Punish (Feral Justice Book 1) Page 13

  Would his son understand?

  The greater question was whether he’d ever tell him he didn’t want to look at tomorrow.

  “Go on.” He indicated the cooler. “One isn’t going to hurt you.”

  Still staring ahead, West reached for a can. “Where are we going to hunt?”

  There you go, son. Just the two of us drinking a little and hopefully getting us a couple of deer. “South of the ranch house and barn. The pasture’s kind of a U-shape with the buildings in the middle. Jake Albee doesn’t want us anywhere near the road or school.”

  “That makes sense. Will he be joining us?”

  “He’s out of town. Won’t be back until the weekend.”

  West stepped on the brakes. “Does he know we’re here?”

  The ranch house was just ahead, no reason for West to stop yet. “Yes,” he snapped and was sorry he’d lost his temper, something he did too much of. “I’d never go onto a man’s property without asking permission. All he cares about is that the cops don’t know what we’re doing. Like he says, anything to stop the damn deer from robbing him blind.”

  West sighed the kind of sigh only a teenager was capable of. “Will anyone else be here?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Tonight? How many hunters has he invited to help rid him of the deer?”

  “I don’t know. Damn it, West, do you want to do this or not?”

  “What if someone hears a shot?”

  “You know the area. There’s no one around.”

  “The school isn’t that far away. Just because it’s night doesn’t mean— I’m sure the janitors are there.”

  “You’re right. Talk about lousy hours. At least they’ll be working inside. Even if they hear something, they won’t know where it’s coming from.” He felt no need to remind his son he knew that because he’d once been a broom pusher at the old high school. Being a janitor had kept food on the table and provided health insurance, but it hadn’t been something he was proud of. “You going to do this?”

  West didn’t say anything, not that he expected him to. Not that long ago his son had followed him around like some puppy, chatting nonstop. Now there was no getting him to open up. About anything.

  Before West had dropped out of school, Taggart had kept after him to go to his classes. He’d even grounded him when he learned West had been skipping, but that hadn’t done any good. His son had retreated into himself, acted as if he didn’t care. But he had. What man doesn’t know when his son is troubled? At least it hadn’t been because he’d gotten some girl pregnant.

  All right, so West would have to go for a GED, but at least he didn’t have a kid to support and he had a job, money in his pocket. Not bad for an eighteen-year-old.

  That’s what he’d do when they were done hunting, tell his son he was proud of him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hunting didn’t used to be this hard. Time was he could tromp across country all day and not feel the strain. Mountains were a little harder, but as long as he was tracking something, he ignored his aching feet.

  Knowing his son was staring at his ass didn’t help but hopefully it was dark enough that West couldn’t see it jiggle. The day would come when he’d let West go first—he’d been thinking about it lately. But stepping aside and letting the boy take the lead was easier contemplated than done.

  ‘Contemplate’. Pretty darn sophisticated word coming from him. The best he was capable of tonight.

  People who didn’t hunt would never understand how a man could get into the flow. It was more than finding a deer trail and letting it take him where he needed to go to get the job done. It was more than being okay with putting off a smoke and stopping only to take a piss. Hell, what it came down to was the world feeling right. Knowing he was the best damn hunter out tonight. His mouth watering at the thought of venison frying.

  Lifting his rifle off his shoulder to restore circulation there, Taggart stared at the trees the trail headed into. Jake Albee owned more than five-hundred acres, all of it fenced, even the deeply wooded area where the cattle seldom went because there wasn’t enough grass there. The deer had become so bold they often bedded down with the cattle, but he wasn’t about to risk shooting a cow. That would really screw things with Albee. Hopefully some deer were in the trees. The trick was finding them in the dark.

  “Why are we doing this?” West asked in a whisper.

  Stopping, Taggart turned and tried to make out his son’s expression. “What are you talking about?”

  “About you and me deliberately breaking the law. What’s the point?”

  The beers sloshing around in his system were slowing his thinking. Much as he wanted to tell his son how much his timing sucked, he couldn’t dodge around this.

  “Damn it, West, you know I’ve told you often enough. All the time I was growing up, men hunted when they needed to. There was no killing for the sport, just men feeding their families.”

  “That’s not the case now.”

  “Just a rancher trying to make a living and deer breeding and overrunning everything.”

  “There are laws, regulations.”

  “You and I keep talking, we’re going to scare off everything. Why are you here if this bothers you?”

  “You haven’t answered me.”

  “The hell I haven’t.” Wincing at his raised voice, he spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m sick of everyone thinking they have a right to tell me when to wipe my ass. Hunting with my son is one of the few freedoms I have left.”

  “It won’t be freedom if we get caught.”

  Furious, he again whipped around. It took all he had not to shout. “If you want to leave, the hell do it.” Please don’t.

  “We only brought one vehicle.”

  “And I’m staying until I’ve accomplished what I came here for. Never thought my son would wimp out like this.”

  West had stood toe to toe with him. Now, although West was taller and broader, the kid stepped back, shaking his head as he did. “Let’s get this done.”

  Hard as he tried to crawl inside his son’s head and figure out his thinking, Taggart couldn’t. Everyone said teens were impossible. They were right. Occasional flashes of the hero-worshipping boy West used to be kept him from kicking West out. That and everything he did around the place. Why couldn’t West just wrap his mind around a man and his son needing to spend some quality time together?

  “Let me ask you something,” he said. “Do you like hunting?”

  West sighed. “Yes.”

  “Then what’s your problem?”

  “We’re breaking the law.”

  “A stupid law. There’s a hell of a lot of them.”

  “So you keep telling me.”

  Deflated, Taggart went back to trailblazing. At least West hadn’t said anything about his old man needing youth and strength in order to haul a carcass to the truck, which he did.

  West was a good shot. What man wouldn’t be proud of that? The boy had just turned ten the first time he’d killed a deer, a good-sized buck. The two of them had whooped and hollered and Taggart had called his brother and friends to come and see what his son had accomplished. He’d never been prouder of the then-scrawny kid.

  Times changed. People changed.

  Stopping again, Taggart assessed their location. They’d reached where the trees were thickest. Aiming the flashlight down, he dialed up the intensity. That done, he began a sweep of their surroundings. White light stabbed at the night. The blood in his temple pulsed. His legs ached from the unaccustomed hike, but it no longer mattered. He felt alive. Young again.

  Anticipation barely held in check, he slowly scanned from left to right. A rabbit froze. Ignoring it, he concentrated on pushing the light deep into the woods. His eyesight wasn’t as good as it used to be, but damn it, he wanted West to admire his old man’s hunting skills. That’s what tonight was all about, making his son proud of him.

  Straining, he forced himself to focus on one area at a t
ime. A little more than halfway through the sweep, he spotted what he’d come here for.

  Deer. Three. Studying him with their heads high and narrow chests perfect targets. He didn’t waste time looking for antlers.

  “Take the shot,” he commanded. “I’ll hold the light.”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not shooting tonight.”

  Any more talking and the deer would stop being blinded and take off. Cursing, he shoved the flashlight at his son. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if West had let it drop, maybe punch him. To his relief, West took the offering and kept shining the light in the deers’ eyes.

  Taggart aimed and fired. The four-legged trio sprang upward. They landed, two whirling and bounding away as they did. The one that had been in the middle started after them only to pitch forward. Leaving his son to deal with whatever he thought he had to deal with, Taggart hurried toward his kill. Just as he reached it, everything went dark.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded. “Turn the light back on.”

  “Dad?”

  “What?”

  “There’s something out there.”

  Something? About to ask West what he was talking about, he rose onto his toes. The I’m being watched sense that had bailed him out any number of times when his boss was watching snapped into overdrive. He wasn’t afraid of the dark, hadn’t allowed himself to be since the last time his old man tried to lock him in a closet. You want to survive in this world, you had to face it full on.

  But what if you didn’t know what you were facing?

  Right now he’d give anything to have West turn the flashlight back on, but that might turn them into sitting ducks. More than they already were.

  Fish and Wildlife officials? Oh shit!

  He settled onto his heels. Being armed helped slow his heart rate a bit. Just the same, he couldn’t shake off the exposed feeling.

  More than exposed.

  West, I’m sorry. If we’re arrested, I’ll take the heat.

  Working deliberately, he turned in a circle. He knew where West was, he just couldn’t see him. Neither did he want to take a chance on calling out to him. The rifle that had been his old man’s prized possession and the only thing he’d wanted when the bastard died pulled at his shoulders. Damn, double damn. Please don’t let the game cops, if that’s who it is, think I might shoot them.

  At length he was back where he’d started, with the smell of blood calling to him. If it was law enforcement, they would have made their presence known by now, something he had personal experience with.

  Anger replaced tension. His only son had allowed himself to get spooked. West needed to tend to business and not let his imagination run away with him. If the bastard responsible for him being born had taught him one thing, it was to have his own back.

  Determined to serve as West’s role model and thus clean away the jumble of stupid stuff between them these days, he approached his kill. The half-moon had been enough when they were in the open, but it was nearly useless now, forcing him to run the tip of his boot over the carcass. He felt no movement, no indication that the deer was still alive. After exploring the body a little more with his boot, he realized it wasn’t full size after all but this year’s fawn.

  A sound like a puff of wind had him aiming his rifle in that direction. Darkness was going to be the death of him!

  “Where are you?” he whispered. “West, you—”

  Something plowed into him with such force that he flew backward, landing hard on his ass. He bit his tongue. A shock wave of pain speared his right arm, then it went numb. He managed to hold onto the rifle but couldn’t lift it.

  “Dad!”

  The third word West had spoken as a toddler had been Daddy. Taggart would give anything to step back in time and have his son on his lap. Nails or something were grinding into his right thigh. He tried to knock whatever it was off, but his arm still wouldn’t work.

  A rumbling sound from a deep throat assaulted his ears. A foul-smelling hot blast of air dampened his lashes. Shit, shit! Whimpering, he tried but failed to close his eyes. The pressure on his thigh came from the massive beast that had planted a paw on him. Gripping the rifle, he tried to push what he figured was a dog off him. The beast pushed back. It growled again.

  The killer dogs! “Oh shit, shit!”

  Another sour, moist breath drenched his face. The dog shifted its weight. For a half second Taggart thought it was going to let him get up. Then claws seized his crotch. Ground down.

  He screamed.

  His mouth was still open when another monster-dog settled its fangs almost gently over his left shoulder. They were everywhere! Willing strength into his right arm, he let go of the useless rifle and made a fist. Hoping to strike an eye, he punched the side of the closest dog’s head. The grip on his shoulder tightened. Terrified, Taggart grabbed an ear and pulled. Daggers pushed past flesh and muscle and ground against bone.

  Screaming high and loud, he released the ear and tried to gouge out his attacker’s eye. Agony seared his shoulder and scrotum. His bladder and bowels let go. Hops-flavored bile filled his mouth and ran out.

  With penis pain now dominating, he barely noticed when one of his attackers released his shoulder. Something took hold of the hair at his temple and pulled until the flesh there started to tear. The latest attack had lifted his head off the ground. He wrapped both arms around the thick, muscled neck and squeezed. If the dog was being robbed of oxygen, it gave no sign, only took a deeper hold of his hair, including some of his scalp. Bit down.

  Something vised his left calf. He kicked, couldn’t get free. Felt fangs penetrate.

  Terrified he was being scalped, he squeezed with all his strength. He pitted his pain-triggered strength against this bastard. Then the dog released his hair and scalp, spit them out really. A tongue swiped his forehead. His arms burned and trembled. No way could he keep up his hold. Still he held on, because the alternative terrified him. His penis felt as if it was being ripped off. His calf—

  Hot pokers seared his right shoulder blade. As he fell back, one of the dogs licked his nose. Then it sank its fangs into his cheek.

  “Dear God, please, God!”

  “Dad!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fear continued to weaken West’s muscles. He managed not to drop his rifle, but it had become too heavy to lift. Besides, he risked shooting his dad.

  “Run, son, run.”

  His dad’s voice had turned from terrified to something West had never heard before. Weak and pain-filled. Oh God, his dad was dying! Being murdered.

  He couldn’t leave, couldn’t abandon his hunting partner.

  Where was the flashlight? And if he found it, did he really want to see—

  A growling howl caused him to whirl around. The rifle started to slip from his hold, prompting him to grasp it so hard his fingers cramped. He still couldn’t see anything.

  “Dad,” he whispered. There was no reply.

  Alone? His dad dying or maybe already dead. Him surrounded by something from hell. What had the two of them done that was so unforgivable? Was a poached deer a reason to be killed?

  The truck! He couldn’t save his dad on his own. Besides, he’d told him to leave.

  But what if he couldn’t find him again?

  Dad! I don’t know what to do.

  Something. Anything.

  He took a half step, then stopped, disoriented and unsure where the growling howls had come from.

  You can’t stay here. Do something!

  His heart pounding so hard it hurt, he stared at the night, trying to force it to give way. Goosebumps dug into his shoulders and down his back. His legs threatened to give out on him. Monsters were out there, maybe still mauling his dad, maybe getting ready to attack him.

  He repeatedly struck out, only to second-guess his sense of direction and stop. Any moment the beasts that had torn into his dad would attack him. He didn’t stand a chance unles
s he was close enough to the truck to—

  Damn! He had a cell phone.

  Supporting himself on wide-spread legs, he tucked the rifle under his arm and dug into a pocket. His fingers jammed against the truck key, propelling him to reach across his body for the other pocket. Just moments ago, the last thing he believed he’d ever do was let cops know what he and Dad were up to. Now he wanted to see men in blue with drawn guns as he’d never wanted anything.

  He located the three-year-old cell phone. Thank God he could punch nine-one-one without needing to see the buttons.

  Moist warmth dampened the base of his spine. A dog? Right behind him! Breathing on him!

  A fresh wave of terror stripped him of rational thought. Still, he continued extracting his only connection with the world beyond this nightmare.

  Something stepped in front of him. It was low to the ground, maybe crouching.

  Screaming, he stumbled back. More moisture attacked his spine. He jerked the cell free. A growl hung in the air. The cell started to slip from his fingers. He tried to grab it with both hands. The rifle his dad had given him when he turned twelve hit the ground. Tears broke free as he leaned down and reached around, trying to find it.

  Couldn’t.

  Another growl. Coming from somewhere different. Maybe not quite as close.

  His bladder let go.

  Run! Just run.

  But where? Besides, he had to have his rifle.

  He extended a foot. It connected with something solid. Once he had it, he’d whirl and fire at the hot-breathed beast or beasts behind him.

  Yes, he could do that. Had to—

  Movement again. This time to his right. He stared, shaking uncontrollably, as the largest dog he’d ever seen approached. Moments ago he’d been the next thing to blind, but he had no trouble making out the tall, solid outline. Maybe terror sharpened the senses. Maybe the moon—

  The beast seemed to be in no hurry, seemed to cherish what it was doing.