Page 23 of Rabid

With clenched fists, she muttered a string of curses directed at the sheriff’s department, frustration and anger rising. If they had listened to her, if they’d bothered to investigate this place, if they’d just taken the time to interview Carrieor her mother, maybe they would have discovered the horrors hidden in this barn. So much suffering could have been prevented if anyone had cared to look a little closer.

And yet, a small, unexpected thought pierced through the chaos in her mind: none of the dogs here showed signs of rabies. The possibility of a silver lining crossed her mind. If these poor animals weren’t infected, then maybe there was some hope after all, a chance that she could help them, however small that chance felt.

It took everything she had to turn away and step back toward the door. She felt as if the animals’ eyes were on her, watching her leave, their silent pleas haunting her as she tried to reassure them with the same promise she’d made to the mother dog. “I promise I’ll do everything I can to save you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She took a last look, hoping they understood, even though she wasn’t sure she could keep her word.

Regardless of what happened to her, law enforcement would eventually be forced to inspect this property. Deputy Berger, at least, would discover the truth.

She stepped outside and froze.

Fire.

Flames danced wildly from the house, orange and red tongues licking up toward the sky, casting flickering shadows across the property. Smoke billowed out, thick and dark, swallowing thestars overhead. Sick dread clenched inside her. Jeb was back, and he’d set his own place on fire. She reached out for Max, but he’d already bolted, his dark shape disappearing into the chaos.

Joan instinctively slipped her flashlight into her pocket, leaving her hands free to grip the shotgun. Her pulse hammered as she crouched low, melting into the shadows, her eyes darting for cover. The nearest decrepit vehicle, a rusting sedan resting in the dirt, offered a small refuge. She ducked behind it, peering around just in time to hear Max’s bark, sharp and challenging. A low growl from another dog followed, echoing across the yard just before a violent clash erupted. Max had run into Jeb’s beast.

She stepped out from behind the car, muscles coiled to sprint to the next cover, when a deafening roar filled her ears. She turned just as Jeb’s truck surged forward, barreling toward her. His eyes gleamed wild and unhinged through the windshield, an expression twisted with pure insanity as he floored the gas, speeding straight at her. There was barely a moment to react. She dove beneath the car just as his truck crashed into it, the impact sending her against the far tire. Pain lanced up her side.

Gears screeched as Jeb yanked the truck into reverse, grinding it into gear to try to hit the vehicle again. Adrenaline flooded her veins as she rolled away from the tire. There was nowhere else to go.She tried to wriggle out from the opposite side, but Jeb rammed the truck forward again, metal shrieking as the vehicle shuddered under the force. She grabbed onto the undercarriage, feeling the raw edge of steel dig into her fingers as she let it drag her a few feet. The truck finally ground to a halt, and she took her chance, rolling quickly out from the opposite side.

Gasping, she looked up to see the house engulfed, flames leaping from every window and moving dangerously toward the barn. Her stomach twisted as she imagined the animals inside. If the fire reached the barn, the chemicals would explode. The thought offered only a hollow irony—death by explosion would be a mercy compared to the life they’d led. Unfortunately, mercy had never found a way onto this property.

Tires squealed as Jeb maneuvered the truck looking for a target. Joan darted toward the house, circling around the side to avoid his line of sight. As she rounded the corner to the backyard, she froze again.

Max was down, the brindle pinning him to the ground. Her rottweiler’s chest heaved as he tried to shake the larger dog off, but the brindle’s jaws were clamped around his throat, its powerful body keeping Max pinned. Joan’s mind raced as she realized her shotgun was gone and somewhere in the wreckage from Jeb’s assault. She sprinted toward the dogs, hand going for her handgun in itsholster. The truck’s engine roared behind her, the headlights sweeping across the yard as Jeb hunted her.

“Max!” she screamed, the word torn from her throat.

With a desperate surge, Max managed to get his feet under him, the brindle’s jaws still fastened around his throat. He shook furiously, his collar offering little protection, and he was running out of strength. She sprinted forward, gun in hand. Max broke free and bolted toward her, his eyes wild. The brindle ran off.

She glimpsed a shed about twenty yards away, the only possible cover. If she went inside, Jeb would likely crash the truck into it.

“Come on, Max!” she hissed, taking off toward the shed’s back corner. They reached it just as Jeb’s truck skidded to a stop, the headlights blazing, casting stark shadows across the yard. She pressed herself and Max tight against the outer shed wall. The truck’s rumble faded while she looked around wildly for a place to go.

The engine cut off. The only sound was the loud crackling of the house fire.

For a heartbeat, she and Max stood in the suffocating silence, her hand clenched tightly around the gun as she strained to hear. She held her breath, every nerve on edge. Jeb was out there with the brindle, somewhere in the dark.

Chapter Nineteen

Destructive Chaos

Joan scanned the dark for the brindle, but it was nowhere in sight. Relief mixed with urgency as she spotted a thick, shaggy-bark tree about twenty feet away, its trunk wide enough to offer decent cover. Several dense bushes flanked it, creating a small haven.

“Max, hurry,” she whispered, nudging him forward as she made a dash for it. She slipped behind the tree, positioning Max in the small space at her side, her handgun at the ready, wishing she still had the shotgun. Her grip tightened, prepared to fire if she got the chance.

The flames from the house reached higher, their heat grating on her skin even from a distance.She cast a desperate glance toward the barn, knowing the animals trapped inside didn’t have much time before the fire reached them. Another sound interrupted her thoughts: a sharp, piercing whistle, drifting through the night from farther away than she’d expected Jeb to be.

A cold chill raced down her spine. Was it one of his sons? She hadn’t noticed the body from the dog attack lying in the yard, and if that son survived, she was now up against not just Jeb but possibly two more Hoggs. Any hope she had that the boys would help disappeared after she found the meth lab.

Joan calmed herself with deep, steady breaths so she could think. If she could reach the barn and open the cages, she could add to the chaos. Her rage had grown to something indescribable. She wasn’t going down without a fight, and she would not give up. Carrie and Susan were dead, and this was now retribution.

A shotgun blast startled her so badly she flinched. The boom was followed by a rapid volley of pops. Jeb’s ammunition was exploding inside the burning house. She crouched lower, her arm instinctively wrapping around Max, who leaned against her, tense but silent. The sporadic bursts continued, and she took another steady breath, tightening her other hand on the gun. There would be no running this time.

She glanced at Max, and her heart clenched.A three-inch flap of skin hung open on his left shoulder, blood matting the fur around it. The brindle would kill him in another fight. She searched desperately for a better place to hide. The realization was settling in that neither she nor Max would get out of this alive. She wouldn’t let that stop her, but her heart cried for her friend who had done nothing but give her love.

An eight-foot ridge rose up thirty feet away, its incline steep but not impossible. If they could make it over, they’d reach the dirt road on the other side. The road went east toward St. Johns, a small town with little charm but one critical feature: the sheriff’s department. Unfortunately, the road had little cover, and she doubted her leg would hold for a fifteen-mile walk. She would be a sitting duck for Jeb.

The only chance she had was to do the unexpected. She had to strike first before Jeb, or his sons had the chance. Jeb might be rabid, but she was prepared to match his insanity with her own.

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