Scream (20 page)

Amber slowly pried open her eyes, still stuck somewhere between
dream and reality. Someone was tugging on her shirt ... and
talking. Instinctively, she pulled away and grunted. She tried to
swallow, but her throat would not accept the saliva.

"Amber. Amber."

The voice was familiar. Ginny.

Amber opened her eyes all the way and moaned a groggy,
"What?" then immediately regretted forcing sound through her
wounded throat.

Ginny tugged harder. "Amber."

Ginny's face was right next to her cheek, and she felt the
warmth of the younger woman's breath against her ear.

It was still dark, sometime during the night. The barn was
black as tar. The darkness enveloped her like a fog, pressing
down upon her like a heavy weight. Amber reached for the
water bottle in the straw next to her, untwisted the cap, and
took a slow swig. The tepid water felt surprisingly cool against
her hot esophagus. "What, Ginny? What is it?"

Ginny leaned closer, so close her nose brushed against
Amber's ear. "I hear noises." She said it slowly, fear hanging on
every syllable.

Amber held her breath and listened. She heard it too. A faint
scratching, like fine-grit sandpaper sliding over soft pine. Back
and forth, back and forth. Steady.

"It's the dogs," Ginny whispered. "They're trying to get in.
They've been diggin' for hours."

Amber sat up, ignoring the throbbing in her head, and
wrapped her arm around Ginny's shoulders. Her eyes were
wide, but all she saw was darkness. All she heard was that
scratching. Against the dead silence of the night, it grew louder
and louder-back and forth, back and forth.

Ginny whimpered. "They're gonna get in. They won't stop
until they do."

Amber pressed her fist to her mouth, holding back her own
cries of terror. "No. They can't get in. They can't." She said it
for her own sake as much as for Ginny's, though she didn't
fully believe it herself. She'd heard of dogs scratching through solid wood doors before. It wasn't impossible. And she had no
idea when was the last time the dogs were fed. Judge had been
bringing her and Ginny food, but what about the dogs? Surely
he had to have brought them something. They would have
starved to death by now. It had been over a week. How long
could a dog go without food? How long until they were crazy
enough with hunger that they would dig and scratch all night
to get to food? Food that couldn't escape and was no match for
their teeth and claws.

Ginny leaned into her and buried her face in Amber's hair.
Silent sobs shook her shoulders.

"They can't get in," Amber said again. Her voice sounded weak
and frail in the darkness. She coughed loudly. "They won't."

The scratching persisted, unrelenting, until Amber could
hold her eyes open no longer and finally gave in to sleep.

Amber's eyes didn't open again until muted light filtered through
the gaps between the wallboards. She started to push herself up
to a sitting position, then froze and listened. No scratching. The
dogs had stopped. She remained motionless for a full minute,
eyes searching the interior, listening, half expecting the Dobermans to spring from the shadows and launch into a feeding
frenzy. The bats were back from their nightly hunting spree,
jostling for position, and squeaking quietly. A barn swallow
chirped excitedly from somewhere just outside the barn. But no
scratching. No back and forth sandpaper. And no Dobermans
in the shadows.

She grasped Ginny's shoulder and shook it gently, still
listening for even the faintest sound of those paws or the low,
throaty rumble of a growl.

Ginny rolled over and moaned. Straw was tangled in her hair, and her right cheek was reddened by a maze of indentations from the straw.

"Ginny." She held both hands over her mouth to muffle a
cough. The burn in her chest was intensifying, lingering longer
after each hack.

Another moan, then Ginny snapped her eyelids open and sat
up, eyes wide, searching the barn. "The dogs."

"Listen."

Ginny sat perfectly still, lips slightly parted, hand at her
throat, listening. Not even her chest moved.

"They're gone," Amber said.

Ginny shook her head slowly. "No. They're out there. Waiting
for us."

Amber stood and walked around the inside perimeter of
the barn, searching the outside world for any sign of the dogs.
When she had come full circle, convinced that the dogs were
truly gone, she knelt in front of Ginny and took both her hands.
"Ginny, listen to me. The dogs are gone for now. This happened
before. Before you came. They didn't come back until he showed
up and called for them. I think they're off looking for food."

Ginny swallowed and looked through a gap in the wall. Her
eyes darted back and forth.

Amber squeezed her hands. "Listen. I know a way out of
here."

Ginny turned to face Amber again. Her mouth hung open,
eyes wide. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"The dogs were here. And you were so...I thought you'd try
something desperate and ... well, the dogs."

Amber stood and walked over to where the trapdoor lay
covered with straw. She stooped and used her hand to sweep
away the straw, revealing the outline of the door. "It's used to
drop hay and straw into the stalls below." She slid her finger through an iron ring and lifted the door an inch off the floor.
"It isn't locked."

Ginny climbed out of their bed of straw and walked over to
the door. Getting down on all fours, she whispered to Amber,
"Open it all the way. Let's take a look."

Amber pulled the door open, squeaking on its iron hinges,
and laid it back against the floor. They both stared at the
ground below.

"How far do you think it is?" Ginny whispered.

"About eight, nine feet."

Amber then got on her belly and dipped her head below
the level of the floor. The pressure in her sinuses was almost
too much to bear. The ache in her head throbbed like a jackhammer. The stalls below were empty, of course, and quiet. No
dogs. "Pssst." She listened. No dogs.

She pulled herself back up and knelt beside the opening,
waiting for the pain in her head to subside. "I think we can do
it. But we have to do it now. And fast. No telling when the dogs
will be back."

Ginny's eyes were wide. She nodded. "OK. I'm ready."

"I'll go first-"

"Wait! Where will we go?"

Amber blinked, then looked in the direction of the dirt lane.
"We'll follow the lane out. It's gotta lead to a larger road."

Ginny nodded again and glanced toward the lane. "Yeah.
OK."

Amber scooted herself around and swung her legs through
the opening so she was sitting on the edge. Placing her hands on
either side of the hole, she slid herself off and dropped through
the opening, landing with a thud and rolling back onto her rear.
She froze and listened, half expecting the Dobermans to come
tearing around the corner and rip her to shreds. But the dogs didn't come. She listened. Above, Ginny's face peered through
the opening, framed by the aged boards.

Amber nodded to Ginny. "C'mon," she whispered. "It's OK."

Ginny's face disappeared, and moments later her legs dropped
through, then she was falling toward the ground. She hit with a
grunt and rolled to her side.

"You OK?" Amber said, helping her up.

Ginny brushed herself off and nodded. There were tears in
her eyes and a look of determination Amber had not seen in
her yet.

Amber said, "We have to get moving. And we gotta stay
quiet. The dogs."

Ginny nodded again, tears now rolling down her cheeks.

Amber led the way, rounding the barn and heading down
the dirt lane. On either side of the lane stretched acres of barren
field, overgrown pasture, rolling gently like the undulation of the
ocean. To the right, in the distance, lay the tree line and, behind
that, who knows how many acres of wooded land. Most likely
where the dogs were hunting for something to fill their bellies.

They walked quickly-at almost a jog-holding hands and
kicking up dust in their stocking feet. Amber's eyes continuously scanned the landscape, looking for any sign of movement,
watching for the bob of a Doberman's dark head above the
high grass.

Ginny leaned toward Amber and whispered, "What will
we-

"Shhh." Amber put a finger to her mouth. "We'll talk when
we get to the main road. Listen for the dogs."

So they jog-walked in silence, listening, watching, straining
to hear the sound of grass rustling or barking in the distance.
Amber fought the urge to cough, and when she could hold it
back no longer, she resorted to burying her mouth in the crook of her elbow to muffle the sound. It would most certainly draw
the dogs' attention.

When they had crested the hill over which judge's white sedan
had disappeared, they saw it. Less than a quarter mile ahead, at
the end of the lane, lay a two-lane paved road. And freedom.

They both broke into a fast jog, still holding hands. Tears
blurred Amber's vision of the lane. She kept her eyes on the
beige path that fell in a straight line ahead of her, dividing two
green smudges.

When they were no more than one hundred yards from the
road, Amber pulled up. "Listen," she said, breathing hard, each
inhalation wheezing like the air was being sucked in through a
straw. A trickle of sweat broke from her hairline and caught in
her eyebrow. Her pulse thumped in her neck.

Ginny stood still, mouth open, chest heaving, eyes going
back and forth along the pasture. Her cheeks were bright red,
forehead glistening with sweat.

Amber listened closer, wiping the tears from her eyes. She
knew she heard something. A whine in the distance.

There.

Her heart kicked against her ribs. The sound of a car's
engine.

Before she could form words to warn Ginny, the white sedan
appeared on the paved road, slowed, and turned left onto the
dirt lane.

Amber squeezed Ginny's hand and yanked her off the road,
diving into the tall grass. The sedan's engine growled, wheels
spun in the dirt. He'd seen them!

Amber jumped to her feet, grabbed Ginny's arm just above
the elbow, and yanked her up too. "C'mon. Run." Then both of
them took off across the pasture, grass slapping at their legs,
rocks jutting into their feet.

Behind them, Amber heard the sedan's engine settle and a
car door close.

She didn't dare look back. She wanted to, had to know how
much of a jump they had on judge, but fear kept her looking
straight ahead. Her hand was still around Ginny's arm, and
she gripped it tighter, practically dragging the poor girl along.
Where she was headed, she had no idea. A thought flashed
through her mind to cut to the left and head for the road.
Maybe a car would be passing by. Maybe a house was nearby.
She dug her feet into the dirt and made a sharp change of direction, yanking Ginny along with her.

Then she heard it. A gunshot, like a crack of thunder, echoing
off the trees to her right. She instinctively ducked and hunched
her shoulders, waiting for the impact of the bullet. Ginny
started crying.

"Duke! Buck!"

Judge was hollering for the Dobermans.

They were doomed. If he didn't shoot them, the dogs would
surely get to them. And the road was no more than fifty yards
away.

Suddenly, from the tree line, the two Dobermans appeared,
barking and cutting through the grass at full speed like black
demons. Amber surged forward and lost her grip on Ginny. She
swung her head around and saw Ginny sprawled in the grass,
belly down.

She pulled up. She couldn't leave Ginny. She just couldn't.
Either they both escaped, or they both stayed and took whatever fate held for them. The dogs were getting closer, barking
and snarling. Judge was in a full run, barreling through the
pasture, rifle in hands. It was over. The chase and maybe their
lives. She fell on Ginny, who was now gasping for air between sobs, and covered her with her own body, tensing for the burn
of the dog's teeth or the punch of a bullet.