Trouble School

14}}Dissonance

"I don't like this," Goodman said yet again.

They stood in almost the middle of nowhere. The five hour trek through the woods had led them to an abandoned, poorly made shack. On one hand, the shack was relatively new. Possibly it had only been there a few years. On the other, it had clearly been made by someone who had no knowledge of construction, whatsoever. The shack was crooked, and sat lopsided on the rocky bank of the creek.

"What's not to like? She's cuffed, she's got two guards, and she's leading us right to where the kids are. And if she's not, that's her mistake." Though as much as Norgaard didn't want to admit it, he knew where his partner was coming from.

He honestly didn't like it either. A shitty shack next to the creek? Sure, it looked big enough to hide twenty-two bodies, if they were stacked. Still... Wasn't it a little cliché? It seemed almost too easy.

Not that he'd admit it. He absolutely refused to be frightened by a nineteen-year-old girl.

"All the evidence tells us that she's much too smart for this. So why let herself be caught? It sounds too much like a trap," Goodman argued.

Norgaard scoffed. "What could she do to us? She's not going anywhere, Tim. I promise."

Goodman sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Doug, shut up and think for a moment. I know you can do that. Forget for a moment that she's a tiny young girl. By her own testimony she's a killer. Twenty-two victims, Doug. And all we know is that they're dead. She could've killed them in literally any way. Poison. Strangulation. Hell, she could've beaten them to death. She's not stupid, Doug. The only reason we have her in custody is because she let us arrest her. She confessed. That's our only solid evidence. And it's obvious she doesn't care about the death penalty — or prison, for that matter. And she's just gonna lead us straight to the bodies? Doesn't that seem a little odd to you?"

Norgaard gritted his teeth. Partly from irritation, partly humiliation. He knew his partner was right, and he knew it was stupid to let his pride cloud his thinking like this. He took a deep breath, held it, let it out. "So what do we do?"

Goodman blew out a sharp breath. "I'm not sure. I'd say proceed with extreme — extreme — caution."

"Guns out?"

Goodman nodded. "Guns out."

Behind them one of the other officers also drew his gun. The other two each kept a hand on the grips, and watched Melody.

Later Norgaard thought those men should've drawn their guns too, then the day might've ended differently.

They approached the sorry excuse of a shack cautiously.

Norgaard sidled up to the left side of the door, Goodman up to the right. Norgaard noted that the hinges were on the outside. Goodman moved to stand in front of it.

Norgaard put his hand over the rough wooden handle, then waited. Goodman nodded, and he yanked the door open. Something grimy, snarling, and desperate blurred through the open door and leapt at Goodman.

He cursed, stumbling back and firing a shot at the beast. Except he must've missed because the thing didn't stop, didn't even slow. It latched onto his arm with dripping teeth, and Norgaard saw blood instantly soak the man's sleeve. He raised his gun, but didn't fire for fear he'd accidentally hit Goodman instead of the starving wolf. And it was a wolf, and it was starving. It was so thin and gangly, Norgaard could see it's ribs despite the fact that it was wriggling about so much.

Goodman tripped over something, hitting the ground, the snarling thing riding him down. Though it should've been weak and barely able to move, it somehow managed to maintain it's vicious attack. Norgaard almost thought he saw its eyes glow red for a second, though later he wrote it off as a trick of the light.

Two more concise gunshots ripped through the air, and Norgaard's leg suddenly collapsed beneath him. His ears ringing, he looked up just in time to see Melody fire twice more. He didn't have time to wonder where she'd gotten the gun, he just aimed his and pulled the trigger.

He missed, and she disappeared into the woods.

He spat out several curses, rising to his feet — only to fall again. Then the pain registered in his brain, and he cursed some more. Another gunshot set his ears to ringing again, and he saw Goodman shove the now limp wolf off him.

Norgaard's stomach began churning at the sight of what remained of his partner's arm. It hung limply at his side, ragged flaps of flesh dangling past his hand. Blood trickled in a thin but steady stream down his fingers.

Norgaard wanted to throw up.

He looked to where the other officers should've been. All three lay dead on the ground. In some spots it was hard to tell where one blood pool began and the other ended.

The back of his throat burned, and he barely kept himself from spewing his lunch all over the scene. An unfaltering flow of curses was all he allowed himself.

He didn't realize Goodman was trying to get his attention until the man slapped him.

He froze, the haze of panic lifting.

"Doug! Go get help! I'm going after Melody." And before Norgaard could so much as take a breath, his partner and only friend dashed away to chase down a homicidal maniac.

First things first. He tore strips off hair shirt, leaving the lower half of his midriff bare to the late October chill, and tightly binding the oozing hole in his leg. It wasn't bleeding excessively, so likely his arteries we're all fine and completely hole-free.

Then came the tedious task of hopefully saving his colleagues. He went to Marx first. No hope there. There was hole right above his left ear. Like he'd started to turn around when Melody shot him.

Jefferson and Sadie were also beyond saving. They each had rough, unclean slashes on the sides of their throats. She'd gone right for the jugular.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

All three of them. Gone. Just like that.

How had she done it? How could she have possibly moved fast enough to kill three fully competent police officers in less than thirty seconds?

Norgaard looked for their guns. Sadie's was missing. She'd talken his gun.

And she'd killed Marx with it.

Norgaard choked back tears. He could barely walk, and they were hours away from any hint civilization, how the Jesus goddamn fucking Christ was he supposed to get help!?

Off in the distance, two more shots split the silence.