“No. I see what you’re doing.”
“I’m pointing out how it’s your fault. I mean, if you didn’t know Tony’s brothers or what they were up to, it’s reasonable to believe you should have stopped them.”
He squishes his lips together as he stares at me.
“Sarcasm doesn’t look good on you.”
“And victimhood doesn’t look good on you.”
“Who said I’m a victim? I’m not.”
“I know you’re not.” He nods hard. “So why do you want the blame here?”
Now there’s a million-dollar question.
The crunch of a branch breaking and then another catches our attention. A flash of brown and black fur comes out of the corner, on top of the pile of wood.
A raccoon.
What the hell is a raccoon doing jumping onto the porch in the middle of the afternoon. It should be hiding and sleeping until the sun goes down.
Artem stands in front of me, pushing me further back.
The raccoon slips as he walks along the top of the wood. He walks in a circle, like he doesn’t know where he’s going. If this were a cartoon, I’d picture him scratching his head in confusion.
“Artem, look at his mouth.” I shove his back then reach around him to point at the matted fur and thick foamy saliva dripping from the animal’s lips.
The sound of my voice grabs the raccoon’s attention, and he turns to face us. His dark eyes glimmer. His lips pull back, baring his teeth, but there’s no sound yet. No growl.
“My gun.” Artem jerks his head toward the door of the cabin. “Just inside the door. Get it. Go slow.”
I’m only two steps from the front door of the cabin. As I open the screen door it creaks, drawing the raccoon’s attention toward me. Artem steps to the right, blocking me from the sick animal.
The weapon sits on the table right inside the door. After grabbing it, I slowly step back out onto the porch.
The screen door slips from my fingers and slams shut. The raccoon leaps from the wood pile, hits the ground, then lunges in my direction..
Artem, who should not be able to move as quickly as he does with all his muscle, moves to put himself in front of me again. He kicks out his foot as though to punt the animal, but it’s a full-grown beast. The raccoon jumps, grabbing hold of Artem’s arm, and sinks his mouth around his wrist.
“No!” I point the gun and fire a single round. There’s a squeal, then nothing. The raccoon falls to the porch with a thud.
“Fuck.” Artem groans, low and full of pain.
Blood runs down his arm, covering his hand.
“Shit! Shit!”
“Give me the gun, Elana.” He puts out his hand.
When I hand it to him, he aims it at the raccoon and fires three more shots into it.
“It’s dead, Artem.”
He brings his eyes, hot with anger and pain. “That fucker bit me.”
I grab hold of his arm and bring up to get a better look. Artem had taken off the leather coat he was wearing to chop the wood.
“We have to clean it. And then get to a hospital.”
