Grayson laughed. “It’s our truck and our gas, Tucker. You wouldn’t be here without us.”
Tucker jumped out of the truck, landing directly in front of Grayson, and once again the two were nose to nose, screaming so loudly no one could understand a word they were saying.
Jake hurried around to the other side and slid between them. “Stop it! Y’all are making too much noise. Okay. We’ll send one of ours in with you. The rest of us have to guard the truck—unless you want it to get stolen so we’re stranded out here?” He glared at Tucker.
Tucker backed up a step.
Jake continued. “But still, an even split on everything except formula. Does that work for ya’ now?” He cocked his head at Tucker, disappointed in his friend for continuing to lose his shit, especially with his brother-in-law.
Tucker gave a brisk nod of agreement, clearly still not happy.
Jake glanced at Tina and Tarra, and then Grayson. Other than the women—who were clearly more fit than he was—he was the best person to go in. He couldn’t run faster than anyone with his bum leg, but they’d need Grayson out here handling a gun since he clearly sucked at that. If someone came along, Jake would do better to throw it at them than to try to shoot them. “I’ll go,” he volunteered.
Tarra shook her head. “No, Jake. I’ll go. Tina wants to stay out here and guard the truck with you and Grayson. We’re splitting up. I’m with Tuck—”
“—oh no you’re not…” Grayson interrupted. “The men will go in. You ladies both stay out here with Jake. I’m with Tucker.”
Tucker looked from Tarra to Grayson and sneered. He pointed at Tarra. “I’ll take her,” he said, and he and his men walked away, expecting Tarra to join them.
Tarra smirked at Grayson. “Sorry,” she said, and then jogged to catch up with the group.
29
Puck slid down the tree fast as lightning, with his good arm wrapped around it, his bad arm shielding his face.
Graysie stood way back, holding as still as possible, with one hand holding Ozzie’s collar and the other holding the neck of her T-shirt up over her nose. At least most of her face would be covered if the bees came after her, too.
But they hadn’t found her yet.
Six feet from the ground, Puck jumped off, landing on his rear end and scrambling up on his feet. He paused in shock, seeing Graysie still there and standing still. “Run, Graysie!” he said, swatting at the hundreds of bees that had followed him down in hot pursuit. “Run, Ozzie!”
The sound of a zillion buzzes filled Graysie’s ears, but she tried to speak low and calm—and fast. “They don’t see us yet. You run really fast, Puck, and try to run through low-hanging leaves and branches. Don’t run on a clear trail. Hurry! Really fast! When you get to the house, jump into Daddy’s truck and slam the door. Kill the ones that get in with you fast, too. Now hurry! Run!”
By now the bees were stinging whenever and wherever they could land on Puck while he continued to swat his arms around and turn in a circle. But for once, he listened to Graysie and took off at a dead run through the trees, with a blurred line of bees zipping angrily behind him, weaving to and fro around the limbs and branches that Puck was running through.
Graysie gave him a head start, and then slowly walked away from the swarming bees, not wanting to catch the attention of those that stayed behind. When she could no longer see the tree they’d come from, she too ran, trying to catch up close enough to see Puck.
But he was gone.
That boy can run! she thought.
A few moments later, when she was panting and almost to the edge of the woods, she heard the truck door slam shut.
Ozzie, thinking that meant Daddy’s Home—a noise he knew well—broke out of Graysie’s grasp and darted away in a mad dash, barking joyfully.
“No, Ozzie!” she screamed.
But it was too late.
Graysie broke through the edge of the woods, into their back yard to see Ozzie barking frantically at the door of the truck, while simultaneously biting at thin air—except it wasn’t air. Inside, she could see Puck, still swatting at the few bees that he’d brought into the vehicle with him.
She ran toward the truck, fully expecting to be attacked. But she couldn’t leave Ozzie there to defend himself. She held her T-shirt up over her nose and dived toward him, grabbing his collar, and pulling him away.
Olivia and Gabby ran out the back door. “What’s going on?” Olivia asked. “What’s all this ruckus out here?”
Graysie paused and looked around her with wide eyes. The bees were gone, other than a few that still hovered around her dad’s truck. “It was bees. They chased us.”
Gabby raised her eyebrows at her niece. “Us?”
Graysie pointed at Grayson’s truck. “Puck. He’s in the truck.”
Puck’s face popped up at the window, looking at them with wide eyes.
Olivia’s eyes widened and she put her hand over her mouth. “Oh my. Oh, Puck!”
Puck’s face looked like a jack-o-lantern that had blown up red, instead of orange. Already, one eye was nearly swollen shut.
Olivia whipped around to check Graysie and Ozzie. Graysie was fine, but when she saw Ozzie, she dropped to her knees. “Oh, Ozzie! You, too?”
Ozzie whined and leaned his head against his mistress. Already, one side of his nose was puffing up. He plopped down on the porch and rubbed his paws over his snout, looking as though he was trying to hide.
Gabby sighed. “Well, at least we can put your credit cards to good use again… right, Olivia?”
30
Twin streams of tears rolled down Edith’s pale cheeks as she stared at Trunk’s back. Standing over the newly dug grave, he held a shovel in one hand, and in the other a jar of Elmer’s favorite beverage. It was his tomato juice that she’d made from the tomatoes out of their own garden and canned in glass Mason jars for long-term storage.
The blood-red liquid looked fitting in the barbarian’s ruthless hands.
The heathens had eaten at least a few days’ worth of food, going at it like swine, before packing up nearly all of Elmer and Edith’s pantry into Elmer’s truck that they planned to steal when they left. Now they’d dug into all of Elmer’s special treats. Her poor husband wouldn’t have so much as a stick of jerky or a chocolate-covered cherry when he finally made his way home.
They’d hadn’t left them a tater or radish one in the cellar either. She and Elmer would probably starve before the next harvest was ready.
She angrily swiped at the tears, willing them to stop rolling.
Edith wasn’t crying in fear anymore; fear of the worst happening wasn’t a worry now. She didn’t need to wring her hands and let her mind wander about what if’s. Trunk had already taken great joy in describing to her exactly what was to happen, and she couldn’t imagine anything worse than that.
Tears weren’t coming because she was scared of them—although she was—terrified, actually. But she was quietly weeping in silent rage at the world. A place that allowed men like this to walk free and terrorize young girls and old women and everything in between.