A slow smile spread over Tarra’s face, and she almost laughed at the turn of events. She liked this guy. She lowered her shaking arms and looked at Grayson. “Thanks for the help, but it’s not me that needs it,” she said, jerking her head toward Tucker, who was still face-down on the floor with his hands over his ears.
Grayson stepped over to Tucker and nudged him with his boot. “Get up.”
Not knowing what exactly what was going on behind him, Tucker slowly—very slowly—turned his head and opened his eyes, coming face to face with the dead body in front of him.
He scrambled away, crab-walking backward away from it, and bumped into another body. He jumped up and turned around. “Shit, shit, shit!”
His hands were shaking as he looked all around at the massacre with wide eyes.
Five dead.
Calmly, Grayson pointed at Tucker’s gun. “Pick up your gun. Let’s roll.”
Tarra led the way out of the store, loosely holding her gun with both hands. As she jumped in the back of the truck, a final thought popped into her mind about John and his group; Grayson may have fired the first shot, but those men finished the job, smoothly and efficiently, without batting an eye.
They’d saved their asses, and she’d break lead with any of the four, any time.
Little did she know, she soon would.
34
“Miss Edith, time to get up now,” Smalls said through the door in a kindly voice.
After the number ‘2’ had been branded on Edith’s arm, they’d untied her and attempted to help her from the chair.
She’d fainted.
Smalls had insisted on carrying her to bed to rest, promising to do another thorough check of her room. Backfire had already checked it once, but to assure Trunk, he swore he’d do another while Edith slept.
He had kept his promise. After laying the old woman down on her pillow, he’d unfolded the quilt from the foot of the bed and covered her up, being careful not to touch her arm, and then he’d rummaged through the bathroom and found medical supplies, rubbed some salve on her burn, and wrapped it up. He’d tucked her in, leaving her arm out.
After that, he had checked high and low, but didn’t find anything to worry about. He did find 9mm and .22 caliber ammo, and some shot gun shells though. He carried that to the den to put in their pile.
While Trunk and Backfire worked outside, Smalls had stayed in the house to keep an eye on Edith, and to search the rest of the rooms. He made a pile in the den, and then carried most of it out to the truck. Against his better judgement, he loaded batteries, oil lamps, blankets and lots more medical supplies and all of their food. He couldn’t have Trunk thinking he wasn’t pulling his weight, heavy as it may be.
While he worked, Edith had awoken. She had been waiting to be done with these men.
She stood on the other side of the door, in a clean housedress with her hair freshly put up in a flat bun a’top her head. She leaned against the old wood, clutching her bible to her chest. She felt sick to her stomach. It wasn’t just from the burning, throbbing pain in her arm either; an hour earlier, she’d found the bottle of pain pills she’d hidden away in an old bag, prescribed to her last winter when she’d turned her ankle, causing a sprain. She’d swallowed all five pills that had remained in the bottle.
Now she was woozy.
Tears stained her cheeks as she took one last look at her and Elmer’s wedding picture, blew it a kiss, and turned the knob, ready to face the wolves at her door.
Smalls stood with his head down.
Edith had to lean her head way back to look up at him. She gave him a fiery stare.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I really am,” he said, and held his arm out, pointing down the hall for her to go.
“Save it,” she snapped, and wobbled past him.
She hurried through the house and out through the screen door, letting it swing shut behind her, nearly hitting Smalls in the face, and stepped off the porch, nearly falling. Smalls quickly moved to grab her arm and steady her.
Edith jerked off his hand, waving his help away and shooting daggers at the large man with her watery, red eyes.
He held up both hands, palms out and stepped aside.
Edith stomped over to Trunk, who was sitting in her Adirondack chair by the grave, combing his hair with her comb. She stopped in front of him and watched him bare his teeth at the mirror, picking at them with his fingernail. Finally, he looked up, and she said, “Go ahead. Kill me and bury me. I’m ready.”
Trunk stopped primping in the handheld mirror with the handle that he’d stolen from her bathroom, and stared at her in surprise, and then laughed a full, deep belly laugh. “We’re not going to kill you, Edith. What kind of monsters do you think we are?”
He stood up. “Seriously, Edith? Have you been thinking that all along?” He paused. “You poor old woman. Why did you think we were digging up Mei’s grave then?”
Edith huffed. “To put me in there, of course. Why break new ground when you can be lazy and just double us up in there together?”
Trunk laughed again, slapping his leg in amusement. Finally, he choked back his mirth. “You know, that’s actually good thinking. But wrong.”
He sighed.
“If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t worry with burying you. I’d leave that for your husband.”
He looked at Backfire and Smalls, and held back his grin. He turned back to Edith, and held his hands out as though to explain. “We just need you to take the picture. The scavenger list didn’t say the one-handed Asian had to be alive. We’re taking back a picture of us with her. They’re going to give us those points. I just want you to get in there and clean her up a bit. Change her shirt. Brush her hair. Wash her face, and put some makeup on her…” he explained slowly, as though talking to a child. “She needs to look pretty again.”
He pointed at a box that contained a big bowl of soapy water on the ground. The outside of the box had a rope tied around it. A washcloth floated on top of the water. In the box beside the bowl was a hairbrush, a fresh bandana, a clean shirt, and her make-up bag, all stolen from her and Elmer’s things. “Leave off her bra, too,” he said.
Edith stepped up to the grave and gasped. They’d mostly swept the dirt off of her with a broom that still sat atop Mei, leaned against the dirt wall. What now lay there was a macabre version of the girl. Her bandana was askew, showing hunks of dried blood on the side of her very misshapen head—what was left of it—and her face was still covered in spots of dirt. Hollowed eyes filled with the red clay gave her a zombie-ish appearance.
Edith tore her eyes away from Mei and shuddered with revulsion. “No. I will not desecrate the dead. You and your thugs need to just get on out of here,” she said, and bravely pointed at Elmer’s truck. “Take our stuff and go.” She wobbled again as she pointed and Smalls stepped behind her, expecting her to faint.
She didn’t.
She stood tall, facing down the evil man in front of her. She’d already been through hell, but she’d be damned if she’d let them disrespect that poor girl one more time. It was partly their fault she was in that grave to start with.
Trunk smiled and put his hands on her feeble shoulders. He squeezed gently and nodded. “I understand. You’re a good soul, Edith.”
And then he pushed her into the grave.