Chapter 4

A sound. A distant, rhythmic thumping. Whump-whump-whump.

It broke through the black fog of my pain.

Then another sound. Cracking wood. Shouting.

My eyes fluttered open. The cellar was still dark, but a thin line of light now appeared under the door. The air was thick with a smell that was part chemicals, part cooked meat. My meat.

The cellar door flew open with a splintering crash. A large silhouette stood there, a flashlight beam cutting through the gloom.

"Jocelyn?" a voice rasped. A familiar voice. A voice from a lifetime ago.

It was Hank. Hank, my father's ranch hand. A man with hands like worn leather and a face carved from granite. I hadn't seen him in years.

He rushed down the steps, his boots splashing in the chemical-laced water. He stopped short when the flashlight beam fell on me. A low, guttural sound of horror escaped his lips.

"Oh, sweet Jesus," he whispered.

He knelt beside me, careful not to touch my burned skin. "Hang on, kid. I'm getting you out of here."

He scooped me up as gently as he could. The movement sent a fresh explosion of agony through me, and I blacked out again.

When I came to, I was outside, lying on the wet grass. The night air was cold on my raw skin. The rhythmic thumping was louder now, deafening. It was a helicopter, a private medevac, its landing lights washing the whole scene in a stark, pulsating glare.

Hank was shouting into a radio. "We have her! Condition is critical! Severe chemical burns and exsanguination!"

I could see Mrs. Scott then. She was on the ground near the porch, her hands bound with zip ties, a strip of duct tape over her mouth. She was staring at the helicopter, her eyes wide with disbelief and terror.

I tried to look toward the long, private road that led to the farmhouse, but all I could see was a flickering, orange glow in the distance.

"What is that?" I whispered to Hank as the paramedics loaded me onto a stretcher.

Hank's face was grim. "That's your husband, Jocelyn. He took his vintage trucks and parked them across the road. Set them on fire."

He didn't look at me. He looked at the fire. "Called it a 'bonfire of love' for Sabrina. To cheer her up after she lost the award. Blocked the road completely. No ambulance could have ever gotten through."

The paramedics slid me into the helicopter. As the doors closed, sealing me in, the last thing I saw was Hank standing there, a lonely, loyal sentinel in the chaos, before the world dissolved into a blur of spinning blades and rising pain.