Borderland (4 page)

"We
need protection,"
Cal
replied.

Myra
bit her lip in indecision. "We don't know that they
mean to hurt us."

"Bullshit,"
Cal
said.
"They've cut the phone wires twice and put a hole in our radiator since
Darwin
died. Whoever it
is, they want us isolated and helpless out here. It's time we showed them just
how helpless we aren't."

"
Cal
, I don't want you
hurt. I'd rather let them steal everything on the place than see you injured…or
worse."

"They
gutted my dog, Mom,"
Cal
replied in a quavering voice. "I'm not going to let
them get away with it. They think they can come in here and start terrorizing
us now that
Darwin
's gone. I'm ready to fight back."

Myra
was too, but not at the expense of her son. He could
handle the shotgun, she knew, but against how many men? She didn't know who
they were fighting or even why, though she had her suspicions. At first she
thought someone was trying to run them off, but then the car had been
sabotaged, making it impossible to leave. She hadn't been to the store in days;
there was nothing to eat but vegetables from her puny garden and milk from the
goats. She and Cal could walk the ten miles into town, but what would happen
once they left?

"No,"
she said firmly. "We're both staying here. If they try to come in we'll
defend ourselves, but we're not going to start anything."

"They
started it," her son retorted.

"
Cal
…”
Myra
warned, and she
felt a whoosh of air as the boy turned impatiently away. She returned her gaze
to the window and wondered what, if anything would be stolen tonight. When
Darwin
died there had
been just two studs left on the farm. Now there were none. A mere three days
after his funeral the two studs were stolen sometime during the night.
Myra
called the town law
official in, but he'd been nervous and uncertain about what to do, proving her
suspicions that he was more of a local figurehead than an actual authority. The
next morning she and Cal had awoken to find
Darwin
's last two brood mares and even the saddle horses gone.

She
decided to bypass the local idiot and call the county sheriff when she
discovered the phone lines had been cut. She waited at the box on the road for
the mailman and told him about the problem) he called it in for her and the
lines were repaired, only to be cut again the following night, along with Cal's
dog, a big red Irish setter the same age as her son.
Myra
never heard back
from the sheriff. And she hadn't seen the mailman since.

She felt
as if she and Cal were being toyed with by someone and she wished to God she
could just pack up and leave tomorrow. But she couldn't.
Darwin
had left her
twenty thousand dollars in his will, enough to start a new life elsewhere, but
she wouldn't receive the money until the maturity date on the C.D. Only then,
according to the attorney, would it become hers.

So she
had to wait. She had enough money to feed them until the certificate matured in
August, but the radiator repairs would have to wait until then, and how could
she feed them if she couldn't get into town because of the radiator?

Myra
wanted to shriek in frustration. For the first time in her
life she actually felt the need to depend on a man.
Darwin
's son would do,
if only he would arrive. He was a cop, or an ex- cop, rather. With him around,
Myra
was certain the
terrorist acts of the last seven days would cease. He probably wouldn't stay,
once he saw the shape the place was in. The farm had been failing for the last
year, along with
Darwin
's health, and there was little left for Vic Kimmler to
inherit but the land, the house, and his father's big black Lincoln
Continental, useless in the garage since the accident that caused
Darwin
's first stroke.

None of
this would be worth much in the sparsely populated prairie-desert of western
Kansas
. People weren't
exactly rushing out to isolate themselves from the civilized world. Why
Darwin
ever stayed
continued to mystify
Myra
. He'd said his people were born and buried here, but that
meant nothing to her. Those who wanted to use his stud services, mostly from
New Mexico
,
Oklahoma
, and
Texas
, had been forced
to drive inconvenient and often foolhardy distances to do so. And now that the
horses were gone there would be no income from that area. Vic Kimmler knew
nothing about farming, livestock, or land management, so his only choice, as
far as Myra could see, was to try and sell the place and take what he could
get.

She
would even suggest it to him, when and if he ever showed up. She was positive
the attorney had given today's date. Of course anything could have happened
since then, since her phone had been rendered useless and since she had become
a prisoner of sorts in her own home. He may have tried to contact her…but
somehow she doubted it.

She
received the impression that she and Cal were looked upon as little more than
parasites by the Garden City attorney. In Denke it was no different. Even after
two years people still stared at her and whispered as she passed. The women
shunned her and the men merely grunted. It was the same in every small town,
she realized, but she was sick of being an outsider. She wanted to take
Cal
and run for the
nearest big city. Somewhere Patrick's mother would never find them. For all
Myra
knew, and she did
have her suspicions, her manipulating former mother-in-law was behind all of
this. She wouldn't put it past—

To her
left, a door clicked shut.
Myra
whirled from the window. "
Cal
?"

There
was no answer.
Myra
groped for the wall and flicked on the light above the
sink. On the bar separating the kitchen from the living area lay
Darwin
's pistol.
Cal
and the shotgun were
gone.

"Dammit!"
Myra
turned
off the light and snatched up the pistol. As she slipped out the door she
caught a glimpse of white T-shirt, Cal's, moving toward the house. She hurried
after him, afraid to call out and attract unwanted attention, but more afraid
of what would happen if she didn't catch up and stop him.

Halfway
between the house and her mobile home a pair of blinding headlights froze her
in her tracks. When she heard the revving of an engine she shouted for
Cal
to run. The car shot
across the ground toward her, and still blind, she raised the pistol and began
firing in the direction of the headlights.

After
firing four rounds she felt the air leave her lungs as someone rammed into her
and sent her rolling across the gravel drive. The left front tire of the car
passed within a foot of her worn running shoes as she rose up, gasping and
blinking.
Cal
scrambled to stand beside her and pointed the shotgun as the car spun around in
front of the house and headed back toward them. The kick of unleashing both
barrels sent his wiry frame crashing back into
Myra
, causing her to nearly bite through her lower lip. One
headlight gone, the car swerved and sprayed both of them with gravel as they
scooted back on hands and feet over the sharp-edged rocks. The car continued to
swerve, as if it were out of control, then it suddenly straightened and sped
down the drive toward the road.

Mother
and son watched breathlessly, waiting for the next assault. When it didn't
come,
Cal
got
slowly to his feet and extended a hand to help
Myra
.

"Did
you see who it was?" she gasped.

"No.
Did you?"

"I
was too busy peeing my pants," she said. "What kind of car do you
think it was?"

"I
don't know. A big one. Maybe a Cadillac?"

Myra
shook her head and filled her lungs. "Don't ask me. I
don't know cars." She turned to look at the house. "If they weren't
here to steal
Darwin
's satellite dish or things in the house, what do you
suppose they were doing?"

"I
didn't say they were in the house,"
Cal
clarified. "I said they were by the house. I don't
know what they were doing. Just sitting in the car and watching, I guess. I
wonder why they came after you and not me."

Myra
thought she knew the answer, but she said nothing. If
Patrick's mother was indeed behind this, then
Myra
was the target, not
Cal
. Once she was out of the way...

"Let's
go in now," she said suddenly. "I really did pee my pants and I'm
bleeding in a dozen different places from that gravel. Are you okay?"

"Fine,"
Cal
said. He
took her by the arm and began walking toward the trailer. "I think we
surprised 'em with the firepower. I know you busted the windshield, but I got
the headlight."

That
reminded
Myra
.
"I ought to kick your behind for going out in the first place. I said no
and I meant it. Both of us could've been killed."

"You're
shaking,"
Cal
observed.

"No
kidding,"
Myra
said. "I mean it,
Cal
. No more playing commando with these people. This isn't a
game."

"I know
that, Mom. But I feel better. I feel like we did something. Don't you?"

Myra
hurried their steps. "I feel like we took a stupid
risk and barely escaped being fly fodder in the drive. I've got strawberries
all the way up my thigh and I think I bit my lip in two."

Cal
chuckled and she turned and lightly smacked his arm.
"Don't you dare laugh at me."

He
opened the trailer door for her and stood back to let her enter. "I wasn't
laughing at you. I was just thinking of how you looked when you were facing down
that car and firing that pistol. I wish I had it on camera. You reminded me
of..." He paused as
Myra
turned on the living-room light and drew a sharp breath.
When she didn't say anything, he pushed her aside.

Myra
was already backing away from the blood and trying to wipe
it from her feet at the same time. The goat's entrails were everywhere. She
glanced instinctively at the phone on the kitchen bar and saw that the Formica
surface of the bar was smeared with blood. Someone had sliced open the nanny
and dragged the bleeding carcass around her home, making sure that everything,
even the walls, was splattered with blood. And they had done it in the short
time that she and Cal had been outside.

How? Her
horrified mind asked. Why?

"Mom,"
Cal
whispered. "Are there any rounds left in the pistol?"

She
blinked. Of course. The person responsible could still be inside her house,
hiding somewhere.

Sucking
the fresh blood on her lower lip,
Myra
stepped over the carnage on the floor and made her way
across the living room and through the kitchen to the hall.
Cal
came behind her,
holding the empty shotgun in front of him to swing like a club if necessary.

The
bathroom and both bedrooms had been subjected to the same bloody treatment.
Myra
looked immediately
at the mirror above her dresser, half-expecting to see a message written there.
There was nothing but blood, blood, and more blood. While bending down to look
under her bed, nausea caught up with her. She stayed bent over for several
minutes, while
Cal
made sympathetic noises and held her hair away from her
face. When she was finished, he said, "I don't think anyone's here. If
you're going to be all right I'll start cleaning some of this up."

"No,"
Myra
said
quickly. "We can't stay here tonight,
Cal
. I can't stay here. We'll sleep in the big house and come
back in the morning."

Cal
nodded and wiped a line of perspiration from his forehead.
Myra
saw that
now he was taking this seriously, even more seriously than when his dog had
been killed.

"Why,
Mom?" he asked. "Why are they doing this?"

"I
don't know,
Cal
,"
she said in a quiet voice. "But I've changed my mind about one thing.
Starting tomorrow, I think both of us should be armed at all times."