Page 51 of Backwoods
His ears were ringing from the report of the gun. It had sounded like a rifle.
Clutching the pump-action shotgun his grandfather had given him, he scanned the area from which he thought the gunfire had originated. About fifty feet away, he estimated. But the problem with the foliage was that it concealed damn near everything.
Keeping to the trees and undergrowth, he advanced. He had drunk almost a gallon of water back at his granddad’s house, and already his lips were dry as sandpaper. The oppressive heat wrung sweat from his pores.
Someone screamed. A woman’s scream, close.
Raven, he thought.
He ran then, heedless of the risk to himself. His legs tore through vines, and he broke through screens of branches and brambles.
A man yelled, angry, and he heard sounds of struggle. Nick burst into a clearing and found them: the helper known as Jimmy had pinned Raven to the ground. He was struggling to shackle her in chains, but she was twisting and writhing like a centipede.
“Get off her!” Nick roared. Running forward, he swung the butt of the shotgun at the man’s head. The meat of it connected squarely with his face. He fell backward into the grass with a grunt.
Raven scrambled away, to Nick’s side. She tugged at his arm.
“We’ve gotta go!” she said.
But Nick didn’t budge. He aimed the shotgun at Jimmy.
“Looks like I found two of y’all runaways,” Jimmy said. He sat up, blinking. Blood gushed from his nose, but he seemed unconcerned. “Ain’t nothin’ like a two-bagger.”
“You make a move and I’ll shoot,” Nick said. He slid his finger to the trigger.
Jimmy had a firearm, too—the rifle he had confiscated from Nick earlier. But he made no attempt to wield it. He rose to his feet. He grinned, showing a mouthful of dark, rotting teeth.
“I’m warning you, stay back,” Nick said.
“You won’t do nothin’,” he said.
He charged Nick. In his disbelief at the man’s bravado, Nick hesitated for a heartbeat, and that was all the opportunity the guy needed to invade his space. He threw a punch at Nick, his long arms granting enormous reach, and a big fist connected with Nick’s midsection. It was like an explosion going off in Nick’s stomach.
Purely by reflex, Nick squeezed the trigger. It probably saved his life. Buckshot sprayed from the shotgun and ripped through Jimmy’s neck. The guy staggered, hit a tree, and toppled over to the ground. Blood gurgled in his ruined throat.
Nick felt sick, in more ways than one. He dropped the gun and sank to his knees, hand caressing his throbbing abdomen. A wave of nausea overcame him, and he vomited in the dirt.
Raven put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Nodding, he drew in slow breaths. He noticed wetness on her dress.
“Did he hurt you?” he asked.
“He grazed me with a bullet, I guess.” She shrugged. “I’ll be okay.”
“I didn’t mean to kill that guy,” Nick said.
He looked up and noticed Jimmy was still breathing slow, shallow breaths.
“You didn’t,” Raven said. “But you should have.”
She picked up the shotgun.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Nick asked. He was in too much pain to get up and stop her.
Raven strolled over to the man, pumped the shotgun, and blasted him in the chest. Jimmy went still and silent. Raven studied his dead body as if he were a bug she had scraped off the sole of her shoe.
Nick didn’t know what to say. Raven glanced at Nick, a challenge in her gaze, as if she dared Nick to disagree with what she’d done.
