Without Mercy (Mercy 1)

At that second, the lighter swept in a shimmering arc to the floor.

Whoosh!

Straw, strewn across the box stall and into the aisle, ignited. Crackling, bursting into a string of growing flames, the dry grass was quick tinder.

“What the hell are you doing?” Maeve squealed. She was stomping on the crawling, horrid flames like crazy, pulling wildly at the gate, trying to get out. “Are you freakin’ crazy? This place will go up in a flash!” She wrestled with the latch, but the gate was held tight by strong, determined fingers. “Stop this! Let me out!”

Flames sizzled.

The horse behind her went berserk. Screaming shrilly, Omen reared up, his front legs slicing the air, his eyes white, rimmed with fear.

Maeve slammed her body against the wall of the box. Scout, the paint, was going nuts on the other side of the stall. Bam! He kicked the stall and whinnied.

“Are you a lunatic?!” she cried, cowering away from the horse, then flinging herself to the rails and trying to climb over. Smoke was growing thick in the air. She would leap on her attacker if she had to.

Surely someone would come! Someone had to hear all this commotion!

But the whistle of the wind outside drowned the frantic noises from within.

“Get back!” Maeve tried to climb out.

Her attacker swung the lighter.

Flames brushed over her face, a whisper of heat searing her scalp. She shrieked. Wavering flames took hold in the bits of yarn of her stocking cap, racing through her hair.

“What are you doing?” Maeve screeched, pain searing her scalp as she dug at the cap, ripping it from her head and screaming. She fell back into the stall, landing hard, flames burning in front of her face, the big horse kicking and rearing in terror.

Why was this happening?

Why, why, oh, God, why?

She forced herself to her feet, choking, the damned horse shrieking.

“Are you crazy?” she yelled, climbing the rails again. “Let me the fuck out of here, you freak!” Fear pounded through her skull.

“Don’t ever call me a freak!” Maeve’s tormentor’s face twisted cruelly.

Omen reared again, his nostrils wide, his black coat a sheen of nervous sweat.

Maeve cowered.

Steel-shod hooves slashed through the air. Close. So damned close! Smoke swirled and rose. Deadly flames crackled like Satan’s laugh.

Freaked and desperate, Maeve tried vainly to escape. She pushed and pounded on the gate, shoving into it, but the latch wouldn’t budge an inch. She climbed but was pushed back into the maniac horse’s box. “Oof!” She landed hard and scrambled away from the horse and the flames.

Crying from the smoke, choking, heat tingled up her legs as the hem of her pants caught fire.

“No! No! Let me out! Help! HEEELLLP! Oh, God, please, don’t do this!” Maeve begged on her hands and knees. She pulled herself up again.

Behind her, Omen shrieked wildly. Kicking. Trapped.

“Oh, God … Oh, God!”

Omen reared again.

From the corner of her eye, Maeve caught a glimpse of a horseshoe reflecting the fire’s shimmering light. “No!”

She lunged to one side.