Chapter 6 - The Iron and the Ridge
The hound’s weight hit my chest like a sack of wet mortar. I went down hard against the clay, the breath exploding from my lungs, the cold mountain mud filling my mouth as I fought to keep the animal’s fangs away from my throat.
I managed to get my left forearm under the dog’s jaw, forcing its head back while my right hand searched blindly through the muck for the hunting knife.
Through the roar of the wind and the dog's snarling, I heard a sharp, high-pitched scream.
"Caleb, no!"
It wasn't the twins. It was a woman’s voice, muffled, coming from beneath the rusted tin sheet of the well.
Caleb was stepping over the mud toward me, the iron pry bar raised high over his head, his face twisted into an ugly, dark purple mask of pure rage. He didn't see Emma. The little girl had moved with that silent, bird-like speed, grabbing one of the heavy river rocks from the edge of the well and throwing it with both hands straight at his knee.
The rock struck his joint with a sickening crack.
Caleb howled, his leg buckling beneath him as he pitched forward into the weeds, the iron bar flying from his grip and clattering against the stone wall of the well.
The hound turned its head at its master's cry, its grip loosening for a split second. That was all the space I needed. I drove my elbow into the dog's ribs, rolled over, and brought the heavy aluminum flashlight down against the base of its skull. The animal went limp, collapsing across my legs with a heavy groan.
I scrambled to my feet, my chest heaving, my jacket torn from shoulder to waist. I didn't look at Caleb, who was dragging himself through the mud, cursing through his teeth as he clutched his broken knee.
I lunged for the well, grabbing the edge of the rusted tin sheet and throwing it aside with a screech of tearing metal.
The hole was eight feet deep, lined with old, green-slimed river stones. The water at the bottom was already up to a woman’s waist. She sat against the wall, her face pale as a ghost, her long blond hair tangled with leaves, her thin arms wrapped around her chest as she shivered violently.
"Martha?" I shouted down, lowering the flashlight into the dark hole.
May you like
She looked up, her blue eyes—the exact same color as the twins'—blinking against the light. "The girls..." she gasped, her teeth chattering so hard the words were barely intelligible. "Did... did they make it to the cottage?"
"They're right here," I said, reaching down with both hands over the lip of the stone wall. "Emma, Ella, hold my belt. Martha, give me your hands!"
