Paradise Lots 11 Coyotes Ugly
It's hard to get a head of them.
Bridget drove Cattywampus along the two-lane asphalt road toward Paradise Lots. Just before the sign, she saw Dean’s truck ditched on the side of the road with a flat tire.
“Who doesn’t carry a spare?” Her car wanted to know. “I’d never let you leave home without mine.”
“Maybe coyotes can’t change tires,” Bridget said. She stopped her car and opened her Sight to learn if any of Dean’s gang lurked nearby. While she didn’t take in any aura or physical movement, the emotional eddies of anger and pain swirled around the truck and up the side of the ridge. “Let’s find out if Marie-Ann and her women are all right.”
The gate to Paradise Lots was secure. Dean hadn’t damaged his truck to break the gate.
“You stay here,” Bridget told her car, “and honk if anyone comes. I’ll go to the office.” She took a flashlight from the glove box, an extra magazine for her .45, and the shotgun from the back seat.
As she hopped over the fence, the wards slid over her skin. Both man and pawprints showed in the red dirt and gravel of the driveway.
“Marie-Ann!” she called out. “It’s Bridget. Are y’all okay in there?” She swung the flashlight and held up her hands so they could watch her. “Don’t shoot. I’m alone.”
“Be careful,” someone shouted. “There’s one out there. Might not be dead.”
Bridget swept the light across the gravel parking lot. A body lay still, missing most of the back of the skull. She took the knife from her boot. Searching for any sign of breath or movement, she approached.
A hand scrabbled toward her ankle.
She jumped back. With both hands, she stabbed the knife through the creature’s scrawny neck. It did not move again. She cut through the rest of the neck, severing it.
“I got this one,” she said. “Any more out here?” Using her Sight again, she sensed nothing, and even the fear of the humans and the rage of the coyotes faded.
The front door opened after several sounds of unlocking and unbolting. Mac and Shorty came out with a large garbage bag. She noted that both wore black industrial gloves.
“We got one inside,” Shorty said, as he and Mac stuffed the body into the bag. “We need to get them off the property. Dean’s gang will be back.”
“Don’t get any fluids on you,” Bridget said. “What will you do with the bodies?”
“We got a fire pit for burning trash,” Mac said. “I’d be leery of feeding them to hogs.”
“Dean’s truck is just outside the gate.” Bridget gestured. “I didn’t discern any sign of them, but they might return any time. “
Shorty brought the Jeep around to load the body from the office, and then the one on the ground. He and Shorty drove around the compound into the woods.
When Bridget went into the office, she smelled bleach, gunpowder, coffee, sweat, and fear. Bullet holes riddled the back wall, and only six two-by-fours nailed into the cinderblocks kept the door in place. Not secure.
All the women had made pallets to lie on while they waited for dawn. Each had a shotgun or rifle.
Marie-Ann sat at her usual place, drinking coffee. “Dean come to your place?”
“Yeah, but I convinced him to leave. Do you have any notion where Lurleen is?”
“She rode off on the Man of the Woods.” Marie-Ann took another long pull of her coffee. “I got no idea where he hangs his antlers.”
“Then we might as well wait until daylight.” Bridget poured herself a mug of the black liquid from the urn. “We can’t track them at night, and they are weaker during the day.”
“They will be back.” Marie-Ann sighed, looking at the back door. “They lost two. They’ll want revenge.”
Lurleen sat near the hearth, feeling the burning sensation in her belly as she warmed the rest of her body. When was he going to teach her how to use the power? She couldn’t stay mad all the time.
But she had. She’d never fought back, but she’d always been angry—and helpless against Dean’s strength and the heroin. Not now.
“How do I work this power?” She gripped the mug of tea, warming her hands. “I can’t just push him back and expect him to stay.”
“You should not have to fight him.” He shook his head. “What will happen, will happen when they get here. You may need your power for healing.”
“Healing them?” She stared, her mouth open. “I don’t even know how to do that.”
“Whether you try to heal someone is up to you.” The Man of the Woods crouched by the stream. “I would let you practice on me, but you need your strength. You channeled your pain last time. Remember that.”
She stared into the fire, visualizing the rage she felt being forced to stand in the freezing stream. Her gut rumbled, making her queasy. She looked around for a toilet or a pot. He must relieve himself in the woods. Men.
Lurleen remembered the grounding and centering that Bridget showed her. She focused on that, letting her shoulders drop, painful from the constant tension. She breathed as deeply as she could, closing her eyes and feeling the weight of her feet on the stony cave floor. In a few minutes, her gut calmed down.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, now stable if not calm.
“Wait for them to track us here.” He stretched and moved in a slow rhythm. “Try to reason with them. Fight them if necessary.” He was in full human form now, seven feet tall, broad-shouldered, with sinewy arms and legs.
“Do you have any weapons?” She could not see how one man, even a very large one, could fight six coyotes. She shook her head.
“No guns or knives, and I doubt they will be carrying.” He smiled as his antlers appeared briefly. “It is not an easy climb to get here for a human, and coyotes are not well-suited to armament.”
Having finished his stretches, he came to the living area. “Stay here. The moon is well up. I must be ready for them.” He walked away.
“Wait,” she cried. “I can’t just sit here in the dark with nothing to do. I have to be there. You might need my help.”
He did not stop or turn.
She raced after him, knowing she could not find her way out in the dark.