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Her cries subsided. She was breathing in shallow, rapid jerks. The trip would be unbearable for her; each jostle would bring fresh waves of torture. As Caleb hoisted the bars of the wheelbarrow, he saw another problem. Dory was not a small woman. Keeping the whole thing balanced would take every ounce of his strength.
Give me a side, Pim signed.
Caleb shook his head firmly. The baby.
I’ll stop if I’m tired.
Caleb didn’t want to, but Pim wouldn’t be deterred. They rolled Dory to the door. As sunlight fell across her, her whole body recoiled, sending the wheelbarrow tipping dangerously to the side.
It’s her eyes, Pim signed. They must be burned.
She returned to the barn and came back with a cloth, which she moistened in the bucket and then draped over the upper half of the woman’s face. Her body began to relax.
Let’s go, Pim signed.
—
It took almost an hour to get Dory back to the house, by which time the woman had lapsed into a merciful unconsciousness. Kate rushed out to meet them. When she saw Dory, she turned back toward the door, where Elle and Bug were standing watchfully, curious about all the excitement. Theo was nosing through Bug’s legs like a puppy.
“Get back in the house,” she ordered. “And take your cousin with you.”
“We want to look!” Elle whined.
“Now.”
They faded inside. Kate crouched next to Dory. “Dear God.”
“We found her in the barn,” Caleb explained.
“Her husband?”
“No sign of him.”
Kate looked toward Pim. The girls shouldn’t see.
Pim nodded. I’ll take them out back.
“We need a tarp or strong blanket,” Kate said to Caleb. “We can put her in the back room, away from the children.”
“Will she survive?”
“She’s a mess, Caleb. There’s not a lot I can do.”
Caleb retrieved one of the heavy wool blankets he used for the horses. They spread it on the ground next to the wheelbarrow, then lifted Dory from the cart and lowered her onto the blanket, tied the corners together, and ran a length of two-by-four through the ends to fashion a makeshift sling. As they hoisted her off the ground, she made a noise from back in her throat that sounded like a strangled scream. Caleb shuddered; he could barely listen to this anymore. That Dory hadn’t died seemed a cruelty of immense proportions. They carried her into the house, to the small storage room where the girls had been sleeping, and laid her on the pallet. Caleb nailed a saddle pad to the tiny window as a shade.
“I need to get that nightgown off.” Kate gave Caleb a grave look. “This will be…bad.”
He swallowed. He could barely bring himself to look at the woman, at her charred and bubbled flesh.
“I’m not good with things like this,” he admitted.
“Nobody is, Caleb.”
He realized something else. He’d waited too long; now they were stranded, waiting for the woman to die. With only one horse, they couldn’t use the buckboard to take Dory to Mystic. And Pim would never leave her.
“I’ll need clean cloths, a bottle of alcohol, scissors,” Kate commanded. “Boil the scissors, and don’t touch them afterward, just lay them in a cloth. Then go look after the children. Pim can help me here. You’ll want to keep them away from the house for a while.”
Caleb didn’t feel insulted, only grateful. He retrieved the things she’d asked for, brought them to the room, and traded places with Pim. By the kitchen garden, the girls were playing with their dolls, making beds for them out of leaves and sticks, while Theo toddled around.
“Come on, children, let’s go for a walk to the river.”
He lodged Theo on his hip and took Elle by the hand. She, in turn, took her sister’s, as they had learned to do, making a chain. They were halfway to the river when a scream severed the air. The sound shot through Caleb like a bullet.
—
Lucius, it’s started. I need you now.
Greer had been driving since before dawn. “Just get this boat ready,” he’d told Lore. He swung past Rosenberg in the dark, jogged northwest, and hit Highway 10 as the sun was rising behind him.
He would reach Kerrville by four o’clock, five at the latest. What would the darkness bring?
Amy, I am coming.
* * *
50
Michael came to consciousness in darkness. Lying on his bunk, he fingered the wound on his head. His hair was rigid with dried blood; he was lucky they hadn’t broken his skull. But he supposed an armed criminal in the president’s house warranted at least one good blow to the melon. Not an ideal way to get a night’s rest, though, on the whole, not entirely unwelcome.
