In this case,
with this fire, this smoke, she felt it would hurt terribly―more than
having her throat cut, which she didn’t remember because Mark Rand had knocked
her unconscious.
The pain came
afterward, when she woke up, the six-inch wound in her neck sealed shut with
stitches.
The fire was
different.
The fire wouldn’t offer
a swift death.
It would l
ick around
her body, blister her skin, taste her bones and muscles, and then it would
consume her.
She knew that and she
was scared to death of it.
In spite
of herself, she began to cry as she continued to run forward, the branches now
snapping against her face because she couldn’t see well enough to push them
aside.
Her fear of the unknown sank
in deep and took hold.
She
wiped her eyes and in the next moment, everything changed.
When she
saw him, he also saw her.
She
stopped running, swiped her eyes again, and was stunned to find that someone
else was out here.
Someone else was
trying to make their way out.
It
was difficult to see clearly through the smoke, but he looked vaguely
familiar.
Someone she knew from
Bangor?
A fellow hunter?
Couldn’t
be.
He wasn’t wearing hunting
gear.
She
could see well enough now to know that this wasn’t the man who brought her
here, only to be run off by a moose.
She thanked God for that.
This was somebody else.
She was
about to call out to him for help when he raised his hand at her.
In it, she saw a gun.
Before
Cheryl Dunning could process any of it, he fired it at her.
And then he fired again and again while
all around them, wild animals, startled by the sounds of the shots, leaped
higher off the forest floor.
Terrified and confused, they ran toward him and away from him and
finally into him, knocking him to the ground all while a portion of Monson
burned.
CHAPTER
THI
RTY-SIX
The
shots startled her, a bullet chewed through her, but when she looked down to
see where she was hit, it was only a knick.
Left arm, close to the shoulder, blood
flowing, but not severely.
Lucky.
But
still terrified.
She looked ahead
and watched one of the running bucks slam its rump against the man in its
effort to escape.
It knocked him so
hard to the ground, she saw his feet kick up as he rolled over, where above
him, sheets of fire roiled across the sky.
But she
didn’t see him get up.
Confused
and frightened
(
who
is he who is he who is he who is he
),
she
ducked low out of sight, pressed her hands against a pine tree to steady
herself and felt how moist and sticky it was.
Sap
, she
thought.
Sap!
It was
so hot in the woods, the fire was heating the trees that hadn’t yet been
affected by the flames.
The sap was
thinning in the heat.
It was
sweating through the bark.
It was
starting to run.
With her
father and her grandfather cheering her on in her heart and in her head, she
took a filtered breath of air, held it, pulled down her shirt over her nose,
mouth and shoulder, and smeared a handful of the sap over the wound in an
effort to seal it shut.
It stung
like hell, but it worked.
Once,
when her grandfather was gutting a deer, he cut himself so badly, he did this
until they could get him to the hospital.
She’d likely get an infection from it, but she wasn’t
concerned―at
least not yet.
If she could get out
of here, antibiotics would knock it out in no time.
She
exhaled, made the mistake of inhaling, and started to cough from the
smoke.
She pulled her shirt back
over her nose and mouth, felt like gagging, but willed herself not to.
She looked
for him, didn’t see him, but what she did see caused her to pause.
Cutting through the smoke was a laser
beam.
It swung left, then right.
It was attached to his gun―had to
be.
She stepped left, away from it
and into
a thicker dense of woods that helped to conceal her.
There, she huddled down and wondered if
he could hear the snapping of twigs and limbs over the fire’s roar as she sank
into position.
There
are two of them,
she thought.
Two.
So,
where was the other one?
The older
one?
The one who chased her
earlier?
Was he behind her?
Somewhere beside her?
Were there others she didn’t know
about?
She didn’t know, but in
spite of everything her father and grandfather taught her, there was no way she
could still the panic rising in her now.
Either the fire or the smoke or the lack of water or one of these men
would be the end of her.
She was
certain of that now.
She watched
the laser sweep left, then right.
She watched it scale up, then down.
Worse, it was growing brighter, which meant he was getting closer.
And then
he spoke:
“Get the fuck away from
me, Maria.
Now.
Or I’ll shoot you, too.”
Who was
Maria?
Cheryl hadn’t seen a
woman.
“All of
you.
Get away from me.
I’m warning you.”
All of
them?
There was no all of
them.
She would have seen others.
“You can
stand in my way, Maria, but you and I both know that I can and will walk
straight through you.
You said so
yourself.
She’s going to die for
her sins, then she’ll be with the rest of you whores.”
Die for
my sins?
“No,
you’re wrong.
Sorry, that’s just
not true.
She’s a whore just like
her friend who, by the way, I raped last night.
Jealous, Maria?
I thought so.”
Cheryl
felt sick to her stomach and closed her eyes.
He’s the man Patty drove off with.
He raped her.
Did he also kill her?
“All of
you are whores.
All of you met your
deaths for reasons that are in the Bible.
You want proof?
Fine.
From Corinthians 6:9:
‘Do you not know that the wicked will
not inherit the kingdom of God?
Do
not be deceived:
Neither the
sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor male prostitutes nor
homosexual offenders’ will find God, Maria.
That’s why you’re dead.
I made sure you wouldn’t inherit His
kingdom because you’re sexually immoral.
That’s also why the others are dead.
And it’s why she’s going to die, so I
suggest you get out of my way so I can find her and put an end to this before
the fire comes any closer.”
He’s
insane.
There’s no one there.
He’s crazy...
She
could hear him start to walk again.
Quicker this time.
Angry footfalls on the forest
floor.
She looked up and saw that
the fire was nearly upon them now.
Maybe one-hundred yards to her right.
Closing in fast.
How
could she defend herself against him?
Quietly,
she started to pat the ground for something, anything, to protect herself.
She found a rock.
Clutched it.
She was left-handed and the bullet wound
had weakened her arm and thus her throw, but if he came close enough without
seeing her, there was a chance that she could surprise him by throwing it at
his face.
Once, when she was young,
she had been a perfect shot while playing ball with her father.
But now?
With a wounded arm?
She’d probably miss, but what else did
she have?
Her stick?
Not good enough.
He’d shoot her dead first.
So, what else?
At that
moment, in the distance, she learned exactly what else.
Just
above the noise of the fire came the distinct sounds of police and fire sirens.
CHAPTER
TH
IRTY-SEVEN
The
sirens were ahead of her, just to her left, which told her what she needed to
know.
The road
is there.
She
watched the laser dance along the ground.
She watched it hunt for her.
Search for her.
He was
nearly upon her now.
If she took
off into the woods, he’d hear her for sure.
So, what to do?
Wait him out?
Throw the rock in his face?
Then run?
Maybe.
The one thing
she remembered about him when she saw him at the bar with Patty was that he was
relatively tall―and absolutely built.
At the very least, a rock to his face
would stun him, maybe even bring him to
his knees if she hit him hard enough, but
then what?
He’d recover while she
broke through the woods and moved toward the sounds of those sirens.
And then he’d be right at her back with
his laser and he’d shoot her.
I’m
screwed.
The
laser swiped through the smoke.
Slashed through it.
She
heard him cough and clear this throat, which likely was burning every bit as
much as hers was.
Because of the
wind, the smoke wasn’t as dense as it would have been if the wind was blowing
in their direction, but it was enough to sting her eyes and make it difficult
for her to see, let alone to breathe.
When he
finally emerged into view, she saw that he had his shirt wrapped around his
nose and mouth.
Brown jacket.
Jeans.
What she could see of his face confirmed
what she already knew.
This was
indeed the young man who picked up Patty at The Grind.
This was the young man who just said to
someone named Maria that he raped Patty.
Did he
also kill her?
Cheryl had no reason
to believe that he didn’t and her body ached for the loss of her friend.
Patty had been there for her for years,
especially during the most difficult time in her life, when Mark Rand cut her
throat after a dinner party in college and left her to die in woods not unlike
these.
But once
she survived death, didn’t she?
She
survived it then and, with luck, she could survive it now.
The question was how.
She was
crouched low into a ball in an effort to conceal her white T-shirt, which now
appeared orange in the fiery light, which was good because it helped her to
blend in with her surroundings.
Her
head was tucked low against her knees but tilted just enough so she could see
him walking forward.
Forty
feet away.
Thirty.
He turned his head from side to
side.
Sometimes, he stopped to look
at something he likely thought was her, but wasn’t.
He never stopped for long.
The fire was getting closer.
Time was running out for each of
them.
He either was going to burn
in these woods because he was some mad son of a bitch, or at some point, he was
going to make a break for it, give up the hunt and save himself.
But she
knew better.
He just
spoke to a woman who wasn’t there.
He said he could walk straight through her.
Who in their right mind says that?
No one.
He’s delusional.
He’s on a mission to kill and that
mission is me.