Winter Rose

XXIX. Betrayal

You underestimate the power of the dark side—Darth Vader

***

"There's something wrong with him." Winter tucked her hair behind her ears and bent down, reaching her hand out to Pickle. "That bird, it tried to attack him. I think he's hurt." 

The darkness caused by the starless sky above them was suffocating, and a dreadful sense of deja vu was lingering in the back of her mind. Her father shone the light across the farm. It was odd, despite the horrendous storm and raging tornado that had just passed above them, there was little damage outside, at least from what they could see. The old truck was untouched, just fifty feet away.

Pickle's eyes glimmered eerily in the flashlight, causing her to catch her breath momentarily, her outstretched hand trembling. She frowned, instantly upset with herself that she would react that way to the dog who was clearly trying to save her life.

Pickle took a couple of steps backward, away from her open hand, his eyes still gleaming.

"What's wrong, Pickle?" she whispered, struggling to shake the wariness that had come over her.

"Maybe there's something out here," Lance said in a low voice, his eyes darting around in the darkness. He shifted uncomfortably. "Come on, Winter, let's get in the truck."

Below them, Winnie stepped forward and faced Pickle. Her white fur bristled from her neck to her tail. She let out a low, threatening growl. The little bird hopped from Pickle's back to hers.

"Come on." Lance grabbed a hold of Winter's arm and directed her towards the truck.

Winter's father had already reached the truck and was fumbling with the keys, the flashlight still in his hand. She turned her back to the house, but stopped mid step at an anxious bark behind her.

A cold breeze rushed through the perfectly still night, sparking the wind chimes on the porch to swing into motion in the front of the house. Their little clangs seemed out of place—ominous— like faint whispers in the night. Winter rubbed her arms at the sudden chill.

She turned. Pickle stood, his feet planted on the ground, his dark eyes imploring hers. She froze, the cold sensation spreading through the rest of her body. Swallowing hard, she tried to shake it off. Pickle was trying to tell her something. She'd be a fool to ignore him. He was here to save her—her guardian.

She pulled against Lance's grip. "We can't go. He doesn't want us to."

"What?" Lance turned halfway, then faltered, catching his balance. Winnie was beneath him, pushing him towards the car with her head. "I think Winnie wants us to go."

The truck's engine turned and came to life with a roar, disrupting the eerie stillness of the night. Its headlights flooded the yard. Mr. Rose rolled down the window and motioned for Lance and Winter to hurry up.

"Winter," Lance reasoned, his voice holding somewhat of a fatherly tone. " There's no way it's not a good thing to get in the truck and get the hell out of here right now."

As if on cue, Pickle let out a pleading whine and swung his head around, trotting slowly back towards the house. Behind him, Winnie let out a low growl, and the little bird spat out a scolding sound.

Winter took a deep breath and slid her arm out from under Lance's grip, her eyes steady on the dog. "I think—I think we need to go back into the house."

"Winter." Lance threw his hands around his head and hissed between his teeth. "This is crazy! Get in the truck."

Winter stepped towards the house, her heart racing. Tell me what I need to do Pickle, she pleaded silently, desperately trying to get a deep enough breath to steady herself. The dog continued to make his way back to the house, turning to make sure she was following. Even in the glow of the truck's lights, it was so dark she could scarcely see his shadow, much less the ground underneath her.