Legion of Despair: Book Three in The Borrowed World Series (29 page)

Ellen smiled. “Ariel is in the backyard,” she said. “The last time I looked, she was lying in the hammock reading a book.”

Buddy smiled too. “That little girl…” he said, trailing off. “Enjoy every second of it. Every second.” His sentiment pulled at each heart. They all knew where he was in his head right now. He was remembering his own daughter, remembering when he and his wife were all that mattered to her, remembering when each thing she did was precious to them.

“Do you mind if I go tell her goodbye?” he asked.

“No,” Jim said. “That’s fine. She likes the attention.”

Buddy started off around the side of the house while Jim began his telling of Gary’s recent experiences. Pops, Ellen, and Nana had settled into chairs on the porch and were listening eagerly when a scream tore through the evening.

Jim sprung up from the steps and looked for his weapons. He recalled leaving his M4 in the truck. His Beretta was in there too, slid up on the dash when the paddle holster became drenched in sweat. He started toward the truck to get them but another scream from the backyard pulled him away and he ran as fast as he could.

*

Ariel was curled up in the two-person hammock that hung between a poplar and a maple in the backyard. It was a colorful Guatemalan hammock woven of coarse fabric. Ariel loved it because it was so big that it wrapped around her completely when she lay in it, the sides coming together over her head so that it seemed like she was in a cocoon. She was reading the latest
Kingdom Keepers
book. It was one of her favorite series.

She thought she heard a sniffing sound outside of the hammock, like when you met a dog for the first time and it smelled you. She went back to her book, then she felt something poke her in the back. She giggled.

“Pete,” she said. “I know that’s you.”

She waited for his response, knowing he would usually start giggling, too. Instead of a giggle, she heard a growl. Ariel started to raise up and poke her head out of the hammock where it was closed over her head. She wanted to see what was out there, but she was too scared. She wanted to yell but was frozen with fear. Then she worried that her scream might provoke whatever was out there growling at her. She had no idea what to do. Tears forced their way out and rolled down her cheeks.

There was a scratch against the hammock where her arm lay. She yanked it away. There was a snarl and something nipped her back through the fabric of the hammock. It hurt. That was when her paralysis broke and she let go with the most powerful scream to ever escape her lips. As her scream faded, a chorus of yipping began around her.

She screamed again.

*

Buddy had just come around the back corner of the house and was looking for the hammock when he heard what sounded like growling. In the low light it took him a moment to find the hammock, everything blending together into the generalized grayness of twilight. It looked like the hammock was swinging, but his old eyes had a hard time assembling all the information.

Then he heard the scream and the yipping sound that he recognized instantly as the sound of coyotes. They heard it every night in this farming country. It was the sound of hunting. Of predation.

Buddy could just barely make out the coyotes from the distance. It looked like a tangle of fur encircling the hammock. One latched onto the hammock and violently shook its head back and forth. Ariel screamed again and Buddy loped toward her.

“I’m coming, baby girl!” he yelled. His heart rate soared and he reached for his pistol, but the shoulder holster was not there. They’d all gotten so sweaty helping Gary unload the truck that they’d removed their guns and left them on the truck dash. His was still there, where it helped him not one damn bit. There was no time to run back for a weapon. As he passed the fire pit, he saw an axe sunk into a pine log and wrenched it free. It would have to do.

In seconds he was at the hammock and stomped at the spine of the nearest coyote nipping at the hammock. It was larger than he expected, and faster. It turned its head and snapped at his pants leg. He yanked his leg back, then another coyote sank its teeth into his calf. He cursed and kicked, the animal letting go just in time for Buddy to break its back with the axe. It dropped with a whimper. He looked toward the house but saw no one there yet. Surely they were coming.

Ariel screamed again and he looked down to see a coyote biting into the hammock, tearing away a small section of coarse fabric. The coyote tugged harder, opening the hole further. Buddy struck at it with the axe, but missed as the coyote sprang beyond his reach.

Buddy yelled when another set of teeth latched onto his calf again, not letting go this time. The teeth pulled at him and he felt a tearing deep inside his leg. Then he heard those teeth grinding against his bone. He swung down with the axe, having trouble getting any force up because of the coyote’s position behind him, but he connected with the animal’s head. It turned him loose and stood there, stunned. Another blow dropped it and it lay there kicking, its eyes rolling crazily in its head.

The pain in Buddy’s leg made it hard to stand but he knew if he dropped, he would die. There were too damn many of them. He could not run with Ariel – he was too old and the coyotes were too fast –but he had to get her out of that hammock. One of the mangy animals squeezed its head into the opening in the torn fabric. When Ariel screamed again, Buddy parted the top of the hammock and grabbed the child into his arms just as the coyote snapped at her face.

One of the coyotes leapt at her dangling foot and Buddy twisted his body, yanking her just out of reach of the powerful jaws. With all his remaining strength, he pushed Ariel skyward.

“Grab onto a branch, Ariel!” he yelled. “Pull yourself up!”

Ariel latched onto the branches of the tree. She climbed quickly. Buddy embraced the tree, trying to keep himself upright. He had dropped the axe when picking up Ariel and he didn’t see where it went. The coyotes were trying to pull his legs out from under him. He struck at one with his fist, only to have the beast latch onto his hand, crushing the fragile bones of his fingers. He cried out in pain. Ariel recoiled in horror and let loose with another long scream.

There was a powerful blow to his back as one of the coyotes sprang onto him, trying to bite him on the back of the neck and take him down. He elbowed it and it dropped off him. Buddy looked up into the tree and saw the pained face of Ariel looking down at him. She was reaching a hand toward him as if she could pull him into the tree with her.

The coyotes continued to bite and tug at him. Buddy felt himself getting weaker. He was going kind of numb, which made him think he might be going into shock. He’d seen it happen to people before, usually just before they died. He looked up again and this time saw his daughter Rachel when she was Ariel’s age. They were playing in the yard and he’d set her in a tree. Now she wanted down and she was reaching for him with her little arms, those little grasping hands. Buddy let go of the tree and reached for his daughter.

“Shoot them!” a woman’s voice screamed. “SHOOT THEM!”

It was the last thing Buddy heard.

*

Ellen and Nana ran ahead and cleared the kitchen table while Jim and Lloyd carried the bleeding man into the dark house. Jim barked orders.

“Pete, get my headlamp now!” he yelled. “Ellen, I need the big first aid kit. Pops, I need lanterns and flashlights.”

They slid the bleeding man onto the kitchen table as Pete ran up with Jim’s brightest headlamp. He slammed it onto his head just as Ellen returned with the large nylon bag that had the advanced first aid kit they took on their camping trips. Jim unzipped a pocket and removed a pair of EMT shears, cutting Buddy’s pants legs off at thigh level.

“Get me a couple of big towels,” he told Pete.

While Pete was gone, Jim removed a liter bottle of saline from the kit. When he returned with the towels, Jim unfolded them and placed them under Buddy’s legs while Lloyd held them in the air. Jim poured saline over Buddy’s legs, rinsing away the blood and making it easier to see the numerous wounds. The sight of that did nothing to instill Jim with confidence.

“Shit,” he said. “I’ll never get all these closed up.”

“You have to,” Ellen said. “What else are we going to do?”

“Give me some gloves,” Jim said.

He examined Buddy’s legs. There were so many teeth marks that it was impossible to tell how many times they’d gotten him. One bite on his calf seemed to be the worst, with a chunk of flesh missing and blood continuing to seep from it. Jim let out a deep breath.

“There’s a pouch of celox powder in a side pocket,” Jim said. “It’s orange and says Quick Clot on it. Hand it to me.”

Ellen thumbed through the contents of the pocket and located it. Jim tore it open and sprinkled the granular powder over the wound.

“I’ll need a trauma pad next,” Jim said. “It’s a thick, absorbent bandage. Then I’ll need a rolled bandage to hold it in place.”

Ellen located the items and passed them to Jim. He placed the thick bandage over the celox powder to press it into the wound, then wrapped it tightly. He’d need to check it again in five minutes and make sure it had stopped bleeding. With that wound dealt with, there were at least two dozen others seeping blood and that was just on his lower legs.

“One at a time,” Jim mumbled, trying to keep himself from getting overwhelmed. “One at a time.”

He pinched a wound shut. It looked like the deep puncture from a canine tooth.

“Ellen, give me an irrigation syringe,” he finally said. “Then I’ll need a suture pack. Pops, hold a light for me. Keep it where I’m working.”

Jim took the irrigation syringe and filled it with sterile saline. He did his best to thoroughly flush out each of the puncture wounds from the bites. Then he opened the suture pack, retrieved some forceps, and stared at the instruments. Despite all of the violent things he’d done lately, he’d never threaded a needle through living flesh.

“How do you know how to do this?” Lloyd asked.

“I took a class,” Jim replied. “Good old Dr. Bones.”

“Have you ever done it before?”

“Only to an amputated pig’s foot,” Jim said. “That’s what they gave us to use in the class.”

Lloyd raised an eyebrow and Jim noticed it.

“You got something to say?” Jim asked.

“Nope,” Lloyd said. “Not a thing.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jim said. He saw Ariel standing in the corner, silent tears running down her cheeks. “Ariel, can you get a blanket for Buddy?”

She nodded and ran off, returning with her favorite fleece blanket. Ellen helped her arrange it over Buddy’s upper body.

Wanting to get the sutures in place before Buddy woke up – if he woke up at all – Jim started working. He stitched each cleaned wound. They found an additional large wound on his back, which they also irrigated and stitched. For the shallower cuts from smaller teeth, Jim irrigated the wounds and then closed them with butterfly closures.

Some of Buddy’s fingers were clearly broken. Jim did his best to straighten them and applied several foam-lined aluminum splints. For the rest of the swollen hand, he wrapped it in a protective bandage until he could figure out more about what damage had been done to it. He applied antibiotic ointment to all of the superficial scratches, then pulled off his gloves and sat down. He checked his watch. It was nearly midnight.

“I’m exhausted,” Jim said.

Nana looked at Buddy’s still form in the harsh lantern light. “Do you think he’ll make it? He looks awful pale.”

“He’ll need antibiotics, but I only have them in pills so he’ll have to be awake to take them,” he said. “And he lost a lot of blood, but he’s a tough old bird.”

Ariel approached the table and gently took Buddy’s hand in hers. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I hope you get better.” She turned to her father. “He can have my bed. Okay?”

Jim smiled. It was a way she could help. “Okay, sweetie. You clear off those stuffed animals and I’ll get Lloyd to help me move him in there.”

*

Lloyd sat in the corner watching his friend, the lantern turned down to its lowest setting and casting a yellow light. He plucked at his banjo, muting it with his hand so that only the hint of a note emerged. He sang quietly, pausing when Buddy stirred. He’d been singing “Down in the Willow Garden” again, the song that Buddy seemed to like so well.

“What did you do with the money?” Buddy asked.

Lloyd sprang from the chair and set his banjo down. It was the first sign of consciousness they’d seen since Buddy had gone into shock and passed out.

“What money?” Lloyd asked. “What are you talking about?”

“The money I gave you for singing lessons,” Buddy said, a tired smile reshaping his lips.

“That ain’t no way to act, you cranky old bastard,” Lloyd said. “I was just practicing your funeral song in case we had to plant you.”

Buddy moved his head as if trying to shake the cobwebs from it. “Well, I hate to say this, but without the counterbalance of my voice, your singing would be an atrocity. Were your voice to ring out over my proceedings, I dare say I might be forced to get up out of my own coffin and seek a more peaceful final resting place.” Buddy cracked his eyes open and looked at his new friend. “No offense intended, of course.”