Page 4 of Rabid

“I just wanted to say hello. You know, in case you ever need anything.”

He took a step forward, his eyes narrowing as he adjusted the shotgun on his shoulder. The brindle’s low growl gained force with its owner’s tone.

“We won’t ever need your help. And yourdamn cookies can go in the trash for all I care.”

The boys appeared. Four of them, the youngest about fourteen, each with the same hostile glare. Dirt and grime seemed embedded into their very being. They didn’t say anything, just stood there, arms crossed, watching her like a pack of wolves waiting for the signal to attack.

Joan swallowed, her grip tightening on the plate. This was a mistake. She should have stayed home. She hadn’t realized the depth of the hostility here, the danger lurking just beneath the surface. Deputy Berger had tried to warn her.

“Well,” she said, her voice quiet but steady, “if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

The man grunted, his face twisting into a sneer as he jerked his head toward the driveway.

“Get off my land.”

Joan didn’t argue. She turned and climbed back into Lucy, setting the plate on the passenger seat. She started the truck and backed out slowly, keeping her eyes straight ahead. She could feel their gazes burning into her as she drove away.

In the rearview mirror, the crumbling homestead disappeared behind a cloud of dust. She didn’t need to see it to know the kind of people living there. Trouble.

As soon as she was out of sight, Joan let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Her hands shook slightly in anger as she gripped thewheel.

“I’m a damn fool,” she muttered to herself. “I should’ve known better.”

She would later learn she’d trespassed on the Hogg family’s homestead and Jeb Hogg was the leader of the pack.

Chapter Three

Psychotic Peace

Past

Joan lived in peace for years before the Hoggs became her neighbors. Their arrival turned her solitary life into hell. The multiple thefts from her property took away her sense of security, but it was the incessant barking and howling that drove her mad. She had called the sheriff’s department numerous times, and nothing changed. After exhausting all other options, she finally resorted to contacting the closest city’s humane society. She told them about the puppy mill and the dog fighting.

At night on the ranch, you could see car lights coming for miles. There was never a pattern where she could pinpoint the next fight, but she knew at least ten different vehicles, with an unknown number of passengers, attended them. The horrible sounds on those nights wereindescribable.

The person she spoke with was sympathetic. They’d also said that without a police report, evidence was needed for them to get involved. Joan pondered the problem and came up with a solution. She couldn’t pinpoint the fights, but she could almost certainly capture animal abuse in the lens of her camera.

On a particularly warm evening a week later, Joan decided to collect the evidence. It could take several trips, and she didn’t care. Listening to the sounds of tortured dogs was at an end. She left Max behind so she could sneak in and out quickly.

Over the years, Joan had hiked every inch of her property, and by following the wash through the canyon and navigating the ridge, she would come out above the Hoggs’ homestead. It was the perfect spot to spy, and she held no illusions. This was spying.

She’d waited for the full moon so she wouldn’t need a flashlight, though she brought a small one. She also had binoculars and a good camera.

“You behave while I’m gone and don’t chew the furniture,” Joan told Max and handed him a bully bone that would hopefully keep him busy. He was a year old now, but she’d found him gnawing on one of her old shoes a few days before, and they were her favorite gardening pair.

He looked at her with the same sad eyes healways had when she left him behind. He opened his jaws and made a small noise; that was his way of speaking.

“I know,” she patted his head. “I’ll be back soon. Guard the house.”

Joan loved the Rottweiler breed because they inherently knew how to guard their family, and they looked fierce. She’d turned Max into a big baby, but she had no doubt he would protect her at risk to his own life. Rottweilers were basically lazy dogs who liked cool weather over warm and could be stubborn when it came to things like baths. Max was her fourth, and she hadn’t thought she would get another after her Molly died, but with mountain lion sightings, she’d needed another dog. He’d helped deter the Hoggs from their petty theft and vandalism too. She felt more secure with him inside at night. He would be okay for a couple of hours no matter what his sorrowful eyes begged for.

Joan stepped from the back door into the muggy night air. Monsoons would start soon and give relief in the afternoons. Most people thought of Arizona as desert, but that was only the southern part of the state. She lived six thousand feet above sea level, and although it was considered high desert, she was able to enjoy all four seasons each year. She prepared for winter at the end of summer and shopped for food storage at the large shopping club store in Flagstaff, which was a little more thantwo hours away. Flagstaff had one of the highest snowfall accumulations in the country, and winter stopped all but necessary travel. It was something she planned for each year.

Joan turned on the flashlight, so she didn’t stumble as she hiked down the first ridge to the scrub-filled area before she got to the wash. She carefully made her way down to what she called the flatlands. It was an area about the size of two football fields. She’d thought about planting wildflower seeds just to see what happened. Maybe next spring, she mumbled under her breath as she went around a group of large boulders taller than her.

Dead shaggy-bark junipers and cedar trees littered the area. It was great for collecting kindling. She went up another small ridge to where she could see the wash. It was easier to slide down on her backside than to risk falling, and that’s exactly what she did. She couldn’t help thinking about the woman who moved out here and the healing it gave her damaged psyche. That weak person was long gone. In her place stood a self-sufficient, capable woman who would figure out a way to do just about anything. The land would give her granddaughter these same traits, and Willow had something else going for her. She was a survivor, and she would fit into this lifestyle just fine, at least if the Hoggs weren’t in the picture.

Joan made it to the wash and had to climbdown an embankment to the sand. It tired her legs, but the wash was basically clear, and she could avoid large boulders and fallen trees. If she saw water, she sought high ground immediately. Heavy rain coming from New Mexico sent water cascading into her wash while there were clear skies above her house, and it all started with the first trickle. Joan couldn’t help feeling proud of the survival accomplishments she’d made. There wasn’t much of a city woman left.

---