by Sam Sisavath
She crawled out of the truck. The vehicle was buried deep enough in the woods that it was hidden from the highway nearby. The black paint would help to keep it mostly invisible for the rest of the night and early morning, though an alert passerby would easily spot it in the morning.
Have to finish it before then.
That was always the plan, anyway. She had always given herself one night to do everything she needed to do. After that, it might be difficult to keep the authorities at bay even in this part of the country.
Now all she had to do was find him, and then she could go back to her life. Or what passed for one. She was being overly generous calling it a life. Most of the past decade had been consumed with finding him, luring him, and killing him. After that…
Well, she’d figure that one out later.
Right now, there was just the hunt, and she swore she could smell his blood in the air. Was this what it was like for him when he stalked his prey? Was she slipping into his skin without realizing it?
That thought should have terrified her, but instead it gave her a surge of renewed energy.
She went back to her car and pulled the gym bag out of the backseat. She leaned the shotgun against the Ford and took out the black cargo pants and gray T-shirt and put them on. The black wool-knitted sweater finished off her wardrobe change, and she shoved the jeans and blouse into the bag. Finally, she swapped the leather loafers for a pair of black Nike sneakers.
She closed the car door and locked it back up, which made her smile when she saw the broken driver-side window.
The shotgun had six spare rounds in the shell carrier along its side, and she reloaded the weapon now. Then she swapped her large Maglite for a more portable version and grabbed a roll of duct tape from the bag. She fastened the flashlight against the barrel of the shotgun and wrapped it into place, then flicked it on.
One night to finish this.
Get it done!
It didn’t take very long to pick up his bloody trail. The Maglite was ridiculously bright, and she shone it across the woods just in case he had retraced his steps and attempted a full-frontal attack to reclaim the upper hand. That was unlikely, though; he was hurt and bleeding and was probably only armed with the knife, or otherwise he would have stayed and fought her if he had a gun on him. But it was better to be safe than sorry. Especially when she was dealing with a man who was more beast than human.
She started off, moving as quietly as she could while still picking up her pace with each step.
The world around her got darker the further she journeyed away from the highway. Without any source of light other than the moonlight and her LED beam to guide her, she became quickly aware of every sound around her, including the ones she made. She was at least comforted by the fact that she had it better than him. He hadn’t been carrying a flashlight when he made his escape, or at least none that she had seen.
And besides, she had the shotgun. It didn’t matter how big or fast or tough you were. Everyone was reduced to dead against a loaded shotgun. It was the reason she had chosen it instead of a handgun. Up close and personal, there was nothing more devastating.
She glanced at her watch: 9:16 P.M.
The loud rumbling of a vehicle behind her made her freeze in place and look over her shoulder. Bright lights flashed by along the road—just for a split second before the semitrailer disappeared up the state highway, taking its lights with it. She stayed still until the vehicle was little more than a slight hum in the universe…then it was gone, and she was once again alone with the woods and her slightly elevated breathing to keep her company.
She faced forward again and changed up her grip on the Remington. It was a heavy gun—almost eight pounds and eighteen inches long. The matted black color made it ideal for night hunting, and you wouldn’t know it existed until it started spitting fire. Dragon breath, the ex-cop who had trained her on the weapon called it. The most difficult part of firing a shotgun was the recoil. Learning how to quickly and efficiently rack it using the forend also took some effort. In the end, it was all about repetition and determination. Luckily, she had the time and willpower to commit both.
The blood splatter had no real trajectory, so she guessed he was just stumbling his way through the woods. Which made sense. Not allowing him to force her off the road two miles back had pulled him away from whatever plan he had set up. Maybe he had even picked out a place and gotten familiar with it.
That was the point, after all. They were both in unknown territory now, so that made them even.
Well, not really, because she had the shotgun.
She stopped again. The bloody drops had gotten smaller and were appearing at longer intervals. They had also started to take a noticeably right angle. She stood perfectly still and listened, trying to pick up any noise besides the chirping of birds above her and the scurrying of animals along the branches and among the bushes, reacting to her and his presence.
Nothing. There was nothing.
So where was he going?
Then she heard something that made her turn her head slightly.
It sounded like a laugh.
Or a chuckle.
A trick? Was he was lying in wait for her somewhere out there, hoping to draw her over?
He wasn’t stupid. Careless and too sure of himself, yes, but then she had gone to great lengths to put him into that state of mind. But most of it was probably his own doing: All those victims, all those times he had gotten away with it, no doubt played a heavy part in his overconfidence.
She had to be even more careful from this moment on. She had been operating on automatic pilot for the last few minutes, filled with bravado and thinking she was the hunter and not the prey. He could change all that in a heartbeat.
Besides, she could afford to be deliberate. She had a whole night to finish him off. How far could he go in his current state? He was a wounded animal, and from all the evidence she’d seen so far, she had gotten him pretty good. A hospital was out of the question. Gunshot wounds were reported to the police, and as much as she didn’t need the authorities out here screwing things up, he wanted that even less. Questions always led to more questions, and once the cops looked into his past, it would be game over regardless of how careful he had been over the last ten years.
No. This was going to end with one of them dead at the other’s hands. She knew that without a single doubt in her mind.
She started off again, this time at a slower pace, keeping her eyes moving and never on one spot for more than a second each time. Her ears were attuned to any and every noise around and above and to the sides of her.
He was out there, somewhere, and she would find him.
One night.
One night to finish this…
Chapter 4
He was getting progressively worse, and the dizzying spells were coming faster and lingered longer. His footing was more treacherous than he remembered from a few minutes ago and it took a lot of effort just to swing one leg forward, then start the process all over again with the other one.
Repeat, suck in a breath, and repeat again.
The entire time, he swore he could hear her coming.
So this is what it feels like to be hunted.
Again, he almost laughed out loud. But he couldn’t because that would take too much effort and he was simply too weak, even after he had lessened the blood loss. Or, well, had done his best to, anyway. It was hard to see where he was going and twice as difficult to know what he was doing. His hand could be at the wrong spot at this very moment, for all he knew.
He kept moving, because to stop now would be to die. And he didn’t want to die. He had too many things left to do, too many goals unfulfilled. And he so, so wanted to fulfill them.
So he stumbled, and staggered, and groped at trees to keep from keeling over. He couldn’t take his other hand away from his waist. That was the only thing keeping the rest of his life from pouring out to the damp ground in a big puddle of dead.
9:35 P.M.
Christ. That was it? How long had he been stumbling around in here? Apparently not very long. Go figure.
He pushed off the tree and took two steps forward when he heard the snap! of a twig and twisted around. Too fast (Christ, not again!) and a bolt of flesh-rendering electricity rippled across his body for the fifth time in as many…minutes? Seconds?
He grimaced through the pain and had to grab at a tree trunk—missed it, groped for it again, and managed to get a handhold on the third try.
He glanced back and stood perfectly still and listened.
Footsteps.
He was sure of it.
Getting closer!
He turned around and began running, ignoring the shooting pain because even that was better than getting shot.
Of course she had tracked him. How could she not? A blind man could have followed all the blood he had left in his wake. And as well prepared as she had been, it was a good bet she’d probably brought a flashlight along, too.
Come into my web, said the spider to the fly…
She had certainly baited him easily enough. But then, he had always been a sucker for a city girl. He just didn’t know she had come with a shotgun in the trunk. Though, he had to admit, even if he had known that…maybe…maybe he would still have gone for it. That was just the kind of guy he was.
He found himself smiling despite the pain.
Maybe, after all this time, he had finally found the one he was looking for. It was too bad she was trying to kill him. But then, what relationship didn’t have its problems, especially in the beginning? How could you hope to grow as a couple without weathering a rocky storm or two?
*
The light beckoned to him between two of the largest trees he had ever laid eyes on. Or maybe that was just the lightheadedness messing with his perception of things. Even the light could have been a figment of his imagination. He hoped not, because he could almost feel her catching up to him.
Thank God the light was very much real, and he had to blink a couple of times when they first hit his eyes: LED lightbulbs from the other side of a pair of windows facing a wide-open front yard.
He staggered toward the brightness, like a dying patient toward “the light.” Except this one wasn’t going to lead him “up there,” but rather “down there.” More than a dozen women, over the course of a ten-year career, had made damned sure of that.
As he got closer, he was able to make out the square shape of a log cabin, wider than it was tall, with a front porch. There was a white minivan parked out front. The yard hadn’t been tended to in a long time, which meant this was some kind of summer retreat. This area of the country was filled with hunters, some of who didn’t really follow hunting season rules.
He braced against one of the trees for a moment to look the property over.
A dirt road led to the front door of the cabin, where he could see silhouetted shapes moving across one of the living room windows. That would explain the voices he could just barely hear coming from inside—
Snap! from behind him again.
Still far away, but she was getting closer.
He pushed off and stumbled out of the tree line and toward the cabin.
The minivan had out-of-state plates, which was a good sign. Out-of-towners might not know about the things he had done, regardless of how much time had passed since the last time he had been in the news. The windows were tinted so he couldn’t see inside the vehicle, and when he tried the driver-side door, it wouldn’t budge. The passenger side and side hatch also wouldn’t move when he pulled at them.
He smirked. Of course it was too much to hope for a getaway car with a key still in the ignition. Then again, he had always been the optimistic type, so why stop now?
He turned his attention to the cabin instead.
Halfway to the front door, he unzipped his black jacket to expose the khaki-colored shirt and black tie underneath. He didn’t bother fixing his hair or wiping the sweat and traces of blood off his face. All of that would add to the sales pitch he had coming up.
He climbed the three steps up the porch, each one flimsier than the last. Rotten wood, no doubt from lack of maintenance, creaked under him. The state of the cabin’s exterior didn’t look like anyone regularly visited this place, which meant he was definitely dealing with out-of-towners. Even better if they were kids taking the old man’s (or uncle’s) cabin for a spin.
Voices floated through the cracks in the doorframe and windows as he neared.
Definitely young people. Maybe early twenties.
He suddenly remembered the knife in his hand and paused to slip it back into its nylon sheath strapped to his left hip. He took a breath before knocking once on the door, then glancing over his shoulder to make sure she hadn’t caught up to him yet, turned around and knocked a second time.
How many minutes did he have on her? One? Two? Five? Maybe just seconds—
The door opened and a young woman—blonde and green-eyed, with marvelous legs under white shorts despite the chilly evening—peered out at him from the partial opening. She had smartly kept the chain in place, but he could see enough of her to know she was definitely his type.
Twice in one day. This must be my lucky night.
“Jesus,” she said before turning and shouting, “Wade! There’s a guy here, and he’s bleeding all over your porch!”
He couldn’t help but grin to himself. The girl had a way of getting right to the point.
A twenty-something man with short brown hair (Wade, I presume) appeared promptly behind the blonde and peered out at him. “Holy shit, man, you okay?”
“No,” he said. “I’m definitely not okay.”
Then he casually brushed the sides of his jacket back to reveal the perfectly round emblem with a silver star in the middle.
“You a cop?” Wade asked, staring at the badge pinned to his shirt.
Captain Obvious, this kid.
“My name’s Beckard,” he said. “I’m a state trooper, and I need your help. There’s a crazy woman with a shotgun right behind me.”
Chapter 5
The trail of blood led her all the way to a clearing, but even before she reached the edge, she could already see the bright LED lights filtering through the line of trees. She instinctively clicked off the flashlight duct taped to the barrel of the shotgun so it wouldn’t give away her position.
A minivan sat in the front yard of a log cabin. There were two windows, both splashed with bright lights, and she could make out figures moving on the other side of one of them. She traced the blood to the minivan, where, judging by the circling pattern of the drips, she guessed he was hoping to find a way into the vehicle. Not finding one, he had decided to go to the cabin instead.
A cabin meant people—even all the way out here, far from the highway—and she didn’t need people right now. She had hoped to have a full night to hunt him down and finish it, but that wasn’t going to happen now.
So stop bitching about it and adapt. You trained for this, remember?
She darted out of the woods and to the side of the van, keeping as low as possible to avoid detection. The black clothes helped, and though she had tied her hair in a ponytail, it was still blonde, which made it stand out in the darkness.
The side of the minivan was cold against her back even through the sweater and T-shirt underneath. She moved alongside it and peered into a back window but couldn’t make out very much through the tinted glass. If he hadn’t seen anything worthwhile in there, it was doubtful there would be anything for her to find, so she moved on to the cabin just as he had…how long ago? How much of a head start did he have on her?
At least ten minutes, maybe more…
She he
ard voices and moved quickly to the side of the closest window.
There was definitely more than one voice, which meant he wasn’t the only one inside the cabin. Which made sense. Someone had to have come in the minivan.
So how many? That was the question. How many civilians did she have to deal with? And how would they react to a woman in black barging in on them with a loaded shotgun?
Can’t be helped. Gotta finish it tonight.
First, she stood quietly in the darkness and listened.
At least two men, including him, along with a woman’s voice. Maybe a girl. Young.
She moved closer to the window and peered in from the side.
Sonofabitch.
He was inside, all right, and he was wearing a state trooper’s uniform. Just the khaki shirt and brown pants. The shirt was partially unbuttoned, the tail pulled out of the waistline, and he was sitting in a chair as a young brunette tended to him. Another woman, a blonde, stood next to a young man with brown hair and watched. They all looked in their early twenties, which made him stand out even more.
He was grimacing as the brunette dabbed at the buckshot wounds in his side. She was treating it with some kind of ointment before taking a roll of gauze tape and wrapping it around his waist. The girl seemed to know what she was doing. It was just her luck he would stumble into the arms of a paramedic. Or a medical student. Something medical-related, probably.
She pulled back and stood against the wall, gathering herself. She could feel the heat from inside pulsating through her sweater.
What to do, what to do?
She was so close. And he was injured; a wounded animal. All that was left was to go inside and finish him off. Put him out of his misery. It was the humane thing to do. Civilization would thank her for it.
So go do it already.
She unclutched and clutched the Remington.
It would be easy. She had the weapon. What would three twenty-something kids do against that? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. She could try to convince them, but that might prove fruitless. She would have to spin one hell of a story, and there was too much background to fill them in on. It would take all night.