Page 7 of Rabid
“I have peanut butter today,” Joan said when Carrie finished eating.
When she discovered Carrie’s love for cookies, only superseded by Max’s love for his dog biscuits, she baked a small batch regularly, so she always had them on hand.
She held the cookie back when Carrie placed her hand out.
“Was it the brindle?” she asked, her eyes tipping to the bite.
A stubborn gleam entered Carrie’s eyes whileher sharp gaze remained on the cookie. Finally, she nodded.
Sweets made great bribes.
Jeb treated his wife and daughter abominably. He loved that brindle, though. That dog was mean and vicious, and the world would be a better place if it were put down. Jeb enjoyed using the dog to terrify Carrie. This wasn’t the first bite. The last one, a few months before, had been on the back of her calf. Jeb had sent the dog out to find Carrie, and the bite had been the result.
Deputy Berger tried to explain that they only had two deputies for hundreds of miles and their court system was backed up. It was well known that most of the families were avoiding government control. The county was the perfect fit for people like Jeb Hogg.
“Do you want to read one of your books?” Joan asked her after the cookie was gobbled down in a few bites. Joan had ordered several books she thought Carrie would enjoy.
Carrie shook her head and left through the back door. She would sneak back onto the Hogg property and most likely still be in trouble. She was one tough child, and that in itself was the saddest part.
Joan’s dislike of Jeb Hogg had grown to anger, and now that anger simmered just below the boiling point.
Five Chapter
Father Hogg
Present
Jeb Hogg tossed the thin strip of meat onto the makeshift grill, little more than a circle of rocks with a rusted grate propped up by sticks. He yanked off his grimy ball cap and swatted at the smoke with it, his irritation building by the second. His wife, useless as ever, was too broken to cook, and that damn girl had run off again. Let her starve, he thought, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his grimy hand. If she’d gone to the old woman’s place, there’d be hell to pay when she got back.
The meat sizzled, and his mouth watered. His favorite fighter approached the grill, sniffing at the air, drawn to the scent of blood.
“You touch that, and you’ll be humping the ladies on three legs,” Jeb growled, tossing the cap at the dog.
The brindle, a Boxer-Pitbull mix Jeb had bred and raised for fighting, bared his teeth but backed off. Jeb grabbed a rock from the ground and hurled it. The dog bolted, skittering across the dirt yard before disappearing under the rusted hulk of an old pickup, his orange eyes glowing from the shadows, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
With ninety-five pounds of muscle and a bad attitude, the dog was king of the pack. He’d earned that title in blood, fighting for dominance whenever provoked. The others knew better than to challenge him, and that included Jeb’s four sons. One of them, after a run-in with the brindle, now bore scars along his calf, a lesson learned the hard way. Jeb had laughed it off, told the boy to clean the wound, and get back to work.
“What about that worthless mutt?” one of his sons hollered from the porch.
“He’s the best damn fighter and breeder I’ve got. His balls are twice the size of yours. Get closer, and he’ll make sure you’ve got none left.” His son stormed back into the house, slamming the door behind him.
Jeb smirked, tearing off a bite of the nearly raw meat, juice and blood smearing his lips when he popped it into his mouth. The burn from the hot flesh set his nerves on fire, and he cursed, chewingangrily. His temper, already hanging by a thread, flared up, feeding off the pain. He looked up as his truck roared up the dirt road, kicking up a thick cloud of dust. His daughter sat in the bed of the truck, and his fury deepened. He stayed where he was, savoring the moment. There was something about watching the girl walk toward him, knowing what was coming.
Carrie jumped from the truck and darted toward the house, her head low, avoiding his gaze. He was on his feet in seconds.
“Get your ass over here,” Jeb bellowed.
She froze. Slowly, she turned, her steps dragging as though every inch was a battle. Her skin was pale, almost gray, and sweat streaked her dirt-smeared face. Her movements were jerky, her thin arms trembling as she struggled to keep herself upright. Jeb saw none of it. All he saw was disobedience.
When he couldn’t stand her hesitation any longer, he closed the distance, his hand shooting out to backhand her, knuckles cracking against her cheek. She crumpled to the ground in silence, curling into a ball as he towered over her, seething. Grabbing her with a huge handful of hair, he yanked her to her feet, forcing her to look at him.
“You went to that old bitch’s house, didn’t you?” His voice was low and venomous, hot breath against her face. “You worthless piece of shit.”
Carrie’s wide, reddened eyes stared up athim. Her fever-bright gaze flickered, a wild glaze creeping over her features as her limbs jerked uncontrollably. Jeb didn’t notice. He saw only defiance, or what he took for it. His hand tightened in her hair, shaking her roughly. His anger boiled over, but before he could strike again, pain shot through his arm. Carrie’s teeth had sunk into his wrist, clamped down hard enough to draw blood.
Jeb roared, releasing her and pounding his fist against her head until she let go, her jaws slackening. He stared at the puncture marks, red beads welling up from where her teeth had broken the skin. His boot lashed out, catching her square in the ribs. He didn’t stop until she was limp and silent.
Only then did his sons drag him away, muttering about how “Da’s gone off again.” But even they paused when they noticed the unnatural way Carrie’s body twitched, her shallow breaths rattling in her chest.
