Chapter 32 - The Falling Iron
Two tons of rusted, jagged iron fell like an anvil from the rafters.
Ethan didn't think about his life, his body, or the pain that would follow. He threw himself forward across the concrete floor, his arms outflung. Claire reached the crate half a second earlier, her fingers scooping the pink bundle against her chest, curling her entire body over the baby like an armored shell.
Ethan collided with Claire, wrapping his arms around her and the infant, violently rolling them three feet across the slick concrete floor.
*BOOM!*
The iron claw smashed into the concrete where the crate had been just an instant before. The impact was deafening, sending concrete shrapnel and shattered pine wood exploding in all directions like a grenade. A jagged piece of flying steel caught Ethan across his shoulder blade, ripping through his denim jacket and slicing open the flesh beneath.
Ethan grunted in agonizing pain, but he didn't let go. He kept his body pressed over Claire, shielding her and the baby from the raining debris.
Dust and the smell of pulverized stone filled the air.
Silence fell over the pit, broken only by the steady drumming of rain on the roof and the heavy, ragged breathing of two parents.
Beneath Ethan’s chest, Claire was trembling. Slowly, terrifyingly, she peeled back the wool blanket.
Lily was crying.
Loud, furious, healthy, perfect cries. Her cheeks were flushed red, her tiny blue eyes squeezed shut in outrage, her small fists flailing against the cold air, but she was completely, miraculous untouched.
"She’s alive," Claire sobbed, pressing her forehead against Lily’s tiny chest, tears washing clean paths through the grime and blood on her face. "Ethan, she’s alive. She’s okay."
Ethan collapsed onto his back on the cold concrete, clutching his bleeding shoulder, staring up at the shattered ceiling. He let out a ragged, trembling laugh of pure disbelief.
"We got her," Ethan whispered, his chest heaving. "We got our girl."
"Ethan!" Claire’s voice suddenly turned into a shriek of terror.
Ethan scrambled up, wincing against the blinding pain in his back.
Ten feet away, emerging from the shadows of the bandsaw, was Caleb.
Miller lay motionless behind him, crumpled against the iron frame. Caleb was bleeding profusely from the knife wounds in his thigh and shoulder, his breath coming in wet, bubbling wheezes. In his right hand, he dragged the heavy iron sheep shears against the floor, leaving a screeching metallic trail of sparks.
He stopped, his milky, unblinking eyes locking onto Lily in Claire’s arms.
"Mother's... mother's girl," Caleb rasped, his voice sounding like two stones grinding together. He tilted his head with an eerie, childlike curiosity. "Mother said... she takes the place. Caleb can come inside the house now. If Caleb brings the baby, Caleb gets the bed."
Ethan stood up between Caleb and his family. He raised the .38 revolver, pointing it directly between his forgotten brother's eyes.
His hand was shaking, but his voice was steady as stone.
"She lied to you, Caleb," Ethan said softly.
Caleb froze. The brow of his battered, scarred face furrowed in deep, agonizing confusion. "Lied?"
"She never meant to let you inside," Ethan said, his heart breaking beneath the fury. He saw the scars on Caleb’s neck—the thick, calloused keloid rings left by years of iron collars. "She kept you in the dark under the carriage house. She told me you were a dog. She told you we were the enemy. But she’s the one who put you in chains, Caleb. Not me. Not Claire. And not this baby."
Caleb shook his massive head violently, clutching his temples with his filthy hands, dropping the shears with a clatter. "No! Mother loves Caleb! Mother gave Caleb the bread!"
"She gave you crumbs so you would hunt for her," Ethan stepped forward, lowering the gun by an inch, appealing to whatever shattered sliver of humanity remained inside the broken giant. "She used you, brother. Just like she used Thomas. Just like she tried to use me. She is sitting in a warm room while you bleed to death in the cold."
Caleb stared at Ethan. His chest heaved. The wild, murderous frenzy in his eyes slowly began to crack, revealing the terrified, tormented child locked underneath forty years of brutality.
He looked down at his own bleeding hands, then across at Lily, whose soft cries echoed in the cavernous mill.
"Mother... lied?" Caleb whispered.
Then, from the dark rafters above the loading bay, a sharp crack echoed through the mill.
A rifle shot.
May you like
Caleb’s massive body jerked violently backward. A dark, crimson hole bloomed directly in the center of his chest.
***
