“I told you not to run, Doc. Now you’ll pay the consequences.”
Oh God.
From the bank, Wendy leaned in to help. “Take my hand, Remie.”
“No, dammit. Go! I’m right behind you.” Another jagged streak blazed across the sky to reveal Wendy turning and racing toward the woods.
Mud and wet grass sucked at her tennis shoes when she reached for dry land. Thrust into a situation designed to end in death or madness, she long-blinked a prayer.
Shock created a mini recoil when her fingers landed on something hard and long. A splinter embedded in her finger before she realized fate offered her a weapon. A fallen branch.
It took both hands to snatch up the dead limb thicker than the electric bone saws in her lab. Water added weight to its meter length but resulted in a hefty club. Panic multiplied her strength.
The killer paused midstream when she pivoted. Light from the Honda’s open doors glinted off the crimson-streaked knife in his hand. “Don’t.”
Her gaze flicked to his eyes, widened in shock. Bullies and psychopaths didn’t expect resistance from the meek. The element of surprise lasted a split second. It was enough.
With strength born of a cornered badger, she swung with all the terror and rage magnified by the adrenaline pulsing through miles of blood vessels. The makeshift weapon cracked against his shoulder while sending a large splinter limb flying.
Pain reverberated up her arms. Her breath hissed out on a groan.
The bloody knife arced to the opposite bank as his arms went wide and his feet flew from under him. A growl cut short when his ass kissed the muddy bottom to leave him chest deep in cold swirling water. The struggle to stand and reclaim his pursuit granted her a few heartbeats of time.
Instinct warned she couldn’t sucker punch the prick twice, and she’d never circumvent him to reach her vehicle. Obscurity of the forest offered the best chance of survival.
She bolted amid his curses and threats.
Ahead, Wendy entered the tree line and stopped to look back, her terror witnessed through successive lightning flashes. With one hand holding her other forearm, she gestured her impatience.
“I’m coming.” Fear pushed Remie forward when her legs didn’t want to move. “Shit! Go that way.” Remie motioned to her left. “He can’t track us both. Get help.”
The killer had called her by name, which made her a target. If he didn’t know Wendy’s identity, she might gain safety with enough distance.
Splashing from behind signaled her assailant climbing the bank. A British accent flavored the intermittent growls and curses.
A craggy flash across the sky illuminated a deer path where Wendy entered the wood line. From there, several trails led through the darkened interior. Remie turned right then fought for balance after stumbling in a hole.
Briars tore at her jacket and pulled her hair yet didn’t slow her down. Heavy breaths and breaking limbs from behind pushed her forward.
Rain drizzled from the canopy to mix with the sticky wetness now slicking her palms. Each briar tearing her hands left a tiny trail. The coppery tang in her mouth after falling in the stream rekindled the memory of crimson sliding down the windshield. Her subconscious refused to relinquish Gena’s final moments and would delight in a repetitious video during nightmares in the afterlife.
Emerging buds did little to buffer her face from the thorns. Not long ago, she’d autopsied a young woman who’d run through the woods in a blind panic. Scratches and cuts had covered her body; each measured and catalogued to form a summary of the ordeal.
Meager droplets of blood corresponded to a blazing trail to any search and rescue dog. If it doesn’t wash away. The devil’s advocate on her shoulder flashed the picture of a cadaver dog discovering her decomposing body in a shallow grave. It won’t decompose if there’s not enough oxygenated soil to support aerobic bacteria. The right environment encouraged the growth of corpse wax, a hardened shell that encased and preserved the body. Another image I can’t flush.
With a poor sense of direction in dodging pine trees and saplings, she had little knowledge of her specific whereabouts, only that she fled from death. Details of the assailant, little more than off-the-rack raingear available at most department stores, offered no specific or identifying element. If she survived, she couldn’t point a finger in the direction to identify the killer.
He knows me, yet I’ve only been back in Portland a few weeks.
Life-and-death situations had never come her way sans a near-miss auto accident the prior week. Now, her breath heaved in great gulps, aided by terror as blind as her path. Nausea swirled in her gut and heaved acid into her mouth. The thunderous crash of her heart rivaled the storm’s fury.
In the distance, she heard Wendy’s cry cut short, followed by silence. Maybe she fell or maybe there’s a second creep. Still, the odds of survival were better since they ran in different directions.
An ominous chuckle preceded the sudden weight of the reaper’s emissary tackling her to the ground. Air whooshed from her lungs. Pain reverberated through her limbs and made every effort to move futile with the formidable mass centered over her spine.
The cold edge of steel grazed her neck in a loving caress.
“Hey, sweets. Wanna play? I think I deserve a little for the trouble you’ve caused. And just so you know…I would never have bothered you if you had taken a different path.”
Cold thin steel scraped her flesh over the minimal barrier of hair. What difference does my direction make?
She failed to recognize the raspy voice. “Fuck you.” There’s enough evidence to piece together what has happened to me.
“Why, that’s the nicest invitation I’ve had all night. Don’t mind if we do.”
“It wasn’t an offer, prick.” Something sharp and half buried in the dirt dug into her pelvic bone. A rock. A weapon I can’t reach while he’s pinning me to the ground. The knife faded from existence, replaced by breath that smelled of seafood and spice.
“I was hoping we’d have some alone time.” His body shifted, placing his knee over her spine.
She remained firmly wedged against the ground.
The prick of a needle in her neck and resultant warmth advised the evil shit came prepared with an undisclosed agenda. Even as her mind fogged, she couldn’t put the puzzle pieces together. Disjointed fragments of events thickened the icy helix wreathing her spine. He’d arranged to dispose of one woman but carried a hypodermic and knew her name.
Whatever the drug entering her body, it reduced the time to make good her escape. In her work life, she diagnosed death’s cause every day. Now, it would be someone else’s job to finesse the finer details of demise from her cold, waxy tissues.
Relaxing her muscles and adopting a boneless demeanor blistered every fiber of her consciousness with a fire that spread from one neuron to the next. Her instinct spoiled for a fight. The contradiction magnified the cold seeping into her body from the wet leaf detritus soaking her shirt and jeans.
The painful pressure bearing her into the dirt shifted. Rough hands pulled at her shoulder and waist to turn her even as evil’s dark gaze crawled over her skin. She shuddered at his triumphant grunt.
The sharp rock at her hip slid to the side in her roll. Whether destiny allowed her to grip the makeshift weapon tight or a random act of karma didn’t matter. With enough presence of mind to follow through in a stomach crunch, she aimed her fist at his face—jagged edge of rock facing out.
His flinch changed the point of impact and lessened the effect with the solid thunk and immediate spurting of blood. Fear and rage combined to drag the sharp cudgel down the side of his skull even as he withdrew.
He fell back on his haunches and applied pressure to the wound. “Fucking bitch! I wasn’t gonna on kill you, but I will now. Your body will still be warm enough to enjoy.”
The glimmer of sadism in his eyes promised agony before death. Here was a man who knew his business and had selected Remie for w
hatever psychotic reason crawled through the convolutions of his putrid brain.
Dazed, he shook his head, flinging bloody droplets of water.
Her uncoordinated response lacked specific direction with fuzziness dampening her ability to concentrate. She lunged up and hit him again, then again, until the force pushed him back to a supine position. Rain had slowed to a dribble yet slicked the leaves till they felt greasy and surreal.
With his hands raised to protect his face, and his knees bent to protect smaller bits, the killer limited her targets. When he groaned and went still, she took a steadying breath.
Eyes closed. Slow chest movement. He was alive and semiconscious.
Despite the circumstances, she couldn’t stomach killing another human being, even if he was psychotic. His body lay between her and the knife. It was his turn to breathe through the pain.
Extensive training gave her the ability to incapacitate without killing. I’ll immobilize him and send the cops back for him.
On hands and knees, she took a tentative crawling step to retrieve the knife but kept the rock tight in her grip.
He groaned and touched his forehead. His eyes remained closed.
A wave of dizziness warned that unconsciousness approached with the speed of adrenaline-laced blood racing through her veins. Her time to escape narrowed with each throb. The best option involved him disabled long enough for her to hide. The rest, she could figure out after her mind cleared.
The weapon was six feet away.
Her stomach’s dry-heave along with tunneling vision warned of decreasing blood pressure. There’s no time to waste. Sharp twigs mixed in the layer of dead leaves bit into her knees as she scrambled forward to continue her ground-level attack.
His face, the intended target, blurred, then doubled to present two targets, only one of which held substance. His head remained unscathed as her rock connected with soft earth, her fingers digging into the soil in defeat.
Determination hefted her rock again, this time connecting with the side of his skull. Despite lack of coordination, she achieved her goal and took a deep breath over the unconscious predator.
A surge of nausea warned of seconds to minutes left of compromised lucidity. She no longer saw the knife.
She raised the rock high, her thoughts flashing to Gena’s blood spurting over the steering wheel and dash. Her arm shook, but she couldn’t bring herself to strike again. Years of study ingrained the compulsion to preserve, not destroy. That humanity separated her from those she sought. She swiveled to head deeper into the woods. It wouldn’t take long to find concealment within the thick brush.
Her SUV promised temporary safety but would be the first place he’d look upon awakening. She wouldn’t stay conscious long enough to reach civilization.
Her next thought was to call out for Wendy. Better judgment kept her quiet. If the prick woke and decided to find the teenager, they could both end up dead. Wendy had a good head start. As long as the kid kept moving, she’d make it to town and send help.
The earth tilted when she stood, then rose up to meet her. Whatever was in the injection degraded her balance and distorted her vision. A nearby sapling provided stability to rise again.
Each blind fumbling run preceded a tumble that challenged her sense of direction. She could be running toward town or the nearby cliffs.
Normally when she went out at night, she took Buckeye. The overprotective collie mutt couldn’t have saved Gena, but he would’ve defended Remie to his dying breath. Earlier, it had occurred to insist the meeting take place at her farm, a safe haven.
Her first mistake entailed pegging Gena’s frenzied call to an overactive imagination. A dozen more ifs surfed her thoughts; all discarded in the damp, musty earth beneath her sodden tennis shoes squishing with each step.
In a half crouch, she pulled at the low branches of pines and saplings to gain distance between herself and the Honda’s carnage. Each time she stumbled, it took longer to rise with a shorter period before the approaching stupor forced her down.
The idea of stealth embodied a foreign reality in her fogged state. The best she could manage entailed avoiding deep scuffmarks along the forest floor.
Drizzling rain soaked her clothes and limited her darkening vision.
Between quiet gulps of air and studying the overgrown path before her, she listened for sounds of pursuit. When she could no longer trudge from tree to tree, she crawled, unable to feel the myriad tiny cuts on her skin.
Years ago, she’d played cops and robbers with neighboring friends. Evasive skills learned as a child softened her furtive movements. She had always played the cop and would’ve turned a young girl’s dream into reality if not for the premature death of her uncle.
The next time she tasted leaf litter, pain in her right flank prevented her from taking a deep breath. The fuzziness encroaching from the periphery meant she wouldn’t remain coherent long. A vital force, that instinct fighting for self-preservation, hammered with dispassion at her lack of self-control while deliberating on the killer’s words. What path should I have taken?
When her attempts to scrabble up on all fours instigated dizziness, she searched her surroundings for a place to hide. Graceful boughs of a long-needled pine provided the best opportunity to ride out the drugged sleep fast approaching. She prayed she would awaken. Without the energy to cover her tracks, she shivered at the unease prickling deeper under her skin.
Chapter Three
The pounding in his head rivaled the world’s largest drum-off competition. No ebb and flow or easing from one section into another with musical continuity, merely a loud constant hammering worthy of a diesel pile driver.
Oozing mud underneath him resembled the impermeable clay of his native Britain. Except blood rather than iron oxides tinted the soil. A glance at his watch advised little time had passed. This two-for-one job has turned into a boorish annoyance. He should be home working in his lab, not lying on the ground gazing at an umbrella of shivering leaves.
Palpating the hairline at his temple revealed a crumbly goo over the injury. Blood and dirt. With greater care, he feathered his touch over the wounds on his head and found the source of the leakage. Each had dried to leave trails of crusted hair over his scalp.
The rain had stopped during his artificial sleep to leave behind a soft breeze creating the background of creaking branches. Various clicking and rustling sounds bore witness to their struggle for position overhead. No telltale scuttle of creature, two-legged or four, urged him to move, leaving him a moment to organize his thoughts.
It offended his masculinity that a slip of a woman he’d already drugged obtained the upper hand. Worse yet, the greater shame lay in him losing control in deciding to kill her. Had he prevailed, he would have strangled her and ruined the plan he’d crafted with painstaking care. The thought of raping her stirred no excitement except to heighten her terror.
Blame for failing to silence the passenger didn’t lie entirely at his feet. It was a circumstance he hadn’t foreseen. The malware installed on Gena’s phone alerted him to her whereabouts and intended rendezvous with the pathologist. Maybe Gena hadn’t needed to call or text the passenger, which meant the two girls were probably close...perhaps dorm mates.
Dealing with Remie is more important. He’d known the pathologist, his ultimate target, was in league with the little thief. Their decade of friendship proved a happy circumstance that furthered his agenda.
Silencing the whore proved fun despite lacking the time to enjoy foreplay. As hard as he worked, it was difficult to find time to stop and enjoy life’s small pleasures. Shock value had prolonged the orgasmic bliss.
Since the passenger escaped, plan B went into effect. He always had a plan B. It would be inconvenient to track her down, but necessary in the long run. With a little extra time, he could enhance and complicate the game already begun.
The night’s sideways progress necessitated a reevaluation of the doctor’s known associates, for which he
couldn’t spare the time. It would also mean disposing of another body if he needed to hire outside help, someone who wouldn’t stand out in a crowd but young and lacking ethics. Someone he could manipulate.
Further internal debate led to another possibility he’d yet to explore. Tedious work should occupy the mass of uneducated and unmotivated peons who understood their station in life. The downside of hiring pawns incurred the liability of them not keeping a confidence. Once he effected his plan, the secrets he hoarded would no longer be his prison.
Before dawn, his two-for-one scenario would fulfill the first part of his strategy. First things first. Trudging to his feet was a chore, the fog in his mind clearing a little with each movement, accompanied with mind-bending pain.
After collecting his stolen treasures from Gena’s car, he would retrieve his flashlight and tool kit to find the medical examiner. She was due for a shock when she one day realized the grand plan. By then, it would be too late to retreat to her previous reality.
News of the pathologist’s relocation to Portland had been the last piece of the puzzle needed to secure his ultimate goal so long in the waiting. Soon, he’d have the greatest mind in the business under his control. It pissed him off that his research needed the assistance to secure the funding. The fact a rival had perfected the technique which eluded him would prove advantageous once incorporated within his lab.
It was a shame Remie wasted her talent in forensics’ work, scientific blasphemy. It shouldn’t take long to lure her away with the latest in technology and a few strangleholds on her willfulness.
The arranged auto accident last week yielded the bloodwork needed to synthesize the infected cells for tonight’s procedure. Injecting the modified cysts would present its own reward down the road, at the same time inducing terror and a need for comfort. A few well-placed bruises would deter discovery of his ultimate intentions. With careful monitoring, each day would bring a new dawning, a new horror to chip away at her confident façade.
McAllister Justice Series Box Set Volume Two Page 28