Little Red's Riding (Seven Ways to Sin 4)

I crumpled to the floor, raised my ax head like a hatchet, and swung it blindly in front of me hoping to keep my assailants from encroaching on me further.

One of the goons caught my swing, seizing me by the wrist. He twisted, and the ax head fell feebly to the carpet without a sound. Then the blows came raining down on me: fists, feet, and desk legs in quick succession.

I lunged at one of the goons, grabbed him around the waist, and tackled him. Then the blows came raining down on my back and sides while the goon wrestled himself free from my hold.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the kitchen table, which had been pushed against the pantry door. It was rattling from the effort Ruby was making trying to open the door. The thud against the door confirmed Ruby was trying to break out. On my knees, while my assailants were pummeling me with their crude weapons, I tried to crawl into the kitchen.

The maniac grabbed me by the ankles. “And just where do you think you’re going?”

I kicked and I flailed but to no avail.

Just then, a police siren sounded from outside.

My assailants stopped and turned toward the front door.

“Damn,” said a goon. “The police.”

Since they were distracted, I jumped to my feet and pushed one of the goons onto the maniac. The other goon turned back to me just in time to catch my fist in his nose.

He fell back, his nose shattered and blood poured freely down his chin.

The maniac jabbed me with the heel of his ax head. It hit me square in the chest, knocked the wind out of me, and sent me hurling into the kitchen.

My back smacked against the kitchen table then I crumpled to the floor.

The doorbell rang.

Lincoln, what the hell are you doing? Just bust in. You don’t need an invitation.

No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than Lincoln opened the door and called out, “Mayor Blanchette? This is the police. Are you all right?”

The maniac and his goons tore through the kitchen and out the back door.

“In here, Lincoln,” I called from the kitchen floor. My voice was weak. I doubted whether he could even hear it.

But Ruby took up the relay. “In here, Lincoln. Help.”

21

Ruby

Lincoln didn’t look so silly in his policeman’s uniform when he pulled open the pantry door and cut Gran and me free from our binds.

“Ruby, my goodness,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay,” I said. “But they hurt Gran.”

When Lincoln saw Gran, his face went white as snow. “My God,” he gasped. He approached her on his haunches. “Where does it hurt?”

Gran mumbled something incoherent and struggled to sit up.

Lincoln eased her back onto the floor and told her to sit still, that help would be there soon. He radioed for an ambulance then addressed me in a loud whisper. “I can take you and Ryder to the hospital. But I don’t want to move the Mayor. I think it’s best to let the paramedics handle that. They’re on their way.”

“I can wait with her,” I said. “How is Ryder?”

“He’ll be okay.” Lincoln touched Gran with flat open palms. “Where’s the bleeding from?”

“Lincoln,” I said. “That’s beet juice.”

“Beet juice?”

“It’s not blood.” I pointed to the shelf where I’d knocked the jar from and realized then that my hands were bleeding profusely from the shard I’d been gripping. “Oh, my. I’m bleeding.”

I felt my head suddenly go light and the room started tilting and swaying around me. I shut my eyes.

“It’s okay,” said Lincoln. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

When I opened my eyes anew, Lincoln was pouring water over my hands.

“I don’t see any glass,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t any there.” He took off his shirt and wrapped it around my hands.

“Lincoln, your uniform!”

He chuckled. “I’ll get another one.”

I closed my eyes again, and the next thing I knew, Gran was being taken out of the house on a stretcher, Lincoln held my elbow, and we followed at a distance. “Where’s Ryder?”

“I’m right here,” he said from behind.

I turned and saw Ryder being helped out of the house by a paramedic. His eye was swollen, and his face was streaked with blood.

“Oh, Ryder. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Ryder.”

He tried to offer me a smile, his busted lip halting the effort.

I didn’t want to leave Gran, but there was no room for me in the ambulance. Lincoln eased me into the passenger seat of his patrol car and we tailed the ambulance to the hospital.

I must have been in shock because I wasn’t making much sense. I kept mumbling ‘Gran’ then ‘Ryder’ and ‘I’m so sorry’.

“Gran and Ryder are going to be fine,” said Lincoln. “We’ll be in the hospital in no time. Everything’s going to be all right.”