“Go.” Dustin made sure the wobble of fear was gone in his whisper.
“Boys, don’t make me tell you twice.”
“Go,” Dustin pleaded to them as their father took a step toward them.
Reluctantly, Tate and Greer went inside, where their mother slowly shut the door behind them.
Bracing himself for the whipping he knew he deserved, he flinched when his father dropped the shovel he was holding in front of him.
“Here.”
Dustin automatically reached out for the trash bags with his free hand.
“Give me your rifle. You won’t be getting it back until I know you’re ready to use it to protect your family.”
Giving the rifle to his father, he stared at the shovel at his feet. It was easier than meeting the incriminating glare that was drilling a hole through his soul.
“Use one of trash bags to put Duke in and bury him beside the hen house. Use the other for the dead chickens. Throw them in the trash. I’ll get rid of them in the morning. Get busy. And you better not be belly-aching in the morning when your ma wakes you up for school.”
“No, sir.” Dustin reached down for the shovel, expecting to feel the weight of his father’s hand at any second.
“Boy, quit looking at me that way. I’m not going to lay a hand on you. I don’t have to. Every time you look at that hen house, you’ll remember that Duke is buried there because you didn’t do what you should have done in the first place. Was not wanting to kill that fox worth Duke’s life?”
“No.”
“I told you never to leave your enemies standing. You failed tonight. That fox might be small, but it was taking food off our table, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That made it an enemy of ours. You left it standing, and what did it get you? You lost someone you loved. It’s a hard lesson to learn, but I reckon you learnt that tonight. If it had been a big bear, would you would have shot it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s the second lesson you learnt tonight—not all enemies are scary as fuck. Others come twisting their tails to get your attention. Either way, take them out before they take you out.”
Nodding, Dustin bent down next to the dog’s body, sliding the trash bag over and trying not to gag at the blank stare looking up at him.
His father started toward the steps.
“Pa?”
He stopped. “What?”
“If you don’t believe in leaving any enemies standing, why did you let the Hayes get away with shooting Duke?”
An evil grin covered his father’s face. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat. Frank Hayes is going to pay for killing something that belongs to me. Don’t doubt that.”
“I don’t.”
Dustin didn’t stop his father from going inside a second time. After he tied Duke in the trash bag, he tried to lift him the way Greer had, but the animal was too heavy. So, using the tied top, he dragged the bag to the spot his father wanted Duke buried.
He lost track of time as he dug, making sure to dig deep enough that no other predators would try to dig him up. Sweat rolled off his forehead, mixing with the tears that were coming out his eyes. When he was done, he gathered the other trash bag, sick at the devastation the fox had accomplished.
The inside of the hen house was so dark that he couldn’t see. He was about to go out the gate so he could get a flashlight in the barn when he nearly pissed himself. Two shadows were stealthily coming around from the back of the house.
Taking off at a run, he started to yell when he was tackled from behind.
“Shut up!” Tate hissed. “You want to get me and Greer in trouble for sneaking out to help you?”
Dustin laid his face in the dirt in relief. “I thought it was the Hayeses.”
“If it was one of the Hayeses, you wouldn’t have made it out of the chicken coop.” Grunting, Tate lifted Dustin to his feet. “Let’s hurry before Pa comes out to check on you.”
Greer pulled a flashlight out of his back pocket, lighting the way back to the hen house. “Hold the bag and light while me and Tate pick up the chickens.”
Taking the flashlight and bag from Greer, he pointed the light downward, sickened again at what he saw.
“You two sneak back inside. I don’t need any help. Thanks for the light, but I can finish it myself.”
“Dustin, it’s not your fault—”
“It was,” Dustin cut Tate off. “You know it was. You and Greer would have shot that fox. Even Rachel or Ma would have. I didn’t. I won’t make that mistake again,” he vowed to his brothers.
“I know you won’t,” Tate said, patting him on his shoulder. “Let’s go, Greer.”
Greer went to the gate, opening it for Tate to go through.