The Little Death

Chapter Thirty-nine

He heard the crack over the grind of the Jeep’s engine.

“Rifle,” Louis said.

“Near the pen,” Aubry said.

Aubry gunned the engine, bypassing the road and cutting diagonally across the open land toward the pen. Louis leaned forward, trying to see ahead of them, but the headlights were dirty and old.

First, he saw the wood of the fence, and beyond that the faint outline of the slanted roof of the lean-to. Then Aubry made a small turn, and the lights swept left, washing over a woman standing in the pen. She spun toward them, frozen in the white glow.

Khaki jacket. Dark pants. Flaming red hair. A machete in her hand.

She bolted, running away from them toward the darkness beyond the pens.

“Burke, find Andrew!” Louis shouted.

He pushed from the Jeep and ran toward the pen. The gates were too far away; he had no choice but to jump the fences. He misjudged the first, toppling over it into the mud and scrambling back to his feet. He sailed over the second without losing a step.

Away from the headlights, everything was fuzzy and black, but he pushed forward, catching a glimpse of a body lying in the dirt. A small part of his brain registered it as not Swann but Kavanagh. But even that thought vanished when he caught sight of a red tail of hair slipping through an open gate-only one of many in the maze, he knew. She’d have to zigzag through them. He could vault over the last fence and catch her in the open field beyond.

But the last rail was rotted, splintering under his weight and sending him again into the mud. He struggled to his feet, trying to catch his breath as his eyes scoured the darkness. The moon gave him a fleeting flash of her jacket far ahead.

He threw off the bulky slicker and sprinted forward, praying that the ground stayed level and the moon stayed bright. His mind was racing with questions. Was Swann dead? Did Sam have his rifle? Was she the only killer? Was she the only one out here? And where was she running to?

Suddenly, she was gone again, swallowed up by the looming black shadows. He slowed, then stopped and stared.

Trees. Lots of them.

He glanced over his shoulder, then back to the woods, every second he stood here ticking off in his head as wasted time.

Go. Go after her.

He leveled his Glock and walked into the woods, up a sloped and rocky path. The moonlight vanished. The air smelled thick, green, and dirty. The trees felt close, tightening around him like the press of an anxious crowd.

Take a breath.

He made his way up the path, turning from left to right and back again. The sounds were soft, floating on the air like broken leaves. It was hard to tell which direction they were coming from. The rustle of a branch. Was it behind him or ahead? The plink of raindrops. Close or far away?

Crack!

Something snapped across his back, ripping his shirt and stinging his skin. He ducked and spun, not sure where to point his gun, not sure what the hell had hit him.

Crack!

His sleeve was slashed, his skin on fire.

Crack!

The whip ripped across his knuckles, tearing the gun from his hand. He heard it hit the blanket of leaves, but he couldn’t see it.

Crack! Crack!

His hands were soaked in blood.

Crack!

“Stop it!” he screamed.

Crack. Crack. Crack. The whip swirled through the darkness like a lasso, snapping thin branches and splattering up dirt like the kick of a bullet. There was nowhere to go, nothing to hide behind, and he couldn’t run. He couldn’t leave his gun for her to find.

Crack!

A snap across his legs.

Crack!

The tail of the whip sliced into his face like a hot wire. Stunned, he cried out and dropped to his knees, teeth gritted, tears blurring his eyes. The gun… find the gun.

He threw a hand into the leaves.

Crack!

His fingers touched steel, and he came up in a spin, searching for that sliver of khaki in the tall, dizzying shadows of black and brown. For a second, it was still, the only sound the rush of his own breath.

Then the milky oval of her face took shape. A white mask with scorched black eyes.

His mind tripped with three thoughts.

Shoot to kill.

Shoot to wound.

Shoot to kill.

He aimed for her heart and fired.