Devils Unto Dust(48)

They’re going to get in; I should prepare myself. It’s only a matter of time now. I thought I would be scared. I mean, I am scared, but more than that, I’m angry. I flash back to McAllister at my door, barging in and threatening my family, to Dollarhide sneering in my face, trying to steal what little I have. I’m tired of being pushed around and bullied, I’m tired of losing. I didn’t come all this way only to get trapped in this house with shakes at the walls, and I’ll be damned if I’m just going to sit around and wait for them to kill us. If I’m going to die in a rundown house, at least it’s going to be my rundown house. I didn’t think I would ever miss it, but I do; I miss my bed and the stove that smokes and the patched-up roof and most of all the twins, dirty and sweaty and always underfoot. Or under—

“Micah,” I yell. “Cover this window.”

“Why?” he asks, confused but obliging.

I lean over and rip the rug aside. “The floor.”

I kneel down and dig at a floorboard, my fingers scraping for purchase against the rough wood.

“What about it?” Sam asks, but Micah catches on quickly, having chased the twins under the house often enough.

“Knife, Will,” he orders, pulling out his own and wedging it between two planks of wood. “Sam, keep on the windows.”

I grab my knife and jam it into the next slat; it’s a tight fit, and I stomp on the handle to push it in farther.

“What are you doing?” Ben asks.

“I’m getting us out of here,” I reply. “I hope.” There’s a bang from outside, and I swallow hard.

When my knife reaches as far as it will go, I use it as a lever to pry up the board. One side comes loose, and I dig my fingers underneath it, hoping with everything I can muster that they built the foundation high enough. I grunt and yank the board free and crouch down to look underneath. I reach one arm out, my fingers trembling, and I don’t touch the ground until my entire arm disappears beneath the floor. I let out a triumphant cry and grin up at the others.

“We can fit,” I say.

After the first board, the others tug out easily, and with Micah helping it only takes a minute to make a large-enough hole. I jump down and land with a jolt that pains my knees. I fall to a crouch, then push my legs back until I’m lying flat on the ground with my elbows propping me up. It’s dim and musty smelling, and my face immediately catches on a spiderweb. I wipe the strands away and focus on the gaps between the stones the house rests on. Ahead is a tangle of legs and feet, a swarm of shakes clamoring to get through the front door. At the windows, too, all of them so packed together I can’t count how many. They feel closer somehow, with no wall to protect me. I scoot back involuntarily and turn my head to look toward the rear of the house; I see three, maybe four pairs of legs. That’s as clear as it’s going to get, I reckon.

“Willie?” Micah lowers his head down and spots me. “How’s it looking?”

I wiggle my way closer and throw out an arm; Micah clasps it and hauls me up out of the hole. Jagged pieces of wood scape my back as I stand, and I wipe dirt and cobwebs out of my hair.

“I think we can get out if we head out the back way,” I say, breathing heavily. “There’s not as many over there.” I look up at Curtis and Ben, trying to keep the pleading out of my eyes; I want them to take charge, tell me this is the right thing to do.

The brothers exchange a quick glance, straining to keep the door blocked, and Curtis nods sharply.

“Let’s do it,” he says. “Y’all go ahead, we’ll hold them till the last second.”

“Come on,” I say, motioning at Sam and Micah. “You two first. Wait for us once you’re down there.”

Sam squeezes my arm briefly and climbs down, his face disappearing as he stretches out flat. He moves forward until I can’t see his feet, and I wave to Micah.

“You next.”

“You should be—” he starts, but I am in no mood.

“Micah, just go,” I say, ready to shove him into the damn hole if he doesn’t cooperate. Maybe he can see that, because he jumps down and crawls out of sight in no time.

I follow Micah, stepping both feet into the hole. I look over at the Garretts, not wanting to leave them. Curtis turns so his back is flat against the table.

“Go,” is all he says, and Ben moves away from the door, grabbing the lamp on his way toward me.

“Get down,” he tells me as he swings his feet over, and I reluctantly lower myself. Micah and Sam wait a few feet away, their faces shadowed. I keep close to where Ben stands, angling my head so I can see his face.

“Come on, Curtis,” he says. “We’re ready.”

Boots run on wood, and then there’s the thump of the table falling down just as Curtis’s feet appear. I can’t see them, but I can hear the shakes pushing their way in, scraping and snarling at one another, and I shudder at how close they are.

“Do it,” Curtis says, and Ben raises the lamp. I don’t understand what he’s going to do until it’s too late, and I cry out as he throws it. The second it takes to fall stretches out interminably, and then the crash comes and my eyes fill with flames.





39.


I back away from the Garretts, flat on my stomach and feeling ill. From the house come screams and the sigh of fire and the smell of charred wood and singed hair.