Meadowlarks by Thomas Holladay (novels to improve english TXT) 📗

lack of control with Mona after learning her age.

"To hell with all that crap." Why should he feel guilty about anything?

He needed to form a solid plan, get Carolyn on board. Her infusion of money would instantly bring him back to where he belonged.

So what if her kid hated him? What do kids know?

Nothing.

She actually looked better up here than she did in L.A. She and the kid both looked super healthy, some kind of inner glow.

Images of Mona forced their way in, so white, so tight. His handheld urine dispenser swelled with his heartbeat, puffing up for Mona. He took a sip of whiskey and let it swell.

So what?

“Damn,” a whisper.

The birds had gone and the snow had stopped. He hadn’t noticed when they left.

Why was he still afraid?

Of what?

Something big moved in the forest above the rise of the driveway. He capped the bottle and set it on the passenger seat. He leaned forward, straining to see. It might have been snow falling from a tree, maybe bumped by a deer or cow, maybe just too much snow on a limb or something.

What is that? 

Closer, something dark moved through the trees. Snow showered down from branches.

What?

Can't be . . .

Another tree showered snow.

Closer.

Pain knifed through Kirby’s stomach, a paralyzing pain that sliced into his spine.

The Pretenders now sang, My City Was Gone. He ejected the CD.

Whatever approached through the forest above had to be big, maybe a bear.

No.

Bears hibernated in winter.

What the hell am I doing up here anyway, playing the hero?

"Idiot!"

Kirby had never been heroic about anything.

More snow fell from trees, steadily coming closer, something big enough to bump mature trees and shower snow.

He looked at the whiskey bottle.

No.

He looked into the forest. Whatever moved out there had to be bigger than a wolf or a mountain lion.

“Jesus, what am I doing here?”

He’d read how hard grizzlies were to kill, still more than a hundred yards out. Maybe he should go back into the house.

“You idiot.”

Kirby had told her not to open that door, no matter what.

Minutes passed, feeling like hours, and nothing had moved. Maybe it wasn’t coming here. Maybe it was going someplace else.

There!

He saw it now, still more than a hundred yards out, staying in the trees. It might be on its way down to the river.

Yeah, right. Moonlight fishing.

“You idiot.”

His dash lights grabbed his attention, 11:46.

Damn.

He turned the dash lights off.

Double damn.

Whatever was out there could still see and smell his exhaust. He turned off the car and sat in the dark. Maybe he wouldn't be seen.

The nearby river crashed noisily through the gorge beyond the barn.

“What is that?”

The low form plowed slowly through deep snow at the edge of the forest, not toward the house, not toward Kirby. It walked onto the driveway and turned toward Kirby, still more than a hundred yards out. The large, dark form slowly plowed through knee deep snow, easy to see now.

Kirby checked the dome light switch, making sure the lights wouldn’t come on when he opened his car door. He pushed the door into deep snow with his shoulder, wide enough. He stepped out into foot deep, cold, wet snow and reached back inside for his rifle. He'd already loaded it, ready to shoot. He’d checked it earlier. He cradled his left arm over the top of the open door and pulled the rifle stalk into his right shoulder, taking aim.

Wait.

Maybe he could blind it. Maybe he could see it better. He leaned back into the car and switched on his headlights.

Idiot.

Light reflected back into his eyes from high piled snow. He shut them off. His eyes quickly readjusted.

There.

It stood seventy yards out, waiting.

Kirby cradled his left arm over the open door again and took aim, lots of time.

Red eyes stared back into his rifle sight.

Damn.

It’s huge.

It didn’t look like a bear.

Kirby’s heart thumped inside his chest. Stabbing pain gripped his stomach and froze his spine.

He wiped sweat from his brow and pulled the rifle tight, forcing calm.

Easy does it. Plenty of time. 

He aimed at its center torso, took a deep breath and let it flow out slowly, squeezing the trigger with his whole hand, nothing. He squeezed harder, still nothing.

“Idiot!”

Hurrying now, he released the safety and took aim at the center of its large torso again. He squeezed the trigger.

The rifle boomed with a flash of blinding light and kicked hard into his right shoulder.

Ouch.

He hadn't shot a rifle in years.

The hot, ejected shell casing steamed and sank into fresh snow on the roof of his car.

The large animal fell backward into the snow.

“Yes!” Kirby barely heard his joyous shout above the ringing in his ears.

He pushed through knee deep snow to the front of his car. The ringing in his ears eased as he choked on a nervous laugh.

I did it.

His stress and fear had instantly become a vague memory.

“Jesus.” His exclamatory whisper pushed vapor through his suddenly cold lips.

The thing stood on all fours and shook like a wet dog.

Numbing fear nearly drove Kirby to his knees, his arms draped across the top of the door.

Angry red eyes glared at him as it plowed snow, lunging toward Kirby sideways like a large ape or a giant baboon.

“Jesus!”

God, help me. 

He firmly pressed the rifle into his shoulder and aimed at the head, breathing out slowly, plenty of time, squeezing. The rifle boomed again.

This time, the creature didn’t waver, still charging sideways.

Damn.

He must have missed. He sucked breath and aimed more carefully, squeezing steadily, suddenly remembering his Marine Corps training.

Boom, flash, ring, and the creature went down. The first bullet had hit near the heart. The third had definitely hit the head.

Kirby stepped closer, thirty yards away, rifle at the ready.

“Jesus!”

It stood again.

“What are you?”

THE FIRST GUNSHOT HAD awakened Jason from a sound sleep, him and Barnabas. He dressed quickly as the second shot rang out.

Barnabas snorted at the bottom of the bedroom door, eager to get out. His dog knew what that stupid poop-head was doing