Page 128 of The Killing Plains

Brenda said nothing. Thunder rolled above them once again.

“Brenda, look at his face. He’s just a scared little boy. Put him down.”

“I can’t. He’s too dangerous.”

“Yes, you can.” Colly reached out, intending to give Brenda’s arm a gentle, cajoling tug.

But at that moment, Russ dropped his gun and lunged, flinging his arms around Brenda from behind. With a shriek, she let go of Satchel and stumbled backwards. Russ lost his balance, and the two of them toppled over in a thrashing heap.

Released suddenly from Brenda’s grasp, Satchel teetered on the brink of the snake pen, flailing as he fought for balance. Colly sprang forward, but just then the red balloon, bobbing wildly with Satchel’s arm movements, bounced in front of her eyes. She swatted it away and grabbed for his t-shirt, but too late. With a shrill scream, Satchel tumbled into the enclosure.

Chapter 34

As Satchel fell, Colly heard a loud bang, like a gunshot, but she had no time to wonder about it. Nearby, Russ and Brenda grunted and yelled as they wrestled on the ground. Scarcely noticing them, Colly rushed to the snake pen and peered inside. Satchel lay on his back about two feet from the wall. The majority of the rattlesnakes were still clustered on the opposite side beneath the work lamp. The area around Satchel was comparatively clear. Though agitated by the sudden intrusion, most of the snakes near him were moving away. Except for one. Three feet from Satchel’s right shoulder, an enormous rattler was coiled, its head and tail erect, rattling fiercely.That thing’s thicker than my arm, Colly thought. The red balloon lay flattened in the sawdust between Satchel and the snake. The gunshot noise must have been the balloon popping.

Satchel lay stunned and blinking at the snake beside him. He appeared uninjured except for a smear of blood on his thigh. Had he been bitten? Colly couldn’t tell. She was sweating and icy-cold despite the heat of the room. Her mind raced. Satchel was too far from the wall for her to reach. She drew her gun and took aim, trying to hold the snake’s head in her sights. Her hands shook. Such a small target, and so close to Satchel. What would happen if she missed?

“Satchel, Satchel.” Colly kept her voice calm. “Don’t sit up or make any sudden movements. I want you to slide very slowly towards my voice, okay?”

Satchel showed no indication that he had heard. He seemed frozen in place.

“Satch, you’ve got to try—I’m afraid if I jump in there, I’ll make the snake madder.”

But no amount of coaxing worked. He was too paralyzed with fear to move.

In desperation, Colly looked around. The ground to his left was fairly open. Maybe if she approached from that direction and circled around, she could draw the snake’s attention away, maybe even get close enough for a kill shot.

“Okay, Satch, stay put. I’m coming.”

Two decades spent facing down drug dealers, human traffickers, and murderers had not prepared Colly for the terror she felt as she climbed over the four-foot wall and lowered herself into the snake pen. A loud thunderclap sounded overhead. She flinched and glanced anxiously at the snake. It hadn’t moved.Slow and steady, she told herself as she edged away from the wall, giving both Satchel and the snake a wide berth. The rattler swung its head in her direction. Colly froze, transfixed, watching as it unwound its long body and began to slide towards her, the umber diamond shapes along its back following one another hypnotically across the ground. It had nearly reached her when she raised her gun and fired. The shot went wide, slamming into the floor of the pen with a puff of sawdust. The snake lunged and then recoiled, poised to strike again. Colly’s ears rang. She felt a stinging pain in her calf. No time to think. The noise of the gunshot had disturbed the knot of snakes beneath the work lamp. Rattling furiously, they untangled themselves with astonishing speed and dispersed across the floor. Dropping her gun,Colly rushed forward, scooped up Satchel, and lifted him over the plywood wall.

As she set him on the ground, she felt a second sharp sting, this time behind her knee. She looked down. A gigantic rattler dangled from her leg. Its fangs were caught in her jeans, and it was writhing, trying to free itself. She kicked it away and clambered over the wall, landing almost on top of Russ and Brenda. Though Brenda was still thrashing, Russ had managed to flip her onto her stomach. He had her left wrist cuffed behind her back and was attempting to secure the right.

Satchel was huddled against the wall, in danger of being struck by Brenda’s flailing limbs. Colly picked him up. Her legs felt oddly heavy. She carried him a little way, then set him down and knelt to check the bloody spot on his thigh. The room was growing darker, and she couldn’t get her eyes to focus. Colly wiped away the blood and searched for fang marks. When she palpated Satchel’s leg, she felt no swelling.

“Is he okay?” Russ asked. He was climbing to his feet, sweating and covered in dust. An ugly red welt scored the right side of his face from cheekbone to ear, and he was dabbing at it with his sleeve. Brenda lay face down, handcuffed and motionless beside him. The fight seemed to have left her. She was moaning quietly. Outside, the thunder growled, louder than before.

“I think so.” Colly’s words came out strangely garbled.

Satchel tugged her sleeve. “Grandma, you’re bleeding.”

He pointed to a dark blotch that had soaked through the right leg of her jeans. Her boot felt tight. Colly tried to get up, but the room spun, and she fell onto her hands and knees. A bitter metallic taste filled her mouth. She retched in the dirt.

“Are you bit?” Russ was leaning over her now. Another crash of thunder shook the ground, followed by the sharp, violent rattle of hard rain on the canvas roof of the tent.

Colly tried to answer. Her tongue felt thick and fuzzy, like a wadded-up sock in her mouth, and she struggled to breathe. She could hear Satchel crying and calling for her. She tried to stand again but fell on her side. Suddenly, she was surrounded by a frenzy of sound and light. Shapes were moving, and voices shouted over the noise of the storm. Avery, her face distorted and strange, floated into view, then vanished. Niall appeared, hovering over her like the still center in a swirling vortex. He raised her eyelids with his thumb and shone a bright light in her eyes. He spoke, but his words were garbled, like a recording played at half-speed. He melted away, and a kaleidoscope of other faces flickered around her. Colly’s vision blurred. The faces spun crazily. Someone was carrying her. Then they were outside, and she felt the sting of cold rain on her skin. From somewhere she heard Russ—or was it Randy?—saying, “Hold on, hold on.” And then a brilliant flash split the air, and the world went black.

The garage is cold, and a heavy odor hangs in the air. She stops. Where is Satchel? Then she spots the rusty droplets trailing up the steps. A figure stands in the doorway—a child. Naked, pale, face hidden in shadow. Not Satchel. Denny. As she stares, he turns, vanishes into the house. Setting down her bags, she draws her gun and follows.

A mist fills the kitchen. The pale figure drifts ahead of her. She tries to keep up, but her limbs are sluggish. She’s wading, now—not through water, but through something thick, heavy. It hisses and writhes around her legs. She drops the gun, sinks to her knees, the viscous mass swallowing her like a wave.

Suddenly, Denny is standing beside her, his white skin glowing in the darkness. She’s on her feet again, following him through the living room door, where he dissolves into the shadows.

Her gun is gone. She’s alone, floating in a black void. Something is waiting for her here. She peers expectantly into the gloom. After a long time, she sees a faint, blue glimmer above her head. Steadily it expands, draws near. A familiar voice murmurs in the darkness. “Colly, Colly ...”

“Colly, can you hear me?”

Colly opened her eyes with effort. Something was beeping steadily nearby. Light streamed through the window—not blue, but the ordinary golden light of late afternoon—and from the hallway came the squeaks of rubber-soled shoes and the clatter of metal carts. Niall Shaw was leaning over her, smiling. “You were groaning in your sleep. How do you feel?”

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