The Children and the Blood (11 page)

The tiger-striped cat meowed and looked up at her expectantly before running its side across her leg again. Ashley’s gaze rose, tracing the path back to the tiny bungalow.

On the crest of the hill, Thelma stood, a sea of cats at her feet and sunrise and firelight playing off her wild gray hair. Over the distance, her eyes locked on the farmhouse debris and, cats swirling around her, she walked down from the hilltop.

“Ashley, Ashley,” the woman murmured as she drew near. Her gaze moved to the wreckage, sorrow deepening the wrinkles of her face. “Where’s the little flower?”

Her grip trembling on the wind chimes, Ashley couldn’t find the words to reply.

Thelma shook her head and sighed. Bending down, she lifted a shattered piece of flowerpot from the ash-strewn grass. Gently, she turned it over in her hands, her bony fingers brushing the dust from the fragments of Lily’s design.

“I didn’t know they were firemen,” the old woman said. “At least, not the bad kind. I just…”

Her brow furrowed regretfully. She bent, gently returning the scrap to the grass and then stroking it lovingly.

“There were three,” Thelma offered as she straightened, her gaze on the broken piece of pottery. “At the beginning, I mean. Not just one. Two and the other… dear old Elvis.” She paused, a fond smile flitting across her weathered face. “I remember Elvis. Didn’t know what it was going to cost him. Though he probably would have done it anyway. But then it got all tangled. Hurtful and horrible, and so I never told anybody.”

She glanced over and patted Ashley’s shoulder, her expression a strange mix of consolation and apology.

Numbly, Ashley stared. It hurt. Thelma standing there. Her cats. Engaging this stupid, false reality. But she would wake up. Any moment now, it’d all just be a dream.

It had to be a dream.

“What was I supposed to say?” Thelma continued, as though in response to Ashley’s expression. “If it was just going to be like last time? And he wasn’t here to talk to…” She trailed off and then shook her head. “I could’ve tried harder. I just didn’t want it to be like last time. And now…”

The old woman closed her eyes, and then she exhaled as though pushing the thoughts away. “But I told you,” she said, reaching over to take Ashley’s hand. “Because I want to help.”

For a moment, Ashley couldn’t turn from the woman’s half-focused, too-bright eyes. And then of its own volition, her hand tore from Thelma’s grasp.

Lily was… They took
Lily
. And her dad. And everybody.

The words tumbled past her defenses in an avalanche, obliterating everything. Searing pain howled in their wake, and all she could do was stare at the deranged old woman with cats twisting around her feet.

They’d destroyed everything.

And Thelma was here. To
help
.

She couldn’t breathe. Images of Lily and her whole world bombarded her, and her fingernails bit through the skin of her palms to keep the agony of them away.

“Why you?” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Thelma’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Why everybody… and not you?”

Hurt flickered across the woman’s face, and she looked down, seeming lost as she watched the cats weave between her feet.

Ashley trembled, fighting to keep from screaming.

And from deep inside, a surging, twisting core of flames began to grow. Spread. Rise.

The forest. Men screaming. She gasped, scrambling internally to stop the impossible fire rushing through her body. Heat played over her skin, making the air shimmer. Eyes wide, Thelma stumbled in retreat as the cats scattered.

Panicking, Ashley backed away, her head shaking in denial of what she was feeling.

Something crinkled beneath her feet. She looked down.

One of Lily’s pinwheels lay in the grass.

A broken sob escaped her, the sight shattering her panic. She crumbled to her knees as the grief slammed the fires like a wave, crushing the blaze. Her trembling fingers reached out to touch the precise folds, and then jerked back as the residual heat from her skin made the paper begin to blacken and curl.

She wrapped her arms around her stomach, choking on sobs and squeezing her eyes shut as the heat faded from her body.

“This isn’t real,” she whispered desperately. “This isn’t happening.”

A hand rested on her shoulder. Ashley flinched and looked up at Thelma, baffled that the old woman hadn’t run shrieking to the hills.

But who knew what else Thelma thought she saw every day?

Carefully, the old woman reached down, taking the pinwheel and straightening the folds tenderly. “Pretty little flower,” she murmured.

Ashley nodded.

With a sad smile, the old woman sank down to the grass by her side. Crossing her legs beneath her long skirts, Thelma sat, spinning the pinwheel thoughtfully from time to time.

Embers popped in the stillness as the sun crept into the sky.

The rumble of gravel carried through the silence.

Heart picking up speed, Ashley looked back. Black sedans cruised down the mountain road, heading toward the farmhouse.

Thelma grabbed her arm. Scrambling upright, she struggled to tug Ashley with her. “Trees,” she ordered.

Confused, Ashley stumbled to her feet, staring at the old woman.

“Firemen!” Thelma shrieked, propelling her toward the far side of the property. “Trees!”

Understanding hitting her like a hammer, Ashley bolted for the forest.

On the other side of the barn wreckage, she glanced back. Cars were pulling into the drive, but Thelma was blocking their path, waving her arms as she railed at them unintelligibly. A man climbed from one of the vehicles and grabbed the old woman, moving her forcibly out of the way.

Ashley kept going. Car doors slammed as she darted beneath the cover of the trees. Catching herself on a trunk, she spun and looked back again.

Half a dozen people headed to the house at the shouted command of a ponytailed man. With a sharp motion, he ordered the remaining men toward the rest of the property and swiftly, they fanned out, some of them striding toward the woods.

Panic surged through her. Shoving off the tree trunk, she raced deeper into the forest.

Branches and leaves slapped her as she ran. Unseen roots snagged her feet, sending her sprawling. Tumbling through the undergrowth, she choked as mud splattered over her. Swiping the mess from her face, she scrambled to her feet and didn’t stop running.

On the crest of a hill, the trees gave way to farmland. Skidding to a halt, she scanned the open fields frantically.

Nothing moved. Half a mile to the south, the gravel road emerged from the forest to wind toward the empty horizon. Farther north, a railroad track cut through the grassland and then disappeared behind the hills. The sunrise covered the landscape in a wash of gold, growing brighter with every second.

Adrenaline shivered through her. Miles and miles of nowhere to hide. And they were coming.

Her gaze caught on a shape barely visible beyond the rolling hillsides. Stopped on the tracks, the freight train was a dull shadow in the morning light.

Trembling, she stared.

She hadn’t wanted to leave.

And there was nowhere else to go.

Over her shoulder, she cast a look to the woods. Birds chirped overhead and leaves quivered in the breeze. The rubble of her home was lost in the forest, and even the smoke marking its location no longer drifted into the sky.

But the men would be coming.

Tears burning in her eyes, she dashed down the hillside.

A sea of grass separated her from the train, and only seemed to grow larger the more she ran. At any moment, she expected shouting to break out behind her, and the fear drove her heart into her throat. Muscles burning, she pushed herself to go faster as the dawn air scraped her lungs.

At the top of a hill, she fell to her knees and glanced over her shoulder, terrified of seeing the black-clad men racing after her.

Nothing. The empty fields undulated beneath the spring wind.

Gulping down a breath, she turned, studying the train through a curtain of tall prairie grass. Dozens of freight cars stretched away to her right, and a few yards to her left, the enormous engine waited. The dark wheels were utterly still, without even the tiniest shudder of potential motion.

“Dang it, Nelson!”

Ashley’s head snapped toward the engine. A man’s angry voice carried from the open window high on the side.

“Well, do they have any idea when we’ll be allowed to go on? We’ve been here over an hour!” A pause. “Yes, of course I could tell the fire was huge, but I’ve got deadlines to make, or don’t you remember those?” He scoffed. “What’re we supposed to do in the meantime, huh? It’s not like–” A longer pause. “Good.”

Something slammed down inside the cabin. A heartbeat passed, and then the man spoke again, his voice annoyed but calmer. “Five minutes. Fire marshal’s giving the all-clear now.”

Silence fell. Worriedly, Ashley glanced to the other cars, and then back at the engine. She couldn’t make a run for it from here; the engineer was certain to see. Inching backward, she retreated to the base of the hill, checked the prairie for pursuit one last time, and then took off.

For a hundred yards, no break appeared between the hills. Panic made her breath come in ragged gasps as she fought to run faster. The train could be leaving. She couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of her heart in her ears.

A small dip appeared in the ridge separating her from the train, and she scrambled over it. Throwing a glance to the engine, she launched herself down the slope and then raced toward the side of the train.

Grain cars waited ahead of her, their angular ends sloped over small ledges with ladders framing their sides. Darting between the cars, she grabbed at the metal railing and then clambered onto the platform.

The train jerked as she landed on the filthy surface. Hands convulsing around the rail, she tried to keep breathing as the grainer vibrated beneath her.

Swallowing hard, she looked around. A space like a cubbyhole sat behind her, old rags stained with grease discarded on its floor. For a moment, she hesitated, and then scooted backward into the storage spot, keeping as far from the rags as she could. With a shudder, the train began to move. Working to ignore the stale stench of the rags, she wrapped her arms around one side of the ladder and hung on.

The wind picked up speed with the train, whipping through the cubbyhole and making her hair fly. Fading adrenaline dragged at her, and though the temperature must have been plummeting, she barely felt the cold past her own trembling. Abused for hours, her muscles absorbed themselves with the task of furiously aching, while below her, the wheels of the train churned over the tracks and filled the world with their deafening roar.

Trees appeared as the forest suddenly lined the track on both sides. Shifting warily, she drew her knees up, watching the woods.

No black-clad men lurked in the shadows. No trace of her house could be seen. From the view of the train, the sun had simply risen on another calm spring morning. No one had been murdered in the night. Nothing in the world had changed.

And tomorrow, she’d wake up. Tomorrow, this would all be a dream. She’d play with Lily, cook breakfast with Rose, and kiss her father goodbye. Patrick would come back for Christmas, and Jonathan would teach her all he knew about farming the whole summer long.

Tomorrow, everything would be alright.

The forest dropped away. Rocky outcroppings surrounded her, ash coating their sides. The remnants of the fire blazed in the distance as emergency helicopters circled the morning sky.

Closing her eyes, Ashley buried her head in her knees and cried.

*****

The phone rang.

Glancing away from his email, Brogan lifted the cell from the writing table of his hotel room.

“Report.”

Simeon’s hesitation was answer enough. “The younger girl’s body wasn’t anywhere we could see. And the house was…unhelpful. We’ve started leaking a story to the police, but for better or worse, there isn’t much to go on.”

“Did you determine their names?”

Again, the man hesitated. “No. We found photos of the girls in the debris, but no names. We’re still searching the remains of the smaller house, but there’s even less to go on there, and thus far, the neighbor has been unable to supply useful assistance.”

“Force her.”

“I tried,” Simeon said, clearly struggling to keep the frustration from his tone. “She denied knowing the girls, and then refused to tell us anything about Elvis. After that, she became agitated, began threatening to kill all of our Jabberwockies, and then got distracted by her cats. We searched her house, Brogan. She had a pharmacies’-worth of prescriptions for dementia in her cupboard, all of which expired years ago.”

Simeon sighed. “What do you want to do?”

A moment passed.

“Brogan? Are you there?”

“Get your men back here. Start focusing on the police; follow any leads they find.”

He hung up before Simeon could say another word.

Frowning slightly, he rubbed his fingers against his temple, and as a measure of frustration, contemplated eliminating the neighbor on account of being inconveniently insane.

But there was no benefit, and it would only cause a delay.

Setting the phone aside, Brogan returned to his email.

Cole woke with a start as the truck bounced over a pothole and jostled everything around him. Disoriented, he blinked, and then grimaced as memory returned.

From the cab beyond the tarp, he could hear country music blaring. Furniture strained against the ropes holding it to the wooden siding of the truck, and a basket of smelly clothes toppled from its perch between two bookshelves to scatter across his legs. Scowling, he kicked the clothing away, and then glanced down to make sure Lily was still alright.

Furrows lined her forehead and her fists were clenched. Squirming in place, she whimpered, cowering from something in her dream.

Cursing himself for falling asleep, he shook her shoulder. “Lily, wake up,” he whispered.