Six Years
Page 40
There was more to consider. If I surrendered, how long would I be jammed up with the police? I was getting closer to the truth. I could feel it. They thought that I killed someone. Heck, I sort of confessed to it. How long could they hold me? A while, I bet.
If they nabbed me now, I’d probably never have a chance to confront Natalie’s sister, Julie.
“This way,” Thin Man Jerry said.
They started walking to me. Jed lifted his gun, keeping it very much at the ready.
I started to backpedal. My head felt as though it’d been encased in molasses.
“If someone is in those woods,” Stocky shouted, “come out now with your hands up.”
They moved closer. I slid backward a few more steps and ducked behind a tree. The woods were thick. If I could get deep enough in them, I’d be safe at least for a bit. I picked up a rock and hurled it as far as I could to my left. All eyes turned. Flashlights came on and shone in that direction.
“Over there,” someone yelled.
Jed led the way, gun pointed.
Surrender? Oh, I don’t think so.
Stocky moved next to Jed. Jed hurried his step, nearly running, but Stocky put up an arm to stop him. “Move slow,” Stocky said. “He might be armed.”
Jed, of course, knew better, didn’t he?
Thin Man Jerry didn’t budge. “This thing says he’s still over here.”
Again he pointed in my direction. They were forty, fifty yards away. Staying low in the thicket, I quickly buried the phone—my second lost in the past three days—under a pile of leaves and hurried away, trying to make as little noise as possible. I started moving backward, deeper into the woods, again trying my best not to make any noise. I kept a few rocks in my hand. I’d throw them if I needed to distract.
The others gathered back around Jerry, all moving slowly toward the phone.
I picked up my pace, getting deeper and deeper into the trees. I couldn’t see them anymore, just the flashlights.
“He’s close by,” Thin Man Jerry said.
“Or,” Jed added, seeing the light, I guess, “his cell phone is.”
I kept moving, kept low. I really didn’t have a plan here. I had no idea what direction to take or how far the woods went. I might be able to escape them, might be able to keep moving, but eventually, unless I found a way out of here, I didn’t have a clue how I’d get out of this.
Maybe, I thought, I could double-back to the house.
I heard voices mumbling. They were now too far for me to see them. That was a good thing. I could see the movement stop. The flashlight was lowered.
“He’s not here,” someone said.
Stocky, annoyed: “I can see that.”
“Maybe your tracker is off.”
They were, I guessed, right on top of where I’d haphazardly buried the phone. I wondered how long that gave me. Not much time, but probably enough. I rose to keep running and then it happened.
I’m not a doctor or a scientist, so I really can’t tell you how adrenaline works. I only know that it does. It had helped me move past the pain from that blow to the head, from my jumping through a window, from my landing hard on the ground. It helped me recover from running face-first into that tree, even as I felt my lip fatten, could taste the bitter blood on my tongue.
What I do know—what I was learning at that very moment—was that adrenaline is not limitless. It was a finite hormone found within our bodies, nothing more. It may be the most potent surge we know, but the effects, as I was quickly experiencing, were only short-term.
That surge eventually peters out.
The pain didn’t so much ebb back in as announce itself with the thrash of a reaper’s scythe. A bolt of pain ripped through my head, knocking me to my knees. I actually had to cover my mouth with my hand to prevent myself from crying out.
I heard another car coming up the drive. Had Stocky called for backup?
In the distance, I could hear voices:
“It’s his phone!”
“What the . . . he buried it!”
“Spread out!”
I could hear rustling behind me. I wondered how much of a lead I had and how well that lead would stand up to flashlights and bullets. Probably not very big or well. I once again considered the idea of surrendering and taking my chances. I once again didn’t like it.
I heard Stocky say, “Just back off, Jed. We can handle this.”
“It’s my land,” Jed replied. “Too much land for you two to cover.”
“Still—”
“My property, Jerry.” There was snap in Jed’s voice. “You’re on it without a warrant.”
“A warrant?” It was Stocky. “You serious? We’re just worried about your safety.”
“Me too,” Jed answered. “You got no idea where this murderer is hiding, right?”
“Well—”
“For all you know, he could be in the house. Hiding. Waiting for us. No way, bro—we are staying out here with you.”
Silence.
Get up, I told myself.
“I want everyone to stay in sight,” Stocky said. “No heroes. You see something, you scream for help.”
I heard murmurs of agreement, then flashlights sliced through the dark. They were spreading out. I couldn’t see people in the dark, just the bouncing beams of light. It was enough to know that I was really screwed.
Get up, dumb ass!
My head reeled in agony, but I managed to get to my feet. I stumbled forward like some kind of stiff-legged movie monster. I had made it about three steps, maybe four, when the flashlight sliced across my back.
I quickly jumped behind a tree.
Had I been spotted?
I waited for someone to call out. No one did. I kept my back against the bark. The only sound now was my own breath. Did that beam of light hit me? I was pretty sure that it had. But I didn’t know for sure. I stayed where I was and waited.
Footsteps coming toward me.
I wasn’t sure what to do. If someone had spotted me, I was finished. There was no way I could get away. I waited for someone to shout for help.
Nothing, except for the approaching footsteps.
Wait a second. If I had been spotted, why hadn’t anyone called out? Maybe I was okay. Maybe I had been mistaken for a tree or something.
Or maybe no one was calling out because they wanted to shoot me?
I tried to coldly consider that for a moment. Suppose, for example, it was Jed. Would he call out? No. If he called out, I might run and then Stocky and Thin Man Jerry would be on me too and it would be harder to kill me. But suppose he had spotted me with his flashlight. What then? If he had indeed seen me, if he knew that I was hiding behind this very tree, well, maybe Jed could sneak up on me alone, gun at the ready, and . . .
If they nabbed me now, I’d probably never have a chance to confront Natalie’s sister, Julie.
“This way,” Thin Man Jerry said.
They started walking to me. Jed lifted his gun, keeping it very much at the ready.
I started to backpedal. My head felt as though it’d been encased in molasses.
“If someone is in those woods,” Stocky shouted, “come out now with your hands up.”
They moved closer. I slid backward a few more steps and ducked behind a tree. The woods were thick. If I could get deep enough in them, I’d be safe at least for a bit. I picked up a rock and hurled it as far as I could to my left. All eyes turned. Flashlights came on and shone in that direction.
“Over there,” someone yelled.
Jed led the way, gun pointed.
Surrender? Oh, I don’t think so.
Stocky moved next to Jed. Jed hurried his step, nearly running, but Stocky put up an arm to stop him. “Move slow,” Stocky said. “He might be armed.”
Jed, of course, knew better, didn’t he?
Thin Man Jerry didn’t budge. “This thing says he’s still over here.”
Again he pointed in my direction. They were forty, fifty yards away. Staying low in the thicket, I quickly buried the phone—my second lost in the past three days—under a pile of leaves and hurried away, trying to make as little noise as possible. I started moving backward, deeper into the woods, again trying my best not to make any noise. I kept a few rocks in my hand. I’d throw them if I needed to distract.
The others gathered back around Jerry, all moving slowly toward the phone.
I picked up my pace, getting deeper and deeper into the trees. I couldn’t see them anymore, just the flashlights.
“He’s close by,” Thin Man Jerry said.
“Or,” Jed added, seeing the light, I guess, “his cell phone is.”
I kept moving, kept low. I really didn’t have a plan here. I had no idea what direction to take or how far the woods went. I might be able to escape them, might be able to keep moving, but eventually, unless I found a way out of here, I didn’t have a clue how I’d get out of this.
Maybe, I thought, I could double-back to the house.
I heard voices mumbling. They were now too far for me to see them. That was a good thing. I could see the movement stop. The flashlight was lowered.
“He’s not here,” someone said.
Stocky, annoyed: “I can see that.”
“Maybe your tracker is off.”
They were, I guessed, right on top of where I’d haphazardly buried the phone. I wondered how long that gave me. Not much time, but probably enough. I rose to keep running and then it happened.
I’m not a doctor or a scientist, so I really can’t tell you how adrenaline works. I only know that it does. It had helped me move past the pain from that blow to the head, from my jumping through a window, from my landing hard on the ground. It helped me recover from running face-first into that tree, even as I felt my lip fatten, could taste the bitter blood on my tongue.
What I do know—what I was learning at that very moment—was that adrenaline is not limitless. It was a finite hormone found within our bodies, nothing more. It may be the most potent surge we know, but the effects, as I was quickly experiencing, were only short-term.
That surge eventually peters out.
The pain didn’t so much ebb back in as announce itself with the thrash of a reaper’s scythe. A bolt of pain ripped through my head, knocking me to my knees. I actually had to cover my mouth with my hand to prevent myself from crying out.
I heard another car coming up the drive. Had Stocky called for backup?
In the distance, I could hear voices:
“It’s his phone!”
“What the . . . he buried it!”
“Spread out!”
I could hear rustling behind me. I wondered how much of a lead I had and how well that lead would stand up to flashlights and bullets. Probably not very big or well. I once again considered the idea of surrendering and taking my chances. I once again didn’t like it.
I heard Stocky say, “Just back off, Jed. We can handle this.”
“It’s my land,” Jed replied. “Too much land for you two to cover.”
“Still—”
“My property, Jerry.” There was snap in Jed’s voice. “You’re on it without a warrant.”
“A warrant?” It was Stocky. “You serious? We’re just worried about your safety.”
“Me too,” Jed answered. “You got no idea where this murderer is hiding, right?”
“Well—”
“For all you know, he could be in the house. Hiding. Waiting for us. No way, bro—we are staying out here with you.”
Silence.
Get up, I told myself.
“I want everyone to stay in sight,” Stocky said. “No heroes. You see something, you scream for help.”
I heard murmurs of agreement, then flashlights sliced through the dark. They were spreading out. I couldn’t see people in the dark, just the bouncing beams of light. It was enough to know that I was really screwed.
Get up, dumb ass!
My head reeled in agony, but I managed to get to my feet. I stumbled forward like some kind of stiff-legged movie monster. I had made it about three steps, maybe four, when the flashlight sliced across my back.
I quickly jumped behind a tree.
Had I been spotted?
I waited for someone to call out. No one did. I kept my back against the bark. The only sound now was my own breath. Did that beam of light hit me? I was pretty sure that it had. But I didn’t know for sure. I stayed where I was and waited.
Footsteps coming toward me.
I wasn’t sure what to do. If someone had spotted me, I was finished. There was no way I could get away. I waited for someone to shout for help.
Nothing, except for the approaching footsteps.
Wait a second. If I had been spotted, why hadn’t anyone called out? Maybe I was okay. Maybe I had been mistaken for a tree or something.
Or maybe no one was calling out because they wanted to shoot me?
I tried to coldly consider that for a moment. Suppose, for example, it was Jed. Would he call out? No. If he called out, I might run and then Stocky and Thin Man Jerry would be on me too and it would be harder to kill me. But suppose he had spotted me with his flashlight. What then? If he had indeed seen me, if he knew that I was hiding behind this very tree, well, maybe Jed could sneak up on me alone, gun at the ready, and . . .
