She smelled fear in the cabin. Not from her this time, but from the brothers. They were afraid, especially Jack. Maybe John wasn’t afraid (or maybe he just controlled it better), but he was definitely anxious. That counted for something, too.
“You think they’re coming?” Jack asked.
John didn’t answer right away. Instead, he loaded a second rifle. “I don’t know. Maybe. Doesn’t matter. If they do, we’ll kill them.”
“But there’s more of them,” Jack said, almost defensively.
“Who gives a fuck,” John grunted. “We’ll just kill them all. This is our place. No one attacks us.”
“Maybe we should go…”
“What did you say?” John stopped reloading and glared at Jack.
“Nothing,” Jack said quickly.
John shoved a finger in Jack’s face. “Listen, this is our place. No one’s driving us off. Not those fucking dead things and not these fucking people. You get that?”
“Yeah,” Jack said.
“You fucking get that?” John shouted.
“Yes, John, I got it.”
“Stay the fuck here.”
He got up and stomped across the cabin and disappeared back into his bedroom. She glanced out the window, seeing nothing but trees beyond.
Jack snickered at her. “You think they’re coming to rescue you? Think again. You heard John. We’re going to kill them.”
“Then why are you so scared?” she said.
She hated Jack, but she wasn’t afraid of him like she was afraid of John. He knew better than to touch her, to strike her. She was John’s domain. She imagined she wasn’t the only one who felt John’s wrath. How many times had John struck his brothers over the years? Enough to make Jack docile and turn Fred into a feeble, worshiping kid.
“Shut the hell up,” Jack said. “When this is over, I’m going to make it so you can’t talk for a few days.”
She smiled to herself. He didn’t sound very convincing at all. Jack wasn’t just scared, he was terrified.
John came out of his bedroom. “You wait here, I’m going outside,” he told Jack.
“Alone?” Jack said.
“Fucking chain her if you’re so scared,” John said, laughing. He slammed the door shut behind him.
Jack, still clutching his rifle, watched John through the window, like a kid wondering where his father was going and why he couldn’t go, too. His handgun was sticking out awkwardly from the front of his waistband. She wondered how hard it would be to get to the gun, to cock back the hammer and shove the barrel into Jack’s gut and pull the trigger, leaving two Sundays with bullet holes in their bellies instead of just one.
He caught her staring at the gun and smirked. “Go ahead if you think you can. That’ll be the fucking day.”
It might come earlier than you think.
It was almost dark when she heard gunshots again. John’s rifle. Jack, who had been sitting at the window without moving for the last three hours, knew it, too, and he stiffened and peered out, rifle raised slightly.
She heard two shots — both from John’s rifle.
Then what sounded like shots from another kind of weapon, answering John’s. It went on for a while, back and forth, back and forth…
And then it just stopped.
It was over. Just like that, it was over.
Either John was dead, or the strangers were. She didn’t know, she couldn’t know, and the uncertainty hung over her head like the Sword of Damocles and made breathing difficult.
She sat on the couch next to Fred, who remained unconscious, oblivious to the gunfire in the woods. She noticed, and so did Jack. She wondered if he was debating whether to go help John or pack up and run. She thought he might be leaning toward the latter. Fred would have already been out the door. But not Jack. No. Jack’s love for John was based more on fear than actual brotherly devotion.
Looking at Jack, she felt her confidence growing. As soon as John left the cabin, she knew what she had to do. There would be no turning back, but it wasn’t as if she had a choice. Fred was going to die, then John would realize she wasn’t trained to handle what he needed. Then he would get rid of her…like he got rid of those two girls…
“He’s probably dead,” she said. “Or dying. I bet he’s bleeding out there right now.”
Jack looked across the cabin at her. She could see the startled shock on his face. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to her being unafraid of him.
“What?” he said, blank confusion in his eyes.
“Your brother. He’s probably crawling around in the woods dying. I bet he’s been gut shot. Like poor Fred here.”
“Shut your mouth.”
“Wouldn’t that be a hell of a day? Two Sundays gut shot in the same day?”
“I said shut your fucking mouth.”
“John probably didn’t stand a chance. What an idiot.” She let out a laugh. “What was he thinking, going up against all that firepower? God, what an idiot.”
“I told you to shut the hell up!” Jack stood up, his face turning red. “Just sit there and shut your mouth.”
She ignored him and pushed on. “He never stood a chance. Out there all by himself. But maybe he’s not dead yet, maybe he’s crawling around, wondering why you haven’t come to save him yet. He sure can’t count on Fred here.”
Jack glared at her. “He’s fine. He’ll kill them, you’ll see.”
“I don’t know about that. They did get Fred. I bet they got him, too.”
It was quiet outside. It had been about ten minutes since the last gunshot. Wouldn’t John have come back by now if he was still alive? She hoped that thought was going through Jack’s mind, seeding doubt, building fear, creating indecision.
She could tell she was close from the look on his face. She was so close.
“He’s probably dead,” she said. “Fred’s going to die later tonight, too. Did you see that wound? He’s not going to make it. When that happens, you’re going to be all alone, Jack. The last surviving Sunday. How long do you think you’ll last without John?”
Jack blinked at her, his face contorted in that almost innocent way when he was struggling with words, often under John’s badgering glare. She knew better, of course. There was nothing innocent about Jack Sunday.
“Just shut up,” was all that came out of his mouth.
No, I won’t shut up.
“I wonder how you’re going to make it without them,” she said. “Without John. He’s the brains, I know that.”
“What?”
“Come on, we both know it. John built this place. He tells you what to do. How are you going to survive without John? Did you even know where to put your dick in a woman before he showed you? I saw you watching when he raped me that first night. Was that when you finally learned where to put it?”
His face had turned a ghastly purple, and she could almost feel the rage welling up inside him, about to explode. He pointed a shaking finger at her. “I’m warning you,” he said, his voice cracking. “Shut your goddamn lying mouth, you fucking bitch.”
No.
“The funny thing is,” she continued, “he told you that you can’t have me, but he gives me to Fred whenever it’s your turn to go out and watch the highway. I bet you didn’t know that, did you? Of course not.”
It was a lie, but Jack didn’t know that.
He stalked across the room, and she quickly got up to her feet and braced herself. He had left the rifle behind at the window. She concentrated on the gun in his front waistband, the handle jutting out, like something that shouldn’t be there.