Rebel by Beverly Jenkins

Author:Beverly Jenkins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-05-27T16:00:00+00:00

At two in the morning, Liam Atwater was awakened by the sounds of someone banging on his door. Thinking he might be dreaming, he ignored it at first, but when it continued, he sat up. His wife, Mildred, asked sleepily, “Is someone at the door?”

“Yeah. Go back to sleep.”

She rolled over. Dressed in a faded nightshirt that exposed his pale, bony legs, he stepped into his worn leather slippers and picked up the rifle kept by the bedroom door. The knocking continued. He hollered, “I’m coming, dammit! Keep your drawers on!”

He paused for a moment to look out the parlor window, but seeing nothing in the darkness, shuffled to the door and pulled it open. Strong hands locked on to his arms, scaring him badly. He struggled to free himself. They relieved him of the rifle and he yelled furiously, “Let me go! Who are you?”

He was forced to the edge of the moonlit porch. Out of the darkness came five mounted men slowly riding abreast. The wind whipped at the edge of their black capes. Their faces were hidden beneath black hoods and he shook with fear. He opened his mouth to scream Mildred’s name, but the gag was faster, tighter. The hood placed over his head plunged him into total darkness, and the terror made him soil himself. His wrists were bound behind him and he was dragged off the porch and down to the night-damp ground.

He lost a shoe, but his captors didn’t care. From within the hood, he cried, screamed, and, yes, begged, but the gag muffled it all. Liam was five-foot-four-inches tall. He weighed one hundred and forty pounds. The men from his nightmare had no trouble throwing him into the bed of a wagon. As it got underway, he heard Mildred screaming, but there was nothing he could do.

How long the drive took, Liam didn’t know, but not even the hood could mask the smells of rotting vegetation or the distinct song of the frogs and grunts of gators. They were in the swamp. The wagon slowed and stopped.

He was hauled out and placed on his now bare feet. For the first time, someone addressed him. “Liam Atwater, you’re guilty of the murder of Daniel Downs, and justice will be served.”

He wailed behind the gag. His arms were latched onto again. He tried to wrest himself free but was lifted and set down in what felt like a dugout.

The voice said, “You gave Daniel no chance, but we’re not completely heartless. Somewhere near you is a hunting knife. Find it, and maybe you can save yourself, but be quick. There are holes drilled in the bottom of the canoe. It’ll sink fast, and the gators will come running.”

Bawling, he felt the boat being pushed into the water. As it began to float, he frantically extended his bound hands in a desperate search for the knife, but felt nothing except the water’s slow rise dampening his nightshirt. Scooting around carefully but quickly, he finally felt the sheathed blade, and in his elation tipped the dugout over.

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