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A loud crash came from inside the house followed by a hoot and a holler. The voices were male, at least two possibly three, and I didn’t recognize them.
I hurried to the back door. On the way, I caught a glimpse of the ax that I’d left impaled in a stump. It was on the other side of the horse. But when a second, louder crash came from inside the house, I darted behind the horse and grabbed the ax.
Only once I’d retrieved the ax did it register to me that I’d run behind the horse. Despite the years of brooding over my sister’s death, had I not learned anything?
There was no time to think about that. A third crash sounded from inside.
I opened the back door. The kitchen was in shambles, the floor littered with broken plates, the cupboards smashed in. On the wall beside me hung a landline phone. I picked up the receiver and hit the first button: speed dial, police.
Voices and further commotion came from upstairs.
On the second ring, Lincoln answered my call. “Lincoln. It’s Ryder. I’m at Mayor Blanchette’s. There’s a break-in. Intruders still on the premises. Get here fast.”
I didn’t wait for a response. I let the receiver dangle by its cord, Lincoln continued speaking but his words were drowned out by the sounds of smashing and laughing coming from upstairs.
I slipped into the living room. “Mayor Blanchette,” I called out.
The noise from above stopped.
“Everything all right?” I called out.
As I walked through the living room, I heard someone come racing down the stairs. I held the ax horizontally with both hands and faced the threshold to the corridor.
A stocky older man, face stubbled gray, black eyes, and messy black hair, appeared. He too held an ax.
“What the hell,” I said.
His mouth stretched into a toothy grin. “What you gonna do with that ax, kid?”
Before I could respond, more footsteps came racing down the stairs.
“Where’s the Mayor?” I asked.
The man stepped into the living room, flipping his ax from one hand to the other. “This is none of your business, kid.”
Another man appeared behind him. In his hand, he held the leg of the writing desk I’d just built for Mayor Blanchette a few days ago.
“Get out of here, Ryder.” The voice was Ruby’s, and it came, muffled, from the kitchen.
I jerked my head around in surprise.
“Get out of here and call the police,” she said.
I looked back at the man who was inching toward me, grinning, licking his lips, and turning the ax over in his hands as he approached. “I’ve already called the police,” I said loudly, my eyes locked on this maniac before me. “Don’t worry. The police are on their way.”
The maniac chuckled. “You’re a bad liar,” he said.
I pointed with the head of my ax at the kitchen. “If I’m lying, why is the phone dangling from the wall?”
Instead of answering, or even glancing at the kitchen, the maniac lifted his ax, stepped toward me, and swung.
I jumped back. The ax head missed me by a good foot.
The maniac laughed.
The goon behind him stepped into the living room and a second goon appeared at the doorway also brandishing a broken off leg of the writing desk.
I inched backward holding the ax out in front of me as the maniac pulled his ax back and readied for another swing.
“I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll chop your head right off,” he said, gritted his teeth, and swung.
I raised my ax horizontally and with the handle blocked the blow just below his ax head.
I heard and felt the handle of my ax crack.
The maniac must have heard it too because he cocked his head to the side, raised his eyebrows, and widened his toothy grin. He pulled his ax back and readied for another swing. “You can still run away,” he said. “I’ll chase you, of course. But maybe you’ll get away.”
The goons behind him laughed. They fanned out and approached me from the sides.
My back was now against the wall. I gripped my ax by the bottom of the handle. The crack was too severe, and it threatened to snap entirely so I resumed the horizontal defensive position.
The goon to my left swung at me with the desk leg.
I blocked the blow with my shoulder and kicked him in the stomach, sending him reeling then keeling to the floor.
The second goon swung his desk leg at me.
I ducked, and the leg smashed against the wall.
The maniac jabbed at me with the heel of his ax.
I caught it again with the handle of my ax, but this time the handle snapped in two.
The maniac followed with a punch that landed with a crack on my jaw. Then, as my head snapped to the side, one of the goons landed a desk leg on the back of my head.
