“All right. Let's fuckin' go.”
We flew down the highway leading back into Seddon. His grandpa had a cozy little house on the outskirts of town.
Soon, we were parked outside it. A faint light was on in the window. Joker's body hardened underneath my hands when we pulled up, and I saw him looking at his brother's bike, parked next to the old man's truck.
He killed the engine and we listened quietly to insects droning in the night. Tucking my helmet into the storage compartment, I stood there next to him, eyeballing the mad tension souring his face. He inhaled deeply several times, turning his head.
“Jackson, what is it?”
“Smoke. Somebody's been roasting the shit outta something in the fire pit.” He took off toward the small ring of stones at the side of the house.
I ran after him, putting my arm over my mouth so I wouldn't cough. The stink of something strange and sickly hung in the air. I'd barely noticed it at first, but now that I was closer, it was withering.
I found him at the firepit's edge, crouched on the ground. He held a long stick in his hand, and the burned tatters of something leathery hung at the end.
“What is that?” I asked nervously, hesitating to put my hand on his shoulder.
“Nothing good,” he whispered, squinting at the thing on the stick. “Looks like somebody's fuckin' cut's been burned out here. Can't make out the damned colors...”
No kidding. The leather vest barely resembled anything now, looking a lot like a skinned animal singed to a crisp. He shook it off and kicked off the grill sitting over the fire, pushing his stick through the ash and debris.
It looked like there were rocks mixed in with the coals and cloudy ash. Bone white rocks, covered in scorch marks.
Bone. I trembled.
No. It couldn't be human...
“Jackson?” I looked at him intently, clutching his sleeve.
He pressed a finger against his lips, flashing me a sharp look. My eyes went wide when I saw his free hand pulling his gun from its holster.
“Quiet, babe. Some serious shit's been going down. You wait here, back behind the tree.” He stopped and pointed to the large trunk several steps away. “Grandpa doesn't go to sleep so fuckin' early, and neither does Piece. Sure as fuck don't come out here to grill after dark, except when Piece is looking for a midnight snack...and the shit in here ain't anybody's dinner. It's too quiet. Too fucked up. Hang tight. I'm goin' in alone. You hear anybody else moving out here, you scream, and I'll come runnin'.”
I wanted to cry out, but I didn't dare. My heart pulsed frantically in my chest. For the first time since we'd shown up here, I knew we were in real danger, something I wasn't ready to handle.
I hung back behind the big tree out front, obeying him word for word, my hand on my pocket. First sign of trouble, I'd call the police.
Depending on the biker code to handle whatever was happening out here wasn't going to do. I couldn't let anybody else get hurt.
God. Swallowing a lump in my throat, I let the evil possibilities wash over me.
There'd been so many rumors about the Deadhands moving into town, the rival motorcycle gang that had eaten up most of Georgia.
What if they'd found out about Joker and his brother? What if they were here?
Just relax. Breathe, I told myself.
Up in the sky, the big moon glowed, still holding a little of its blood red tinge from the eclipse earlier this evening.
The first gunshot exploded inside the house a second later.
I jumped at the sound, hugging the tree for support. Two more loud bangs echoed through the night, one after another.
My fingers shook as I pulled out my phone, desperately trying to get it up to my face, so I could dial.
The last few drops of blood in my body that weren't already glacial became ice when I saw the dark, lifeless screen.
“Shit!” I cursed myself, remembering that it'd been low on charge at work. I'd fucking forgotten to plug it in.
Stuffing it back into my pocket, I peaked around the tree, staring at the house. If there was any sane way out of this, I'd find it inside, however hellish it might be.
I had to move. I had to find him.
Walking into the house made me feel disembodied. I hadn't had that sensation since mama's funeral, the one where it seems like a woman's soul is going to leave her body forever, and there's nothing she can do about it.
The screen door creaked loudly in my hands, making me silently curse the whole evil situation one more time. As soon as I was in, I heard...a slapping sound?
Someone banged on something soft. Like the way I remembered mama slapping bread dough.
“Joker?” I whispered, creeping around the corner.
There wasn't much to the place. Just two tiny rooms, a kitchen, and a main living area.
Someone had left a blanket and several empty beer bottles on the floor, next to the couch. I carefully avoided tripping on them and pressed forward, perking my ears up again, listening for anything.