Krampus

Chapter Eight Ambush

The howl pressed into Krampus’s head, into his heart, so faint, not even a whisper, not even an echo’s echo, yet so painful to bear.

Dawn’s first glow peeked in through the window slats. The others slept undisturbed, but for Krampus it seemed there was no reprieve from the mournful call. Such sorrow, he thought. He clutched the sack, pulled it into his lap, and did his best to push the howls from his mind. Loki’s arrow, he thought, it must be found or I am defenseless. He set his mind to the task, trying to picture it in all its possible manifestations. Only he had no idea what the fabled arrow looked like, where it might be, and had to rely on the sack not only to seek but to find, and the sack was taking its toll. Where are you? Where are you?

Legend told that Odin had it taken into Muspell, the realm of lava and fire, to be melted down and destroyed forever, but Hel had spoken otherwise. Krampus pressed his eyes shut, thought of Asgard, melded with the sack. The charred ruins of Valhalla appeared in his mind, the surrounding lands all scorched earth, all a graveyard of crumbling ash. Krampus wondered how much longer before the ghostly realm was lost forever. The bones of a ship appeared among a dry seabed. “Hringhorni, Baldr’s funeral vessel,” Krampus whispered. “It must be here. Look for the—”

The howl—mournful and piercing.

The vision faded. Krampus opened his eyes, found himself staring about the church again, into the tortured face of the Christ hanging on the wall. He let out a long sigh, let the sack fall from his hands, the fatigue eating down to his very bones. He pushed himself to his feet and stepped to the window, peered out into the frosty morning and watched dawn’s light dance among the icicles, heard the call of morning birds. He longed to just sit there the day long and watch Sol make her path across the winter landscape. But there would be no time for such frivolity, not for him, not so long as Baldr still drew breath.

Again, the howl.

Geri. Krampus felt sure. The language of animals was as his own, and with the ancients he shared a bond. The howl told of more than pain, it spoke of abandonment. Krampus shook his head. He has left them behind. Odin’s great pets left to die alone. Krampus found his nails biting into his palm. Odin would curse him ill for such deed.

Another cry.

And blame is shared, for my hand is at play in these matters as well. That cannot be denied. Would I be as he then? Would I sit by and do nothing? Let them die? Allow those magnificent beasts to disappear from this world? He shook his head. Something must be done.

He turned, sure of course, then hesitated. This could be one of his tricks. A trap. A ruse to draw me out. Krampus took in a deep breath. Perhaps . . . perhaps not. Some risks must be made.

“Arise,” Krampus called.

The Belsnickels raised their heads, sat up, looked about as though unsure where they were and how they’d arrived here. There was no such confusion on Jesse’s face. He sat up quick, his hands still bound and his leg tied to the pew. Krampus could read his focus, his hatred; the man made no effort to hide it. Krampus thought how surprised Jesse would find it if he knew how much he, Krampus, understood that hatred. He liked this man’s spirit, wanted to tell him to hold fast, that he, the Yule Lord, would make good on his promise, but knew such words would be lost on the man while he resided in such a dark place.

“We go. Load up into the carriage. I have an errand.”

They looked at him confused.

“We must find the wolf.”

“THIS IS JUST plain stupid,” Jesse said, keeping a tight eye on the icy rut road as he patted his pockets in the hopes of finding a stray cigarette.

“Stupid or not,” Isabel replied, “his mind’s made up.” She still wore that confounded panda cap he’d bought her, hadn’t taken it off since first putting it on, and it made it hard to be mad at her.

Jesse slowed the truck down to a crawl as they forded a small creek. He shook his head. They’d been lucky on the highway, the only traffic was two out-of-state semis. But it was early, traffic would pick up soon, and there was no guarantee their luck would hold when they tried to head back. “He’s gonna get us all killed. This is stupid, stupid, stupid.”

“He can be a hard one to figure sometimes,” Isabel said. “Talking murder one minute then crying over some dead birds the next.”

“Well, one run-in with those wolves was enough for me.” Jesse glanced into the rearview at Krampus and the Belsnickels sitting beneath the torn-up camper shell, all of them watching the woods, searching the trees for any sign of the wolves, Santa Claus, who knew what else. The Belsnickels held everything, from spears and knives to a machine pistol, while Krampus clung to that sack like a child to its blanket, his eyes drinking in the scenery.

They came across the video-game boxes scattered all across the dirt road and Vernon tapped the glass. “Krampus wants you to turn around. He believes we’ve passed them.”

Jesse found a wide spot, turned around, and headed slowly back down the mountain. About a quarter-mile later, Krampus raised his hand. Jesse gently tapped the brakes, careful of the ice, and they rolled to a stop.

“He wants you to turn off the engine,” Vernon said in a hushed voice, as though the wolves might be hiding under the truck.

Jesse thought this was a bad move. He wanted to be able to stomp the accelerator and go, should either of the wolves appear, and you couldn’t always count on the old V-8 to start right up, even when it was warm. “I don’t know if I—”

“Shush,” Vernon said, putting a finger to his lips. “He’s listening for them.”

Jesse rolled his eyes and shut off the engine.

Krampus slid out of the truck, followed by the Belsnickels. The Shawnee wore their pistols and knives in their belts and held their spears at the ready, scanning the woods in all directions. Vernon walked up to Jesse’s window, fiddling with the converted Mac-10 he’d brought along, oblivious to the fact that he was pointing it at Jesse while he did. “Hey,” he whispered. “How do you cock this thing, again?”

Jesse pushed the barrel toward the ground. He had little faith in Vernon’s abilities to use the weapon without shooting himself, or his pals, and just hoped he wasn’t anywhere near the man if he did decide to use it. “When you get ready to use it, slide this bolt back.” Jesse had never shot a machine pistol before, but it was a simple enough gun. By the way Vernon handled it, he wondered if Vernon had ever shot any gun before. “Don’t pull the bolt back until you’re ready to shoot, or the gun could go off in your hand.”

Vernon pulled the bolt back.

“No, Vernon, not until you’re ready to shoot.”

“I am ready,” Vernon said, inadvertently pointing the gun right at Jesse as he did.

“Shit, Vernon,” Jesse snapped, shoving the barrel away from his face. “Look, man, you gotta watch where you’re pointing that thing. Okay?”

“Oh, yes. I’m sorry.”

Krampus and the Shawnee stood at the ledge, scanning the gorge below, when a low howl echoed up the valley. Jesse’s skin prickled. It sounded nearby.

Makwa sprinted up the road a piece, stopped, and pointed below.

“They found something,” Vernon said.

“Let’s go see,” Isabel said, and started to get out of the truck, stopped, and looked at Jesse.

“I’m good right here,” Jesse said.

Isabel shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Jesse let out a grunt, put on the emergency brake, and climbed out. “Look, ain’t someone gonna at least give me a weapon?” No one paid him any attention. “Fine,” he said and followed Isabel and Vernon to the ledge.

He could see the wolves, both of them, about fifty yards below. One of them lay on its side. It looked dead to Jesse. The other stood guard beside it. It stared up at them, growling, its fur bristling. Need to just leave that thing be.

Krampus and the wolf watched each other for several minutes, both of their tails twitching. Finally, Krampus spoke. “None of you are to use your weapons without my order. That is a command. Now, wait here.” He walked back to the truck, reached into the camper, and pulled out his sack.

“What’s he up to?” Vernon asked no one in particular.

Krampus closed his eyes, clutched the sack, then reopened his eyes. He inserted his arm into the sack and withdrew a chunk of something. Krampus tossed the sack back into the truck bed and headed their way.

“It’s the leg of beef,” Vernon said. “He’s planning on feeding the damn things. Isn’t he? He’s mad, completely mad.”

Jesse realized Krampus must’ve opened a door back to the church and simply pulled the meat out of the wash tub. “Maybe he’ll let you feed them, Vernon.”

But Krampus passed them by without a word and started down the rocky embankment. He slid and scrambled his way to the bottom of the ravine, then leapt deftly from boulder to boulder until he was about twenty yards from the wolves. The huge wolf bared its teeth and stood its ground. They could hear the low rumble of its growl all the way up the ravine.

“My friends,” Vernon said, making no effort to hide the pleasure in his voice. “Lord Krampus is about to be devoured before our very eyes.”

The Shawnee cut him a dark look.

“Do not even frown at me, you bunch of heathens. Not everyone is having a gosh-darn good time here. God or not, he has finally gone completely cuckoo.” Vernon smiled. “ ’Sooner he’s dead, the sooner I get to wake up from this nightmare.”

Krampus took a step, then another, slowly moving closer and closer to the wolf. The wolf showed no sign of backing down, its growl increasing in volume. Jesse found he shared Vernon’s sentiment; Krampus had indeed lost hold of his senses. Even the Shawnee looked unsure, clutching their weapons and exchanging nervous glances.

Krampus stepped upon the ledge with the giant wolves. He held the chunk of beef out before him and spoke to the wolf. It was impossible to make out the words from that distance, yet somehow Jesse caught his low, soothing tone, as though the Yule Lord was reaching out in other ways.

The wolf took a step back, then another. Krampus laid the beef down in front of it. The wolf sniffed, appeared confused—growling then whining, growling then whining.

Krampus stepped over to the injured wolf, squatted on his haunches. He tore off a strip of beef, held it before the prone wolf. It raised its head, sniffed, licked the beef, then took it. Krampus fed it another strip and another, stroking its fur, all while its mate looked on. Finally, its mate took a timid step over, its tail down, sniffing. Krampus nudged the beef toward it. It licked, then bit into the meat—chewing greedily. Jesse wondered how long it had been since it had last eaten.

Krampus kept speaking to them in that low, soothing tone; whatever he was saying seemed to be working. Krampus was soon petting both animals and Jesse watched in disbelief as the standing wolf licked Krampus’s hand then actually nuzzled the Yule Lord.

“Looks like today’s not your lucky day after all, Vernon,” Jesse said.

“Yes, it appears madness wins,” Vernon said with a sigh.

Krampus stood and waved to them.

“Now what?” Vernon moaned.

“He wants us to come down,” Isabel said. “I got a good idea he’s gonna want us to tote that lame wolf back up to the truck.”

Vernon let out a long groan.

The Shawnee started down, but Isabel paused. “Vernon, need you to stay put and watch the truck. Krampus’s sack’s in the back, remember? Shout if you hear anyone coming.”

Vernon smiled. “That works for me.”

She glanced at Jesse. “And don’t let Jesse out of your sight.”

The four Belsnickels slid down the embankment, made their way over the boulders, and cautiously approached the wolves.

Jesse blew into his cupped hands, trying to warm his fingers, then shoved them into his pockets. He felt the keys and his heart sped up. He’d forgotten he had them; his mind had been on the wolves—if and when they were going to leap out of the trees and rip them all apart. In his fear and excitement, he’d not even considered escaping, and now realized he wasn’t the only one preoccupied, that no one else had thought of the keys, either.

He snuck a quick glance toward the truck; it sat just waiting for him to run and jump in. He considered Vernon standing there on the ledge. One quick push is all it’d take. Jesse clutched the keys. Might be my only chance.

“Oh, this is just rich,” Vernon said, completely transfixed by the drama unfolding below.

Jesse took a step closer to Vernon.

Vernon looked at him, and Jesse froze. “What are you doing?”

Jesse opened his mouth, couldn’t find any words, shrugged.

“Well here, look. You’re going to miss it.”

The standing wolf bristled as the Belsnickels neared, began to growl again. The Belsnickels stopped in their tracks.

“Just hate to see one of them dunderheaded savages get their arm bit off.” Vernon chuckled. “Why, that would just be horrible.”

Jesse looked at all the rocks and roots below. He sure didn’t want to kill the man, just get away. Sorry, Jesse thought and gave Vernon a shove, catching the Belsnickel completely by surprise.

Vernon flew off the ledge and Jesse didn’t wait around to see what happened next. He dashed for the truck, leapt in the door, and slammed the key in the ignition. He turned the key, the engine whined, then nothing. Jesse pictured the Belsnickels all scrambling up the ledge, he knew he had only seconds. He tried again, lightly pumping the gas, trying not to flood it in his excitement. This time the engine turned over, the muffler coughed, and black smoke shot out the back. Jesse slammed it into gear and punched the accelerator.

He bounced down the rut road. Howls came from somewhere behind him. He dared not so much as a glance back, all his attention on keeping the truck from sliding off the icy track. A minute later he shot through the brambles, and the front wheels of the old Ford actually left the ground as he flew out onto the highway. A horn blared, followed by the squeal of brakes. Jesse spun halfway around and just missed an oncoming semi. He straightened up, hit the gas, and headed up Route 3 toward Goodhope.

JUST BEFORE TOWN, Jesse pulled down the long gravel road leading to Linda’s mother’s, then into the turnaround beside the creek. He left the motor running, hopped out, and unscrewed the four pins holding what was left of the camper to his truck. He shoved the camper off into the bushes. He couldn’t remember ever seeing the truck without the shell, almost didn’t recognize it, hoped no one else would either.

He set his knee on what was left of the tailgate, shoved the sack aside, and pulled out the .22. Not much, but might be all I need if Abigail is still at Dillard’s. “Wait a minute.” He looked at the sack, recalled Krampus pulling the beef from the sack, and his pulse quickened. “The church? Yes, gotta be. It should still be opened to the church. And what’s in the church?” He let out a laugh.

He snatched the sack over to him. Stared at it a long minute. “Okay, let’s see what you got.” He opened the cord, closed his eyes, thought of the machine pistols, and stuck in his arm. His hand waved in empty space and there came a prolonged second when he thought the door had shut, then his hand hit what felt like cardboard, then cold, hard steel. He withdrew his arm and smiled—one of the Mac-10s, it looked like the most beautiful object on earth to him at that moment. He thought of the clips, pictured them in his mind, reached back in, and they were right there. He plucked out two of them. “This should even up the odds a bit.”

Jesse tossed Krampus’s sack in the passenger’s seat and climbed back in. He held the gun up and looked heavenward. “Thank you, Lord.” He kissed the gun. “Gonna take this as a sign you’re pulling for me.”

JESSE TURNED UP Linda’s mother’s driveway, pulled all the way around to the rear of the house. He slung the gun over his shoulder, jumped out, and ran up the back steps, not bothering to knock, just barging in. He rushed through the house, looking for any sign of Linda or Abigail.

“Linda!” he shouted. “Abi!”

“Jesse?” Polly peered down the staircase, clutching her house robe.

He dashed up the stairs; she saw the gun over his shoulder and backed away.

“Where are they?” he asked, his voice frantic. “Where’s Abigail?”

“They’re not here.”

He pushed past, took a quick look into both bedrooms.

“Jesse, what’s gotten into you? You don’t just come into someone’s house and—”

“Have you talked to Linda again? Have you heard anything?”

“She said you were in trouble. Jesse, what kind of trouble are you in?”

He set desperate eyes on her. “Abigail’s life’s at stake, if you know anything please tell me.”

“Only thing I know is that Dillard wants them to stay put at his place. Linda won’t say more than that. Said I wasn’t to come over.” Polly’s eyes began to water. “I’m so scared. Jesse, please tell me what’s going on.”

“Maybe they’re still safe then.” He ran back downstairs.

Polly caught up with him in the hall. “Why won’t anyone tell me what’s going on?”

Jesse lifted the phone off the cradle, an old rotary dial. “What’s Dillard’s number?”

“Nuh-uh. No, sir. I ain’t telling. You’re just gonna stir things up.”

“I’m just gonna see if she’s there. Not gonna say a thing.”

“You’ll just make it worse.”

“It can’t get no worse. They’re out to hurt them . . . Linda and Abigail both.”

“Jesse, you got her in this spot didn’t you? If—”

“I fucked up, Mrs. Collins. I know that. But I’m willing to die if that’s what it takes to fix things. Does that mean anything to you?”

And for a second her stern face weakened and he could see the pain, the fear, then the stubborn came back. “I ain’t telling.”

“You better, goddammit!” he shouted.

She crossed her arms and he knew unless he was willing to tear her fingernails off one by one, he wasn’t getting that number. He yanked the receiver, ripping the cord right out from the phone.

“What in the hell is wrong with you?” she cried.

“Sorry about your phone, Mrs. Collins. Just don’t want you telling anyone I was here, at least for a bit.”

He headed out the back, taking the receiver with him. Polly followed onto the steps, watched him climb into his truck.

“If anything happens to my babies,” she shouted, “I swear I’ll—”

“You won’t have to, Mrs. Collins,” Jesse shouted back. “I’ll be dead.”

Her mouth drew into a tight line.

THE PHONE RANG. Dillard reached across the nightstand, knocking over a bottle of Excedrin, spilling pills all over the floor. “Fuck.” Another ring. “Hello.” He heard a woman breathing. “Polly, is that you again? Damn it, Polly, we told you to stop calling all the—”

“He’s on his way over there,” Polly snapped.

Dillard sat up. “You mean Jesse?”

“Yeah I mean Jesse. He’s got a gun and is out of his gourd. Tore my phone right out the wall, had to walk all the way down to Berta’s just to call you. He really scared me, Dillard.” She was crying. “What’s going on? Would you please just tell me?”

Dillard switched on the table lamp. “Calm down, Polly. It’ll all get worked out.” Linda sat up, squinting into the light, looking confused. “Here, I want you to tell Linda what you just told me.” He handed Linda the phone and got up, slipping on his pants, shirt, and boots. He snatched his pistol, cuffs, and cell phone off the nightstand and headed down the hall. He could hear Linda trying to calm her mother, hoped Polly would convince Linda that Jesse was unstable. Getting tired of hearing her defend that cocksucker.

Dillard flipped open his cell phone and made a call.

“What?” a groggy voice answered.

“Chet?”

“Dillard?”

“Yeah. Get on over to my place. Got a present for you.”

“Jesse?”

“He’ll be here any minute, so you might want to hurry.”

Dillard snapped the phone shut, slipped it into his pocket, then walked through the house turning off any lights and closing all the drapes. He stationed himself in the den and peeked out through the blinds. He wondered if Jesse would be stupid enough to pull right into the driveway, or if he’d park down the road and try to sneak up. Might get tricky if he does. Be a hell of a lot easier if I could just shoot him dead. But Dillard didn’t want to do that, the General wanted him alive, there were a lot of questions needing to be answered.

Dillard pushed the safety off on his gun. He knew Jesse was a loser, but he didn’t allow himself to believe for a second that a loser couldn’t get lucky, he’d been on the job far too long, seen too much go wrong. Ain’t no easy way to take a gun away from a man without killing him first.

Linda came running into the room in her jeans and socked feet, buttoning up the front of her blouse. She saw the gun and her mouth tightened. “Let me talk to him.”

Dillard gave her a hard look. When was she gonna learn? “No. That ain’t gonna happen. I want you to go down the hall and wait with Abigail until I tell you otherwise. You got it?”

“Please.”

“You need to stay out of my way and let me do my job.”

“Dillard, I know how to talk to him. There ain’t no need for this.”

He felt his temper heating up. “Did you not hear your mother? Does that sound like the Jesse you once knew?”

“I’m not gonna stand here and let you shoot him dead.”

“Goddammit, Linda.” He took a step toward her, intent on straightening her out one way or another, when it struck him that she might be just the trick. He let out a long breath. “Okay, Linda, you wanna save Jesse? You get him to put that gun down. Think you can do that?”

Linda nodded without hesitation.

“Understand me, as long as he has that gun there’s a very good chance he’s gonna end up dead.”

“I know.”

Dillard wiped his hand across his mouth. “Let him in, distract him and—” Dillard heard a vehicle approaching, recognized the sound of Jesse’s busted muffler. The engine cut off a moment later and Dillard assumed Jesse must’ve parked just beyond the rise.

He met Linda’s eyes, they were wide and anxious. “You ready?”

She nodded, but he could see her hands were shaking.

JESSE HEFTED THE Mac-10, loaded a clip. He shoved the extra clips in his pocket, opened the door, and got out. He pushed the door to without slamming it and glanced up and down the wooded road. The homes along this stretch were few and far between, the next nearest mailbox at least a hundred yards back. He slipped the gun strap around his neck, setting the machine pistol beneath his arm. The light snow had turned into a miserable drizzle. He flipped up his jacket collar and, sticking to the trees, headed over the rise toward Dillard’s.

Jesse hunkered down in the bushes at the edge of Dillard’s yard, wishing he had a cigarette or something to calm his nerves. The cruiser was gone, which meant there was a real good chance Dillard was, too. And if Dillard happened to be home, hopefully he’d still be in bed, giving Jesse some chance at catching him by surprise. Are you prepared to shoot him? Jesse recalled the last time he had had to make that choice. This is different. This isn’t about me. This is about Abigail. I will shoot him if I have to. He took a deep breath, pulled the bolt back on the Mac, hoping to hell he wouldn’t have to shoot anybody. He broke cover and headed down the slope.

Jesse crept along the front of the house, trying to peek into the windows, looking for lights, any clue to who might be inside. He started to climb onto the front porch when the door opened. Jesse jumped, jerked the gun up, finger on the trigger.

Linda stood in the crack of the door, and for a moment he forgot about Dillard, the General, even Krampus, only felt the ache in his heart.

“Jesse,” Linda said, looking shocked. “What are you doing here?”

He darted up the steps, trying to see inside, keeping the gun ready. “Is he here?” he hissed. “Is Dillard here?”

She shook her head and a rush of relief washed through him.

Linda glanced up and down the road. “Quick, get in here before someone sees you.”

Jesse ducked inside the foyer. “Where’s Abigail?”

She looked him over and he could see in her eyes what a mess he must be.

“Jesse, I’m so worried about you. What is—”

“Is she here? Is Abigail here?”

“Jesse, would you please put that gun away.” He caught the quiver in her voice, noticed she was talking to him carefully, the way you’d talk to a crazy person.

“Please,” she said. “Just put it down and talk to me, Jesse. Please.”

He saw it then, the fear in her eyes. “Oh, Linda. Oh, no . . . you got it all wrong.” He yanked the gun strap from around his neck, sat the weapon on the hall table beneath an oval mirror, and stepped toward her. “Baby, last thing I meant to do was scare you.”

She backed away.

He couldn’t stand the pain in her eyes. He reached for her, taking another step. “Linda, please just listen. I can explain every—”

From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a shadow rushing out from the dark den. It hit him before he could turn, driving him into the wall with a tremendous thud. His feet were kicked out from under him and he hit the floor, his head bouncing off the river-rock tile. For a moment everything went bright-white and syrupy. A crushing weight landed on his back, hard hands twisted his arms behind him, and cold steel clamped around his wrists. He was patted down, then a big boot kicked him over. When things came back into focus, he found himself staring up into Dillard’s cold eyes.

“That ought to take some of the spit out of you,” Dillard said.

Jesse searched for Linda, found her clutching her face in her hands. “Linda . . . why?”

“Jesse, I’m so sorry. I . . . just . . . I thought . . . just wanted to do what was best. I was scared you were gonna end up getting hurt. Scared you might hurt somebody. Scared for Abi.” She gave him a pleading look; opened her mouth to say more, then burst into tears. She hid her face in her hands and sobbed.

For Abi? Then it hit him: Linda had no idea. “Linda, no. You got it all wrong. It’s the General that means to hurt Abi. Don’t you see, baby? Dillard, too, they’re all in on it. They’re playing you to—”

Dillard drove his boot into Jesse’s stomach. Jesse doubled up, groaning.

“Stop it!” Linda shouted.

Dillard ignored her, picked the Mac-10 up off the table. “How’d you come by this?”

Jesse glared at Dillard, but didn’t answer.

“I asked you where this goddamn gun came from.”

“Pulled it out of my ass!” Jesse shouted.

Dillard leaned over, grabbed a handful of Jesse’s hair, and slammed his face into the floor. Jesse felt something snap in his nose and his head exploded in a burst of bright pain.

“Stop!” Linda screamed and grabbed Dillard by the arm. “Stop it!”

Dillard stood up, locked his stony-gray eyes on her. She fell back a step. “Linda, I’m gonna tell you this one time.” His voice cold, void of emotion. “Go down the hall to Abigail’s room and stay there.”

Linda’s lips tightened; she was shaking. “No, I won’t.”

Dillard tilted his head as though he weren’t hearing right, then sat the Mac-10 back on the table and took a step toward her.

A vehicle—a truck, by the sound of it—pulled up outside. Jesse heard doors slamming, excited voices, then the drumming of feet on the porch. The front door burst open and Chet and Ash Boggs rushed in, weapons leveled. Chet carried a pistol and Ash a scattergun. They saw Jesse on the floor, grinned, and lowered their weapons.

Ash let out a whoop and all three hundred pounds of him practically danced over to where Jesse lay. He jabbed a finger at Jesse and said, “Picked the wrong son’bitch to steal from. Didn’t you, cocksucker? Why, the General’s gonna boil you alive, boy.”

Linda’s eyes shot to Dillard. “What’s he talking about?”

“Ash,” Dillard said. “Why don’t you shut up.”

“Dillard?” Linda pressed.

“They threatened to kill Abi,” Jesse spat. “Dillard’s part of it! Open your eyes, Linda, before it’s too—”

Dillard kicked him again.

“Dillard!” Linda cried. “What’s he talking about?”

Dillard didn’t answer.

“He’s not going with them,” Linda said, and Jesse saw the stubborn, take-no-shit-off-no-one gal he’d fallen in love with. “I won’t let ’em take him. I’ll call the sheriff if I have to. But he’s not going anywhere with them.”

Chet and Ash exchanged a glance.

Dillard stared at Jesse, his eyes burned into him, nodding to himself. Slowly, he lifted his head, fixing those burning eyes on Linda. “Linda,” he said, his tone tight and strained. “Leave.”

“I won’t.”

Dillard closed his eyes and Jesse started to shout, tried to warn Linda, but Dillard was already on the move. He swung, caught her in the face with his open palm, spinning her around. Her feet tangled and she tumbled into the living room.

“You fucking piece of shit!” Jesse cried and tried to make his feet. Ash, a man easily double Jesse’s weight, dropped atop of Jesse, pinning him with his knees.

Linda sat up, touched her busted lip, and looked at the blood on her fingers.

“Mommy?” Abigail stood in the hallway in her pajamas. She clutched her doll, her eyes confused. She saw Jesse. “Daddy? Daddy!” she cried, and dashed toward him. Dillard grabbed for her arm, missed, and caught hold of her hair, yanking her back. Abigail screamed, a sound full of terror and pain.

“Fuck!” Jesse cried, kicking and bucking, not even feeling the cuffs biting into his wrists as he fought to dislodge Ash.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Ash said and hammered a fist into the back of Jesse’s head. Jesse’s vision blurred again, but he could still hear Abigail crying.

Dillard, still clutching Abigail by the hair, dragged her over to a door on the far side of the living room and opened it. It appeared to lead down into the basement. “Linda,” he snapped. “If you don’t want her getting hurt, you’re gonna take her downstairs . . . now.”

Linda climbed to her feet and rushed over to Abigail, picking her up. Abigail clung to her neck, wailing. Jesse caught one last terrified look from Linda as she and Abigail disappeared down the stairwell.

“Dammit,” Chet said under his breath. “Didn’t I warn you, Jesse? Didn’t I tell you not to fuck with him?”

Dillard slammed the door shut and turned the bolt, locking the girls in. He stood there a minute longer, taking long, deep breaths. Slowly, he turned to Jesse, walked back into the hall, and plucked the Mac-10 back up. He squatted on one knee and grabbed Jesse by the hair, pointing the machine pistol into Jesse’s face. “Where’d you get this gun?”

Blood ran from Jesse’s nose into his mouth and down his chin. “Shoot me, asshole,” Jesse spat, and meant it. He knew he was done for, one way or another, and just wanted Abigail’s heart-wrenching scream gone from his head. He couldn’t bear to think what might happen to Linda and Abigail now. Dillard had been right, he was a loser. He’d not just failed, he’d made everything worse for everyone.

Dillard pressed the gun against Jesse’s temple, rested his finger on the trigger. Both Chet and Ash moved back. The foyer fell dead quiet and Jesse clenched his eyes shut, waiting.

“Ah . . . hey, Dillard,” Chet said softly. “General said we’re supposed to bring him in alive. Y’know? I’m just saying.”

Dillard didn’t move, seemed to be made of stone.

“Dillard . . . man. C’mon. None of us need the General on our asses.”

Dillard let out a long sigh, handed the Mac-10 to Chet, leaned over, and spoke into Jesse’s ear. “You fucked everything up. For me, for you, for Linda and Abigail.” A tremor crept into his voice, he sounded on the verge of tears. “I made you a promise last time we spoke. You remember? I told you what would happen if you set foot on my property again.” He grabbed hold of Jesse’s pinkie, gave it a quick twist, bent the finger all the way backward. Jesse felt a snap and a shot of pain rocketed up his arm. He screamed.

Dillard moved to the next finger, then the next. Twisting and snapping each finger on Jesse’s left hand, not just dislocating them, but breaking them. Jesse screamed and bucked, tried to understand how anything could hurt so bad. The world began to spin, all bright lights and the taste of the stone tile against his teeth. With a final twist, Dillard snapped Jesse’s thumb. Mercifully, Jesse lost consciousness and the world swam into darkness.