Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
It's Big Boy.
He's alive.
A whoosh of breath cools my lips, and I risk testing the handle on the door. It's locked, and I hiss in frustration.
How am I going to get inside? My dad taught me a lot of things that girls don't usually get taught. I know how to mend fences and grow crops. I know how to help a cow birth a calf that is lying awkwardly, but he never taught me how to break a lock on the trailer owned by a thieving asshole.
I try the handle again, this time risking rattling it and pushing at the door. It's fruitless, but frustration is bubbling inside me, and I just don't know what else to do.
Inside, I hear a familiar whine. "It's okay, Big Boy," I soothe quietly, even though he can't hear me. I wish he knew I was out here. Maybe that would make him feel less scared.
There's a pile of old bricks next to the trailer one over that catches my eye. Maybe I can use the brick to smash the handle right off the door. Maybe the door would open then. I grab the brick, scratching my knuckles in the process enough to draw blood.
"Dillan, get over there right now, you little shit," a woman calls in the distance. A door slams, and a dog that isn't Big Boy barks loudly, and my heart is practically leaping out of my chest from fear.
"I'm coming, boy," I whisper, gripping the brick in my hand and using all my strength to bring it down against the white lever handle. Paint flicks from the metal along with dust from the brick. I do it again, the clang of stone and steel jarring my ears. Another whine sounds from inside as I thwack the handle again. "Come on, you stupid fucking piece of shit," I hiss. "Come on." Another thwack, and still the handle holds. Then all of a sudden, there a roar from inside, and the door is thrown open, almost hitting me in the face. As I jump back, Jethro Flint's brother rears over me.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
He's wearing a vest that is straining over a large belly and a pair of striped shorts that cut under his gut, emphasizing the hugeness of his torso. His eyes are bloodshot and half-opened, and even from a distance, I can smell beer on his breath.
"You've got my dog in there!" I shout, hoping someone from an adjacent trailer will hear me and come looking for the disturbance.
"It's my dog," he says, stepping out of the trailer and onto the dirt, despite not wearing any shoes.
"That's my dog, and you know it. You need to give me that dog right now, and I'll go. I won't say anything to anyone, okay? Just let me take the dog."
His smirk is lopsided and packed with teeth that are yellowed from cigarettes and neglect. "You think you can come here and make demands, and I'm just gonna say yes. Get out of here."
I duck around him, shouting for Big Boy, praying he'll find some super-canine strength and burst out of the trailer and into my waiting arms. He's big, but I could carry him for a short while if I needed to. I get close to the door and hear Big Boy whine again, but the brute grabs hold of my wrist and yanks me back.
"Where do you think you're going?" he says, leering over me.
Cold seeps through my veins, the deep thud of my heart dulling everything around me. Time stills as my eyes flicker across his wild eyes and mangy beard, the sweat patches under his arms and stain down the front of his shirt. His body smells of chopped onions and raw meat, and his fingers are like blunt sausage encircling my wrist completely. Snatching my hand back does nothing to dislodge it from his grasp. I can hear Big Boy's claws scratching on the linoleum, and I shout for him again as I'm tugged further away from the door. "LET GO OF ME! BIG BOY, GET OUT HERE!"
He yanks me again, and I'm off my feet, stumbling to stand straight. "GET OUT OF HERE!" he roars as my whole body tenses and recoils. My wrist burns as the skin is twisted in his sweaty palm. I slap his arm, then try to prize his disgusting flesh away from mine, but nothing is working. I'm weak, and he's strong, and for all my fear and rage, I have no power against him.
"LET GO OF ME!" I shout again, and this time, I lash out, catching him in the face with my open palm, my finger making contact with his wet eyeball. His hand flies to his face and releases me in the process, and I'm running toward the trailer, but Big Boy is out of reach, and a huge shadow is looming behind me. He's too fast, and I'm not going to get caught again. I duck around the trailer, running as fast as my legs will carry me, and at least in this way, I can outmaneuver him.