Werewolf Sings the Blues (29 page)

The light shifts as the intruder moves, searching the closet I think. Then, as quickly as they came, the footsteps run the opposite direction. Gone. He's gone. I let out my breath in ragged spurts in time to my shaking body. I wait ten seconds before allowing my gun arm to lower.

“Aunt Viv,” Dusty whispers, “are we gonna die like Daddy?”

“No, baby,” I whisper back. I kiss his hair and his sister's. “They are.”

By any means necessary.

seventeen

Five minutes. It takes
approximately five minutes to storm a castle and seize control. I'm guessing on the time because when you're stuck in the dark crawlspace, it's hard to check your watch. It feels like five minutes as the gunshots and shouts begin to space out before stopping all together. Five minutes. I think we lost.

The silence is almost as bad as what came before. Every creak, every voice in the hall keeps me on a razor fine edge, but it's nothing to the random woman's scream or plea for mercy from a nearby bedroom. I cover the children's ears, then say a silent prayer that they don't know what those sounds signify. They're terrified enough as it is. I'd do something—
God, do I
want to do something
—but the children are my priorities. If I can help I will, but first I have to figure out how to get these kids the hell out of the house. Nothing else matters. No one is laying finger one on my niece and nephew. They try and I'll bite the damn finger off.

Our best bet is still the tunnel. It served its purpose to the invaders, they shouldn't be guarding it too heavily. Just have to get to it, that is if Jason doesn't return. But he'll come back.
He will.
Just covering all the angles. I start calculating the frequency of the footsteps in the hall by counting the seconds between them, like gauging the distance of a storm from the thunder and lightning. About every two or three minutes someone walks past our door, but who knows how many more are in the bedrooms? Fuck. Too many unknown variables.
Jason, please hurry.

When the hour passes, and still no Jason, I come close to break
ing down. It builds with each passing minute, and I stretch those minutes, but when I can no longer deny an hour has passed, I'm bent to the point of snapping. Like hysterical crying, fetal position, catatonic snapping. Something's happened to him. There is
no way in hell that man would leave us unless it is absolutely
necessary or if he …

I've never had a panic attack, but I feel one creeping up, poisoning my brain and what little bravery I still possess. Maybe we should just stay in here. They haven't found us yet. No reason they will now. Just give him a little more time. Because the alternative, yeah not ready for it yet.

I concentrate on the children's breathing, their steady feel
against me. They may be asleep. Adrenaline crash. I almost gave in to sweet oblivion thirty minutes ago and had to dig my fingernails into my palms to keep sleep at bay. At least in Pennsylvania I had an activity to keep me occupied. Regardless, the twins trust me enough to fall asleep. They have faith I can keep them safe. Jason too. As God as my witness, I will not let them down. I'll die first.

About ten more minutes pass, each more grueling than the seventy before. I'm so thankful I cried all my tears out earlier. I have to go, don't I? He's not coming. They've … Okay, I guess I have a few more tears left. I shut my eyes tight like a prison cell and wipe the few escapees away.
Keep it together, Viv.
Fight now, cry later. My shifting stirs Nicki, who moans a little. Intuitively, I place my hand over her mouth and nose. Nicki quiets, and I remove my hand.

It's time.

I rub Dusty's arm to wake him. He wiggles against me so I assume he's conscious. “You guys okay?” I whisper so softly I can barely hear myself.

“Where's Mommy?” Dusty whispers back.

“I don't know.”

“Is Uncle Jason here to get us?” Nicki asks.

“No, doll face.”

“Are Mommy and Uncle Jason dead?” Dusty asks.

I am momentarily at a loss for words. “I-I don't know.” I kiss the top of his head. “But it's time to go. We can't stay here anymore.” I kiss Nicki's head too. “I need to find a way out, okay? But I have to leave you here.”

“No, no,” both whisper desperately.

“I have to, I'm sorry. I will come right back, I promise.”

“That's what Uncle Jason said,” Nicki counters.

She's got me there. “This is just how is has to be. I have to make sure it's safe for you, and I need you both to be strong and brave for me, okay? I will come right back for you, I swear. But … if I don't, you both stay here as long as you can. Take care of each other. And if a bad wolf comes, you fight. You kick, scratch, punch, do what-ever you have to, to get away from him.” I peck them again. “Just stick together, alright?”

The kids hug me tighter. “I love you, Aunt Viv,” Nicki says.

Those words bring fresh tears. “I love you both too.”
Just go, Viv, before you really lose your nerve
. “Stay quiet. Be right back.”

My everything has grown numb from sitting Indian style for over an hour. I release the kids from my embrace to help move my legs so my knees point up. The pins and needles intensify as I
press my foot against the door. It's difficult, but I manage to get on
all fours and crawl out. I peek my head out first. The closet door is open, so I can see the bedroom. Clear.

I quickly crawl out, close the door, and reposition the stack. They'll be safe there. Please God let them be safe in there. As quickly as I can, I creep across the bedroom, gun steady in my hand and stop by the side of the door. My heart is pumping so fast I feel it in my ear drums. I glance into the hall but can only see diagonally across to an open bedroom. Damn it.
Just get on with it
. I click the safety off the gun, raise it, and stick my head out the door to get a snapshot. Body on the floor, I think Claire's father Chris from the plaid shorts, four doors down. All but three doors open. One guard with his back to me but holding a shotgun as he walks the way I need to go.
Go
.

I move to the next room and immediately hide behind the half open door. Guess that's the plan: go room to room when his back is turned. Six rooms. I can do it.
Go
. I move out the door, but just as I reach the next room the guard begins to turn around. I leap into the bedroom.

“Hello?” the guard calls.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit! This door is almost against the wall and if I move it, he'll notice. No concealment there. I drop to the floor and suppress a gasp when I see a bloody Adam hiding under the bed. The shock doesn't stop me from rolling in next to him. He's still warm. Breathing but unconscious. He lays on his stomach, and judging from the pinpoints of blood up and down his back, along with the gaping hole in his left shoulder, he was hit by a shotgun. Fuck. I hear footsteps thudding closer and hold my breath. The guard must be checking all the rooms because there are steps, a second of silence, then more steps. I can't see his feet,
but know when he's checking this one from the noise. A door creaks
open down the hall, saving us from further inspection. The guard moves on.

“What's up, dude?” a man asks.

“I, uh, thought I heard something,” the guard says. “Think I'm just edgy.”

“Yeah, been a hell of a day,” the other man says.

Adam shifts beside me and when I turn my head, his eyelids flutter. I cover his mouth and nose to stifle any noise.

“Hey,” the second man says, “you want a turn? Might loosen you up. If you don't like the cheerleader type, Mal's got an Asian around
here. Or you can choose one from the cages.”

Oh, Jesus Christ. Adam rips my hand from his face and grimaces
in pain.

“Uh, I'm good,” the guard says.

“Dude, to the victors go the spoils. This is a guilt-free zone. War
has its upsides. You're not gonna pussy out now are you?”

“It's just, it's mostly women and kids, man. This isn't cool. I—”

I'm not sure, but I think I hear a slap. “Man up and stop being a little bitch. They are not people, they are the enemy. They killed ours, we kill theirs. This is payback. Enjoy it.” The asshole pauses, probably to smile. “Good. Now, I'm gonna get something to eat. Worked up an appetite. Bring you back an apple or something.”

“Thank you. Sir.”

There are more footsteps moving away as I think the second man walks down the stairs. The guard's steps move away too. I can breathe again. Adam too, though his breathing is far too shallow for comfort. “How bad is it?” I ask as quietly as possible.

Stupid question. He's the color of a wedding dress and as sweaty as her shotgun wedding groom. “Still bleeding. Need to change.”

Fuck. I can't just leave him here. He's Jason's best friend,
my
friend.
He could die. I can't save them all. The only thing I have going for me is nobody knows I'm here. I can't save Claire or Linda or anyone else in those bedrooms because they'll notice they're missing. But him. I can save him. I
have
to save him.

I squeeze his hand again before pulling off my hoodie, not easy
with maybe an inch of space above, bunch it up, and press hard on his left shoulder. He winces in pain but suffers silently. I remove my hand and he uses the good one to keep pressure on. “I'll be back for you as soon as I can.”

With gun in hand, I abandon my hiding spot and pad toward the door, once again putting my back to the wall before glancing out. The guard is almost at the other end of the hall with his back to me. As fast as I can, I move the opposite way, pausing only to gaze down the stairs to see if the coast is clear. Almost there. I make it to the master bedroom and one step in, stop dead.

Oh God.

Sam, sweet Sam who I sent to this room, lies face up with four bullet holes visible on his white shirt and one in his forehead. His brown eyes stare up at me with no trace of life left in them. I'm sad to admit poor Sam barely gets a glance before my eyes find the second body lying on its side, one remaining blue eye on me. The wind's knocked out of me. I want to fall on my knees, cry out to the heavens but the same thing keeping me going keeps me upright. The back of my father's head has exploded out from the three bullets he took: one to the forehead, the eye, and cheek, along with a shotgun blast to the gut. Overkill. They were afraid of him. Cold comfort.

In a daze, I slowly stumble over to the men, kneeling beside them but gaping at my father. Hesitantly, with my shaking hand, I touch his cold neck. No pulse. He's dead. No question. My daddy's dead.

The clarity and calm that's kept me alive so far blows away like dust on the wind. The tears don't even give me a chance to stop them. My heart hurts, it actually physically hurts. It wretches inside my chest. It's unfair. It's so unfair. I was just getting to know him. I actually … I actually liked him. He was proud of me. He saved my life. He died saving my life, giving me a chance to run away. He loved me. He was a good man. Flawed like the rest of us, but his heart was always in the right place. He loved me. And he's dead. They killed him over a job he never wanted but took to keep this family safe. There was so much more I wanted to know, to ask. I just got him back. “I'm sorry,” I whisper. “I'm so sorry.”

I just gaze at my father, tears streaming, then up over to the door. The tunnel. It's right there. I could just go through. Run and never look back. I'd make it too. I'd survive. I don't have to go back out there. I can just …
go
. But when I return my gaze to Frank, and know I'll never be able to do that. I hate myself for even considering it. I have to get his grandchildren out. I have to find Jason. I have to keep them all safe like he would. They will not get away with this. They won't. They will not take this house, they will not take any more of our lives. As long as there is a spark of life in me,
they will not win
.

More footsteps wallop me back to the present. The guard. I swipe my tears before rising and sprinting toward the bathroom to hide. I sit on the toilet and close my eyes to listen better. Footsteps come, footsteps go. I stay still, alone with my rage. I grab a face towel from the rack and wrap it around the gun. If I have to fire, it'll muffle the sound. A large part of me prays,
prays
I'll have to use it. Once those kids are safe, all bets are off.

I don't glance at Frank or Sam as I move back to the bedroom door. After waiting for the guard to pass the stairs, I bound to the next open room two down. Then another. Hot footing it, I continue all the way back to the children just as he reaches the end maybe seven feet away. I've made it, halfway at least. Of course now comes the hard part. There's a reason I've gone through life as unencumbered as possible. It's damn easier. With two small kids and an injured man in tow, it will be a damn miracle if we make it down that hall again. The guard trots past once more as I hide behind the door, then wait ten seconds before returning to the closet. “It's me,” I whisper before uncovering the crawlspace.

My charges are huddled in the hole, clutching onto one another before both leap out into my arms. They really thought I wouldn't be back. “It's okay, I'm here,” I whisper. I pull them off a second later. There isn't time. “Listen, we're going to Grandpa's room. Stay close to me and don't make a sound. If anything happens to me, stay together, run, and hide.”

“I don't want to go,” Nicki whispers.

“Hey,” I say, petting her hair, “you're a Dahl. You are strong and you are brave just like your daddy and his daddy before him. And I will be right beside you the whole way. Can you do this for me? Please?”

They nod in affirmation.

Dear God, please help me get them out safely
. The guard is almost done completing his trip again as we rush to Adam's room, the children behind me in case the bullets start flying. They don't. I stick the kids in the closet out of sight before retrieving Adam. My sweatshirt is close to saturated with blood, but his eyes slowly open regardless. Still got some fight left in him. I glance around the room for something to hold the makeshift bandage—it's better than nothing and can't have him leaving a blood drip path to us—and locate a belt. After gently pulling him out of hiding, propping him against the nightstand, I put on my nurse hat once more and get to work, keeping my head down so I can't be seen over the bed.