Off Season - Jack Ketchum [38]
“Outside, Nick,” he said. “Carla’s outside. They’ve got her. We’ve got to fight them. Where are the tools?”
He raised his hand slowly and pointed. “I think under the sink.”
“Can you stand?”
“I . . . I think so.”
“Try.” He turned to Marjie. “Give me a hand with him,” he said. She didn’t move. He said it louder. Great, he thought, they’re all out on me. Marjie still stared out the window. He saw the streaks the tears had made across her cheeks. But she was finished crying now. There was something else in her eyes at once hard and terribly soft and melting. He had never seen a woman look like that. Only guys, he thought, and then only in war.
“Look,” she said quietly. “Look what they are doing to her.”
He went to the window. The earth, cooling, sent faint clouds of steam swirling through the headlamps of the car. He saw them clearly. They had thrown a rope over the limb of a tree. Carla’s feet were tied to one end of the rope and the bigger man was hoisting her into the air. It was good she was still out, he thought. The children swarmed around her. He saw one of them spit down into her face as her legs began to rise, and another one swing a stick at her buttocks until the thin man drove him away. Marjie should not be watching this, he thought. Christ, none of us should.
“Come here,” he said. It was an order.
Her voice was unnaturally quiet, on the edge of hysteria. “No,” she said. “That’s my sister.”
Nick was on his feet beside them. “My glasses,” he said. “I . . . I can’t see. What are they doing?” Outside, the big man pulled the rope while the other wrapped the slack around the trunk of the tree.
“Get them,” Dan said to him. “And you better get Laura, too.”
He turned to Marjie. “Stay here,” he said, “and don’t move. I’ll be right back. If anything comes near that window you call me. And you run, dammit!”
Nick moved into the bedroom. Dan heard him talking to Laura, and when he passed them on his way to the sink he saw Nick bending over her, trying to lift her off the bed.
Nick had been right, thank God. The tools were there under the sink. Two hammers and some tenpenny nails. He took them with him into his bedroom, put them on the bed, slipped on a pair of jeans, and slid the hammers into his belt.
He walked back into the kitchen and emptied the box of nails onto the table. He glanced back into the living room. Marjie remained where he’d left her. He went to the drawer and took out the best and sharpest knife he could find and put that into his belt, too. It was eight inches of blade, a good solid pound of stainless steel.
They’d have to get out of here eventually. But first it was necessary to secure the house. If they could keep them outside long enough to create some kind of diversion toward the back, then maybe they could slip out the front door to one of the cars and drive away. If they could do it soon enough, they might even be able to help Carla. But the part of him that needed to be ruthlessly honest doubted that. He glanced again at Marjie, still staring. He had to put a stop to that. At this rate she would be useless to him, and he needed her. He needed everybody.
He went to her. “I want you to stop it,” he said. “Get away from there. Please, Marjorie.”
“You go to hell,” she said.
Outside, Carla’s hands were three feet off the ground now. Marjie saw her sister’s body slowly turning, her long hair like a flame below her; and then, horribly, she saw her awaken. She stared hard, as if willing her to safety. She saw her sister’s arms flailing uselessly and imagined she heard her whimpering and heard their laughter.
She watched the thin one stoop slightly and take a handful of Carla’s hair and pull her slowly backward, walking backward himself and pulling her hair until she screamed in pain and he could pull her back no farther. He released her so that she swung toward them in the house, and Marjie imagined the rope cutting cruelly into her ankles. Then, on the backswing, she saw him grab Carla again, around the neck this time, and jerk her to a stop. A second scream died in