Cruel World(33)

Evening had crept from the tree line, hemorrhaging shadows across the yard as it closed in on the house. But two darker forms moved against the wind, their shapes indistinct in the failing light. They were there, then fleetingly gone around the side of the house.

Quinn shoved away from the window and hurried down the hall to the back door. Maybe it was the brothers, back to take shelter after rethinking their situation. Or maybe it was more of the things like Graham. But they hadn’t looked tall enough. As he watched through the back door’s window, they appeared, merely deeper shadows against the dark. He would not let them come into the house again, no matter who they were. They wouldn’t take anything from him, not now, not ever. If it was the brothers, he would get his father’s boots back. With a yank, he pulled the door wide and crouched in the opening, centering the sights on the taller of the two figures.

“Stop right there.”

There was the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked and he nearly fired his own weapon, but paused as a voice, hard edged but feminine, came out of the darkness.

“I’ll f*cking shoot you right now. Drop the gun.”

“Drop yours.”

“Look, we smelled smoke and saw it above your house and came looking. That’s all. We’ll leave and you can go back inside, but if you come out here or make another move, I will kill you where you stand.”

Quinn squinted, slowly taking in the woman’s figure. She was slight and fairly tall, but that was all he could make out. The person behind her was shorter and mostly hidden, but he could see small hands clutching at the woman’s waist.

“Are you alone?” he asked after a long pause.

The woman waited a long time, but the hand holding her weapon didn’t waver.

“I have my son. No one else.”

The little hands around her waist shifted and a small outline of a head appeared at her hip.

Quinn lowered the XDM and shoved it in the back of his jeans. He held up his hands.

“Come in. I won’t hurt you.”

The two shadows stayed where they were, the woman’s gun still hovering on his center mass.

“There’s no one else here, they all—” He let the last word fall away, and he dropped his eyes to the entryway floor. “Come in if you want,” he said, and made his way back to the living room. He knelt by the hearth and stirred the ashes. Beneath the feathery soot, a single ember glowed. Quinn rolled it to the center of the fireplace and began setting kindling over it. He blew into the hearth, ashes taking flight. The ember’s flare was the only light in the room, rising then falling with his insistence. After a few minutes, a flame sprang into life and began to lick at the small sticks of wood. As he was placing a larger piece of oak on the fire, the back door creaked and closed quietly. Quinn stood beside the warming fireplace and waited.

The woman appeared first in the doorway, sideling into view. A revolver, so large it was nearly comical, was in her left hand that she kept aimed at the floor. She looked close to his age and was thinner than he’d originally thought, and taller, almost as tall as he was. Her hair was very straight and very dark, hanging past her shoulders in a languid wave that nearly blended with the shadows behind her. Her face was round and ghost-white with two spots of color on her sallow cheekbones. She had a sharp nose that was incongruent with the rest of her face, though it seemed to lend an air of harsh beauty that was only more accented by her eyes that were like two sapphires reflecting the firelight. An ugly gash ran across the top of her forehead. Crusted blood dried in an uneven line from her right temple to her chin. She glanced around the large room, taking in all its corners before finding him, pinning him to the wall with her gaze. There was movement beside her in the hall at that moment and she reached for it, shielding the small shape beside her as she raised her handgun.

“You’ve got it!” she said, inching backward.

Quinn raised his hands, looking from one to the other, then back at her.

“Got what?”

“The disease. You’re sick, aren’t you?” She shot a look further into the house and then back at him as she retreated another step.

Realizing what she meant, Quinn put one palm against his face and then let his hands hang at his sides.

“No, I’m not sick. I’ve been this way since birth.”

“Bullshit, you’re just something new.”

“It’s called Fibrous Dysplasia. I’ve always looked this way.” He watched her, barely visible in the darkness beyond the doorway. “My name’s Quinn.”