Drew moved her weight from her right leg onto her left. She realized she couldn’t maintain this level of vigilance the entire night. Eventually, she’d have to move. She could either try to escape or take her chances in a firefight.
The handgun and more shotgun shells were in the safe that sat in the master bedroom closet. It would be possible, if she was careful and fast, to make it to the gun safe. But she knew that if he was chasing her or shooting at her, she wouldn’t have enough time to open the safe, unbox shells, load them, and return fire. She wasn’t an action hero.
Drew saw something fly into the window and her whole body tensed. She squeezed the trigger and fired her last shot. A log crashed into the kitchen. It fell onto the table. Glass went flying everywhere. Her shot had hit the wall above the window. She’d not only fired her last round, she’d missed what she was aiming for.
“Drew, I don’t want to hurt you. Put down the gun. You and I need to talk. I have you trapped. Your boyfriend isn’t coming. Nobody is coming. I can wait you out, Drew. I once sat outside a little hut in the middle of the jungle for forty-eight hours. I was eaten alive by mosquitos, had no food, and only one canteen of water for two days. I pissed in my own pants, Drew, because I couldn’t move. Had to sit perfectly still. Are you ready to do that? Drew? Are you going to sit there and piss yourself?”
Drew was silent. She felt tears running down her cheeks, but she remained quiet. She kept the shotgun aimed at the window even though she had no ammunition. She considered going to the knife drawer to the right of the sink. But a kitchen knife? She told herself she was being ridiculous.
“Please.” She tried to maintain her composure and not betray the fact she was crying. “Please leave. I don’t want this. I won’t talk. I won’t say anything about anything. Please, just go.”
“You know I can’t just leave. But if you put down the gun and talk to me, if we have a rational discussion, Drew, and we talk this through, then I’ll go. I won’t hurt you. I promise. Boyd, he’s a good guy. You probably know that. Don’t you? He’s already told me not to hurt you. Really, that’s the God’s honest truth. But I can’t trust you right now, not with that gun in your hand. Put the gun down. Let’s talk.”
Drew considered his proposal. She lowered the gun. “Did you hurt my friend?”
“Put the gun down, Drew. Put it down, and I’ll tell you.”
“No, tell me first.”
“He got away.”
She considered whether this could be true. She couldn’t tell if it sounded more like a lie or more like the truth. “Did you try to hurt him?”
“No, Drew. I just wanted to talk to him. That’s all. I think he got scared and drove off. Maybe he’s back in Bristol. Maybe he’s too scared to come up here in the dark.”
“He’ll tell people what happened if you hurt me. So you should leave. Just leave me alone.”
“Yes, if he’s alive. If he’s alive, he’s in Bristol right now. Maybe he’s gone to the police. Maybe he’s gone to the press. Maybe, if that’s the case, I’ll need you to disappear. Maybe you’re better off assuming he’s gone, Drew. Have you considered that?”
“Did you kill my friend? You fucking prick.”
“Maybe. Maybe he’s still alive. Maybe he was driving too fast, and maybe he took a corner too fast, and maybe, he had an accident. I couldn’t say, Drew.”
Drew realized she had little time to decide what to do. He was right. She wasn’t going to sit here for days and piss herself. She didn’t have ammo in her weapon. She was already tired. The adrenaline rush she’d had was now causing her muscles to ache. She wasn’t dressed for being outdoors. With the front door wide open and the kitchen window shot out, the inside of the cabin was approaching the outside temperature. It was cold, and it was going to get colder. There wasn’t snow in the forecast, but overnight temperatures would drop below freezing. With the cabin open, she might as well be outside.
She decided to move. No matter what happened, she didn’t want to get stuck inside the pantry. If she stayed, she’d get so sleepy and so cold that she’d be too vulnerable to defend herself.
She moved slowly out of the pantry. She kept the weapon aimed at the window. Once Drew made it to the edge of the kitchen, she panicked and sprinted across the room. Her muscles were jolted again with adrenaline. Her chest felt like a woodpecker was beating on it. She made it to the hallway and spun around. She pointed the shotgun back the way she’d come. Nobody was there. The man hadn’t followed her. She backed up into the hallway and formulated a plan.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Courage cannot be counterfeited. It is one virtue that escapes hypocrisy.
~ Napoleon Bonaparte
The ancients respected and honored their fallen foes. In the modern world we say, “They got what they deserved.”
~ Brandon Hull
Brandon Hull sat outside in the cold. He was dressed in enough layers to stay warm all night if required. He had protein bars and water. He was uninjured. He could wait. He didn’t want to burn the place down, at least not yet. He didn’t want the authorities showing up. A potential forest fire would cause that.
Drew’s previous shot had hit the wall above the window right after he’d thrown the log. Her aim was off, but he wasn’t going to walk into her field of fire and hope she missed. He would wear her down. He was patient. She wouldn’t last the night. That was certain. “Drew, talk to me,” he said through the broken window. No answer. He waited a few more minutes. He listened for movement but didn’t hear anything. Another minute passed. Then two.
Hull moved to the corner of the cabin to ensure she wasn’t trying to escape out a back window. She was not, so he picked up another log. He repeated what he’d done before. Only this time, he threw the log with more force. With no glass and a stronger throw, the log flew deeper into the kitchen. He hoped to flush her out. The log crashed into the kitchen. No return fire this time. Maybe she moved.
No more assumptions about her. She could still be sitting in the pantry with her finger on the trigger. Maybe she was smart enough not to panic when he’d repeated the distraction with the log. One thing he knew with complete confidence: He didn’t want a hole in his chest.
“Drew, I’m losing my patience.” Hull listened. Nothing. She wasn’t talking. There were no sounds of movement. He moved to the left side of the window. He removed his flashlight from his belt and used it to tap the broken window frame. Nothing. He didn’t draw any fire. Shit.
He didn’t want to sit there all night. He needed to make a decision about how much risk to take. He raised himself to a half standing position and leaned in. He glimpsed into the kitchen. He jumped back into a defensive position on instinct, but he hadn’t seen her. She hadn’t fired a shot at him. She had definitely moved. He looked into the living room. Nothing. No sign of her.
Hull went to the front door. He peered in and then moved back. Instinctively, quickly, and defensively. He drew no fire. He saw nothing. He moved his gun into a two-handed position in front of his body, and he stepped into the house. He was vulnerable now. If she jumped out and fired at him, he might not have time to duck. He kept the gun pointed at the hallway door, assuming she’d fled that way, but he moved towards the kitchen.
He never allowed himself to be flanked from the rear. He moved into the kitchen. He was ready to duck and return fire if she was still there. Drew wasn’t in the pantry. He went into the living room and assumed she could be anywhere ready to shoot him.
She wasn’t in the hallway. It was very dark with the only light coming from a pair of kerosene lanterns sitting in the front room. He could make out three doors in the hall and what appeared to be an opening in the floor at the opposite end. It was an entrance to what he assumed was a basement or cellar.
The shotgun was lying on the floor next to the ladder that provided the way down. She’d left the shotgun there. Either she’d panicked crawling down, he’d shown up just as she was dropping hersel
f down, or she’d abandoned it in favor of another weapon.
Maybe she’d run out of ammo? He couldn’t assume she was no longer armed. But why had she left it there? A trap? How strategically could she be thinking? She had to be terrified.
He didn’t want to be a silhouette as he moved down the hallway, so he went back and turned off both lanterns. There was a faint glow from the fire, but it was dark enough to prevent him from becoming a shadow.
Hull moved with caution, but without fear, towards the first door. He brought up the gun coupled with his flashlight and leaned into the doorway. He was prepared to jump back or fire his own weapon. He wasn’t as worried now about getting shot. She’d left the shotgun behind. Firing a handgun at someone while being scared and inexperienced was nearly always a miss. Even at close range.
He didn’t see her in the bathroom. He moved on to the closest bedroom door. It was beyond the bathroom on the same wall. He went through the same exercise. She wasn’t in the bedroom unless she was in the closet or under the bed.
Fuck it. He fired three shots. Twice into the closet and once into the bed. If she was hiding, he’d flush her out. Or hit her. Fucking cunt.
“Drew, I’m done being nice. If you come out now, I’ll kill you quickly,” he shouted. “Drew, goddamn it. If I have to hunt you down, I’m going to fucking fuck you. That’s my price. If I have to hunt you down, I’m going to reward myself with your sweet little ass.”
Hull was lying. He would never rape. He was a professional. He was protecting the country. He had no problem with using the threat. He wanted her unhinged.
He still preferred plan A: Take her to the bridge and put her in the car. That was the best plan. But if he shot her, he’d deal with it.
He realized he was nervous. He didn’t appreciate being a target. He didn’t like feeling hunted, being stalked, or having someone lying-in-wait for him.
Bitch. If she had a weapon and was in this room, she’d have fired back. She’s not afraid to fire back. Hull kept his weapon out and looked under the bed. She wasn’t there. He checked both sides of the closet. No Drew. Not alive, not dead, not injured.
He went to the next bedroom. “Drew! I swear if you keep this up…” He looked into the room. “I’m getting really fucking pissed. Come out right now and I won’t hurt you.” He fired his weapon into the closet twice. He fired twice into the bed. “Goddamn you, Drew. Come out.”
He fired the remaining round into the floor. He waited. No movement. He dropped the clip and reloaded. He was allowing his anger to get the better of him.
He knew she wasn’t a soldier. He knew she wasn’t counting his shots. And even if she had, she had no idea which model Glock he was carrying. Ten rounds, nine rounds, thirteen rounds? He was not worried she was going to jump out and shoot him while he was changing clips. But he chastised himself for being sloppy. Standing here for even a second without a clip in his weapon was bad form. A mistake. Mistakes cost lives. She was getting to him.
Part of this went back to Boyd. Hull realized he was pissed off that the Congressman’s dick had put him in this position. A place he could be killed.
He was absolutely committed to killing her now. Or die trying. What he couldn’t accept, what he would not accept, was getting injured and allowing her to escape.
Hull checked the closet with his weapon raised and a bullet chambered. He was back on his game. Focused. He reminded himself that he was the professional here.
She wasn’t in the closet or under the bed. No windows had been opened. She hadn’t left the house. She must be in the basement. There was nowhere else to hide.
He went back to the closet and looked at the gun safe that was inside. She probably hadn’t had time to come in here and get another weapon, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t brought out more than one gun in the first place.
He made his way back into the hallway, first peering out the door and making sure she hadn’t snuck up while he was checking the closet for her body. She had to be in the house. She must be in the basement. He shut off his flashlight and walked towards the hole that led down to the root cellar.
It was dark in the hallway, but the cellar was darker. Pitch black, not a trace of light. Which meant, as dark as it was out here, he’d still cast a shadow from the fireplace that glowed behind him.
“Drew.” His voice was exasperated and tired. “I’m going to get you. I know you are down there. Come out. Hands out, where I can see them. I’m a reasonable guy. I was just trying to scare you with that talk about rape. I’m sorry. Really, this has gone too far. I’m willing to make you a deal. Come out.”
There was no answer. He waited. He listened. No sounds came out of the cellar. No movement. Silence.
He picked up the shotgun and pointed it at the ceiling. He pulled the trigger. Click. “Only three rounds, Drew? Not very smart.”
He tossed the shotgun down the hall and looked at the fire. He was sure now that she didn’t have a another firearm. She’d have fired in the direction of his voice if she had. But that didn’t mean she didn’t have a lead pipe or an ax.
“Drew? I’m going to get a kerosene lantern. Do you know what it’s like to be lit on fire? Drew? Are you listening to me?”
Hull walked out into the living room and picked up a lantern. He knocked off the glass cover and twisted the knob to reveal more of the wick. He walked to the fireplace and placed the wick into the coals. He headed back towards the cellar with the lantern’s extended wick burning and smoking. It cast shadows that jumped as he walked. He started talking about Vietnam with a cold, slow voice.
“In Vietnam we used a flamethrower. Sometimes there was nobody in those tunnels, not near the entrance, anyway. But sometimes, oftentimes, there were. The lucky ones, they were the ones that died right away. Some ran out, their clothes on fire. We’d shoot them immediately. They were lucky too. But some of them, Drew, some of them had tried to escape deeper into the tunnel system. We’d find them, sometimes barely alive. Suffering. Roasted to a crisp like barbecued pork, but not dead yet. Wishing they were dead. It was God-awful, the smell, the screams. The crying. If we were feeling calm and if we’d not lost anyone that morning, we’d usually put a bullet into their brains right there and then. Most of the time. But sometimes, no, sometimes we’d be worked up. Maybe we’d lost a couple men, or maybe we’d gone a day without sleep. Those times we’d sit and watch. We’d watch those gooks suffer. They be writhing in pain, unable to run, unable to move. We could see the hopelessness in their eyes. Occasionally, we’d see tears. Sometimes defiance. It didn’t matter. We’d watch them die. Slowly and painfully. If we had to move out, we’d open up their bellies with a field knife. Cussing at them, we’d tell them, they never should have fucking started this war. The bastards.”
Hull stood over the cellar. “Are you willing to burn to death, Drew?”
There was no answer. Hull tossed the kerosene lantern into the hole and stood back. He heard it hit the floor. The glass smashed. Kerosene didn’t explode like gasoline, but it did burn. Smoke and flames rose up from the cellar. There wasn’t anything else catching fire. Only the fuel burned.
She didn’t come scrambling up the ladder. No screams. No weapon firing. Nothing.
Hull waited until the flames were nearly gone. He held his flashlight in his left hand pointed up towards the ceiling and in his other hand was the Glock. He had lost his patience. He started climbing down the ladder like a rat going into the hold of a ship. Quick, nimble, with a purpose. He wanted to get to the bottom before she recovered from the shock of the fire.
She had to be scared. She must have hidden from the flames. She was probably in a corner covered under a blanket. Nobody wanted to burn to death.
As Hull made the last step down into the root cellar, he put all his weight onto his right leg. A loud snapping noise registered in his brain about a microsecond before his brain registered the worst pain he’d ever experienced. His scream echoed throughout the hous
e. He sounded like a large bear being tortured.
CHAPTER FORTY
The dark dangerous forest is still there, my friends.
~ Fritz Leiber
When someone is shooting at you, there is no time to be afraid.
~ Drew Stirling
Drew Stirling had three assets that saved her life: She was petite, she was skilled in yoga, and she was good at solving puzzles. She didn’t stand a chance in a gun battle. She decided instead to create a trap.
She knew she was planning to capture an animal, and this brought to mind the idea of setting the bear trap at the bottom of the ladder. Then she needed to hide, but not in the cellar. The last thing she wanted was to be trapped down there in the pitch black.
Drew set the shotgun on the floor and doubled back to the bathroom. She crawled into the sink cabinet. She bent her flexible body into the tight space and hoped it would conceal her. She closed the cabinet doors a few moments before she heard him shout, fire his weapon, and make ugly threats.
When she heard the man scream, she ran. She made it outside into the dark. Into the cold. She was too afraid to stop for anything. She leapt from the porch, skipping the steps, and ran away from the screaming. She could hear him even as she passed the front porch.
“Jesus fucking Christ. I’m going to kill you. You fucking bitch. Cunt. Whore. You-will-pay-for-this.”
Drew nearly ran into his car in the dark. She went for the door handle. It was locked. She tried the other doors. Locked.
Then she heard the blast of a gun. The front windshield cracked. She dropped to the ground and rolled. She looked back at the cabin. She could see his silhouette in the doorway.
Undressed To The Nines: A Thriller Novel (Drew Stirling Book 1) Page 16