Page 142 of In These Hills

He dropped down on top of her, the weight of his body a sick memory that caused a cold unlike anything she’d known to grip her head to toe. She clawed and kicked and screamed as he made his intent clear.

Oh, God, please no . . .

Frantic, she searched for a way to stop him as images of Dodge and Bethie flashed through her mind, then Todd, and her parents, their faces clear and vivid. Then she saw the fire beneath the still. As if her body knew what was coming, her stomach roiled as she reached for the flames. Already feeling the scream clawing its way up her throat, she grabbed a handful of embers, the fire searing her flesh, and shoved it hard into the side of his face and neck.

He screamed and rolled to one side, and she got up and ran, cradling her right hand against her chest.

The warehouse was dark, the only light coming from the copper stills, and she couldn’t see a way out. Gunfire sounded behind her, and she instinctively hit the floor. After a few seconds, she slowly raised her head and looked at row after row of bubbling, simmering stills all around her.

“Stop shooting!” she yelled. “Don’t you know where we are?”

Two consecutive shots rang out, much closer this time, and she ran, hunched over, her body beginning to shake, her palm throbbing. Lightheaded, she sank down against the wall, trembling and holding her hand as she prayed the darkness would swallow her whole. A minute passed, maybe another, and she wondered if maybe—

“I can hear you breathing, you miserable—”

Another shot, this time striking the wall just above her head.

About to move again, she heard a dog barking, then the bang of a door opening hard.

“Josephine! Are you in here?”

Dodge.

“I’m over here!”

Her right hand of little use, she crawled as best she could toward the sound of his voice, and Jessie’s barking.

Two more shots rang out, followed by a deep rumbling, then a hiss, and a second later, a still exploded. Metal and wood went flying, and a sudden scream tore through it all.

That’s when she saw Dodge running toward her. Struggling to see through the smoke, she moved as fast as she could but he covered the distance first and grabbed her up in his arms.

More hissing, then a deep roil of thunder, and two more stills exploded, sending fireballs toward the ceiling. Dodge was nearly to the door when Clay Darden stepped from behind a still not ten feet from them, gun leveled.

“Dodge, look out!”

“I should have killed you back in Atlanta!”

She braced for the gunshot as Dodge angled his body to shield her. But no shot came. Only the repeated click of an empty chamber before the warehouse erupted in flames.

55

COUGHING, STRUGGLING FOR AIR, Josephine couldn’t stop shaking. Her eyes burned and hot throbs of pain pulsed in her right hand.

“Doc Wyatt, over here!” Dodge yelled, his voice strained. He lowered her to the ground as smoke and flames blurred the night sky. Men and women raced back and forth, shouting. Others stood stock-still, watching.

Doc Wyatt knelt beside them. “Was she in the building?”

“Yes, sir, I just carried her out.”

The doctor leaned close. “Mrs. Dunham, if you can hear me, can you tell me if you’re hurt?”

“My hand,” she managed, her throat raw, jaw quivering. Not wanting to, she brought her right arm away from her chest and opened her palm.

Doc’s expression was a smooth mask, Dodge’s was far less so. Doc Wyatt started rummaging through his bag. Dodge took off his suit coat and draped it over her.

He leaned close, cradling her face, his own smudged with soot. “I’m so sorry, Josephine,” he whispered, his voice unusually fragile. “I should have been here for you. But you’re safe now. You’re going to be all right.”

“We need a bucket of water from the spring, Dodge. Fast as you can.”