Page 21 of Rabid

Click.

Nothing happened.

No pain. For a split second, Joan stared, heart still racing. Then, she ran.

“Yeah, run,” Jeb shouted after her, his voice dark and taunting. “It’ll be more fun to hunt you.” A shrill, piercing whistle followed, echoing across the night.

A deep, eager bark rose in response, and dread clawed at Joan’s chest. She could hear the dog crashing through the brush, closing in. She pushed herself harder, each step sending jolts through her injured leg. About halfway up the ridge, her legs gave way, lungs burning as she struggled to catch her breath. Precious seconds ticked by before she could force herself to move again, scrambling up the rest of the hill in desperation.

At the top, she stopped short. Max was gone. She searched behind her and there was no sign of the brindle. A hollow feeling spread through her chest as she looked down at her hands, her knuckles white against the shotgun’s grip. “I should have shot him,” she whispered, the words nearly swallowed by the wind. For a second, the weight of everything pressed down on her, almost breaking her resolve.

“Max,” she called softly, straining to listen as the night breathed around her, its quiet sounds carrying a strange, indifferent beauty. A distant owl hooted, and a cool breeze rustled the branches, but no familiar bark answered. She held her breath, focusing. If he’d been near the house, he would have come to her by now.

A shotgun blast shattered the stillness, its echo rolling up the ridge like a thunderclap. Joan threw herself to the ground, heart hammering as she pressed herself into the dirt. The scent of crushed dry grass and dust filled her nose, grounding her in the raw reality of her situation. After a tense moment, she rose slowly, crouching low as she moved into a steady, fast walk. Her leg no longer mattered. She kept her flashlight off. Jeb was close.

Several more shots rang out, from a greater distance but relentless. She wondered if Jeb was shooting wildly, or worse, taking down anyone, or anything, in his path. The thought of Max sentanother chill through her.

A noise off to the side caught her attention. Instinctively, she shifted direction, ignoring the dizzying exhaustion that made each step heavier than the last. She pushed through the underbrush, branches scraping her skin. Then she heard it. A soft whine, low and strained.

Twenty feet ahead, barely visible in the cloud covered moonlight, Max stood with his head low, paws scratching desperately at the ground. Joan stilled herself, using the shotgun to steady her trembling hands as she took a cautious step forward. She swallowed, watching her loyal companion, his usually powerful stance replaced by a strange urgency.

Max whined again, glancing at her with desperate eyes before resuming his digging.

In the darkness, it took her a moment to realize what she was seeing. The pale sliver of a small hand peeked through the freshly disturbed dirt. She froze, heart pounding as a rush of memories flooded her; the laughter Joan seldom heard, Carrie’s wide, frightened eyes, and her quiet voice that haunted Joan. For a brief, paralyzing moment, her mind rebelled, refusing to accept what Max had uncovered.

It was Carrie.

Joan’s stomach lurched as reality hit with cold, merciless clarity. She dropped to her knees, feeling the grit of the earth press against her as sheleaned closer. Glancing around, she saw no sign of Jeb and heard only the soft rise and fall of Max’s breathing. Gritting her teeth, she flipped on the flashlight, covering it partially with her hand to keep the glow as dim as possible.

The small body in the shallow grave was battered, almost unrecognizable. Max had uncovered her head and part of her right shoulder, her tiny frame lying in a bed of earth she would never rise from. Bruises darkened her face and neck, swollen beyond recognition. Horror rooted Joan in place, her gaze locked on Carrie’s broken form as tears began to sting her eyes.

A raw, consuming rage rose from within her, an emotion so fierce it nearly tore her apart. She clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms, needing something, anything, to hit, to break. But there was nothing here she could punish, nothing she could tear apart that would make this right. Neither anger nor sorrow could begin to contain the depth of what she felt.

A primal injustice ripped through her, fierce and unrelenting, taking over every rational thought. Her hands shook with an almost feral need to strike back, to make someone, no, Jeb Hogg, suffer for what he’d done.

There was nothing left to think about, nothing more to question. Her body vibrated with a brutal determination, an instinct to avenge every child who had ever been hurt by hands that shouldhave held them gently.

The bitter, blinding hatred left no room for doubt. She felt the clarity, cold and precise, settle in her bones. It was too late for Carrie and her mother. But for Jeb Hogg, she could still serve justice. She would make him pay.

Chapter Seventeen

Deadly Insanity

Joan didn’t know how long she’d sat beside Carrie’s small, fragile body. She allowed a fog of sorrow to overcome the rage for a short time. Max lay beside her, pressing his warmth against her leg, offering comfort. Her anger built again along with the ache of failure. She couldn’t shake the memory of staring straight into Jeb’s eyes when he pointed the shotgun at her. She’d had her chance. She could have pulled the trigger, ending his reign of terror. Instead, she’d run, and the shame of it gnawed at her insides.

She brushed the track of tears from her face. Thinking this way wouldn’t get the job done. That job was killing Jeb Hogg. He wouldn’t just payfor what he’d done to Carrie and Susan, he would pay for Sammy’s death, Willow’s incarceration, and most of all, Joan’s failure to end Todd’s life so Willow didn’t suffer for it. She shook her head sharply, the ballcap slipping from her head and landing in the dirt, as her grief pivoted into a focused, hot rage. Jeb Hogg would pay, and she would remember Carrie’s bruised, fragile face forever. His only chance now was to kill her first.

A prickle ran down the back of her neck. Jeb was coming; she felt it.

“We’re going to circle around and head back to the bad place,” she murmured to Max, resting a hand on his scruffy head. “Hopefully, it’ll throw him off long enough to buy us some time.” She set her cap back on, turning it backward, not caring that her white hair stuck out in every direction. Max followed her as she took off in the opposite direction of her property. Two of Jeb’s sons were dead, and possibly a third. Her odds of getting help from the remaining son were slim. Still, she had to take the chance.

The ridge ahead was steeper than the others she’d climbed that night. With every step, her body protested, pain tightening in her muscles, especially her calf. She pushed it down, forcing her mind into steely resolve.

Then, a low whine broke the silence. She stilled, her hand reflexively going to Max’s collar, calming him as he released a quiet grumble. Outof the darkness, a dog emerged, its body low, tail wagging cautiously. Joan’s heart sank. It was one of Jeb’s. Faint squeaks and tiny grunts sounded from the bushes.

“Crap,” she whispered, crouching low and extending her hand. “Hey there, mama,” she cooed softly, her voice gentle and high-pitched.

The dog approached slowly, her tail wagging with hopeful energy, even though her body language suggested she expected a strike. Joan’s heart clenched at the sight. The dog sniffed her fingers, ignoring Max, who stood calmly beside Joan. After a tentative sniff, the dog leaned in, allowing Joan to run her hand over her thin fur. The whimpers in the bushes grew louder, and Joan glanced toward them.

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