Red-Blooded Heart Read online

  It doesn’t take long before I am exhausted. My muscles are sore, possibly from bringing down the bat on his head, possibly from all the scrubbing we did at the trailer, possibly because of the effort of carrying the body.

  I force myself to go on as long as I can, but finally, it is too much for me. “I need a break,” I wheeze. I hadn’t realized how out of breath I was.

  “Sure,” he says.

  We pause, but we are still holding up the body, and it’s too much for me, I wriggle out of the ropes and let the feet of the body thud against the ground.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Can’t we leave him here?” I say. “We’ve been walking forever.”

  “I think we need to go further in,” says Deke. “I think this is too close.”

  I sigh.

  “Do you want to go to jail?” he says.

  Of course I don’t.

  He takes his ropes off too and rearranges everything. Now we are both attached to the front of the body, dragging it along behind us, sharing the weight. That is easier, but the body keeps getting stuck on branches and thorn bushes and roots, and we keep having to stop to fix everything. We keep moving, walking through the woods, and the snow keeps falling. Even though we are moving, it is settling on top of my head, on my hair, and my nose is cold. I wish that I had a hat, even though I’m sweating underneath my coat because of the effort of moving the body. I am cold and hot at once, almost feverish. I hate it.

  Suddenly, there is another howl, this one so close that I jump and let out a high-pitched noise.

  Deke stops, and I stop too.

  He furrows his brow, looking around. “The blood,” he whispers. “It’s all over us. They can smell it.”

  And there is movement out of the corner of my eye, a fast streak of fur and glowing eyes.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  -deke-

  They come from beside Juniper, two coywolves. They are fast, but small, like mangy, skinny dogs, and they go for the body, but they only bite down on the tarp, because it is so well wrapped up.

  I back away, getting myself free of the ropes that we were using to drag the body.

  Juniper looks at me, terrified, tangled in the ropes.

  I move forward to help her.

  But then she is getting herself free and she runs past the coywolves to the other side of the body. The coywolves are intent on the wrapped-up corpse, snarling and pawing at it.

  I try to follow her, to get past them as well.

  But one of the wolves seems to smell the blood on my coat and shoes, and it turns on me, baring its teeth and snarling.

  I back away, trying to keep my breath steady. “Juniper,” I say in a low, steady voice. “Go back to the truck and get the gun, okay?”

  “Without you?” she says, her voice barely there.

  “Just follow the trail,” I say. “You can do it. Run and you’ll be back here in no time.”

  “But you should come along.”

  I can’t get past the wolves, can’t she see that? “Go.”

  She hesitates for another minute and then she takes off running.

  I watch her until the snow swallows her up.

  The coywolves are still trying to get into the tarp. I’m debating going in there to help them. I have a knife, and I could cut the ropes free. They could get inside and get to the flesh, and what I want is for the body to be eaten and destroyed. It’s the best way to get rid of the evidence.

  But if I go in there, they might come after me, and then I might be trying to fight off two coywolves with a pocket knife, which is not really a smart thing to do in my personal opinion.

  On the other hand, if they can get to the body, they’ll be occupied, and I can get past them and follow Juniper back to the truck. We’ll still have to come back and deal with the remains of the body, of course, but maybe they’ll drag most of it off and save us the trouble.

  I take a deep breath, and I pull my knife out of my pocket. I ease up the blade and I take a careful step toward the body and the coywolves.

  They don’t seem to notice that I’ve moved.

  That’s it, I think. Nice and easy. I’m not a threat. Nice wolfy.

  I take another slow step forward, and they still don’t seem to notice.

  Good, I think. Almost there.

  Another step.

  A howl. Right next to my head.

  I jump.

  Something is coming out of the woods, but all I see is the swirling snow. Then I feel weight tackle me and the sharp points of teeth tearing through my jeans and into my thigh.

  I scream.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  -juniper-

  I am running as fast as I can and it is dark and cold and I can’t be sure where the “path” even is, because it wasn’t much of a path to begin with. It was barely there, overgrown and wild.

  I feel as though I’ve been running for several eternities. I don’t even know if I’m running in the right direction. And my lungs hurt and my muscles ache and there is a stitch in my side. My breath comes out in wet, hot clouds. If there are other wolves in the woods, they can hear me, because I am crashing through the woods, and I don’t know how much longer I can do this.

  All the trees look the same.

  Or, no, they look different, but none of them look familiar.

  Is this the way I came? I can’t be sure.

  I am probably going to get lost in the woods here. Deke will be killed by wolves and I will wander around in the snowy woods all alone until I freeze to dead or starve to death or get killed by wolves too.

  I feel hysterical about this but also grimly accepting.

  It is what I deserve.

  I am a murderer.

  Tonight, I brought a baseball bat down over and over on a man’s head, and I left him nothing but cracked bones and seeping body fluids and there is no way that someone like me should get free and live a happy life. This is karma.

  But the thought seems to make me even more tired. If it is all going to end, what is the point of running? Why bother? Why not simply lie down and die?

  No, no, that’s not what I want. I want to live, damn it. Who cares what I deserve? I’ll beat the odds and fight it out.

  I shove all that defeatism aside and picture the truck, picture myself arriving there and opening the door and taking out the gun and hurtling back through the woods to shoot those damned coywolves dead.

  It can all work out. It can all still work out.

  I run.

  I gasp for air and the snow is going inside my coat and icy needles are pricking my collarbone.

  I run.

  And finally, there it is.

  The truck.

  I am here. I made it.

  I scramble to the driver’s side and yank open the door.

  No light comes on, so I reach up and fumble for the switch that controls the dome light. It springs to light, cold and blue-tinged in the frigid night.

  Now, where’s the gun?

  Was it in the cab with us? I don’t see it anywhere, and it’s not exactly a small thing. I look around, a quick sweep with my eyes, and still nothing.

  Then I start to look behind the seats and I still don’t see it.

  A scream splits the air, distant—it’s Deke!

  Horror cuts through me. What is happening to him? Why did I leave him there with the wolves? He’s not going to get out of this. He could be dying. He was right, we are both covered in spattered blood. It’s not a lot, but it got on every piece of clothing we are both wearing. It got in our hair and on our skin. The wolves can smell that blood. They are hungry and it is cold and they have already killed my chickens.

  I let out something that sound like a whine.

  I want to curl up in a ball and rock and wait for someone to save me. Except there is no one. I have to do that saving.

  Slamming the car door shut, I go around and climb into the bed of the truck. There’s a metal truck bed toolbox up against the back window. I op
en it, and by the light of the dome light inside, I spy the gun and also a box of shells.

  I snatch up the ammunition and tuck it into the pocket of my coat and pick up the gun. Then I scramble down out of the truck and take off back into the woods.

  Hang on, Deke. I’m coming.

  * * *

  -deke-

  I am trapped under a furry body which is small but surprisingly strong and it’s not afraid to use its teeth. I’ve been bitten more than once, but I’ve also managed to stab the thing with my knife more than once.

  Not enough to make it stop hurting me though.

  It keeps howling, and I think it is summoning the rest of the pack, telling them that there is prey here that it needs help subduing.

  I stab again with my knife, once more, into its belly.

  It yelps and backs off.

  I get to my feet and move backwards until I collide with the trunk of a tree.

  Tree! Can I climb a tree? Wolves can’t climb trees, so if I do that, I’ll be safe.

  But the one I’ve got my back to now is too small. It’s not going to hold my weight.

  The coywolf that was just on me is snarling at me. The other two have gotten the tarp open and they are feasting on the dead body.

  I see a climbable tree four feet away. I make a break for it.

  The coywolf springs after me.

  I’m two seconds ahead of it. I grab a low hanging branch and haul myself up.

  It sinks its teeth into my ankle.

  I shriek. With my other foot, I kick it off.

  It lets go, yelping again.

  I use my arms and my good leg to pull myself higher in the tree.

  The wolf puts its two front legs on the trunk of the tree and growls up at me.

  I keep climbing.

  Now, I am high enough that they can’t get to me. I clutch the trunk of the tree, and I try to catch my breath. My heart is beating out of my chest. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so frightened in my life. I’ve never been attacked by a wild animal before, not in all my time out here. They were attracted by the blood, and they must be hungry. They have gotten aggressive, going after Juniper’s chickens. They are trying to survive. They are going to fight hard.

  I shut my eyes, resting, trying to calm my heart and catch my breath.

  As I do, I begin to feel the bites I’ve gotten. I think I’ve been bitten about four times. One in my midsection, that one is the worst. Two on my legs, one on my ankle.

  They are bleeding freely and the pain is the worst thing I think I’ve ever felt, but maybe it is because I am so afraid and because I feel so helpless.

  I can’t stay in this tree forever, but I don’t know what else to do.

  I open my eyes.

  Oh, hell. There are more wolves. It looks like the whole pack has shown up. Now three wolves are at the bottom of my tree and there are four at the body. That’s seven wolves total. I’m no match for all of them.

  If they’d all just go for the body, maybe I could get past them and run. But they’d smell my blood. Maybe I’m even bleeding enough to lead a trail.

  Grimly, I wonder if I’m leaving DNA all over the place? If the police ever find Henry’s body, will they find my blood out here and know that I killed him because of that?

  A gunshot.

  I sit up straight.

  And there’s Juniper, coming out of the snow, with the shot gun. She’s cocking it and pulling the trigger again, but nothing is happening.

  “It only holds one shell!” I yell down at her.

  The wolves are startled. They have backed away from her, but they haven’t left.

  She fumbles in her pocket and comes out with a box of ammo. When she tries to get a shell, the ammunition slips through her fingers, scattering all over the ground.

  The wolves are starting to come back to the body. It is theirs now. They want to protect it.

  Juniper kneels down, palm flat on the ground, eyes on the wolves. She feels around until she finds a shell. Then she straightens, never taking her eyes off the wolves. She fits the shell into the shotgun, pops the barrel back up, and she cocks it.

  Another gunshot shatters the air.

  This time the wolves back away, into the woods.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  -juniper-

  I bend down and get a handful of shells. I put them in my pocket and then I load another one. I shoot again.

  I am trying to shoot at the wolves, but I’m not hitting anything. It’s too hard to see with the snow and the darkness, and I am too afraid. My hands are shaking. I shoot several more times, using up all the ammunition in my pocket.

  The wolves back away, into the dark, and I can’t see them anymore. I pick up the rest of the shells.

  “Juniper!” Deke’s voice.

  But I can’t see him.

  “Up here,” he says.

  I see him, then, up in a tree. I run over to the trunk, peer up at him. “Are you okay?”

  “I…” He cringes. “I’m bitten. I’m bleeding.”

  “Can you get down?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think so.”

  I watch as he laboriously climbs down, flinching with every move. When he gets down to the ground, he can’t put weight on his ankle. He collapses down on the ground, groaning. “Shit,” he mutters.

  “What happened?” I say, but I can see that his ankle is bloody and matted. “You got bitten there?”

  He nods, gritting his teeth.

  “Come on,” I say. “Lean on me, I’ll help you up. We’ll walk back together.”

  He just groans.

  “Come on,” I say.

  “You’re not going to be able to let me lean on you,” he says.

  “I’m strong enough,” I snap. “Now come on.”

  He doesn’t argue again.

  Clumsily, we manage it. I get him up and he leans on me, and we begin to move through the woods. He’s limping and every step looks like it’s agony. His face is pale and his lips are bloodless.

  We are not moving very quickly.

  “Hopefully, if the wolves come back, they’ll go for the body,” he says with effort.

  “Hopefully,” I say.

  We keep going.

  After a while, he says that he needs a break.

  We stop and sit on the ground.

  “I have a first aid kit in the truck,” he says. “I’m losing a lot of blood…” His sock is soaked, I see, and so is one side of his jeans. “I feel lightheaded.”

  “Maybe you should stay here,” I say. “I’ll go back to the truck and get the first aid kit. Then you won’t be bleeding. Maybe it’ll be easier for you to walk.”

  He grimaces. “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll leave you the gun,” I say, handing it over and giving him the shells.

  “Yeah, okay,” he says.

  “What part of the truck is the first-aid kit in?” I say.

  “Glove compartment,” he says.

  “Got it. I’ll be right back.” I spring to my feet and start running again. I’m still tired, but I have a purpose now, and I know Deke is okay. I can push through this.

  I careen through the woods, and this time, the trees do look familiar.

  * * *

  -deke-

  I grip the gun, and I can hear the coywolves howling in the distance. I only hope they will stay and take care what’s left of Henry’s remains. I hope they won’t follow us. There is so much blood coming out of my ankle that I have left a red trail on the freshly fallen snow.

  I am leaving DNA everywhere. If anyone finds my blood, it’s not going to look good for me.

  But maybe it doesn’t matter about DNA, because maybe I’m not going to make it out of these woods.

  I count out my shells. Eight.

  One for each wolf and an extra, in case I miss.

  Yeah, to be honest, I don’t like those odds. And with them howling, what does that mean? Are they calling in even more members of their pack? Maybe there
are ten of them, twelve. I can’t be sure.

  I read somewhere that wolf packs are really just family groups. It’s the mother and father and their younger offspring, who may be full grown, but are not ready to mate and start their own packs. I wonder if twelve is an unreasonably large number, but I think it’s not. I know that dogs can have large litters of puppies, so why not coywolves? And wolves may have a litter a year, so there could be two generations of pups in the pack. Or even three.

  Hell, the pack could be huge.

  All I can hope is that Juniper gets back soon, and that it makes any difference at all to have my wounds dressed. I am already feeling lightheaded and weak from the amount of blood I’ve lost. I don’t know if I’m not beyond much hope of walking so far. The truck might as well be in Siberia, that’s how I feel.

  If she can’t get me back to the truck, eventually she’ll leave me here. Maybe she’ll say that she’s going to get help—which she can’t do, because there is a body out here that she killed—but she’ll leave me. And if she does leave, I don’t think she’ll come back. She’ll leave me to die out here.

  I don’t want to die out here.

  I really don’t.

  I clutch the gun and I wonder how long it will take Juniper to come back if she’s coming.

  She’s not coming. I need to stop thinking that’s even possible.

  Isn’t this perfect for her? If she wanted to blame this murder on me, it’s all set up for her. All she has to do is play dumb and leave me to die out here. Then, if they ever find our bodies, it’ll look as if I killed Henry and brought him out here to dispose of his body, but that I succumbed to the elements.

  Damn.

  Why did I let her leave?

  Movement.

  I swing the gun around.

  One of the coywolves has appeared between the trees, sniffing the blood in the snow, my blood.

  I cock the shotgun and I aim. I squeeze the trigger.

  The coywolf squeals and falls over, red bursting out of its throat. I have killed it.

  I load the gun again, because the wolf likely isn’t alone. Maybe they’ll stay back, after the gunshot and the death of one of their own, but…

  No, no such luck. Another wolf is right behind the one that I just killed.