I darted left, intent on heading down a darkened alleyway beside the supermarket. I heard a whistle noise, a thwack against the brick of the wall. Fragments of brick flew into the air. Sheer panic and horror bolted through my skull. They were shooting at me.
I darted right, like a deer avoiding a lion, then left. Another thwack. They were using a silencer on a small calibre pistol—designed to kill. If I kept darting, they would catch me on foot. If I didn’t, they’d hit me with a bullet. In my state of terror, with every ounce of adrenaline focused on fleeing, I didn’t have the presence of mind to scream.
I fled into the alley. Darkness swamped me and, I hoped, would provide some cover from the bullets, although, strangely, no more came. I knew once I was in the street the van would circle round and find me, but I had nowhere else to go. Maybe someone would drive past and I could flag them down. I rushed toward the exit. I hit the street and looked both ways frantically. To my despair it was empty of both vehicles and people. Fuzzystrobes barely lit the street, but they didn’t struggle enough to provide any hope of shadowed cover. I shot left toward the bar. I reached into my jacket pocket and fumbled out the phone, but I couldn’t stop to make the call. The van would be in the street at any moment. Against all of my cognitive thought, which screamed to just get to the bar, I darted left, back up another alleyway, away from help, if Karson was even there. It would lead me back to quieter, darker streets behind. Just shy of the supermarket parking lot but away from the van. The men had fallen behind, their size made them slow.
Out of breath, lungs heaving, I ducked behind a large industrial-size bin. It would provide cover from bullets.
One of them shouted, “She’s up here”
They thumped around the corner. I lurched blindly forward.
When I got to the end of the alleyway I flew right. My feet slapped the concrete, lungs on fire, heart booming out of my chest. Across the road was a park set up for kids with swings, meandering paths, a creek, a few odd trees, but no real cover. The thick of the forestry and relative safety lay four hundred yards away. I couldn’t risk it, with no help it’d be a death trap. No lights were on in any buildings, they were all businesses. Everyone had gone home for the day, all the doors would be locked.
Every breath burned. My body quaked as if a volcano sat rumbling beneath its surface. I searched for somewhere to go. Just ahead a wood-panel fence lay on my right. Behind it would be a yard of some sort. If I could get over and hide before they rounded the corner they may run past . . .
I stuffed the phone back in my pocket. Running at full pelt, every muscle tensed, I launched. My hands gripping the top of the fence, I hurtled over, landing on my feet between shoulder-sized, thick, green trees. The bottom limbs clawed at my ankles. Losing my balance I staggered forward and landed with a jolt onmy stomach and hands. I raised my head. I was in a small yard with trees planted around the whole perimeter. A small grass area led to a fully paved patio. There was a door, but it had a screen and I’d have to unlock both. It would take too long and screen doors were notoriously noisy and they’d would discover me for certain.
I heard the banging of feet getting closer.
Thud, thud, thud.
I scampered to my feet and darted down the side of the brick building along a small narrow lane. Halfway down, there were a couple of concrete steps leading up to a small landing, and I hoped there’d be a door there. I jerked myself in. To my dismay the door that once was there had been long since bricked over. I stood shaking and quivering, praying to God they ran on. I tried to slow my breathing, scared the noise might reveal my location. My lungs felt so tight it was like drawing in oxygen through a straw. It wasn’t lack of fitness which caused it—it was fear. I wanted to call Ethan, we live too far away for him to get here fast enough, but he’d know if Karson was in Church Heights or not. He’d know what to do. But in the dark of night they’d see the glow of my phone and I couldn’t risk speaking. The men stopped behind the fence.
“Where the fuck has she gone?” A deep, angry voice sounded between ravaged panting.
“You go that way . . . I’ll go around.”
I heard the footsteps take off, the thud of feet against the wood, the buckle of timber arching on the fence. With his size he’d have to use both hands to get over the fence. His gun would be away until he landed. I had my phone in hand, clutched for dear life between my fingers. I held onto it like it was Moses in a ship ready to collect me from drowning waters. My fingers shook so hard I missed the call button. I heard his heavy thump land on the grass. I had to move now before he got his weapon out. All Icould think of was Ethan. I needed to call Ethan. I didn’t press the button and yet the phone lit up and his name flashed across my screen with a dial icon.
I stepped out, and shot my left hand up and used all my telekinetic energy to throw the man’s body against the side fence. He hit with a sound like a tree cracking right before it fell. The noise echoed out into the night. I didn’t wait for him to reach for his gun or to get up. Terrified I turned foot, phone clutched in hand, and sprinted off again.
I thought I heard Ethan’s voice, faint as the voice from the angels above, but I couldn’t be sure over the barrage of sounds that were my beating heart, pounding feet, and a brain hazed by pure, all-encompassing terror. I cried out his name on a wheezed, sharp breath. The whooshing sound of a bullet soared past, shattering fragments off a picket fence in front of me. All shots, I realized, were low. They didn’t want me dead—not yet anyway. They wanted me captured. Captured and what—raped, tortured, sold?
I gritted my teeth and urged my legs to move faster. When I reached the front of the building. I jerked left, toward the bar. On the right, the slow-moving headlights of the van scoured the terrain like a hunter’s spotlight. I made it to the pavement, directly in front of me big nose shot out and ran straight toward me. He was too far way for me to use my energies against him. I had nowhere to go now. I darted right onto the road. Across the road buildings lined the street. There were no lanes for another hundred yards or so and it lay beyond me and the man running toward me.
I saw the glow of headlights in the distance. I heard the roar of a gunning engine. A sound I recognized.
I knew if I kept running they’d shoot out my legs and with no cover I’d be an easy target. I stopped abruptly and held up my hands, as if I were a hostage giving up.
I turned slowly, knees trembling, muscles quaking, my breaths fast and ragged. I hoped I was right about them not wanting me dead. If they did, a simple shot and I’d fall where I stood. The man running from behind the house stopped when he hit the pavement. An enraged sneer crossed his face, his prey had exhausted itself. He waved his gun wildly.
“You stupid fucking whore, I’m going chop your fucking flaps off.”
His words sliced like a sharp, cold blade down my spine. He steadied his hand and pointed the gun straight at my chest. I froze. His eyes were black, filled with anger and hatred. His finger moved to the trigger.
Oh Jesus. He was going to shoot me.
I’d taken a gamble and I’d lost.
Blood rushed through my veins. My stomach turned to slush. The ground clasped around my ankles. I couldn’t move, even if I wanted to. If I dropped my hands to throw him he’d shoot me.
Karson was coming fast, but not as fast as a bullet.
I’d seen them. Help was coming. They wouldn’t want to be identified . . .
I closed my eyes, a tsunami roaring through my head, and waited to feel the burn of the bullet.
Chapter 74
