by Cathy Tully
She had to get help before he made good on his threat to return. Removing her phone from its hiding place, she swiped at it with twitchy fingers but got no signal.
A rustling noise came from outside the structure, and adrenaline coursed through her body, covering her with sweat. Moving was an effort, and a new wave of pain roiled through her belly, this time making her fear that she would soil herself.
“Hell no,” she said aloud, sounding braver than she felt. “Being poisoned and kidnapped is one thing. Being fodder for rats and snakes is another.”
The structure in which she found herself was not a prefabricated shed like the Dutch dollhouse in Bitsy’s yard but rather a shack constructed from panels of plywood screwed into a wooden frame. The air inside was thick with a moldy stink permeated her clothes and seemed to nest in her hair. She swiped the home screen on her phone to bring up a light. There had to be a weakness in the moldering wood.
Holding her breath, she considered the possibility of picking up some weird disease from an airborne fungus. During chiropractic school, she had studied pathology and microbiology, and the names of rare diseases tumbled through her brain. Microbes that hid in musty, disused places.
Coccidiomycosis.
Hantavirus.
The plague!
The rustling noise returned. She shivered and put thoughts of the plague aside. A thread of light streamed through a small chink in the wood, and she pressed her eye to it, searching for what could be making the rustling sound. Nothing moved in her line of sight, and the dirt path Billy had driven down showed no sign of their struggle. This spot was secluded, a perfect place to let poison do its work. She sagged and turned back to the darkness. Misery leeched into her body and soul. She would die alone, be erased from this earth permanently. Forgotten, even by Henry the Eighth. A tear dripped down her cheek.
But instead of depressing her, it made her angry.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” she said out loud and turned back to the darkness trying to work out how Billy had outsmarted her—and the police.
The arrangement he had with Anita, sharing the freezer space and visiting the Cantina on a regular basis, should have set off alarm bells in her mind. Not only was it odd, but it was the perfect excuse to get closer to Anita and administer the poison. Could he have put the poison in other drinks too? Had he shown up in the morning and slipped it in her coffee, something else she drank with gusto?
Susannah recalled Anita’s hand trembling as she drank her café con leche at the last PGBA meeting. Could Billy have poisoned her that morning? Was he in the kitchen with her, meeting her at the service entrance, bringing her fresh flowers with a side of poisoned iced tea?
No wonder Marcie was ornery all the time; she must have suspected that Billy had more than a business relationship with Anita. Hadn’t Zach pointed out that they frequently argued about it?
On knees burning from the scuffle on the hard earth, she crawled forward, scanning the walls with the light from her phone, searching for an opening. The corners were filled with spider webs, and she grimaced at the thought of crawling into a brown recluse, or worse, a black widow. A bite from either could interfere with her escape plans permanently. She bumped a dust-laden object, and it fell to the floor. Examining it in the light, she realized it was a three-legged collapsible camping stool, designed to be carried on a backpack. Picking it up, she held it out and flourished it like a sword. En garde, she thought, remembering the sword fights in the old Three Musketeers movies her Nana loved.
“This might work,” she told the darkness. Feeling braver, she stabbed it into the corner to clear the webs.
Remembering Bitsy’s complaints about how often she had to repair the wood of her raised beds due to dry rot, which was accelerated by the Georgia heat, she continued jabbing her way around the perimeter, poking with the plastic legs of the stool at the wood panels and prodding into the dirt floor, feeling for any softness. There had to be a way out. Musty air made her nose twitch, and she rubbed at it, her fingers tingling.
Sweat collected on her brow. It wasn’t only the humidity that was affecting her—the digitalis made her stomach sway and her head spin. But she kept at it until, in the corner of the shed, a crack revealed a spider’s web in which a bug wriggled and twitched, trying to get free. Like her, it was stuck in Billy’s web, but unlike her, it could wriggle its way out of here. She peered at the web and in the light of her phone, she noticed other strands of the web. Two familiar insects were snared within.
“Eureka!” Susannah yelled, brandishing her faux sword. “Termites and fire ants!”
Termites ate at the wood and turned it to sawdust. Fire ants loosened up the Georgia clay by creating an extensive network of tunnels and removing a sizable amount of hard-packed dirt. There had to be a weakness here that she could exploit.
She banged at the boards where they touched the ground. A corner of the wood gave way under her hand, and she collapsed in a hiccup of happiness.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
She had no strength left in her body. Freedom was only inches away, but hammering away at the rotted wood with the camp stool had exhausted her energy, and the opening she had made was barely the size of a tennis ball. Her mind raced.
An old rotting piece of wood could not beat her.
She felt a tickle. Termites were climbing on her arm, mocking her gargantuan size and inability to fit through cracks. Placing her feet against the rotting wood, she rested a moment.
“I don’t have an Ant-Man suit, but I can use my superior size to defeat you,” she taunted the bugs. Her voice sounded slurred, and she knew she had to rally her strength and get some medical help before the digitalis ended her. Leaning back, she kicked the wall with all her might. Her foot flew through the wood to the outside world.
Woo hoo, she thought, too drained to cheer. She slumped, her breath coming in short, heavy rasps. She counted to thirty and kicked again. Over and over, she kicked and rested, widening the opening bit by bit, until she came to the end of the rotted wood. It would give no more. She had managed to clear a small hole, possibly enough space for her head. Outside was an ant mound. She would have to brave their stings to tunnel under the plywood, like a cat squeezing under a fence.
Grabbing the camp stool, she began sawing back and forth in the earth, ants pouring onto the plastic legs and up her arm. She shook them away, their stings making her twitch and flail. She continued until the dip under the wall took shape as an actual hole in the earth. It was small and irregular, but it tunneled under the shed wall, and that was all that mattered.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she crawled, determined to ignore the ant bites until she was completely free. They were on her face, in her hair. She jammed her shoulders through, splinters of wood scraping her neck and back. Digging in with her elbows, she twisted her hips and pulled herself free. Flat on the ground, she brushed her face maniacally, rubbing and slapping at the insects.
Inching forward, she pulled her shirt over her head, shaking it to dislodge the stinging pests. Frantically, she wiped her face, arms, and legs. At last, the stinging ceased and she flopped to the earth, sweating. Except for the sound of the breeze rustling the trees, all was quiet. She grabbed her phone, stabbing at the screen with still-numb fingers.
“Nooo,” she moaned. There was no signal.
There were no towers out here—that’s why Billy had chosen this place. A sob escaped her. It must be an old hunting camp. Deep in the woods. No one would hear her, and no one would find her. Tears filled her eyes.
She was spent. He would win.
She closed her eyes and exhaled. A burning pain seared her ankle, and she propelled herself forward, slapping at a persistent pismire.
“No.”
She had gotten this far. He would not win.
She had to get away.
Susannah forced herself to stand. The effort made her dizzy, and she coughed weakly. Staggering to a thirty-foot pine, she leaned heavily, glanced in
to the woods, and chose a direction away from the road. She ambled on, dizziness and shortness of breath plaguing every step. After a few minutes, she could no longer see the shed. Increasing her pace, she moved as fast as she was able. Not knowing where she was or how deep in the woods this property lay unnerved her. If she had chosen the wrong direction, she would certainly perish alone.
“Okay, Larraine,” she mumbled, “your prayers are up. Help me find my way out of here.”
She carried on putting one foot in front of the other and touching each thin pine for support. Stumbling over a root, she lost her balance and slipped onto her knees. Bowing her head, she fought the urge to give up. She would take a brief rest. Only a few seconds to gather her strength.
The slam of a car door echoed through the trees. His words came back to her: “You’re much stronger than she was, and that was a small dose.”
Anita had survived worse and managed to keep moving, and so would she. Her knees ached as she pulled herself up and continued on, layers of pine needles slowing her as if she were in a bad dream. At last the light changed and she perceived a thinning of the trees. She was near the end of the wood!
Breath ragged, she faltered, listening for any sound that Billy was on her trail. The air here felt lighter, not heavy with musty pine, and was easier to breathe. She heard no human sounds and moved forward. A few labored steps and she stopped, blinking against the sun. A lone horse stood in a field a few yards off, chewing on a mouthful of grass. It eyed her and twitched its tail. Hope sprang to her heart. Civilization was near. She was safe.
The horse came closer, curious. He must have been familiar with human females covered in ant bites and sweat. Susannah wheezed in relief and reeled into the clearing, clung to a wooden fence post, and checked her phone.
No service.
She sagged, the muscles in her knees and thighs finally giving way. Holding the post, she sat heavily on the hard-packed earth. The field was deserted except for the animal, who had gone back to grazing. The sound of his lusty chewing filled the air. The area seemed familiar, and she shook her head, trying to make sense of what she saw.
“I know where I am,” she mumbled, raising her fist and pumping the air feebly. Susannah had ridden Ginger across this very field with Fiona. During that ride, she had seen a house yard with a row of crepe myrtle trees, and she searched for the vibrant color, trying to remember where that house had been. It was close to here. She was sure of it, but where?
The horse stared, not taking its eyes off her. She observed the animal as it chewed. Was this field part of the Long Branch Stable, or was her mind playing tricks?
“I’ve got to get outta here!” she told him. Large and intimidating, the horse looked like Shadow, Fiona’s mount. She recalled how spirited he was. He had ridden fast and kicked water up at them as he drank. Did she dare try to ride him?
“Nice horse,” she called as she crept under the fence, swallowing hard. Her whole body trembled, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the drug Billy had forced on her or from good old- fashioned fear. She stood and patted the animal gently. He shook his head, and she stepped back, suppressing an urge to flee. But she had to hang on. She couldn’t go much farther on foot. Even if this wasn’t Fiona’s property, she needed to use this animal to get away.
Her first obstacle was mounting a horse with no saddle or bridle. She forced herself to think. Fiona had told her that Shadow was obedient, and indeed the horse followed her lead as she maneuvered him toward the fence. Tentatively, she twisted her fingers in his mane, expecting him to balk, but he didn’t. She placed one foot on the fence and swung the other foot up, the field suddenly spinning, the horse tilting out from under her. She found herself on the grass, the sky whirling. Shadow stared down at her.
Vertigo.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she pawed her way back to the fence and used it to pull herself up, waiting for the spinning to stop. She breathed deeply, opened her eyes, and again approached Shadow, guiding him back to the fence. She repeated the process of mounting the animal; this time, she shut her eyes and gripped his neck with both hands. A wave of nausea shot through her, but she stayed on the horse’s back. A tiny triumph.
Without peeking, she had managed to straddle the animal and remain on his back. Focusing intently, she ignored a clicking sound that niggled at her brain. She couldn’t worry about a katydid landing in her hair; she had real problems here.
Twining her fingers into the horse’s mane, she centered herself, pleased that the animal had not fled across the field with her hanging off. She slitted her eyes, getting her bearings without the world spinning. Shadow stepped as the clicking intensified. A sharp kick should send him away from the noise and across the field.
“Stop right there.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Startled, Susannah twisted toward the voice, sitting up sharply as she saw the voice’s owner. Immediately, the field began to whirl. She plastered herself against the horse’s neck, eyes clamped shut, the image of Billy, red-faced and wild-eyed burned in her brain.
He had found her.
“Don’t move,” he growled.
She squinted as he raised the Glock and aimed it at her head. One foot on the fence, he extended his other hand toward Shadow, a small apple in his palm.
Susannah dug in her knees, unwilling to lose her seat. As if reacting to her tension, the gelding shifted away from the fence, tossing his head. Billy pursed his lips, emitting a series of soft clicks, which calmed the animal.
She felt her cheeks get hot. It hadn’t been katydids sounding in the field. Billy had been calling Shadow. Overwhelmed by the disorientation of her vertigo, she had completely misinterpreted the sounds. At that moment, she knew she had made the right call years ago to leave the police force. Her brothers’ opinion of her didn’t matter. Neither did Randy’s. She hadn’t been a bumbling officer. She had a condition that made her unable to function in certain situations and that could put others in danger. With the calmness of acceptance came the anger of being conned by this impostor. Her rage churned, and she held tight to Shadow, knowing that whatever it took, she would not leave this field with Billy.
He continuing the clicking, and Shadow slowed, turning to accept the apple, his muzzle getting so close that Billy placed his own head against Shadow’s neck, giving him a gentle hug that Marcie would have been jealous of. The apple disappeared in three crushing bites, and Shadow placed his nose under Billy’s chin in a familiar gesture. Billy patted Shadow and then held out his hand. The gun didn’t waver. “Your phone.”
Susannah froze, playing for time. If he wanted her phone, maybe there was a signal out here. “You took it away from me. Remember?”
“I met your ditzy friend Bitsy back at the fairground. When she told me she had been texting you, I went back to the store to look for it. Imagine my surprise when I couldn’t find it.”
Susannah blinked. Would he really shoot her here and take the chance of spooking the horse and having him run off with her?
As if he read her mind, he placed the pistol against Shadow’s muzzle. “Now! Or I’ll put a bullet through his brain.”
She extracted the device from her pocket, contemplating her options. She couldn’t allow him to harm the horse. Straightening her spine, defying the vertigo, she raised her hand. “You want it? Go get it.”
Before she could release it, the strains of “Girl on Fire” blared from its speaker. Shadow snorted and shook his head, slapping Billy’s gun askew. He patted at the horse, trying to calm him, but the volume of the music intensified, and the animal became more and more agitated. He took another wild step, and Susannah eyed the gun wavering in Billy’s hand. She stowed her phone and dug her fingers deeper into Shadow’s mane as he shook his head, smacking Billy in the face.
“Good boy, Shadow!” Susannah cried.
It was now or never!
She yanked the pistol from his hand as the music resumed, now even louder. Shadow reared, and she held on for
dear life as he clipped Billy in the face with his hoof. There was a sickening crunch, and blood spurted from his nose. He crumpled to the ground.
She wanted to cheer; instead, she kicked Shadow hard and fast with both feet. The horse took off. She thought about kicking him again, but that was not necessary. Once he was off, even the cessation of the music could not slow him.
Susannah hung on, bouncing out of sync with the horse’s gait as she desperately clung to the gun and Shadow’s mane, fearful that Billy would find a way to give chase. She spoke soothing words to Shadow, but he did not slow his pace. Over her shoulder she saw Billy, standing now. Would he pursue her? At this pace, he couldn’t catch the horse.
Suddenly the music blared again.
“Whoa, Shadow! Slow down, boy.” She tried to make kissy sounds to calm Shadow, but she didn’t have Billy’s talent as an equine traffic cop. He ran on with her laid flat along his spine, the warm air dusting her face. They crossed the dry grass, clods of orange soil flying behind them, the gun hot in her hand.
As they came over a knoll, Shadow slowed.
Three large horses galloped into view. Susannah dug into Shadow’s mane, her fingers stiff with fear, glad she held the gun.
Did Billy have accomplices?
She squinted at them as they closed in and understood immediately. A smile tugged at her lips. Bitsy sat atop a horse even larger than Shadow, one hand on the reins and the other waving her phone wildly.
“I found my friend,” she crowed, riding up and thrusting her phone, which displayed a map, under Susannah’s nose. She recognized the activated Find a Friend application on Bitsy’s phone.
Beside Bitsy, Fiona rode a black steed, and Roman rode just behind her.
Susannah blurted, “It was Billy, he’s still in the field!”