BooksBarbecue
Back Fractured Save as PDF
Chapters (42)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  3. DEDICATION PAGE
  4. CONTENTS
  5. ONE
  6. TWO
  7. THREE
  8. FOUR
  9. FIVE
  10. SIX
  11. SEVEN
  12. EIGHT
  13. NINE
  14. TEN
  15. ELEVEN
  16. TWELVE
  17. THIRTEEN
  18. FOURTEEN
  19. FIFTEEN
  20. SIXTEEN
  21. SEVENTEEN
  22. EIGHTEEN
  23. NINETEEN
  24. TWENTY
  25. TWENTY-ONE
  26. TWENTY-TWO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. TWENTY-FOUR
  29. TWENTY-FIVE
  30. TWENTY-SIX
  31. TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. TWENTY-NINE
  34. THIRTY
  35. THIRTY-ONE
  36. THIRTY-TWO
  37. THIRTY-THREE
  38. THIRTY-FOUR
  39. THIRTY-FIVE
  40. THIRTY-SIX
  41. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  42. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I walked up the street, block after block, scanning every side yard and window for movement, looking for more suspicious characters. The scent only got stronger, so I knew I was heading in the right direction even if the guy I was following was just a regular human with really poor hygiene. The street finally dead-ended with an empty lot bounded by a chain-link fence. On the other side was a cemetery, which separated the neighborhood from a busy state highway. The incense smell was so heavy that it was making my head swim. Just as I was wondering if the guy was about to climb the fence and cut through the cemetery, he scrambled up the front steps of a huge old colonial next to the empty lot and ducked inside, closing the door softly behind him. I paused a few houses away, assessing. Boarded-up windows. Graffiti on the sidewalk. Abandoned? This whole street had that feel, like blight had eaten it away and chased families and normal residents elsewhere. Sure enough, there was an eviction notice taped to the front door.

It could be a crack house. Or a meth lab. Or a hangout for a bunch of homeless people burning whatever they could find to keep warm. Or …

It could be the nest.

EIGHT

EIGHT

WITH SHAKING FINGERS, I extracted my phone from my pocket and texted Malachi the address of the colonial. I was nearly ten blocks from the shelter, but maybe he could get Henry to drive him here, and then we could figure it out together.

While I waited for a reply, I crept around back to get a sense of what we were dealing with. Though most of the windows were boarded, some of the plywood was rotting in places and sagging away from the sills. A few of the low basement windows hadn’t been covered. I lay down on the ground and peeked through an open frame that still held a few shards of glass. The white winter sun was high enough to give me some help, its beams revealing an open room full of boxes and junk of all types. Nothing moved inside. My hand drifted to my waist, where I’d clipped a knife before we’d left the Station, once again at Malachi’s quiet insistence.

As I stood up, I heard it. A soft mewling sound from inside the house. Wishing my heart wasn’t beating so loudly in my ears, I skirted down an incline and around the back; then I crawled past the shattered windows of the walk-out basement to the other side. The whimpering was louder near the front of the house, wrenching sobs that penetrated the walls and dissipated like smoke in the chilly air. I squatted beneath the boarded window where the noise was loudest.

“I said, shut up!” someone growled, deep and vicious.