At First Sight

Chapter 42

THE SECOND BULLET CLIPPED A BRANCH RIGHT OVER my head.

I could barely see-my eyes watered with melting snow. A branch scratched me badly under my right eye, spinning me around. I ignored the pain and kept going. I was in great shape from hours of marathon training, but the air was thin up here and as I ran uphill in the heavy snow my lungs were beginning to heave.

Chick was out of shape and I didn't think he could keep up. However, I was wearing only a light shirt, cotton slacks, and flats. The snow was already coming in over the tops of my shoes, and I knew that once I stopped running and my body started cooling, I stood a good chance of getting hypothermia.

I paused and turned to look back. When I did, I saw I had another, much more immediate problem than just freezing to death…

I was leaving a trail of easy-to-follow footprints in the fresh snow. Chick didn't have to run very fast to catch me. He could simply follow my tracks and stalk me with that deer rifle until I fell or froze. Unless I could find help fast, I was going to lose.

I paused every so often, holding my breath to listen. I could hear him somewhere down the hill, kicking an occasional boulder with those steel-toed cowboy boots. How far back was he? I didn't know. How far does sound carry in a snow-filled night? You got me… All I knew was he was hunting me with a rifle, and if I didn't keep moving, I was dead.

I started off again, climbing higher up the slope. The wind whipped my wet shirt, my jaw clamped against the cold. My body was beginning to shiver.

Then I heard him. "Paige! I don't want to kill you, but I will if I have to. If you come back, we can work something out."

Right. All we have to get past is two fucking murders.

His voice sounded like he was further away than I'd first thought. Even so, I knew I couldn't rest, I had to keep going. I finally realized that my best chance wasn't to keep climbing, but to double back and head down to the road. Maybe I could try and flag down a passing car or find another house. If I got to the road I could move away from here faster on the flat grade than I could by climbing this thirty-degree slope.

I traversed several hundred yards to my left before beginning my descent. I was trying to maintain a parallel course to the one I'd used on the climb up. I went slower, trying to be very quiet, because I knew that somewhere along the way I would pass Chick coming up. However, each time I stopped to listen, I heard nothing but the rustling of falling snow in the treetops. I had no idea where he might be.

Finally the rate of descent lessened and I was back at Chick's driveway about a quarter of a mile from his house. I crouched low, my own breath and heartbeat thundering in my ears. My teeth were chattering so badly that I couldn't hear anything else. I couldn't just wait here. I would freeze to death. I stood, and hugging the tree line next to the drive, headed down toward Interstate 38.

The snow was in my hair, falling in giant flakes on my face, melting and running down my back, chilling me to the bone. My shoes and feet felt like blocks of ice. Every hundred paces, I started running again to get my circulation and body temperature up.

Finally, I arrived at the highway and saw that it was a perfect field of snow. No tire tracks marked the surface. No cars had passed by in hours. I turned right and headed toward town. I couldn't see the road but followed the plow markers.

I wasn't going to last much longer. My body was so cold I was already beginning to lose coordination. A half-moon was now peeking through, lighting the undersides of the storm clouds, throwing a soft, silver light on the drifting snow. Every time I looked back, I saw my telltale tracks stretching out behind me, traitorously pointing the way. If Chick figured out my plan, he would have no trouble finding me.

And then I heard it.

A high distant whine that sounded like a buzz saw cutting down trees. I paused and listened, then backed away from the road. It was getting louder, coming toward me. I finally identified the high-pitched sound as a gas engine, changing pitch as the throttle changed. I crouched down in the snow and then saw a lone headlight, about half a mile away, moving fast. A snowmobile.

I prayed it was a neighbor trying to get into town, or perhaps a road crew checking the highway for cars in the ditch.

The vehicle veered and started coming right at me, following my tracks in the snow. Panicked, I turned and started to run, but there was no way I could outrun a snowmobile. I stumbled and fell, going down face-first in a snowbank.

Then the headlight was on me. I rolled over, dripping wet, blinded by its glare. As the vehicle pulled to a stop ten feet away, all I could see was the manufacturer's name vibrating on the front bumper: YAMAHA.

A man climbed off the idling red machine and came around the front. He was dressed in a three-quarter-length gray parka. The hood was up and he had on yellow-lensed goggles to protect his eyes from the swirling snow. I prayed I was going to be rescued. Then the man kneeled down, crouching over me.

"Look what you've gone and done," Chick snarled.