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Back Gallows Hill Save as PDF
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Cold fingers wrapped around the back of her head. Jagged fingernails dug into her scalp, tangling in her hair, as the dead one dragged her back. Margot couldn’t even scream. She lost her grip on Kant. She reached above herself and felt a brittle, clammy wrist. She beat her hands against it, trying to break it, to get free from its hold.

The gun fired again, then again. Nora screamed. Marsh was barking, wild with terror. The gray one’s fingers tightened around Margot’s head as its other hand clamped over her mouth, her nose. She thrashed. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, as she stared toward the sky.

The stars were fading. The first trickle of dawn’s light touched the hill.

A cry escaped her as the pressure on the back of her head vanished. Margot dropped onto her hands and knees, air whistling in her throat, tears burning her eyes.

Andrew was struggling to his feet not far from her. Nora bent over Ray, holding on to him. His gun lay discarded some distance away.

The dead were gone.

So was Kant.

Nearly.

His arm rose out of the churned dirt, from the elbow up, reaching toward the dawn.

The fingers twitched.

Margot heard herself scream. She felt herself drag her way across the broken earth. Watched, like she was watching a stranger, as she began to feverishly claw dirt back, trying to dig him free.

Andrew was at her side, gripping the hand, pulling, yelling. The dirt was too heavy. Too dense.

Tears drenched the dirt as Margot’s fingers plunged into the soft, damp sods with growing desperation.

Digging.

Digging.

Digging.

39

They scratched her and bit her and dragged her into the earth.

Dr. Maynard made very few comments and asked even fewer questions. She worked with brisk efficiency, her slender fingers stitching and cutting and bandaging her way through them.

Margot sat outside the small workspace for most of it, her back against the wall, her feet stretched ahead of her. With her good hand, she picked at her cast. It was stained and swelling around the edge, and she was able to pull little shreds free.

Sometimes employees moved past her as they caught up to their morning’s work. Quick glances were thrown her way when they thought she wouldn’t see, but someone must have warned them against staring.

She’d seen her reflection, briefly, in a window. Blood smeared up to her elbows. Blood smeared across her face, from when she’d tried to wipe her tears away. No shoes. No life left in her eyes.

There were soft voices inside the room. Ray, answering questions. He was conscious at least. Strips of skin had been torn from his stomach and chest.