your choices are to leave now or have me shoot you.”
The Remington was in a holster under her arm. A leather strap clipped it in place. Frankie popped the dome button, then dropped her hand down to her side again. “Your choice.”
“I'm dead either way,” Blain said. “Shoot me.”
Frankie stared at him, her eyebrows knitting together. She tilted her head to one side and pursed her lips, then looked over her shoulder toward the barn door.
A shake started in her ankles, moving upward. Knees, thighs. Her stomach clenched, straining for stability. The tremble hit her shoulders and scurried down her arms.
She took a step back, pulled the gun out, and clicked off the safety. Inhaling a deep breath, Frankie moved her feet apart into a staunch pose that offset her fluttering muscles.
Extending her arms, Frankie held the gun as Robert had shown her, pulling back the hammer until it was at full cock. If Blain wanted to bluff, Frankie would call him on it.
“If that's your preference,” she said, “I can do it right now.”
Blain limped toward her. A grimace pulled his handsome face into ugly contortions, a broadcast to Frankie to show the pain he was in. There were other drugs back at the house. Stronger drugs. Maybe she should offer them to him?
When Blain accelerated, it caught her off guard. His pain might be real, but it wasn’t incapacitating. He lunged, grabbed her arm by the wrist, then threw his weight against her shoulder, turning her.
Pinned against the bars, Frankie almost fired. Her finger stroked the trigger. All she needed to do was squeeze.
He slammed a fist into her cheekbone. Amid a haze of stars, Frankie loosened her grip, and the gun was gone.
Blain stood before her, the Remington held by his side.
“If you make me go out there alone, I'll die,” he said, his voice high with indignation. He twisted his lips, his jawline hardening into a marble sculpture.
Frankie gripped the bars to keep from falling to the ground. The stars receded while her ear still rang from the blow.
Blain stared at her. For a long moment, that was all he did. Then he raised the gun.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
The metal crunched against his teeth. Blain squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his head forward, a tear falling straight down to stain the dusty floor.
Frankie reached for him in slow motion. Red pulses flashed in her eyes.
I can’t fail another person.
Blain pulled the trigger. His mouth muffled the gunshot to an inconsequential pop. His body collapsed backward onto the ground, knees splaying. The gun skidding free to clatter against the cage bars.
#
Annie found her minutes later. The sudden swathe of light from the barn door pierced deep into Frankie’s eyes.
She couldn’t shut them. Couldn’t move.
When Annie gripped her by the shoulders and steered her toward the door, Frankie’s feet started to step like an automaton’s, blindly following her lead.
As they walked the path back to the house, Frankie jerked out of Annie’s grasp, arms rising to ward off her memories.
“I c-can’t . . .” she stuttered. “Rebekah.”
Frankie turned toward the field, but seeing the hump of Rebekah’s grave was as bad as facing the room she’d died in. Frankie twisted, stumbling away. Her eyes were dry; her throat was dry. A swallow caught midway down her windpipe.
Movement caught the corner of her eye: the horse running. Fixing on him, Frankie ran too, faster. Faster.
She clambered over the fence then leaned her back against it, panting. The horse cantered around the paddock before coming to a halt, yards away.
“I’ll finish up inside,” Annie called out in a low voice. Frankie nodded but didn’t turn. She reached her hand out toward the horse, clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
The horse’s long nose nudged into her belly. Frankie leaned her face forward to press against his. His skin smelled of sweat and sunshine, hay and earth. For long minutes, she stayed in place, her breath gradually synchronizing with his. Her heartbeat grew slower, muscles softening and relaxing.
She could hear Annie loading up the car. The slam of the trunk lid carried on the breeze. Annie’s voice talked in a constant stream to Mikey. Intermittent chatter being returned.
I never wanted to hurt you.
Frankie’s eyes flicked open, and her head jerked back. Her mind threw up Angela’s hand, lolling through a hole in the ceiling. Julie’s mouth sagging open, shock the last expression her face would form.
The horse snorted, warm breath enveloping Frankie’s chest, thawing out her frosted emotions.
She saw Rebekah standing behind her, face twisted with worry because she wouldn’t fit where Frankie had directed the other kids to go. Frankie watched Rebekah’s eyes widen as Mikey squeezed the trigger and their joint cajoling came to an end.
“I’m so sorry,” Frankie whispered. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
She buried her right hand in the horse’s mane, pulling him forward so she could lay her cheek against his neck. With her left, she stroked the hair of his other cheek, curling short strokes under his throat.
Frankie stepped back, and her foot landed on something hard, skidding before she caught her balance. She turned. Her phone’s black case reflected the sunlight overhead.
She bent over and picked it up, turning it with her breath
held to check the screen. A crack ran down the side, not too deep. She tucked it into her cargo pants pocket.
Still gripping the horse’s mane in her hand, Frankie led him along the fence line to the gate. She fumbled with the metal bolt, her left hand twisting it awkwardly open.
“About time we both got out of here,” Frankie whispered. She leaned forward and threw the gate open. She gave one last stroke along the horse’s forehead, then she walked back and gave it a hard pat on the flank.
He trotted out of the paddock, standing for a moment to look back at her. Frankie waved him forward, go, and he turned back and broke into a gallop.
She walked toward the back door, sniffing her hands for the sweet smell of oil from the horse’s hair. There was packing to be done.
Annie
As they drove back toward the city, Annie checked the gas gauge—more than half full. Together, they’d raided every vehicle, including a mower, and rooted out every gas can.
Some of the cans rested in the trunk. Until Annie knew the exact mileage, she didn’t want to risk pouring everything into one car. The taste of gas from siphoning still coated her tongue. Frankie had performed the majority, Annie’s stomach rebelling as her ineptitude resulted in a chilled mouthful.
The phone was charging in the cup holder, plugged into the cigarette lighter. Frankie had found the equipment stored in the garage, tossed aside onto the bench, rather than affixed to the Harrisons’ old car.
I should have done that the first day, Annie chided herself then shook her head. No recriminations—too pointless. If she didn’t look forward, she’d never progress.
Together, Annie and Frankie had loaded the car with all the essentials they could find, in the end topping off the packed trunk with a few treats. Mikey tried to help but provided more amusement than assistance.
At one point, Frankie ruffled his hair and received a sweet, shy smile in return. A tight muscle in Annie’s chest began to loosen.
They passed a sign for a shopping center, four names proudly displayed. One of them was Johnson’s—All You Need for Outdoor Adventure Goods—and Annie steered through the entrance.
Despite the potential danger, they’d decided to head back into the city. Frankie needed closure about her parents, and Annie wanted medical care for her son. Even so, the car was stuffed with equipment for self-reliance.
Both were willing to take a chance, but neither wanted to take too great a risk.
In the rear-view mirror, Mikey’s fingers fussed with the bandage on his thigh. Annie frowned and added items to her mental list as they pulled up outside the store.
Broken windows showed evidence of looters, but a lot of stock remained available. Annie grabbed a couple of first aid kits with relief, a Swiss army knife following them into the bag.
If she moved the bullet to Mikey’s back, he wouldn’t be able to reach it with his fiddly fingers. A bottle of antiseptic beckoned and Annie took a stack of microfleece blankets to add to their pile in the car.
She hesitated in front of the gun display. Before they’d left the farm, she’d locked every last firearm and box of ammunition in the barn. After dousing the gap between the barn and the house with water, she’d set the barn and its ghastly treasure trove alight.
Once the greedy creep of flame had begun in earnest up the side of the dry wooden walls, Annie had followed the kids into the car and driven away without looking back. If the disease took hold of Mikey again, despite precautions, she needed to ensure it ran a different course.
A real threat against a possible one. Annie turned away and carried the goods outside.
When the back of the vehicle was sitting low, and the trunk lid took three tries to slam shut, Annie drove them across the parking lot toward a sign for a baby store.
Inside, she walked past the rows of clothing, past the bassinets and strollers, straight to the back of the shop, where the expensive car seats were displayed on the shelves.
The one she wanted was stacked at the top. Annie snagged a footstool from under the bottom shelf and balanced on tiptoes, stretching hopeful fingers out as far as she could reach. She snagged the edge and pulled the box down. A replica of the car seat that was presumably still fastened securely into the back of Greg’s vehicle.
She unboxed it in the store. The belts, buckles, fastenings, screws, and tools went into the curve of the seat. Then Annie lifted the contraption and walked back out the door, glass from an earlier forced entry crunching under her feet.
“Hey, Mikey,” she said. She passed him a box of dried fruit she’d hidden in her back pocket in return for a gleeful chuckle, then hefted him up to carry him to Frankie’s lap.
With supplies crowding in from all sides, there was little room for Annie to work. The bulk of the seat crowded out what little room she did have.
With the instructions laid out in the foot well, Annie carefully started to fix it in place.
“Do you need a hand?” Frankie asked, playfully bouncing Mikey on her knees.
For a second, Annie’s mind flicked back. Leaving her husband behind to tackle the car seat while she carried grocery bags through to the kitchen. Bags of food they never had the chance to eat.
“No thanks, hun,” Annie said. “I've got this.”
Coming soon...
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Also by the Author
Found, Near Water
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Skeletal
Ten years ago Daina Harrow stole a secret people had killed to hide. Now her bones have been found on a building site, can a Coroner's Inquest uncover the truth behind her death?
Breathe and Release
Two days of memories was all Elisabet had. It’s all she thought she needed. Until the care offered to her by a husband she didn’t remember descended into aggression and violence.
The Three Deaths of Magdalene Lynton
Magdalene Lynton died forty years ago–the victim of an obscene, accidental drowning. So why is Paul Worthington now confessing to her murder?
A Ngaire Blakes Mystery - Book One
The Second Stage of Grief
Ngaire Blakes is dragged into a murder investigation to discover that someone has deliberately framed her. Can she unravel the mystery? Who framed her for murder? And will she find the killer before he finds her?
A Ngaire Blakes Mystery - Book Two
Gun 2 - The Hospital
When Dr. Rachel Harraday is called upon by the CDC to catalog and treat a developing epidemic, she can’t foresee the disease will catapult its sufferers into a spree of gun violence. Struggling to navigate to safety through the unfamiliar hospital, only one thing is certain: help isn’t on its way.
About the Author
Lee Hayton is a middle-aged woman who works in insurance, doesn't have children or pets, can't drive, has lived in Christchurch her entire life, and currently resides a two-minute walk from where she was born.
For some reason she’d developed a rich fantasy life.
Writing as KATHERINE HAYTON, she's the author of three stand-alone novels FOUND NEAR WATER, SKELETAL, and BREATHE AND RELEASE.
The first book in her trilogy of novels featuring Detective Ngaire Blakes, THE THREE DEATHS OF MAGDALENE LYNTON, was a 2016 Kindle Scout Winner and is available through Kindle Press.
The second book in the Ngaire Blakes trilogy, THE SECOND STAGE OF GRIEF, was also a 2016 Kindle Scout Winner and was published in October 2016 by Kindle Press.
Writing as LEE HAYTON, two new series will be released early in 2017. These novels are set in the USA (or a made-up version thereof) and are an action-packed combination of Thriller, Urban Fantasy, and Horror.
GUN (Gun Apocalypse Series) will b
e followed by GUN 2 (so original) and GUN 3 (the creativity just keeps flowing), and
CAGED MAGIC (World War Magic Series Book 1) will be released on 28th March 2017, as part of the RUNES & REBELS Urban Fantasy anthology.
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Coming Soon...
Also by the Author
About the Author
