In the Woods, Bears

Chapter 65 - Red

Red...

Throwing gravel and kicking up dust, two tarped trucks careened into the facility's minimal parking lot, going too fast. Red took a slow breath, reached for his gun, and froze in place. At the speed they were moving, it wasn't a shipment or a supply pickup. The arrival explained the foot traffic he'd seen in the last hour.

Motionless, he held his position as the headlights swept across his hiding place. The vehicles pulled in close to the loading dock. He'd burned out most of his capacity for fear when he was a kid keeping food on the family table. The only lucky break he'd ever had was when old man Pierson caught him trying to break into the coke machine in back of his shop.

Pierson could have called the cops or beaten him... but he'd fed him half his lunch instead. He'd been the rare adult in his childhood who listened to kids, even the wild ones. Once Red's belly was full, he had left the shop with dollar bills in his pocket instead of a jangle of coins. "An advance," the old man had told him before he shook his hand to seal their agreement. The honest handshake had healed something broken in Red and started him on the path to becoming a man.

The next day had been his first day at an actual job, not a hustle. Work suited him, and he took pride in sweeping and picking up after the mechanics. He learned fast and stayed out of the way. The old man had saved them, for certain, from a life that would have had no joy in it. Red lived with enough regrets, as it was.

Suppressing a shudder, he gripped the gun tightly as an ancient memory of a grimy bathroom flashed through his brain like spider lightning along the underside of a cloud. He hated people, and he'd come by that feeling honestly. Even young, a Shepherd's body healed fast.

Carrying secrets, the wind brought their scent before he could see them. His family. Jaw flexing, he fought the urge to bolt forward when they dragged his cousin's limp body in human shape from the first truck and let it fall to the ground. Unconscious and bound in rope, he twitched in the dirt. Red released the breath he'd been holding. Alive.

They'd beaten the shit out of him, but they hadn't escaped without their own marks. He counted eight men, and all of them looking like they'd had the bad end of a domestic dispute. A bloom of pride blossomed in his chest. His little cousin had grown into a tough son of a bitch. Their captors weren't the brightest crew. They ignored his cousin's sprawled body. Because his arms and feet were bound, they thought he wasn't a danger. But they didn't know how the two of them had grown up. Jeremiah had seen things a kid shouldn't.

At the second truck, they were setting up a ramp. Under the tarps sat two cages. One enormous bear, Terry, and their woman, naked, beaten, and bloody. The hair on the back of his neck lifted as fury rolled through him. If they'd hurt the baby, he'd turn the entire mountain into a fireball.

Taking deep slow breaths, he steadied himself, counted his heartbeat down. He didn't need those assholes smelling his anger. Lips moving silently, he renewed his promise to their brat. "You will not die before I do." As they rolled Terry's cage down off the truck, they let it slam into the ground, rocking his limp body hard into the side. Big fucking bear, that boy. Massive. Four men pushed it back away from the ramp. The weight of the cage bit into the dirt, furrowing the ground. Nature resisted them, unified with their family, on their side.

The sight of her curled on her side caused his chest to ache. A glint of light reflected as she opened one eye briefly. Little fucking possum. She was faking that she was still knocked out. Seven lives like a cat, that one. Their little Lost wife, his brat. Her fist tightened when they shifted her cage toward the ramp. Simmering little fireball. Explode on them honey, give them what for.