Twenty
feet.
He used
the Bible to defend killing the woman named Maria.
He said that she and the other women he
murdered were whores who deserved to die.
He’s a zealot.
A freak.
He
will
burn here because
he probably thinks that God will protect him.
Ten
feet.
He
looked off to his right, away from her, where a burning limb just fell and
struck the ground.
If she was going
to do anything, it had to be now.
The side
of his head was right there, just in front of her.
She needed to crush his temple.
She could kill him right now if her
wounded left arm didn’t betray her.
Could she throw a ball like she used to?
Could she sink it into the mitt, which
in this case was the side of his head?
Doubtful.
At least not in
this condition.
Stop
it.
I can do this.
She
gripped the rock, felt confident and secure in its size and in its weight, and
was about to stand up and hurl it at him when he turned and faced her.
Their
eyes locked.
Time
slowed.
He
lowered his shirt over his nose and mouth, and a smile broke across his
face.
“There
you are,” he said.
His eyes
darkened.
The
world spun.
The rock
flew out of her hand.
She saw
it smash into his mouth and break his teeth at the same moment that his gun
went off.
The sound was muffled,
barely au
dible―the gun had a silencer attached to it.
She felt a bullet tear through her right
thigh.
She reeled back and screamed
in pain as she watched him drop face-first onto a bed of needles too warm for
someone so cold.
CHAPTER
THI
RTY-EIGHT
Cheryl
Dunning knew three things.
She
needed to take off her belt and wrap it around her upper thigh to stop the flow
of blood.
She
needed to be aware of the man who chased her earlier.
Somehow, in spite of everything
happening to her now with this other man, she had to listen for him, because he
was still out there and he would come for her.
In fact, he probably was coming for her
now.
And more
than anything, she needed to get out of here as quickly as possible before it
was too late.
The pain
in her leg was excruciating, but she moved through it.
With trembling hands, she removed her
belt from the waist of her jeans, tightened it around her thigh, buckled the
clasp and stood.
Tried to
stand.
The pain
was too much.
Her leg was too
weak.
The bullet hadn’t gone
through bone, which was a blessing, but it tore through muscle, crippling it,
which almost was as bad, but not as insurmountable.
She thought there was no way she was
going to be able
to stand―let alone run through the woods―when in front
of her on the ground, the man who wanted her dead was starting to regain
consciousness.
She
watched him lift his head and saw exactly what she’d done to his face.
Blood leeched out of his mouth and
spooled onto the forest floor in thick ribbons of reddish drool.
His jaw worked from side to side, he
opened it wide as if to see if he even could, and then he closed it and started
to spit out the teeth she’d ruined.
Sluggishly,
he turned his head toward her and she also saw that she’d broken his nose.
It was mashed to his left and a rush of
blood flowed from it.
He tried to
say something, and failed.
She
looked around for his gun, but couldn’t see it.
Was it beneath him?
Of course, it was.
Was he aware of it?
Right now, in his state, that was
doubtful.
But
he’ll know soon enough.
She
reached for the tree behind her, felt her hand stick to it, and she thought,
sap
.
But unlike her arm, there was no time to
pull down her pants and coat the wound with it.
He was coming around.
She watched him shake his head in an
effort to clear it.
Framed by the
fire closing in on them and, in a few instances, raining down on them, he
looked like a beast being risen from hell.
Move
, she
thought.
Move...
She
braced her back against the tree, put her hands down on either side of her in
an effort to hoist herself up, and when she did, her right hand fell on top of
another rock.
For a moment, she
stopped in disbelief.
Then she
pulled the rock free from the earth, looked down at it, and was disappointed
that it was smaller than the first one.
It was a smooth piece of granite covered in muck, about the size of a
jumbo-sized egg and it would be difficult to hit him with it because of its
smaller size.
She needed something bigger.
She looked around, but didn’t see
anything of greater substance.
And then
she looked up as he started to rock to his knees.
“Fucking
bitch,” he said, swaying toward her and then sharply away from her as his legs
hitched beneath him.
“You fucking bitch.
You’ll die for that.
You’ll fucking die.”
She
looked down and saw the gun, which is just where she knew it would be.
On the ground.
He’d been lying on it.
Had he seen it yet?
Didn’t matter.
With a strength she didn’t know she
possessed, she pushed herself up the tree, using it for support, and bit down
hard on the searing pain in her leg as she did so.
It was enough to make her want to scream
again, but she couldn’t let the other man know where they were, so she stuffed
the scream deep inside her and used the pain and her will to live as fuel.
She
wanted that gun.
There was one way
to get it.
She
cocked her hand over her head, took aim, and flung the rock out of her hand.
CHAPTER
THI
RTY-NINE
But she
missed.
Missed!
The rock
ski
rted
past his face and he stumbled backward, aware―at least on some
level―that she’d almost struck him again.
There
had to be another rock, but there was no way that she could expect to get down
on her knees, find one, and then get back up again in time to hit him with
it.
It would take too long.
The pain would be too great.
She might not get to her feet again.
And in the meantime, even if she did so,
he’d find the gun.
As weak as he
was right now, his weakness didn’t matter.
He had a gun armed with a laser and right now, both were his best
friends.
All he needed to do was to
plant that beam somewhere on her body and shoot.
Then she’d likely be dead.
Move!
It was
her father’s voice she heard.
Don’t
get lazy on me now, Cheryl.
Get
out!
This
time, it was her grandfather’s voice and by the tone of it, he wasn’t having
any of this.
He and her father had
raised her to be tough.
In spite of
a bullet wound to the arm (
a mere knick, Cheryl
) and one to the thigh (
it
didn’t exactly hit your heart, did it?
), they would refuse to accept any
kind of weakness.
But that was her
Maine heritage.
To survive in this
state, with its lack of good-paying jobs and its difficult winters, one had to
be strong.
That’s what they
demanded from her.
That’s what they
prepared her for.
She
couldn’t let them or herself down.
She
pressed away from the tree, listened to the faint sound of the sirens off in
the distance and started to stagger in their direction.
The pain was ungodly, but worse were the
woods themselves.
They were dense,
unforgiving and difficult to navigate.
Twigs slapped
against her face.
She walked
forward with one arm on her bloody thigh, and one arm stretched out in front of
her in an effort to clear a path for herself―a battle she lost with each
step.
The only upside is that soon,
if she could manage to
keeping moving forward, the woods would
close behind her, they’d swallow her up, and eventually, they’d shield her from
him.
How far
away was the road?
How much longer
before he came after her?
It
wouldn’t be long.
She may have
broken his nose and his teeth, but soon enough, his head would clear.
Rage and insanity would drive him
forward.
Shooting her in the leg
wasn’t going to satisfy him.
Killing her would.
She struggled
up an incline and saw the red laser beam dart ahead of her.
It was there only for an instant, but it
told her all she needed to know.
He
was coming for her now.
Not far
behind.
And then it struck
her.
Was it him?
Or was it the other one?
“Fucking
bitch...”
It was
him.
She
struggled to move faster and grabbed onto saplings in an effort to help pull
herself up the hill.
The gun went
off behind her and this time, she did scream, even if he didn’t come close to
hitting her.
This time, she screamed
louder than she ever had in her life.
It wasn’t just a scream borne out of shock and fear.
It was a scream that demanded that she
be heard.
Was that possible given
the fire’s roar and the sirens’ wails?
Probably not.
But she
nevertheless screamed again only to hear the gun go off twice.
In front
of her, just to her right, bark blew off a pine and the debris smacked against
her face.
The laser flashed, and
this time it slashed across her outstretched hand before it wavered into the
forest.
She could hear him behind
her, grunting, moaning and heaving as he closed the distance between them.
“HELP
ME!” she shouted.
“SOMEBODY!
HELP ME!”
“No
one’s going to help you.”
She
reached out for a limb to pull herself up and nearly fell backward when it
snapped off.
She looked fleetingly
at it in the flickering orange light.
It was thick, blunt, came from a dead tree.
Crutch.
She
lowered it beside her wounded leg and was surprised by how much faster she
could move with the weight off her leg.
The
laser swept the forest ahead of her.
He wasn’t at the point where he could aim steadily, but because he
wasn’t shooting, he obviously was at the point where he knew he couldn’t
continue to shoot and waste his ammunition.
She could hear him crashing behind her, sometimes
slipping, often gurgling and spitting, once falling, and figured he must be
moving on pure will and instinct.
Just
like me.
She
crested the hill and when she did, her heart stopped at what she saw.
She couldn’t believe what she saw.
She had reached the edge of the
woods.
Ahead of her was the road.
It was
like some unreal vision.
Something
she never thought she’d see.
She
hurried toward it.
Behind
her came another muffled gunshot.
And this
time, Cheryl Dunning went down hard.
CHAPT
ER FORTY
She fell
on her side, rolled down the hill and came to a stop at the edge of the
road.
He hadn’t hit her.
He hadn’t won yet.
But he was coming.
She heard him coming.
The woods gave beneath his feet, the
smaller saplings crumpled beneath them and when he stumbled, all was crushed by
them.
Soon, he’d burst into the
open and his eyes and his laser would be upon her.