Missing You
Page 93
Kat was walking slowly through the trees, when up ahead, she saw the flames.
• • •
Dana managed to get another box open when she heard Brandon shout:
“Mom! Don’t come this way! Run!”
She froze at the sound of her son’s voice.
Then she heard Titus: “Dana? I have your son.”
Her whole body began to shake.
“Come out or he will suffer.”
Dana almost dropped the heavy door, but the first woman she’d helped was suddenly beside her. The woman took the door from Dana and let it drop to the ground. Someone inside the box groaned.
Dana started toward the path.
“Don’t,” the woman whispered to her.
Confused, dazed, Dana turned toward the voice. “What?”
“You can’t listen to him. He’s just playing games with you. You need to stay here.”
“I can’t.”
The woman put her hands on Dana’s cheeks and made her look her straight in the eye. “I’m Martha. What’s your name?”
“Dana.”
“Dana, listen to me. We need to get the rest of these boxes open.”
“Are you out of your mind? He has my son.”
“I know that. And once you show yourself, he’ll kill you both.”
Dana shook her head. “No, I can save him. I can make a trade—”
Titus’s voice cut through the night like a reaper scythe. “Okay, Dana, listen to this.”
The two women turned as the gunshot blasted through the still night air.
Dana’s son’s scream got lost in her own.
Before she could react more, before she could surrender and save her son, this woman—this Martha—tackled her to the ground.
“Get off me!”
Martha stayed on top of her. Her voice was remarkably calm. “No.”
Dana bucked and fought, but Martha held on with everything she had.
“He’ll kill you both,” Martha whispered in her ear. “You know that. For your boy’s sake, you can’t run out there.”
Dana started twisting and turning in panic. “Let me go!”
And then Titus’s voice again: “Okay, Dana. Now I’m going to shoot his other knee.”
• • •
Kat was moving forward a few trees at a time, making sure per protocol that she stayed out of sight, when she heard the man threaten Brandon.
She needed to move faster.
A few second later, when Kat heard the gunshot and Brandon’s scream, she tossed all protocol to the wind. She veered from the woods onto the main drive where she could run at full speed. She would, of course, be easy pickings if anyone saw her, but that didn’t seem like such a big deal right now.
She had to save Brandon.
Her gun was in her right hand. Her breath echoed in her ears as though someone had pressed seashells against them.
Up ahead, she saw the SUV. A man holding a gun stood next to it. Brandon was on the ground, writhing in pain.
“Okay, Dana,” the man shouted. “Now I’m going to shoot his other knee.”
Kat was still too far away for a shot. She yelled, “Freeze!” without slowing down her sprint.
The man turned toward her. For a half second, no more, he looked perplexed. Kat kept running. The man swung the gun toward her. Kat dove to the side. But the guy still had her in his sights. He was about to pull the trigger when something made him stop.
Brandon had grabbed his leg.
Annoyed, the man pointed the gun toward Brandon.
Kat was ready now. She didn’t bother shouting out another warning.
She pulled the trigger and saw the man’s body fly backward.
• • •
From a spot midway through the path, Reynaldo was able to hear the screams in stereo. From behind him, the sound came from the boy who’d just been shot. In front of him, he heard the more anguished cry of a mother who was paying the price for trying to escape.
Now he knew for certain where she was.
The boxes.
He wouldn’t let her escape again.
Reynaldo rushed down into the clearing that he had called home for these many months. It was dark, but he had the flashlight. He cast the beam to his right, then his left.
Dana Phelps was lying on the ground about twenty yards away. There was another woman—it looked like Number Eight—on top of her.
He didn’t ask why Number Eight was out of the box or how. He didn’t call out or give them any kind of warning. He simply raised his gun and took aim. He was about to squeeze the trigger, when he heard a guttural, primitive shout.
Someone jumped on his back.
Reynaldo stumbled, dropping the flashlight but holding on to the gun for dear life. He reached behind him, clawing for whoever was on his back. Someone else picked up the flashlight and struck him in the nose. Reynaldo howled in pain and fear. His eyes watered.
“Get off me!”
He reared back, trying desperately to buck the person off his back. It didn’t work. An arm snaked around his enormous neck and started to squeeze.
They were everywhere, swarming all over him.
One bit his leg. Reynaldo could feel the teeth digging into his flesh. He tried to shake his leg loose, but that just made him lose balance. He teetered before falling hard to the ground.
Someone jumped on his chest. Someone else grabbed his arm. It was as if they were demons coming out of the dark.
Or out of the box.
Panic engulfed him.
The gun. He still had the gun.
Reynaldo tried to raise his gun, tried to blast all these demons straight back to hell, but someone was still holding his arm down.
They wouldn’t stop attacking him.
There were four of them. Or five. He didn’t know. They were relentless, like zombies.
“No!”
He could make out their faces now. There was the bald man in Number Two. The fat guy in Number Seven. That man from Number Four had joined in too. Someone smashed him in the nose with the flashlight again. The blood started flowing down into his mouth. His eyes started rolling back.
With a desperate roar, Reynaldo started pulling the trigger on the gun. The bullets dug harmlessly into the ground, but the shock and suddenness made whoever was holding his arm loosen their grip.
One last chance.
Reynaldo used all his strength to pull free.
He swung his gun up in the air.
In the light of the moon, Reynaldo could see the silhouette of Dana Phelps rising above him. He started to take aim, but it was too late.
The axe was already on its way toward him.
Time slowed.
Somewhere in the distance, Reynaldo heard Bo bark.
• • •
Dana managed to get another box open when she heard Brandon shout:
“Mom! Don’t come this way! Run!”
She froze at the sound of her son’s voice.
Then she heard Titus: “Dana? I have your son.”
Her whole body began to shake.
“Come out or he will suffer.”
Dana almost dropped the heavy door, but the first woman she’d helped was suddenly beside her. The woman took the door from Dana and let it drop to the ground. Someone inside the box groaned.
Dana started toward the path.
“Don’t,” the woman whispered to her.
Confused, dazed, Dana turned toward the voice. “What?”
“You can’t listen to him. He’s just playing games with you. You need to stay here.”
“I can’t.”
The woman put her hands on Dana’s cheeks and made her look her straight in the eye. “I’m Martha. What’s your name?”
“Dana.”
“Dana, listen to me. We need to get the rest of these boxes open.”
“Are you out of your mind? He has my son.”
“I know that. And once you show yourself, he’ll kill you both.”
Dana shook her head. “No, I can save him. I can make a trade—”
Titus’s voice cut through the night like a reaper scythe. “Okay, Dana, listen to this.”
The two women turned as the gunshot blasted through the still night air.
Dana’s son’s scream got lost in her own.
Before she could react more, before she could surrender and save her son, this woman—this Martha—tackled her to the ground.
“Get off me!”
Martha stayed on top of her. Her voice was remarkably calm. “No.”
Dana bucked and fought, but Martha held on with everything she had.
“He’ll kill you both,” Martha whispered in her ear. “You know that. For your boy’s sake, you can’t run out there.”
Dana started twisting and turning in panic. “Let me go!”
And then Titus’s voice again: “Okay, Dana. Now I’m going to shoot his other knee.”
• • •
Kat was moving forward a few trees at a time, making sure per protocol that she stayed out of sight, when she heard the man threaten Brandon.
She needed to move faster.
A few second later, when Kat heard the gunshot and Brandon’s scream, she tossed all protocol to the wind. She veered from the woods onto the main drive where she could run at full speed. She would, of course, be easy pickings if anyone saw her, but that didn’t seem like such a big deal right now.
She had to save Brandon.
Her gun was in her right hand. Her breath echoed in her ears as though someone had pressed seashells against them.
Up ahead, she saw the SUV. A man holding a gun stood next to it. Brandon was on the ground, writhing in pain.
“Okay, Dana,” the man shouted. “Now I’m going to shoot his other knee.”
Kat was still too far away for a shot. She yelled, “Freeze!” without slowing down her sprint.
The man turned toward her. For a half second, no more, he looked perplexed. Kat kept running. The man swung the gun toward her. Kat dove to the side. But the guy still had her in his sights. He was about to pull the trigger when something made him stop.
Brandon had grabbed his leg.
Annoyed, the man pointed the gun toward Brandon.
Kat was ready now. She didn’t bother shouting out another warning.
She pulled the trigger and saw the man’s body fly backward.
• • •
From a spot midway through the path, Reynaldo was able to hear the screams in stereo. From behind him, the sound came from the boy who’d just been shot. In front of him, he heard the more anguished cry of a mother who was paying the price for trying to escape.
Now he knew for certain where she was.
The boxes.
He wouldn’t let her escape again.
Reynaldo rushed down into the clearing that he had called home for these many months. It was dark, but he had the flashlight. He cast the beam to his right, then his left.
Dana Phelps was lying on the ground about twenty yards away. There was another woman—it looked like Number Eight—on top of her.
He didn’t ask why Number Eight was out of the box or how. He didn’t call out or give them any kind of warning. He simply raised his gun and took aim. He was about to squeeze the trigger, when he heard a guttural, primitive shout.
Someone jumped on his back.
Reynaldo stumbled, dropping the flashlight but holding on to the gun for dear life. He reached behind him, clawing for whoever was on his back. Someone else picked up the flashlight and struck him in the nose. Reynaldo howled in pain and fear. His eyes watered.
“Get off me!”
He reared back, trying desperately to buck the person off his back. It didn’t work. An arm snaked around his enormous neck and started to squeeze.
They were everywhere, swarming all over him.
One bit his leg. Reynaldo could feel the teeth digging into his flesh. He tried to shake his leg loose, but that just made him lose balance. He teetered before falling hard to the ground.
Someone jumped on his chest. Someone else grabbed his arm. It was as if they were demons coming out of the dark.
Or out of the box.
Panic engulfed him.
The gun. He still had the gun.
Reynaldo tried to raise his gun, tried to blast all these demons straight back to hell, but someone was still holding his arm down.
They wouldn’t stop attacking him.
There were four of them. Or five. He didn’t know. They were relentless, like zombies.
“No!”
He could make out their faces now. There was the bald man in Number Two. The fat guy in Number Seven. That man from Number Four had joined in too. Someone smashed him in the nose with the flashlight again. The blood started flowing down into his mouth. His eyes started rolling back.
With a desperate roar, Reynaldo started pulling the trigger on the gun. The bullets dug harmlessly into the ground, but the shock and suddenness made whoever was holding his arm loosen their grip.
One last chance.
Reynaldo used all his strength to pull free.
He swung his gun up in the air.
In the light of the moon, Reynaldo could see the silhouette of Dana Phelps rising above him. He started to take aim, but it was too late.
The axe was already on its way toward him.
Time slowed.
Somewhere in the distance, Reynaldo heard Bo bark.
