sight. He heard Cohen rummage through its contents, as he listened to the static bleed across the radio waves. He frowned.
He tried again, “Dispatch?” he asked and still got no response. “Janet, come in.”
With impatience, he fidgeted with the cord, thinking it could have been the fault of bad wiring, no matter what he tried, he couldn’t reach the station.
His heart plummeted, weighed down like a stone. His nerves twitched and for a moment, he felt like vomiting. He measured his breaths, and when the sickness ceased, he tried again. “Janet, I don’t know if you can hear me, but we don’t know what we’re walking into… I think we’re gonna need some more bodies out here. Get us anyone you can get and get them here fast.”
He depressed the button one last time and listened, remaining naïve and hopeful he’d catch a bit of dialogue, something…anything…to ease his troubled mind.
“Goddamn it!” he snapped, slapping the handset against the dashboard. It hit with a thud and bounced back, falling between the floor peddles, the tethered wire swayed back and forth. He watched it twirl for a moment before returning to the cradle.
A sudden flurry of movement to his right made him to flinch. His heart leapt from his stomach, straight to his throat.
“Shit,” he snapped, realizing it was only Cohen.
“No luck?” Cohen asked.
Baker shook his head. “Nope,” he replied, stepping from the car. Cohen handed him a shotgun, which was kept in the trunk. He took it, griping it tight as though seeking comfort from the deadly device. Between his clammy fingers, the metal felt cool to the touch.
“Nothing?” Cohen couldn’t believe it. “You don’t think we’re out of range, do you?”
Baker could barely stomach the thought, no matter what he tried. First, it was the radio, then the haunting broadcast and its sudden failure. All of which was followed by the call to the Miller farm, and now this—a lack of communication between them and dispatch. The implication sent his mind into a tailspin, burning like a wildfire.
They remained silent. Baker turned, looking wearily towards the farmhouse. Ruth Miller was there, standing before the window, the curtain peeled back as she pressed her face against the glass. In that moment, their eyes met.
She’s probably wondering what’s taking us so long, he realized. The poor thing must think we don’t believe her…
Baker knew that deep down, Ruth was a God fearing woman and wouldn’t for any reason, lie about such a hellish thing. Baker looked back to Cohen. The deputy stared towards the horizon, an absent gaze clouded his eyes as he was lost within the trappings of his own mind. He knew the old woman was telling the truth, and didn’t have to ask if Cohen believed it to know that he felt the same. Since arriving at the farm, Cohen had grown increasingly reserved, even hesitant.
And then there was the barn...
Baker sighed, exhaling his breath like a punch to the gut.
In his grasp, the shotgun felt heavier. Even the weight of his holstered revolver fought to drag him down. With his stomach at his knees and bile flooding his throat, Baker snapped his fingers a couple of times, catching Cohen’s attention. In return, Cohen offered an affirming nod.
“Now or never,” Baker said. “Let’s get a move on things.”
Glancing sidelong at the barn, Cohen echoed the sheriff’s statement with trembling hands. “Yeah,” he said, “now or never…”
Chapter Five
The two men made their way toward the barn, cautiously. They kept low, weapon’s poised and at the ready. Every so often, Baker stopped abruptly, signaling Cohen to follow suit. Tense moments like those were always the worst—the fearful reality that their world could crash down at a moment’s notice. They would wait and listen, looking for anything out of the ordinary. After an excruciating minute, Baker waved them forward.
Baker regulated his breathing,
He tried again, “Dispatch?” he asked and still got no response. “Janet, come in.”
With impatience, he fidgeted with the cord, thinking it could have been the fault of bad wiring, no matter what he tried, he couldn’t reach the station.
His heart plummeted, weighed down like a stone. His nerves twitched and for a moment, he felt like vomiting. He measured his breaths, and when the sickness ceased, he tried again. “Janet, I don’t know if you can hear me, but we don’t know what we’re walking into… I think we’re gonna need some more bodies out here. Get us anyone you can get and get them here fast.”
He depressed the button one last time and listened, remaining naïve and hopeful he’d catch a bit of dialogue, something…anything…to ease his troubled mind.
“Goddamn it!” he snapped, slapping the handset against the dashboard. It hit with a thud and bounced back, falling between the floor peddles, the tethered wire swayed back and forth. He watched it twirl for a moment before returning to the cradle.
A sudden flurry of movement to his right made him to flinch. His heart leapt from his stomach, straight to his throat.
“Shit,” he snapped, realizing it was only Cohen.
“No luck?” Cohen asked.
Baker shook his head. “Nope,” he replied, stepping from the car. Cohen handed him a shotgun, which was kept in the trunk. He took it, griping it tight as though seeking comfort from the deadly device. Between his clammy fingers, the metal felt cool to the touch.
“Nothing?” Cohen couldn’t believe it. “You don’t think we’re out of range, do you?”
Baker could barely stomach the thought, no matter what he tried. First, it was the radio, then the haunting broadcast and its sudden failure. All of which was followed by the call to the Miller farm, and now this—a lack of communication between them and dispatch. The implication sent his mind into a tailspin, burning like a wildfire.
They remained silent. Baker turned, looking wearily towards the farmhouse. Ruth Miller was there, standing before the window, the curtain peeled back as she pressed her face against the glass. In that moment, their eyes met.
She’s probably wondering what’s taking us so long, he realized. The poor thing must think we don’t believe her…
Baker knew that deep down, Ruth was a God fearing woman and wouldn’t for any reason, lie about such a hellish thing. Baker looked back to Cohen. The deputy stared towards the horizon, an absent gaze clouded his eyes as he was lost within the trappings of his own mind. He knew the old woman was telling the truth, and didn’t have to ask if Cohen believed it to know that he felt the same. Since arriving at the farm, Cohen had grown increasingly reserved, even hesitant.
And then there was the barn...
Baker sighed, exhaling his breath like a punch to the gut.
In his grasp, the shotgun felt heavier. Even the weight of his holstered revolver fought to drag him down. With his stomach at his knees and bile flooding his throat, Baker snapped his fingers a couple of times, catching Cohen’s attention. In return, Cohen offered an affirming nod.
“Now or never,” Baker said. “Let’s get a move on things.”
Glancing sidelong at the barn, Cohen echoed the sheriff’s statement with trembling hands. “Yeah,” he said, “now or never…”
Chapter Five
The two men made their way toward the barn, cautiously. They kept low, weapon’s poised and at the ready. Every so often, Baker stopped abruptly, signaling Cohen to follow suit. Tense moments like those were always the worst—the fearful reality that their world could crash down at a moment’s notice. They would wait and listen, looking for anything out of the ordinary. After an excruciating minute, Baker waved them forward.
Baker regulated his breathing,
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