Dirty Secrets

Part 83

"Wait. What?" Jack gulped. "Packer?" 

Lyla's legs nearly buckled. She couldn't determine if Packer was breathing. She gently shook his arm in an attempt to rouse him. "Packer!" she called with a quivering voice. 

Relieved to see his chest rising and falling she added, "It's me. Lyla." She noticed his forearm crutches against the passenger door.

Jack leaned into the cab and said, "I think we're good with the salt." He located the control for the spreader and turned it off. He jumped down, jogged around to the passenger side, opened the door, and grabbed Packer.

"Jack!" she shouted. "Be careful with him."

He eased Packer out from behind the steering wheel onto the passenger side of the bench seat, his long legs bound within the exoskeleton.

"What is that?" Jack asked. "What's he wearing?"

"It's a mechanical..." Her voice broke.

"Hey, dude. You okay?" Jack asked.

Packer laid limp as a sleeping bag in his arms, unresponsive.

Lyla wiped her runny nose. "I don't know how..." she gulped down her anguish. "How could he even do this?"

Jack gently closed the door, then, through the open window, carefully drew Packer to a seated position. For the first time, Lyla could see that Packer's brow had been split open.

"Back up the truck!" Jack called to her.

"Jack, he's bleeding."

"Well, you gotta move the truck so I can light the fire. And get him to a doctor."

"I can't drive this ginormous thing. My feet won't reach the pedals!"

"Yes, you can!" he shouted emphatically. Jack hopped down, twisted the lid from the gas can, and doused the grave.

Unprepared and unsteady, Lyla climbed behind the wheel of the enormous vehicle as darkness fell. She placed a trembling hand on Packer's leg, tears streaming down her face.

"Packer," she sobbed. "How did?" A burst of emotion choked her.

Suddenly, her door was thrown open, the cold night air rushing into the cab. Denny's meaty hand clamped her arm. His contorted face was crimson and swollen, his inflamed eyes nothing more than puffy slits.

"Come on outta there you little bitch," he roared, strings of mucus between his lips.

Lyla clung to the steering wheel, screaming.

Packer's eyes twitched, flickering at the edges of consciousness.

Denny yanked her with such violent force that her fingers popped loose from the steering wheel. She clung to the doorframe in desperation. Just as she was about to be ripped from the cab, she watched a blur of movement through the windshield. With the agility of a jungle cat, Jack propelled himself up onto the edge of the plow, then to the hood, and finally to the roof of the truck.

Lyla looked up as Jack jumped from the roof, with legs drawn up like coiled springs. In mid-flight, he kicked both legs downward like pistons, into Denny's forehead. The brutal force drove him backward toward the mangled fence, his thick arms flailing as he fought for balance but too late.

Lyla covered her eyes.

Over the sound of the idling truck engine, she heard Denny cry out, but his scream was abruptly cut short. She opened her eyes to the horrific sight of her attacker impaled by the sharp twisted steel fence posts, one spearing him through the throat, a second through his chest, and a third puncturing his ribcage. He floundered for a few moments, kicking his feet, then went still.

"Uhn," a weak voice croaked from beside her. Packer's eyes opened halfway. He mumbled something indistinct, drawing erratic breaths, a trembling smile on his lips. "Lyla?" he whispered. "You... okay?" Like a crumpled sack of laundry, he lay awkwardly, his upper body against the door, his legs across the seat.

"Yes. Yes." She shook her head vigorously, her eyes still shiny with tears. "Thanks to you."

Jack popped up beside the driver's seat. "Lyla? You good?" he asked.

She nodded.

Packer managed, "I did the... the digging... and the salting. You... you gotta light that fire," he said, his voice rusty.

"I'm on it," Jack replied. Then, before rushing to locate the gas can he said, "Dude. You are a badass."

A satisfied smile crept across Packer's pale face.

Lyla climbed into the driver's seat, pulled the door shut, barely able to see over the steering wheel. She shifted the truck into reverse, then slowly backed up, navigating via the view in the vibrating side mirrors.

Jack emptied the last of the gasoline then tossed a lit pack of matches. The grave went up in a billowing fireball, flames leaping into the sky.

Through the windshield, Lyla saw Jack darting out of the way of the raging fire.

She gasped when Junebug staggered onto the scene, assisting Rose. He collapsed against the oak tree, his forehead gashed, his face and jacket coated in blood.

Horrified at the sight of the demolished graveyard, and her son's coffin consumed by the roaring fire, Rose howled. Her anguished cries echoed across the remaining tombstones.

When Junebug noticed Jack in the shadows, anger propelled him back onto his feet. He snarled, "There's that son-of-a-bitch!" He raised his gun and fired, badly missing his mark.

Lyla screamed while she and Packer watched the frantic scene unfolding.

"Forget him." Rose grunted, dropping to one knee. "Put out that fire!"

Junebug responded with a gnarled expression that conveyed, "How the hell do you expect me to do that?"

In the flickering light of the strobing flames, the cycloptic Rose noticed Denny's thick body, bent backward, and skewered by the fence posts.

"Help him!" she commanded Junebug who seemed to realize the futility of that effort. Eager to retaliate, he craned his neck searching for Jack who had taken refuge behind the truck.

Lyla noticed movement in the branches overhead. Something was making its way through the foliage toward the end of a leafy branch. It fell to the ground then began to take shape. A faint wisp of smoke appeared and within it, the form solidified.

Lyla froze when the smoke dissipated. The reptilian demon materialized beside the remains of the steel fence, baring its piranha-like teeth at Rose and Junebug.

They recoiled.

Crouching beside the driver's door, Jack gasped, "What the hell?"

Lyla cringed, tensing at what she saw, alarm rising in her.