Within seconds, the blurry outline of various shaped headstones and grave markers began to appear out of the darkness ahead of them. Rachel strained to hear the sounds of approaching sirens, but so far the only noise was her footsteps in the cold, crunchy grass, Hannah’s occasional moans of pain, and the chatter of the radio as her fellow officers called in their updated ETAs.
Hannah was nearly unconscious in her arms by the time Rachel saw the hazy outline of the main cemetery building. She picked up her pace, almost running across the parking lot. Off in the distance, sirens echoed faintly in the night and she prayed the paramedics would be part of the first group to arrive.
Rachel was so eager to get Hannah into the warmth and safety of the car she didn’t hear the crunch of gravel behind them until it was almost too late. She snapped her head around in time to see a huge man in clown makeup sprinting out of the fog, a big knife in his hand.
For the first time since becoming a cop, Rachel froze. Between the white greasepaint covering his face, the bloodred markings around his eyes, and the menacing red grin permanently etched around his mouth, he was like a nightmare come to life. Even his teeth, which he’d somehow tricked out to make it look as if they’d been filed down to sharp points like some kind of monster, screamed evil. A bright-orange fright wig completed the look, turning the big man into the most disturbing thing she’d ever seen, despite the big, bright-red nose he sported.
The clown was less than a foot away when Rachel finally snapped out of her daze. She instinctively curled around Hannah in an effort to protect her, praying the Kevlar fibers in her tactical vest would protect her own body.
Rachel flew forward like she’d been hit by a Mack truck. Her knees slammed into the gravel and Hannah sailed out of her arms with a high-pitched scream. A lightning bolt of fiery agony in her right shoulder blade let her know the demented clown’s knife had punched right through the vest. Shock kept her from feeling the full extent of the damage, she was sure, but she had a feeling the blade had gone deep enough to puncture a lung. The pain from the wound made her whole body go rigid, and for one terrified moment, she thought she might not make it home that night.
She screamed as the clown ripped the knife out. Crap, it hurt even more coming out than it had going in. Fighting off dizziness, she rolled to the side to avoid the next attack she was sure was coming her way. Another piercing scream echoed in the cemetery, and she worried the man was going after Hannah, but when she looked over her shoulder, it was to find the psycho coming at her again.
She managed to get her Sig out, but the stabbing pain in her back kept her from moving as fast as she usually did, and the damn weapon slipped out of her hand when the clown landed on top of her, crushing what seemed like every trace of air out of her already-damaged lungs.
Rachel punched, scratched, kicked, and shoved, but the man on top of her easily weighed over 250 pounds, and most of it seemed to be muscle. He was insanely strong—or maybe just insane. Eyes practically glowing red, he went for her throat, and those teeth she’d thought only looked sharp were actually as pointy and dangerous as they looked. The pain as they tore through the coarse fabric of her clothing and vest straight into her shoulder was nearly as bad as when he’d plunged the knife into her back.
She tried to reach her Taser, but the a-hole had her left arm pinned. There was no way she could get at her telescoping baton with him on top of her, either. So, she did the only thing she could. She reached down to the other side of her belt and grabbed her radio. She brought it up and smashed it against the side of her attacker’s head, hard. The plastic shattered into pieces, but it got the madman’s attention—and his teeth out of her shoulder.
She dropped the remnants of the radio and punched out blindly, feeling her fist connect with a jaw that felt like steel. Something popped in her clenched hand with a spasm of pain, but she ignored it, punching him over and over. One of the blows caught him in the eye and he reared back with a shout of anger.
Rachel was sure she had him on the ropes then. Until the knife slashed down again with a thud so solid she thought, at first, he’d missed her completely and struck the gravel-covered ground. But then searing pain exploded in the left side of her chest and she knew he hadn’t missed. Her scream of agony must have shocked the hell out of the clown because he jerked back, tilting his head sideways like a confused animal.
She grit her teeth against the pain and threw another punch at him. Her aim was crap and she completely missed his face, but she hit him in the throat, which was actually much better. The clown clutched at his neck with both hands, coughing and gagging like he was dying. She followed that up with a kick to the face, knocking off his stupid, red clown nose and breaking his real one with the heel of her heavy patrol shoe. Blood running down his face, he collapsed to the ground, coughing harder. Hopefully, she’d crushed his larynx and he’d choke to death.
Just in case he didn’t, she rolled over, trying to figure out where her Sig had gone. She couldn’t find it in the dark, but the move sent a spike of pain lancing through her chest.Crap.The knife was still in her. How the hell hadn’t she noticed it?
Rachel glanced down and almost passed out when she saw how deeply the knife was buried in her chest, and she momentarily wondered how it was possible for her to still be alive. Taking a breath, she wrapped her hand around the handle. She remembered a first-aid class saying something about leaving the knife where it was, that it could cause more damage on the way out. They were probably right, but there was no way in hell she was leaving it where it was. Not with that idiot clown already dragging himself to his feet. And definitely not when he could take it out and stab her again.
Tightening her grip, she clenched her jaw and tugged on the knife. It took more force than she would have thought necessary, but the first stomach-twisting sensation of the blade sliding out distracted her from that fact. Then the soul-searing pain arrived, threatening to overwhelm her. For a moment, she was tempted to give in to the blackness threatening to consume her, but then Hannah screamed.
Rachel lifted her head to see the clown turning his attention to the girl. If Rachel lost consciousness, Hannah was dead. And Rachel had promised not to let the bastard hurt her again.
The sirens in the distance were gradually coming closer, but they were still too far away to matter.
Tossing the knife away, Rachel scrambled to her feet to go after the insane man in the clown makeup. It might have been smarter to keep the weapon, but in truth, she feared that, in her condition, he’d take the blade away from her and use it on Hannah.
For a big man, he was ridiculously fast. He lunged for Hannah, wrapping his huge hand around her ankle and dragging her toward him with a grunt. Hannah kicked at him with her free foot, trying to get away by pulling herself across the gravel as she screamed at the top of her lungs.
The clown continued to crawl forward, moving like some deranged monster, so focused on Hannah all of a sudden it was like Rachel didn’t even exist. Maybe he assumed she was too weak to come after him—or already dead. Either way, he didn’t notice her behind him pointing her Taser at his back.
Rachel waited until she was two feet away to squeeze the trigger—so close she couldn’t possibly miss. The barbed probes deployed with a pop, stabbing him through the shirt he wore. The Taser clicked like crazy in her grip as it dumped thousands of volts into the man. He groaned but didn’t seem nearly as fazed by it as she’d expected.
Not wanting to lose even that small advantage, Rachel reached behind her back and pulled out her cuffs, then jumped on his back. If she could get his arms restrained, she and Hannah might just make it until backup—and EMS—arrived.
The clown immediately lost interest in Hannah, releasing his hold on the girl and turning on Rachel with a vicious roar. She still had the trigger on the Taser depressed and it was still clicking like it should. By now, he should have been screaming in pain and writhing around on the ground, but it wasn’t having any real effect on him. Wrapping one hand around her throat, he grabbed her left shoulder with the other, nearly crushing her bones as he shoved his thumb into the stab wound in her chest.
Rachel tried to scream as the pain hit her, but the hand around her neck made that impossible, and all that came out was a strangled sound. She swung a punch at him, hoping to get him to release her. She didn’t realize until her fist connected with the side of his face that she was still holding her cuffs in her hand.
His head rocked back hard, but it seemed like he’d barely noticed the blow from the heavy steel cuffs, despite the blood that ran down his paint-smeared cheek. If anything, it seemed to piss him off even more and he tightened his grip around her throat.
Rachel’s vision started to dim and she knew she was going to die. This freak was going to kill her, then he was going to kill Hannah.
Like hell.
She punched him again and again and again. She didn’t aim, didn’t even think, but simply fought for her life…and for Hannah’s.
Rachel wasn’t sure how many times she hit him, but at some point, she realized he wasn’t moving and that his hand was no longer wrapped around her neck. Her arms were so weak she could barely lift them any longer. She had no idea where the Taser was. And those damn sirens still seemed so far away.
