Chapter 52 #3
My breath hitches high in my sternum. My knees go even weaker. “You shoot me out here,” I point out, “and that agent will be here in a split second. You won’t have time to get back to your car.”
“You don’t think I have something in mind?” she asks.
I shouldn’t underestimate her. She has killed two people with cold-blooded proficiency, garnered national attention for it, all while remaining under the radar of the FBI.
But I don’t believe her. She’s full of rage, but there’s also pain. She’s not enjoying the killings. She’s seeking justice, and some relief, and that’s it. She doesn’t care what happens to herself in the long run. She doesn’t have a plan B.
“I happen to be a fast runner,” she says, almost jokingly. “Now, keep your hands behind your head and get down on your knees.”
“Allison, you know they’ll catch you, and you’ll go down for three murders instead of two.”
“What’s one more life sentence?” She makes herself laugh, but suddenly her face flashes hard again. “Down. Now.”
I drop one leg at a time. My fingers thread tightly through my hair and press against my scalp.
It’s surreal, realizing this might be the last time I touch my own head and feel my own hair beneath my fingertips.
The damp, cold underbrush seeps through my jeans to my knees.
I desperately search my surroundings for a solution but see nothing useful, not even a good rock or solid stick to pick up.
Allison angles her gun down at me. From my kneeling position, looking up at her, she looks like she could blow away with a strong wind.
And that’s when a twig snaps off to my right. Thank God, I think. Greene.
But it’s not Greene.
It’s Sam. Slowly approaching.
Sam. A relief that he’s safe washes over me, but then it’s followed by a deep, stabbing fear. Sam, not now. “Sam, turn and go,” I order.
“Please don’t hurt my aunt,” he says.
Allison looks at him through the corner of her eye. She’s keeping her gun trained on me, which I’m grateful for.
“Sam,” I command, feeling like a bomb has detonated in me and all my insides are crumbling. You can’t be here now, around this, around Allison with a gun. “Sam,” I say. “Go back. Just for a little while.”
“Oh, honey,” she says. “It’s okay. You come here to me, and I won’t shoot your aunt.”
“No,” I say firmly. “Stay right there.”
He stares at us like a spooked animal, not moving.
“I mean it,” Allison says. “Come here, or you’ll give me no choice but to shoot her. You don’t want that, do you?”
Sam starts slowly walking toward us.
Panic shoots through me. I try to gulp in air, like I’m going to have an anxiety attack.
The ground fully collapses from under me. I’m teetering on a thin wire with nothing beneath me. Do something, Crosbie. Now. Do something.
Sam witnessing his aunt getting shot and dealing with that nightmare, stealing his innocence in one fell swoop.
Or worse, him getting hurt or shot himself flashes through my mind.
My breath stops with fright. It’s in this breathless moment that my plan arrives, fully formed.
It’s not a great one, but it’s one I remember from my police training.
When wearing Kevlar, try to get the perpetrator in a struggle with you and get the gun pressed into the Kevlar because if it goes off, it will most likely be into the vest and you’ll be protected.
Sam draws closer to us and she glances his way.
“Get down, Sam!”
I scream it. I pitch myself and grab for her ankles. I only get one but use both hands and yank as hard as I can. She fires her gun, but I’ve thrown her off-balance, making her hand jerk upward. The shot rips above me.
Oh God. Sam? What have I done? I jerk my head around to look for him.
Please let Sam be okay. As I struggle with her squirming, trying to yank her in closer to my torso, I frantically search for him.
She pulls her leg out of my grip and fires again.
The bullet hits the ground, spraying dirt and debris into my face and mouth.
My ears roar. I grab her leg before she starts to stand, jerk harder.
She stumbles and trips, falling heavily onto her side.
I jump onto her and press the wrist of her gun hand down as hard as I can so she can’t lift that hand.
She squirms violently, trying to yank it free, but that’s not happening.
I straddle her for a second, but she manages to kick me and shove me to the side.
My face hits something hard and sharp like a rock.
I have her wrist, can feel it wiggling under her jacket, and heave her toward me, her entire body flinging against mine.
Her perfume and her underlying body odor, a pungent scent born of fear and insanity, fill my nose.
She thrashes us into a new position and I’m able to ram an elbow into her hot, sweaty neck—once, and again, harder.
She flies into a frenzy, jabbing and pounding me repeatedly with her free fist, while yanking her other arm free.
Greene’s voice finally rings loud and clear through the woods. “Mitchell, where are you?”
“Over here,” I yell.
I hear thrashing through the underbrush of the woods. Greene is yelling, “Freeze or I’ll shoot.”
I’m holding Allison’s arm, shaking it so she’ll release the gun, but she’s twisting and turning.
My hands are sweaty. I’m losing my grip on the sleeve of her slick jacket. I hear Greene scuffle closer. And Sam? I get a glimpse of him. He’s standing off to the side, stunned and exposed. Fear for him practically paralyzes me, but I keep holding her sleeve.
“Freeze, Allison. Get on your knees.” I can’t see Greene, but by the sound of her voice, she’s close.
“Don’t shoot,” I scream. “Sam’s here.”
Sam’s still standing off to our side. “Sam,” I yell again. “Get down.”
He doesn’t budge. He is frozen. I’m struggling to hold on to Allison, but my hand keeps slipping. She’s going to break free.
“Get down, Sam,” I repeat. If he’s down, she can’t grab him and drag him with her again. And if she shoots again, he’ll at least be on the ground.
Allison breaks free. She jumps to her feet.
“Sam,” I scream. “Be the Teke Teke girl.” It’s all I can think of to break his spell of uncertainty. Something familiar. Something from his playful world.
It breaks through. He drops to the ground.
Allison bolts. I grab again for her ankles but get nothing but cold air and dry grass.
She takes off, disappears behind some pines, and fires her gun behind her without turning.
Greene shoots into the pines. Once, twice. Greene tosses me my gun, which she must have found back in the clearing where Allison sneaked up on me. She runs after Allison, jumping over deadfall and brush.
I reach Sam at the same time as the officer who was guarding Jess’s house and who had joined the hunt.
I place my hand on Sam’s back and ask him if he’s okay.
When he nods, a relief as powerful as a tidal wave overcomes me and makes my knees go weak.
I want to sit with him and never leave him, but I tell him to stay down, order the officer to stay with him and get him to safety when the coast is clear.
I bolt after Greene and Allison. I hear sirens coming from the direction of Jess’s house.
It’s not until I come to the other end of the forest that I see Allison up ahead of Greene. She’s now in a neighboring field, close to another set of trees, and again, she fires erratically behind her as she flees, the bullet flying somewhere off to our right and pinging off rocks.
Greene has a clear shot now.
“Freeze,” she roars. “Get down.” She peppers Allison with more orders: “Now. Get down. On your knees. Now. You’re surrounded!”
Allison is more than a third of the way across the field. I’m charging fast, tripping and flinging myself over gopher holes.
Allison fires another bullet.
Greene shoots, but misses again.
“Don’t hurt her!” I yell. But even as my voice fades into the breeze, I know all that matters to Greene—all that should matter to me—is that Allison is armed and firing at us.
On Greene’s fourth shot, Allison pitches forward, staggers a few paces, and almost makes it to another patch of woods on the other side of the field.