Scream (21 page)

The gun exploded in her ears. She flinched and let out a
scream. The dogs had arrived.

"Back off!" Judge hollered. "Buck! Back off! Back!"

Amber held her eyes closed tight, clinging to Ginny beneath
her, pulling in air through her raw, swollen throat. The dogs
were right there. She could hear them tamping the ground with
their paws, slapping their jaws, panting heavily and whining.
Judge was there too. She felt him hovering over them.

"Well, well," he said, sucking in air between words. "We got
a couple of runners." Amber felt something hard nudge her in
the ribs. "Get up."

She lay still, unmoving, tears stinging her eyes.

The nudge came again. "Get ... up. Or do I have to turn the
dogs loose?"

Reluctantly, Amber pushed herself up and stood facing judge.
He was wearing his Stetson low as usual, faded jeans, and a red
and yellow plaid flannel shirt. A large rifle rested comfortably
in his hands, the barrel pointed at her. To her right stood the
dogs, their dirt-brown eyes bouncing between her and judge,
waiting for permission.

Judge motioned toward Ginny with the rifle. "Get her up too."

Amber bent at the waist and grabbed Ginny under the
armpit. She choked the words out. "C'mon, Ginny. Get up."

Ginny covered her head with her hands and screamed something. Amber couldn't make out what it was, but it was defiant.
She wasn't getting up.

Redness crept up judge's neck. His nostrils flared and upper
lip twisted into a snarl. "Get up, woman!"

Ginny screamed again and shook her head.

Judge glanced at the dogs, his eyes on fire.

"No," Amber said. She was ready to beg. "Please, no. Let me
talk to her."

Judge just glared. The dogs kneaded the ground impatiently,
tongues darting in and out of their mouths, whimpering
occasionally.

Amber knelt beside Ginny and whispered in her ear, "Ginny.
If you don't stand up, he'll set the dogs on you. We'll get out of
this alive. Trust me. Just do as he says."

For a moment it seemed she wouldn't cooperate, like she had
chosen the fate of the dogs over the wrath of Judge. But after
several unending seconds she wiped her eyes and nose with her
sleeve and slowly stood. Her face was red and dirty, streaked
with tears, smeared with mucus. Her hair was tangled and
clung to her forehead in jagged bunches. She stared at judge,
lips thin, eyes narrow.

Judge's mouth parted in a crooked smile. "Good. You do
know how to listen. Now, here's what we're gonna do. You're
gonna march your little selves right back to that lane and back
to the barn. I'm gonna follow in the car. Don't get any ideas
about running again. Remember, I'm the only obstacle between
you and the dogs. And from the looks of things, they're right
hungry. Now move."

Amber reached down and grasped Ginny's hand. "C'mon.
Stay close."

They shuffled through the grass in no hurry, judge following
close behind, poking them with the tip of the rifle's barrel. The
dogs were somewhere back there too. Amber could hear them
weaving through the grass, panting loudly, their paws falling
softly on the ground.

When they reached the dirt lane, judge nudged her with the
rifle. "In front of the car." He then opened the back door of the
sedan and ordered the dogs in. Slipping into the front seat, he fired up the engine and hung his head out the window. "Now,
ladies. March. And remember the dogs."

Amber tugged on Ginny's hand and began walking. "It'll
be OK. If he wanted to kill us, he would have done it already."
But she didn't believe the words herself. She was sure they were
marching to their deaths. What was the saying on death row?
Dead man walking? A sense of doom settled over her then, and
she almost broke for the road. Maybe it was better to die at the
jaws of the dogs than the hands of Judge. Who knew what he had
in store for them when they got back to the barn? Maybe something far worse than being eaten alive by a couple of ravenous
dogs. If that was possible. Which she imagined it was.

Ginny plodded along in silence, head hung low, shoulders
slumped, the picture of defeat. And that was just what judge
wanted, to defeat them. Amber straightened her shoulders,
lifted her chin, and took deliberate strides, a sudden surge of
stubbornness empowering her. She wasn't dead yet, and until
that moment came, she would give judge no indication of the
vortex inside her that was swallowing her hope. No way. She
had to be strong. Or at least appear strong.

When they arrived back at the barn, Ginny began to whimper
and cry again. The very sight of the wooden tomb sent shivers
through Amber. Judge cut the engine and exited the sedan,
letting the dogs loose. "Stay!" he ordered, though Amber wasn't
sure if he was talking to the dogs or them. She stood still,
waiting for the death bell to toll.

Judge approached Amber and Ginny, his boots landing softly
in the dry dirt. Amber noticed he was rifleless. He'd left it in
the car. With arms hanging casually at his sides, he nodded his
head toward the barn. "Inside"

Amber clutched Ginny's hand and pulled her through the
cutout door in the side of the barn. Home sweet home. The first thing Amber noticed was the smell. Over a week of human
waste. She knew it was bad before, but spending time in fresh
air had made it seem even worse. She almost gagged but swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat. Be strong.

Ginny immediately headed for their corner nest and fell
on her bottom, pulling her knees to her chest. Amber glanced
at the open trapdoor then at Judge. He too was looking at it,
eyes wide, mouth tight, jaw set, hands clenching into fists then
relaxing, clenching and relaxing, like he was pumping the life
out of two stress balls.

Finally, Judge shifted his eyes to Amber, held his gaze there
for what seemed minutes, blinked twice, then sighed. He then
spun on the heels of his boots and exited the barn, leaving the
door open. Amber took a step to her left so she could see what
he was up to. She saw him go around to the back of the car, the
dogs circling his legs, and open the trunk. She had the sudden
urge again to make a run for it. With the trunk open, she
couldn't see him, which meant he couldn't see her. Could she
slip out of the barn unnoticed and hide in the pasture? Maybe
she could stay low enough to conceal herself in the tall grass,
crawl on her belly all the way to the road.

She shook her head. Ridiculous idea. The dogs would track
her down in no time. She had to think more clearly than that if
she was going to survive this thing.

After a few seconds, the car trunk slammed shut, and judge
strode back to the barn with something in his right hand.

He marched over to the trapdoor, dropped it shut, and
slipped a padlock through the iron ring, all without saying a
word. When he was finished, he stood, glared at Amber, then at
Ginny, and turned to leave again.

A scream pierced the still air of the barn. "Why?" It was
Ginny.

Amber spun her head around and found Ginny standing in
the corner, clutching her chest, eyes red and swollen, mouth
turned down at the corners, an inverted U. She looked like
she'd been through a war. And, in a way, she had.

Judge had spun around too and now stared at Ginny, a
curious look on his face. Not anger or hate, not anything evil.
More like ... pain.

Ginny leaned forward and screamed again, "Why? Why did
you take us?"

Judge took a step toward Ginny, then halted. His left eye
twitched and his hands began pumping again. He opened his
mouth, then clamped it shut and swallowed hard. His Adam's
apple seemed to be stuck in his throat. When he opened
his mouth again, his lips trembled ever so slightly. "Why?
Because ... because I watched her burn. They burned her, and I
stood there helpless and watched."

Amber glanced at Ginny, who was staring at judge with
an open mouth and wide eyes. She obviously hadn't expected
an answer. She then glanced back at judge and for a moment
thought she saw something glisten in his eye. Was it a tear?

Judge continued. "Then I took the blame while they walked."
He shrugged his shoulders and frowned. And yes, there was a
tear. It spilled out of his eye and ran a track down his cheek.
Either he didn't notice or didn't mind because he did nothing
to hide it. "Someone's gotta pay."

He turned without saying another word and headed for the
door.

"How many were there?" Amber asked in a low voice. She
was beginning to understand his motive. Peering into his mind
reminded her of the time she paid two dollars at the county fair
to see the "lobster people." Intrigue and curiosity had pushed
her there, but once she saw that the "freaks" behind the curtain were no more than normal people with some odd deformity
that had fused their fingers into claws, she felt a mixed sense of
guilt and revulsion and pity. And she wished she hadn't looked
in the first place.

Judge stopped with one foot through the door, turned his
head to the side, and opened his mouth. He stood like that for
at least three seconds, shifting his jaw side to side, then closed
his mouth, turned his head away, and left.

Amber and Ginny stood in total silence as the door shut, the
lock engaged, and the cinder block fell back into place. The car
door opened, then shut, and the engine groaned to life. But the
car didn't move. No sound of tires grinding over dirt or engine
fading into the distance. It just sat there, idling.

"What's he doing?" Ginny asked.

Amber walked over to the door and peeked through a crack.
The sedan sat in the dirt, white smoke puffing out of its muffler,
the dogs circling it, noses to the ground. She could see judge's
silhouetted Stetson-less head above the headrest, unmoving.
"Nothing," she said. "Just sitting there."

Judge eased the back of his head against the headrest, closed his
eyes, and drew in a long deep breath, filling his lungs with cool
air. His hands rested lightly on his thighs, fingers splayed. That
hadn't gone so well. Did he actually cry in front of them? No
matter, the outcome would be the same. And besides, they needed
to know, they needed to see it firsthand-he wasn't a monster.

He thought about what he'd said in there. I stood there helpless and watched. He did watch too. Oh, he tried to turn away.
The moment the flames licked at Katie's skin and she shrieked
in both terror and pain, he tried to turn his head away, but he
couldn't. Instead he leaned against the barn door, hugging it, digging his fingers into the wood until they bled, watching,
watching the flames engulf her, watching her writhe in pain,
watching her skin turn black like barbecued chicken. He hated
himself for watching, knew he shouldn't, but he just couldn't
tear his eyes away from the grisly scene. It was like some unseen
hand was grasping his chin, squeezing his cheeks, holding his
head there and a voice saying, Look! Look! You have to watch
this so you will never forget. And he'd known then and there
he would never forget. How could he?

It didn't take long for the flames to spread throughout the
rest of the barn, and he had to flee. He ran through the cornfield until he could run no longer. Then he collapsed on the
ground, exhausted, and cried. Oh, how he cried, like never
before. The tears seemed to be sucked out of him, pulling every
ounce of fluid in his body with them, until he was completely
drained and dry.

He had no idea how long it was before he finally heard the
wail of sirens. Then, after some time, the wail of Mr. McAfee
when he found out his youngest daughter-Katydid, he called
her-was in the barn.

Judge had curled into a ball and covered his ears to block out
the sound of the grief-stricken father. It was the first time he'd
ever heard a grown man cry, and it sent eerie chills racing along
his body. Cries and groans and curses rose into the air with the
black smoke and floated up to heaven.

Days later he was confronted with the awful conclusion.
Bethany had told her side of the story, and he was taking the
blame. They were blaming him! Not that he did it intentionally;
nobody was saying that. They were saying that he was playing
with matches and must have been careless. Just a stupid accident. By a stupid kid. But from then on, none of the McAfees
would even look at him. Accident or not, they blamed him.

He pulled his thoughts out of the painful past and ran a
hand over the vinyl seat. Tears blurred his vision, and a lump
sat in his throat like a tumor. A deep sense of loss had settled
over him. He thought of Amber and Virginia in the barn. They
had nothing to do with Katie's death-murder-but, like he
said, someone had to pay. They were like the lambs he'd learned
about in Sunday school all those years ago. The ones the Israelites sacrificed. The lambs were innocent of the crimes of the
people, but ... someone had to pay. Virginia and Amber and the
ones to come were like the lambs, a substitutionary sacrifice.