I wrote this story and originally submitted it to another site. I have made a few slight revisions to the story before posting it here. Enjoy!
Author's note: If you're into wham-bam-thank-you-mam stories, this isn't one of them. It's an extremely long story, and you should really read my "Terror in the Snowstorm -- Part 1" story first to learn how the characters got to this point. Thank you for your indulgence. Comments are welcome, constructive criticisms will be much appreciated.
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As we started through the deep snow on the lane leading from Zeke and Merle’s cabin to the hard road, I could see the fire rapidly growing inside the cabin, through the cracked rearview mirror of Zeke’s Jeep. I knew that poor, murdered Merle’s body was being cremated, and that his brother, Zeke, was being roasted alive. The horror of the entire situation, Zeke’s attempted rape of Tara, his brutal murder of his brother Merle (who Zeke had called Ox, to make fun of his immense size and strength, along with his obviously limited mental ability), my wounding Zeke with his own gun, and Tara’s decision to torch their cabin with Zeke inside, alive, but disabled by his wounds, nearly overwhelmed me.
I could barely drive through the deep snow, torn between the urge to cry openly from my terror and exhaustion, to be physically ill, or to pray to God to thank Him for sparing us and to beg forgiveness for our own guilt at having killed a defenseless man, even though the man had proven himself to be nearly the devil incarnate. Looking over at Tara, who had actually been the one to cause Zeke’s death, didn’t help me. She was sitting stiffly in her seat, staring straight ahead through dead-looking eyes, her face frozen into an unreadable mask.
When we reached the hard road, I turned toward home, hoping that Zeke’s monster Jeep would be able to get us through the deep snowdrifts and over the trees that had been blown down during the worst of the storm. We crawled along at a steady but slow pace, finally reaching Tara’s wrecked car, which is where our whole nightmare had begun. I stopped the Jeep I had stolen from Zeke so we could retrieve Tara’s purse and luggage, along with my duffle bag from my truck, all of which had been left behind when Zeke and Merle had kidnapped us. Tara was silent and expressionless the whole time. When we had gotten back in the Jeep and resumed our slow progress toward home, she broke the silence.
“I killed a man, Seth. I burned him alive. He would have raped me if poor Merle hadn’t stopped him. He would have killed us both when he was done using my body. He laughed as he murdered his own brother. He deserved to die. He was a monster. We could have escaped after you wounded him, but I killed him. What happens now? Am I a murderer? Am I any better than he was? Will I go to prison? Will I go to Hell for this? Worse still, will I have dragged you down with me?” She began to sob quietly, pitifully, tucking herself into almost a fetal position on the seat next to me.
I drove in silence, not knowing what to say to her. My emotions were so mixed up that I couldn’t decide if she was, in fact, a cold-blooded killer, or if her actions could be excused by the inconceivable horror of the entire situation and the mortal fear that Zeke had caused in both of us. I had shot the bastard twice, but I was at peace with that. I had been prepared to empty his gun into him just to prevent him from raping Tara, but I had been tied up and could not get my hands free.
After Merle had attacked Zeke to stop him just as he had been ready to begin raping Tara, she had untied me and I had grabbed the gun, but I didn’t fire it. When Zeke had overpowered Merle and had killed him, I threatened Zeke with the gun. Zeke lunged at me with the same fireplace poker he had used to murder his brother, so I shot him twice to disable him. I was prepared to take Tara and flee the scene, knowing that Zeke would probably have bled to death before we could have sent police and medical personnel to his cabin, but I was comfortable with that. His death would, technically, have been at my hands, but I felt that, morally and legally, it was a killing in self-defense and in the defense of another. Tara’s dumping moonshine and kerosene all over him, knowing that it would trickle toward the fireplace and incinerate him alive was, perhaps, another matter.
The miles passed slowly on the drifted, tree- and branch-strewn woodland road. Tara and I were each lost in our own agonized thoughts. As we passed through the small town where I assumed Zeke and Merle had sold their hides and moonshine, I was acutely aware that we would have been seen as fugitives from justice if the stolen Jeep we were driving were recognized, but no one seemed to see us as we crept through the dark town. When we were back in the woods moving toward our home towns, Tara finally spoke again.
“Seth, stop the Jeep. Find a place to pull over and stop. We need to talk.”
I saw an abandoned gas station, and stopped behind it, hidden from the road. I stopped the engine and turned the lights out.
“Seth, should we call the fire department? What if the cabin has started a forest fire?”
“I think that’s pretty unlikely, Tara. There’s so much snow out here that the likelihood of the fire spreading is almost nothing. The cabin will probably burn to the ground, but it’s so isolated that no one may even have spotted the fire. When someone finally does find it, all they’ll find is two badly charred bodies in the rubble. Even if they find the bullet wounds in Zeke, there will be no way to know who fired the gun. All our fingerprints will have been destroyed by the fire. They’ll probably figure that mean old Zeke finally pushed his brother too hard, that they fought, and killed each other. If they really investigate, they’ll find the broken moonshine jug and the kerosene lamp, which will probably have been broken when the roof fell in, and they’ll assume the fire was accidental.”
“Should we go to the police and tell them what happened?” Tara asked.
“That’s your call, Tara. I understand why Zeke had to die. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I will abide by whatever decision you make. If you feel you need to tell your story to the authorities, you may be able to justify your actions and avoid any trouble. You may also be able to get your father to use his influence to help you or to get you the legal help you may need. But really, I think that the only evidence of us having been in that cabin will have been destroyed by the fire.
I continued, "Our vehicles are abandoned at least two miles from the cabin, and the storm has covered any footprints and tire tracks that would show that we were picked up and taken to the cabin in the first place. We can come up with a story about having been picked up by some kind-hearted stranger who dropped us near one of our homes. The only problem that I can see is that we’re driving Zeke’s Jeep.”
“Oh, no, Seth! You’re right, the Jeep will incriminate us. Even if we abandon it, it will be found. People will wonder why it isn’t at the cabin if Zeke and Merle are. We’re still incriminated!” Sara moaned.
