Leni had never seen anyone treat her father that way and she knew there would be hell to pay for it.
The bus jerked to a stop in front of the cabin, skidded sideways slightly in the snow.
Mama turned off the ignition, and the silence expanded, grew heavier without the rattle and rumble of the engine to hide even a layer of its depth.
Leni and Mama got out of the bus fast, left Dad sitting there, alone.
As they neared the cabin, they saw again the destruction the wolves had caused. Snow lay over it all, in heaping handfuls on posts and planks. Chicken wire stuck up in tangled heaps. A door lay half exposed. Here and there, in tree wells mostly, but on wood pieces, too, there was blood turned to pink ice and frozen clumps of gore. A few colorful feathers could be seen.
Mama took Leni by the hand and led her across the yard and into the cabin. She shut the door hard behind them.
“He’s going to hurt you,” Leni said.
“Your dad is a proud man. To be humiliated in that way…”
Seconds later, the door banged open. Dad stood there, his eyes bright with alcohol and rage.
He was across the room in less time than it took Leni to draw a breath. He grabbed Mama by the hair and punched her in the jaw so hard she slammed into the wall and collapsed to the floor.
Leni screamed and flew at him, her hands curling into claws.
“No, Leni!” Mama cried.
Dad grabbed Leni by the shoulders, shook her hard. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he yanked her across the floor, her feet tripping up on the rug, and shoved her outside into the cold.
He slammed the door shut.
Leni threw herself at the door, battering it with her body until there was no strength left in her. She slumped to her knees beneath the small overhang of the roof.
Inside, she heard a crash, something breaking, and a scream. She wanted to run away, get help, but that would only make everything worse. There was no help for them.
Leni closed her eyes and prayed to the God she had never been taught about.
She heard the door unlock. How long had it been?
Leni didn’t know.
Leni stumbled to her feet, frozen, and went into the cabin.
It looked like a war zone. A broken chair, shattered glass across the floor, blood splattered on the sofa.
Mama looked even worse.
For the first time, Leni thought: He could kill her.
Kill her.
They had to get away. Now.
*
LENI APPROACHED HER MOTHER cautiously, afraid Mama was on the verge of collapse. “Where’s Dad?”
“Passed out. In bed. He wanted … to punish me…” She turned away, ashamed. “You should go to bed.”
Leni went to the hooks by the door, got Mama’s parka and boots. “Here, dress warmly.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.” Leni moved quietly across the cabin, eased through the beaded curtain. Her heartbeat was a hammer hitting her rib cage as she looked around, saw what she’d come for.
Keys. Mama’s purse. Not that there was any money in it.
She grabbed it all and started to leave and then stopped, turned back.
She looked at her dad, sprawled facedown on the bed, naked, his butt covered by a blanket. Burn scars puckered and twisted his shoulders and arms, the skin looked lavender-blue in the shadows. Blood smeared the pillow.
She left him there and went back to the living room, where Mama stood alone, smoking a cigarette, looking like she’d been beaten with a club.
“Come on,” Leni said, taking her hand, giving a gentle, insistent tug.
Mama said, “Where are we going?”
Leni opened the door, gave Mama a little shove, then she reached down for one of the bug-out bags that were always by the door, a silent ode to the worst that could happen, a reminder that smart people were prepared.
Hefting it onto her shoulder, Leni leaned into the wind and snow and followed her mother out to the bus. “Get in,” she said gently.
Mama climbed into the driver’s seat and fit the key into the ignition, giving it a turn. As the VW warmed, she said dully, “Where are we going?”
Leni tossed the big pack into the back of the bus. “We’re leaving, Mama.”
“What?”
Leni climbed into the passenger seat. “We’re leaving him before he kills you.”
“Oh. That. No.” Mama shook her head. “He would never do that. He loves me.”
“I think your nose is broken.”
Mama sat there a minute longer, her face downcast. Then, slowly, she put the old VW in gear, and turned toward the driveway. Headlights pointed to the way out.
Mama started to cry in that quiet way of hers, as if she thought Leni couldn’t tell. As they drove into the trees, she kept glancing in the rearview mirror, wiping her tears away. When they reached the main road, a feral wind clawed at the bus. Mama worked the gas carefully, trying to keep the bus steady on the snow-packed ground.