Page 32 of Backwoods
“Yeah, it is.” The bearded man raised the rifle and pointed the barrel in their direction. “Those is the rules—we got to organize y’all ’corrding to function. Don’t fight it ’cause I don’t wanna hurt ya.”
“Please, don’t do this.” Amiya turned her attention to Betty. Hot tears had begun to leak from her eyes, and the chains rattled as she extended her arms in a gesture of desperate supplication. “I’m begging you. Please, let us stay together.”
But Betty’s jaw was rigid, her lips turned down in a sour expression as if she’d been asked to swallow a rotted lemon.
“Rules is rules,” she said. “We all gotta abide by ’em.”
Betty seized Nick by the ankles and pulled. Nick tried to twist away. The man edged closer to the wagon and levered the rifle inches away from Nick’s head. Nick froze.
Amiya held her breath, tears dripping down her face and into her lap.
“That’s enough from you,” the man said. “Let Betty get you outta there.”
Shaking, Nick turned to Amiya. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she saw a degree of resolve in his gaze that she had never seen before, and it made her heart clutch, for at that moment, she realized how much she loved him, despite everything.
“I’ll come find you,” he said. “Promise.”
And they dragged him away.
21
The helpers shoved Nick into the humid darkness of the barn, and it sounded as if they slammed bolts over the doors. They hadn’t bothered to remove his restraints. He staggered, wove drunkenly, and with a rattle of chains, finally collapsed onto what felt like a pile of hay.
The barn wasn’t entirely dark. In his peripheral vision, he sensed a window above the doorway, high and out of reach. A shaft of gray afternoon light came through the gap and brightened a section of the floor nearby.
Fatigue got the best of him; he didn’t understand why he was tired, but it was impossible to resist, his eyelids sliding shut almost automatically. He faded into sleep . . .
He dreamed of Grandpa Lee. They were riding in the pickup truck, just the two of them, and his grandfather was driving.
They were rolling down a wide dirt lane, the sun at their backs. The dilapidated plantation mansion loomed directly ahead of them.
“Welcome to Westbrook,” Grandpa Lee said. He winked. “It’s not much to look at during the day, son, but at night . . .” He whistled and shook his head. “It’s a sight to behold.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this place before?” Nick asked.
“It wasn’t your time,” Grandpa Lee said. “I wasn’t sure you wanted to take on the duties, anyway. You never come around to see me.”
“What duties?”
“I’m the Caretaker, son,” Grandpa Lee said. “This ground is cursed with old magic, but someone’s gotta take the weight.”
Nick didn’t understand his grandfather’s remarks, and in the fluidly shifting nature of dreams, he was suddenly somewhere else. In a barn, at dusk. He was naked, and felt hay bristling at his back.
Amiya was on top of him, nude like he was, and she was riding him with an enthusiasm that bordered on desperation.
A “W” was branded on her cheek, like a tribal scar.
“We don’t have much time—gotta make every second count,” she whispered.
She raised her arms above her head, her breasts hanging in his face like sweet melons, and he saw that shackles bound her wrists. He reached up to caress her breasts. Chains linked his wrists, too.
“I love you, babe,” he said, thrusting into her.
The scene dissolved. He was still in the barn, but on his feet. Amiya was gone. He was alone.
Well, perhaps not completely alone.
The barn door had been opened. Full dark waited outside. He heard theclop-clop-clopof a horse’s hooves striking dirt, the sound drawing closer to the doorway.
