Day of Doom
Page 20
No time to hesitate, no time to press some cloth against the blood on her forehead, only time to wipe it out of her eyes. She jumped back on the marble box, grabbed the shovel by the long handle, and shoved it into the side of the grave, as hard as she could. The shovel fell out, the loose dirt unable to hold it. It had to go deeper.
“Help me, Dan!” He got behind her, and together, grasping the handle, they forced it tightly into the side of the earth. Dan held the shovel and nodded at her. His green eyes were bright against the dirt and blood mixed on his face.
“I’ve got you,” he told her. “Go.”
It had to be her, they both knew that. She was a rock climber, a scrambler, she knew how to find the tiny niches, how to plant her body against the wall and get up. She hoisted herself up on the shovel handle and dug her fingers into the earth, closing her eyes as she made a ledge for her fingertips. Dan yanked out the shovel and she hung there while he jammed it a foot higher. She heard him panting hard and fast. She tested the handle.
“Ready?”
“GO!” Dan grunted, and she used the handle to spring up, up to the top of the hole. Every muscle was straining, but she knew she could do it. Had to do it. Her hands smacked down over the edge. Her arm muscles quivered as she quickly scanned the cemetery. The man was now about fifty yards away. He was running toward the utility shed. Behind him another man emerged, holding a shovel.
Amy gathered every particle of strength she had and hauled herself over the edge. Her face hit the dirt. She had time to grab one breath — only one — before she found her feet.
Something made her attacker turn, some flicker at the corner of his eye, and he saw her. Both men spurted into a run. Straight at her.
She made a swift calculation. They were fast, much faster than she expected. There was no way she would have time to get Dan out. She had to lead them away.
She streaked down the hill. She felt the benefit of pushing herself through all those punishing runs. Dan had pointed out that they were safe now, she didn’t have to be quite so . . . intense, but Amy had found solace in those dawn runs. Now they would help her.
She led them down a sloping hill, leaping over gravestones. All the while she was searching frantically for help, her gaze sweeping the cemetery for any sign of people. They wouldn’t attack her if there were people around. She hoped.
She was almost at the Tolliver plot now. She had miscalculated. They were almost on top of her. How could they be so fast? She’d had such a big lead!
Amy leaped over a crumbling old headstone, and she felt rather than heard the displacement of air as the shovel was raised. With a sudden swerve, she doubled back and saw the second man’s look of surprise as she headed straight toward him with a classic spinning kick, right at his throat.
She connected hard.
Why didn’t he go down? He wasn’t even winded.
He just spun away and lifted the shovel, and she ducked at the last minute. It crashed down on the polished granite behind her. The wooden handle snapped, but the steel end of the tool cracked the edge of the stone.
VAN TOLLIVER
The sight of Evan’s desecrated stone gave her such a spurt of rage that she picked up the chunk of splintered rock and threw it at the man’s head. Blood spurted from his mouth. He smiled. She had a confused impression of eyes the color of the gravestones, blood streaking perfect white teeth.
He raised the splintered end of the handle. She dropped down behind Evan’s stone as the man charged. Evan would protect her, one last time.
The handle hit the stone and cracked, and she was off and running before he could grab it again. He was on her heels. She could hear his breathing. So close. She knew any second he would grab her hair, crash into her, and bring her down. . . . And now she saw the other one ahead of her, knees bent and ready, waiting for whatever direction she would choose to go. They would run her down, and for some reason that she would never know, they would kill her, and then they would go back for Dan.
Suddenly, she saw a car turn into the cemetery road, a bright red Toyota. It was the best sight in the world. People.
Amy veered at the last second and started down the hill, leaping over gravestones, waving her arms, and shrieking, “HEY!”
The car pulled over. A youngish woman got out. Amy was confused when, instead of helping, she began to take pictures of Amy with a long-lensed camera.
Another car pulled in. Now Amy was truly confused. Two men got out and began shooting her as well. What was going on?
Her attackers seemed to simply melt away. One moment they were right on her heels, and the next they were almost at a black car, walking quickly, like mourners eager to go home.
Amy turned and ran back toward McIntyre’s grave. She lay flat and looked down at Dan. “They’re gone. Are you okay?”
Dan’s face was a pale oval. She saw the strain around his mouth and knew how afraid he’d been that someone else would be returning. “Sure. I’ve been buried alive. Never better.”
“Wait. I’ll get a ladder.” She hurried down the hill to the utility shed. To her relief, there was a ladder leaning against the side. She hoisted it and quickly returned to Dan. Amy slid the ladder into the hole and a second later her brother clambered up.
“Do I look as bad as you do?” Dan asked. “Because you look like a zombie. Which I guess makes sense considering we just climbed out of a grave . . .”
A bright yellow Jeep turned into the cemetery, going too fast. Amy grinned. There was only one person she knew who could be late for a funeral and then speed in a cemetery. Nellie.
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e-ISBN 978-0-545-34472-2
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First edition, March 2013
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