Unbound (Dawn of Deception Book 1) Page 4

  “A crow landed in the street and picked up something but other than that it’s all clear.”

  “Good, that’s what I want to hear.”

  She and Mae sat on the floor, lifted the sealed ammo box out of the water, and placed it on the towels. They both picked up the ends of the towel and dried every crevice of the box until it went from shiny, wet, army green metal to a dull metallic. Sloane opened the latch and inside lay a jumble of large, pointy rounds.

  “I’m assuming these go to that big gun,” Mae said.

  “Yeah… you and me both. We have to make sure they’re completely dry,” Sloane said. She recognized the rifle as an AR-10 and now understood why Trent might have opted to leave it behind. Due to the rifle’s weight and the larger rounds, they were probably too cumbersome to carry around when he had lighter options at hand.

  She ensured her fingers were free of all moisture and reached into the box and down to the bottom. Not one drop of water appeared inside.

  “Whew, I think we’re in luck. The seal held up. That’s great news.”

  “Mom,” Wren called, short and direct.

  Sloane hopped up from her knees to standing. She peered around the corner to see Wren standing back from the window, scared as she pointed out.

  “What is it?” Sloane whispered.

  Her daughter waved her over, too afraid to speak. It was something she wanted Sloane to see for herself.

  She sidled over to the window frame and as she looked out, she saw what had alarmed her daughter. It was Doug, standing at the foot of the Carsons’ driveway, and he had obviously dragged Nicole behind him by her thin arm as well. By the distressed look on Nicole’s face, he was hurting her arm in his beefy grasp and she wasn’t there of her own free will.

  That bastard!

  She took out her Glock, her finger held with an itch along the slide.

  “Mom, no. You might hit Nicole,” Wren warned.

  “I’m not going to hit either of them,” Sloane said and aimed ten feet to the right of their position. She’d meant to scare him away, but before she began to squeeze the trigger back, the cat-eating dog appeared to their left and growled ferociously at the pair. Nicole screamed. Doug began to yell at the beast as it continued to approach them with its ominous growl.

  “Mom, do something! I don’t want it to get Nicole,” Wren begged.

  There wasn’t enough time at that moment to shake her head in frustration, let alone stop it. Suddenly, the dog lunged at Doug and Nicole broke free of his grasp. She ran home while Doug’s shrill voice screamed in pain as the dog’s sharp teeth embedded into the man’s thigh.

  The panicked man kicked at the dog with his other leg in an attempt to pry him loose. All the while, his arms flailed about and his dirty green, ripped t-shirt rode up over his swollen belly, exposing him for the gluttonous pig he’d become.

  “Should we do something?” Mae asked from behind them.

  “I don’t know,” Sloane said.

  This dog is doing us a favor.

  “I’ve got an idea! Wren, keep watch and if the dog or Doug attacks me, I want you to shoot the shotgun into the air. Straight out into the open. Mae, stay here with your sister.”

  “Mom, where are you going?” Wren said.

  She stopped at her closet and ripped a belt off a hook in the doorway then smiled and said, “I’m going to go feed the dog.”

  She raced down to the kitchen, being careful to not slide again and break her neck in the slime. She opened the refrigerator and, once past the putrid wave of spoiled food, she grabbed the casserole covered in plastic wrap that she had thawed the night before the tidal wave hit. Doug’s high-pitched screaming still echoed through the house, so she knew the attack was still going on. She took out her weapon, unlocked the front door, and stepped out. After closing the door behind her, she walked to the end of the drive with the casserole in one hand and her Glock in the other.

  Doug didn’t even register her approach. She stopped, sat the casserole on the concrete driveway, and dug her free hand into the dish. She scooped out a room temperature, smelly mass of hamburger and cheese tater tots then stood and pierced the air with her best whistle. The dog responded first. It growled at her, still clenched to its victim’s thigh. She tossed the treat five feet in front of it.

  She hoped the dog would go for it. It certainly was much more appetizing than Doug’s sweaty, bloated thigh was on any given day. The appealing smell must have hit the dog because as Doug kicked it again, it released him and went to investigate the splattered mass on the road. Doug began to jog away while Sloane tossed another handful closer to herself as the dog finished the last pile. She talked sweetly to the animal. “That’s right. Here’s the food.”

  Doug stopped another fifteen feet away and said, “Thank you, Sloane.” He waved his bloodied hand at her.

  She glared at him. “Stay away from here, Doug, or Trent will kill you.”

  He sneered at her. “They left. Trent isn’t home.”

  I need him to doubt those words.

  “Yes, he is. His gun’s trained on you even now.”

  Doug quickly glanced at the Carson house.

  “Why do you think I feel safe out here with you now? We’re always watching you, Doug. We won’t ever forget what you’re capable of.”

  He looked scared shitless, and she couldn’t resist adding, “And if you lay another hand on Nicole, I’ll see you dead. I’ll kill you myself.” The words she spoke made her tremble inside. Hurting a child was the lowest thing man was capable of.

  He sneered at her and turned away, walking back toward his own wretched house.

  She watched him go while she doled out more food to her new best friend.

  “We don’t like him, do we?” she cooed to the dog. “But I’m sure this is much better food for you, buddy.”

  After Doug had returned to his abode, she continued to lure the dog closer to her while constantly giving words of encouragement.

  A little at a time, the large, black, shaggy dog went from ferocious to seeming desperately hungry. It was close enough now to see a collar around its neck with the typical engraved metal tags. This animal was someone’s pet.

  She took the belt out and looped one end through the buckle. This time she attempted to feed the animal out of her hand, reaching the globby mess out to him. “Gentle, please,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t take her fingers off with the food.

  He was tentative in his approach but he licked at her fingers and then ate it right out of her hand. She moved her hand away and this time put another handful through the loop in the belt, leaving a wide opening, and then did it again.

  “Good boy,” she said as he began to chew the contents out of her hand again.

  Carefully, she lifted the loop evenly from her own arm and over the dog’s head. She didn’t cinch it yet; she held it loose and again offered more food. Slowly, she began closing the loop around the dog’s neck while he was busy devouring the decayed casserole, until she had enough length to wrap the belt around her left hand twice to ensure she had a handle on the dog. She picked up the casserole pan, now half-empty, and began to guide the animal toward the Carsons’ house.

  Making plans on the fly, she realized this dog was security. Doug was terrified of it and he wouldn’t approach the Carsons’ house if he heard the dog inside. Somehow, she needed to get this furry guy inside the house and keep it happy in there.

  She was beginning to run out of tater tot casserole as she neared the backyard. She continued to talk sweetly to the dog with the hope that she could coax him inside once the food was gone. He began to lick the casserole dish and she started tugging a little harder on the belt leash as she aimed them into the opening. So far, he didn’t know his stomach was leading him into a trap and she hoped to get him to the Carsons’ refrigerator before he realized her aim to imprison him.

  “Come on, boy. Just a little farther,” she said.

  Once in the kitchen and only three feet from th
e refrigerator, he stopped. He looked at the now licked-clean casserole pan and then at her. He lowered his head and began a low, guttural growl.

  Oh shit!

  She swung open the door of the refrigerator and then remembered, in horror, that the Carsons were vegetarians.

  What are the chances that there’s any meat in here?

  “Look,” she tried with a singsong voice. She pulled out what looked to be a black-eyed pea salad. She lifted the lid and the dog sniffed at the vinegar smell but didn’t dive in.

  Great.

  Again, she reached into the darkened refrigerator and pulled out another mystery container. She lifted the lid and found what might have been a noodle casserole at one point. She offered it to the dog and he barely smelled it before taking a big mouthful.

  “Good boy,” she said.

  Thank God!

  She looked at the opened doorway and knew it was a problem she was going to have to fix before the day was through. She had to close up the opening somehow.

  While the dog ate, she looked for a place to stash him temporarily while she got the house closed up. The nearest room with doors was the mudroom door leading to the garage so again she led him with the new bowl of food into the mudroom. He was under her food-driven trance again and she cooed encouragement while leading him with the bowl. Once inside, she put the bowl down, let go of the makeshift leash, and closed the outer door.

  “Whew!” she said once on the other side.

  Quickly, she ran back outside and across the street. Both of her girls were looking anxiously at her from the second-floor window. She waved again at the Carsons’ house and said, “I’ll be right back, Harper.”

  From their perch above, her daughters shook their heads at her like she was certifiably nuts. She was beginning to think they were right.

  6

  Stayin’ Alive

  “Quick, grab the cordless drill out of the garage.”

  “But there’s no power, Mom,” Wren said.

  “It has a battery; it’ll work—it’s been charged.”

  Sloane washed her hands in the kitchen sink, hoping the running water remained uncontaminated. They wouldn’t be foolish enough to test it by drinking it, but if it came down to having to use it, she had decontamination pills stowed in her supplies.

  Think, dammit. What can I use to close up their blown-out door?

  “Gosh Mom, you scared us. That dog was really terrifying,” Mae said beside her.

  She dried her hands. “That was someone’s pet. He was only hungry. Now he’s going to be our best asset.”

  “You put him in the Carsons’ house?” Wren asked, returning with the cordless drill.

  “Yes. He’ll be a great deterrent for anyone trying to rip off the houses—especially Doug. If we come across any more stray dogs, we’ll do the same thing. Okay, I know we don’t have any screws long enough to go through plywood to cover the hole. Who might have long screws in their garage?”

  “Maybe the Carsons do?” Wren said.

  “No… Trent Carson is well known for not having great carpentry skills,” she laughed.

  “Maybe Mr. Baker does. He built the deck off the back of their house last fall,” Mae said.

  “Hey, you’re right. Let’s go check it out. Mae, grab those old peanut butter cookies and anything else that might keep the dog happy. Nothing with chocolate or pistachios though.”

  “Well, that’s just selfish, Mom,” Mae said as she rummaged through the pantry, a little surprised by her mother’s attitude.

  Sloane scoffed. “I’m not being selfish, Mae. Dogs can’t have either of those things. They’re allergic to them.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t know about that, would we? Because you’ve never let us have a dog,” Mae argued back.

  “Ugh, now you’ll have all the dogs you’ve ever wanted. Hurry, we’re wasting time.”

  They carried their load and ran across the street over to the Bakers’ house. The sun was now high overhead, scorching them from above and boiling them from below. The moist, radiant heat from the waterlogged earth seemed to release steam with each step they took. Staying ever vigilant, Sloane carried the Glock in one hand and led the girls across the yard. As they approached the backyard, Sloane saw something with a bluish cast lying in the grass by the far end of the property, near the corner of the house. She stopped short and turned to face the girls.

  “Close your eyes.”

  “Why…” began Mae.

  “Just do it!” she whispered forcefully. “Wren, stay behind Mae, hold onto her other arm, and follow me,” she directed and pulled Mae by the forearm up the porch steps carefully so that neither girl tripped. She kept herself between the girls and the grisly scene only ten feet away.

  “Agh! What is that horrible smell?” Mae said, blindly swatting at flies buzzing nearby.

  “Shh, be quiet,” Sloane said. She looked into Larry Baker’s house and listened for any commotion. They were certainly making enough noise to make their presence known.

  Once the girls were safely through the doorway, Sloane stood in the opening and said, “I don’t want either of you to look out here. There’s a dead body. It must have washed up from the wave.”

  “Oh God, the smell…” Mae complained, but Wren looked at her with sad eyes.

  Sloane was afraid Wren inferred who the dead body really was. She took one last look behind her. With the moist heat of summer, the decay process was accelerated. The blue-cast skin sagged while the rest of the body bloated. She only knew who it was by the clothing he wore and the black watch around his wrist. She’d felt that watch hit her during many beatings she sustained over the years. Flies buzzed in a hover above Brady’s body, feasting. She’d never hated anyone in her life. Hate required a part of your heart and she felt nothing for him now, not even human remorse.

  “Let’s get what we need and get out.”

  I’ll take care of this later.

  They all looked and listened for anyone or anything out of the ordinary. It had only been a few days and she speculated that most people bent on robbery would take action in one or two more days to come. She had only a little time to secure these houses but not much more than that.

  They went into Larry’s garage, and not only did he have building materials in there, he had boxes of large screws in stacks on his workbench.

  “Look, Mom, they also have plywood sheets,” Wren said.

  “Yeah, but I don’t think it’s going to look inconspicuous hauling a sheet of plywood over to the Carsons’ place, do you? And look, they’re warped from the water.”

  “No. You’re right. There must be something we can use at their own house to cover the hole,” Wren said.

  Sloane grabbed several boxes of the screws and handed them to the girls to carry, along with the dog’s treats.

  “Well, let’s hurry. That dog is probably eating a hole through the door by now.”

  Once they returned to the Carsons’, they could hear the dog whining on the other side of the door. He began barking, as well, as soon as he heard the three approaching.

  “Mae, go ahead and shove a few cookies underneath the door, but don’t open it.”

  “Okay, Mom,” Mae said. Sloane then heard the girl talking to the dog in a sweet voice, trying to charm him just like she had done earlier.

  With a press of the switch, Sloane tested the drill to make sure it worked and was relieved when a whirling noise answered. I should have done that earlier.

  “Wren, look around for something we can screw to the opening. These sliding glass doors have proven to be a real pain. I want to change ours to a regular door after all of this is over.”

  “It’s not likely we’ll have another tsunami wave, Mom,” Wren assured her as she went from room to room, looking for something to convert into an efficient barrier.

  Sloane listened to her daughter’s logic as she tested the drill bit’s fit to the screws. Perfect fit.

  “With our luck, we’ll have another cat
astrophe in another four years. This seems to be a pattern now.”

  Wren took to the stairs and rummaged through the rooms for something to block the entrance with while Sloane checked the study. With once luxuriously soft leather chairs, the room was far from its best days. Wren’s quick steps descended the stairs. “There’s nothing up there that will work, unless you want to use the mattresses.”

  “No, that won’t do. There’s got to be something here we can use.”

  “Mom,” Wren said.

  Sloane looked around the corner and saw her daughter standing in front of the dining room. She walked over to her as Wren pointed to the large, rectangular, formal dining table. They both looked in unison back to the sliding glass door opening and back to the table.

  “Hmm. I think that’ll have to do.”

  They began removing all the random items that were placed there in haste. “I wonder if these come off,” Wren said about the table legs.

  Sloane knelt down and looked underneath. “They’re screwed in with hex screws; I don’t have one of those. Let’s drag it into the den.” They each lifted one end of the table and stepped with quick baby steps to get the hefty, awkward piece of furniture past a hallway, around the kitchen, and by the den couch. Once in approximate position, they turned it on the long side and then Sloane said, “Let’s lean it up now against the opening and see how it fits.”

  They both heaved and shoved the once valuable table against the opening where the sliding glass doors once stood. Sloane knew Harper loved this table and had bought it from the Ethan Allen furniture store in Portland, the same store where she’d purchased the leather chairs in the study. “I shudder to think how much this thing cost. Looks like it will cover most of the opening though.”

  “Will they be mad?” Wren asked.

  “I don’t think so. It’s pretty much ruined, anyway. Hold it still,” she said. While Wren leaned her weight against the table, Sloane began power drilling the large screws from the bottom of the tabletop and into the doorframe at one-foot intervals around the perimeter. After the table was securely in place, she and Wren stood back from their handiwork. With the four legs sticking out straight, it looked sort of like the entire house was on the wrong end.