60
By the end of the fourth day, Carlie couldn’t even find the courage to walk from one room to another without carrying her shotgun. She was completely losing it—she knew it—but she didn’t know how to stop. Andrew could get to her anytime he wanted.
The workers from Bannerman’s would be there the next day, or the day after at the latest. They would complete the burials as agreed, and then she could get the hell out of the house forever.
If everything went all right, tonight Carlie would finish identifying the children that she had personal items for. She merely needed to finish going through the steamer trunk from the attic. A few days earlier, she had managed to wrestle it down the ladder and empty everything out that belonged to a child. Then she had dragged the old trunk out to the barn. She had nearly thirty new boxes completely finished and waiting for Bannerman’s crew.
Carlie almost jumped out of her skin when the telephone rang. It hadn’t rung in almost a month. She actually had to stop and think where she had left it. The portable was lying exactly where Loretta had left it the night of the storm, but the battery was dead.
Rushing into the kitchen, she managed to pick up the receiver before it switched to the answering machine. She was about to say hello, but she stopped and held it away from her ear as if it were a snake. She could still hear Jon’s raspy voice reverberating in her head. As she stared at the receiver in her hand, she could hear a man’s voice on the other end. “Hello? Hello—Missus Summers? This is Bannerman Funeral Home. Hello?”
Still a little apprehensive, Carlie put the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”
“Hello, Missus Summers?”
“This is Carlie.”
“Hello, Missus Summers. This is Phillip Bannerman.”
“Oh hello, Phillip. How can I help you?”
“Well, actually, I’m calling to tell you that my men will be there by 7:00 am tomorrow. Is it all right if they meet at your house and then you show them where the property is?”
“That will be fine, Phillip. I’ll be expecting them.”
Hanging up, Carlie stood in the kitchen going over everything she could think of that she needed to have finished by morning.
It was almost lunchtime, but she still didn’t have an appetite. She forced herself to eat something at least once a day.
When she took a shower now, she averted her eyes from the mirror. She looked like an Auschwitz survivor.
She only ate to keep herself alive.
She could work on identifying the children later that night. Right at the moment, she needed to find one last item. She wasn’t positive where she would find it, but she had a good idea where to start looking.
Carlie headed out the front door to the barn with her shotgun resting over her left arm. The blackbirds were pecking and ruffling their feathers when she walked out the door. The minute she reached the bottom step, the birds stopped what they were doing and started staring at her.
“Good afternoon, you little assholes,” Carlie said. Lifting her shotgun, she fired two shots in quick succession at the barn roof and one more at the top of the oak tree. As birds, dead leaves, and small branches fell to the ground, the rest of the flock took to the sky. She knew they would be back, but it really didn’t matter to her anymore.
Reloading, she walked toward the barn.
The crowbar was hanging on the wall exactly where she had left it. Taking it down, she carried the heavy tool back to the cellar door. Kicking the snow away, she jammed the hooked end under the hasp and pushed down with all her weight. There was a creaking sound as the wood began to give, but the lock and its mount didn’t budge.
Carlie stepped on the end of the crowbar with her heavy work boot. As the crowbar settled to the ground, the hasp made a sharp cracking sound—and then a loud, distinctive pop as it released from its wooden mounting and flew across the yard.
After prying open the heavy cellar door, Carlie returned to the barn for the electric lantern. Hanging up the crowbar, she took down the lantern and returned to the cellar. As she shined the light down the stairs, she was glad to see that it had enough power to eliminate any shadows.
At the bottom of the stairs, she saw boot prints. They weren’t hers, and Jon didn’t have a pair. She followed them around behind the staircase. Tucked into the corner out of sight were two boxes.
Carlie opened the top of the first box and shined the light inside. The clothes inside were filthy, and there was a crusty dark brown substance coating almost every inch of them. The pants were stiff with the same substance, as were the front and back of the shirt. In the bottom of the box was a handkerchief full of what felt like money. Carlie knew she had the right boxes.
In the second box she found a beautiful hand-crocheted baby blanket. Carlie doubted that Edith had made it for Andrew, but she might have. Taking it out of the box, the revolver wrapped inside fell to the floor. This had to be the same gun Ian had shot Andrew with. It was the only explanation that made any sense. Andrew had destroyed every other personal item Ian and Edith had owned in the fire.
Carlie put everything back in the boxes, then picked them up and walked toward the bottom of the stairs. Taking one last look around the empty cellar floor, she leveled her shotgun in front of her and started up the stairs.
She had taken no more than three steps when a dark shadow at the top of the stairs blocked the light. Carlie waited for less than a minute before the massive shadow started moving quietly down the wooden steps. The only sound it made was a gentle clicking as it moved from one step to the next.
The small slit of daylight behind the enormous shadow disappeared with an audible thud. Dropping the boxes, Carlie flicked on her powerful lantern to see a pair of green eyes reflecting back in the pitch-black cellar. Someone had closed the cellar door after letting this beast in to kill her. She tried to steady the light on the approaching animal as she rummaged in her jacket pocket to retrieve a handful of the deer slugs Cecil had bought for her.
She dropped two on the floor, but she managed to hang on to three, and fed them into the shotgun. Cocking the gun, she fed the first shell into the chamber; bracing herself, she waited.
Slowly the beast made its way down the stairs.
Carlie wasn’t sure what to expect next. Would it leap at her when it got close enough? Perhaps it would simply run down the stairs and attack her at ground level.
The glowing eyes seemed to have stopped moving. Carlie could hear its breathing; it sniffed repeatedly at the stagnant cellar air, getting her scent. Carlie figured that if it were searching for the scent of fear, it wouldn’t have to search very hard.
Carlie leveled the shotgun at the sound of its breathing. The electric lantern was heavy and cumbersome when holding it under the barrel of the shotgun. Its light danced crazily between the wall and the handrail of the cellar stairs. As the light crossed the beast, she briefly made out its size and general appearance. Its elongated face and hunched shoulders definitely didn’t look like any dog Carlie had ever seen.
“Listen,” Carlie said aloud, “we can do this one of two ways. I can blow you into bite-size pieces, or you can get out of my way and simply let me go by.”
The huge animal cocked its head as if it were listening.
“Well, what’s it going to be?”
Slowly the animal walked down a few more steps. Stopping, it again sniffed the air.
Carlie stepped back and lowered the barrel of the shotgun. As she did, the animal moved down a couple more steps.
Carlie backed herself against the cellar wall as the animal made its way to the bottom of the stairs. She trained the light on the beast as it sniffed the floor and the air. Carlie had never seen a wolf up close before—it was bigger than she ever could have imagined. It stood almost to her waist.
Carlie watched as it sniffed the boxes lying on the floor. She needed those boxes, and she couldn’t let this animal stop her from taking them. “Okay, you. Back the fuck up. Those are mine.”
Again, the animal cocked its head, listening to every word Carlie said. It remained perfectly still until Carlie began to move toward the boxes. When she did, it dropped its head and gave a deep guttural growl. Carlie planned to take the boxes with her—even if she had to shoot the animal. As Carlie took one more step forward, the wolf bared its teeth. It didn’t turn toward her or make an overt move to attack, but it kept its head lowered over the boxes—moving only its eyes to watch her.
Carlie moved forward again. She was close enough to grab at least one of the boxes. The animal growled again, deeper and more threatening. Reaching out her hand, the beast turned toward her. It dropped its haunches and lunged at her hand, snapping its teeth as it did.
As fast as the creature moved, Carlie knew she couldn’t raise the shotgun, aim, and shoot before the animal would tear her apart. As long as she didn’t attempt to touch the boxes, she felt relatively safe.
Standing perfectly still against the wall, she couldn’t help but smell the animal in the enclosed confines of the cellar; it had a wild, gamy odor underlying a different scent—a more pleasant one. Its fur smelled like newly harvested wheat. The gaminess had to be from when it exhaled its fetid breath.
With the barrel of the shotgun lowered in the most nonthreatening manner she could manage, she hung her head in submission and skirted the animal as she walked toward the stairs. At the bottom, she turned around to find the large animal still watching her. Moving backward, she took one step at a time, keeping her light trained on it, waiting to see if it still planned to attack her. Evidently it didn’t—as long as she left the boxes where they were.
At the top of the stairs, she turned and pushed on the cellar door. It flashed through her mind that Andrew might have locked it.
Again, she pushed on the door, and this time it started to move. Standing straight up, she pushed with all her strength. The door swung past the halfway point and fell open with a soft thud onto the snow.
After throwing the cellar door closed behind her, she ran as fast as her legs would carry her into the safety of the house.
She started sobbing and shaking. Dropping to her knees, she wrapped her arms around herself and rested her head on the hard wooden floor.