Page 20 of Rabid

His breathing was shallow and strained, each rasp catching in his throat. The sight filled her with horrible urgency. She knelt by his side, her voice low but desperate. “What happened?”

The young man’s gaze remained unfocused, clouded by pain and shock. “Da?” he croaked, thesingle word laced with a raw, pleading confusion.

She leaned closer, her voice gentle. “It’s Joan, your neighbor. Where are Carrie and your mother?”

For a brief second, his eyes flickered toward her, and she thought she saw a spark of recognition. His fingers moved, finding her sleeve, and clutched it with a strength that surprised her, his hand shaking. “Ma?” he whispered, the word barely escaping his lips.

“Where is your ma?” she pressed, urgency sharpening her tone.

He swallowed, his gaze unfocused once again, but then his head moved, and his chin lifted just slightly. When he met her eyes, a hollow, resigned look settled over his face. “Dead,” he exhaled, his last word escaping in a long sigh as his head drooped. A tremor ran through his body, his hand slackening on her sleeve before it slipped, and he went utterly still.

She found his wrist, pressing into his pulse point with a futile hope. Nothing.

The word—dead—echoed in her mind, an impossible reality she couldn’t yet let sink in. Susan, gone? Her heart seized with grief and disbelief, her mind veering immediately to Carrie. If her mother was dead, then where had Carrie gone? Her gaze flickered across the dark yard, scanning the silent, hollow structure of the barn in the distance. She caught the sound of a low whine, almost imperceptible, followed by a faint growl.The dogs. Some had to be inside the barn with Jeb.

Pushing aside the tight grip of fear gnawing at her resolve, Joan clenched her jaw. Standing, she took one last glance at the porch and the lifeless form of Jeb’s son. She moved toward the front door. She couldn’t waste another second looking through the windows, which was her original plan. Carrie could be inside.

The door creaked open, and a foul stench hit her instantly, more concentrated than the yard, thick and suffocating, tinged with the acrid odor of decay. She forced herself to breathe shallowly, resisting the urge to cover her nose. She took a tentative step forward, her eyes straining to adjust. There was no one in the front part of the house. She had to go down the hallway. Fingers shaking, she opened the first door on the left. She could see nothing and took a chance by turning on the flashlight.

Mice scurried away. There were two inches of droppings along the floorboard. A galvanized metal bucket had a toilet lid on top of it. The smell was worse than the night Max got sprayed by a skunk. She quickly turned off her flashlight and closed the door. Poor Carrie had been forced to live in this disgusting filth.

She took a few steps and opened the next door. A bunk bed was against the wall, and a full-sized mattress lay on the floor. Other than beds and clothing, garbage littered the empty room. Therewas a single closet. She looked inside and saw several dresses belonging to Carrie.

Joan pushed open the final door at the end of the hallway, feeling a strange, prickling unease settle over her. Unlike the other rooms, which reeked of abuse that happened within, this one held an unnerving stillness, an unnatural quiet that sent a chill down her spine. Shadows thickened in the corners, leaving only a narrow path of dim light to the bed. She took a few cautious steps forward, her gaze drawn to the figure lying upon it.

Susan.

Joan’s heart thundered in the suffocating silence. Susan’s eyes were open, wide and glassy, fixed on something Joan couldn’t see, as if she’d glimpsed into another realm in her final moments. Her hands were crossed on her chest. Blood covered her face and matted her hair.

The heaviness in Joan’s chest grew, a sharp ache that settled like a weight on her ribs, compressing her breath. Time seemed to warp, stretching out, as she stood rooted to the spot.

Susan’s skin was a pallid, waxen gray, her limbs unnaturally still, her body arranged almost like a forgotten doll left to gather dust. Oddly, it was her feet, though. Bare and filthy, smudged with dirt and grime that seemed to strike Joan’s sense of injustice the most. Something about the sight made her rage spike. Susan had gone to her house barefoot to get away. This small indignity stood outamid all this horror. Did she return for Carrie?

Joan absorbed every detail, each one twisting her tighter, until finally her mind screamed at her to move, to remember that she was still in danger.

A wave of nausea suddenly swept over her. She closed her eyes for a moment, steeling herself against it, forcing down the bile that threatened to rise. She couldn’t afford to fall apart now, not with Carrie’s whereabouts still unknown, not with the looming threat that Jeb could return at any moment.

Chapter Sixteen

Relentless Vengeance

The thought of Carrie snapped Joan from her trance, pulling her back to the grim present. She quickly scanned every corner of the dimly lit room, her gaze lingering on each shadow. Relief should have washed over Joan at not finding Carrie’s body, but instead, a thicker dread settled like a heavy cement block on her chest. The uncertainty was worse. Carrie was still missing, most likely dead, and that was somehow harder to bear. If there was even the smallest chance the girl was alive, Joan had to try.

A sharp, angry shout tore through the silence. “I’ll kill you, you damned mutt.” Jeb’s voice bellowed from just outside the bedroom window,thick with malice. A gunshot cracked the air, sharp and jarring.

Joan’s heart leapt. Max? She ducked low, instinct kicking in, and half-crawled toward the bedroom door, careful to keep her movements silent. The hallway stretched out before her, dark and filled with looming shadows. She stood and slipped the shotgun strap from her shoulder, bringing the gun to the ready. She couldn’t lose Max too; she had to be sure he was safe.

Edging toward the back door she’d noted in the living area, Joan steadied her breathing. The door was unlocked. She slipped outside, her movements a blend of caution and urgency. Cold night air prickled her skin, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of damp earth and fear. Somewhere nearby, a dog’s howl cut through the night, wild and anguished. But it wasn’t Max. Relief and dread battled in her heart again as she moved carefully toward the side of the house, pressing herself flat against the wall.

Peeking around the corner, Joan saw Jeb’s son, a bat raised, preparing to strike the brindle lunging toward him. The animal was faster. It sprang to its hind legs, teeth bared, snapping at his face until the man stumbled. He went down hard, his screams merging with the dog’s snarls.

Joan’s breath caught. This was her moment to get back to Max before he ran headlong onto the property. She had to move now.

A sound behind her made her stiffen. She turned and froze. Twenty feet away stood Jeb, his shotgun lifted, eyes gleaming with a deranged glee as he moved closer. Joan’s mind raced. She tried to back up, stumbling over her own feet in her haste. Her hand shot out to brace herself against the house, fingers scraping against the rough siding.

“I always knew I’d kill you, you crazy bitch.” Jeb’s voice was low, a poisonous hiss that sliced through the night, punctuated by a laugh that dripped with maniacal satisfaction. Bubbles of spit spilled from between his lips.

He pulled the trigger.

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