Chapter 33 #2
The scream tears through my head. It’s a miracle it doesn’t come out of my mouth.
I have to swallow back the bile that rushes up into my throat.
“Please. I wouldn’t feel right,” I insist. When he still looks unhappy, I make the most desperate move I can imagine by cocking my head to the side and smirking. “You need your strength, right?”
I might throw up right here and now.
A smile spreads over his mouth, and there’s a knowing twinkle in his eye when he nods. “Good point. There is food in the fridge. I stocked up just for you.”
Lucky me.
Okay, so that rules out him leaving to get food and the chance of me escaping while he’s gone. Time to move on and see if the next idea I came up with while he was sleeping works. “Great. I can get started right away. One thing, though.”
Looking down at my bare feet, I ask, “Do you have a pair of socks? I’m freezing.”
He looks genuinely pained. “Oh no, Allie. How stupid of me. Of course, I have some real nice, thick socks.”
It’s better than nothing. “Thanks,” I murmur.
He rushes off to the bedroom, and I cross the creaky plank floor on my way to the ancient refrigerator.
I’m surprised it still works, but the light goes on inside when I open the door.
There are eggs, ham, bacon, what looks like a chicken, and milk.
I pull out the eggs and bacon, moving without thinking, like a robot.
I can’t afford to waste time thinking about anything but how to get away.
I’m placing a pan on the wood stove when he joins me, carrying a pair of heavy wool socks in one hand. “Here. Let me put them on you.”
It just gets worse and worse. “I can do it,” I offer, but he holds the socks out of my reach. Like he’s teasing. Like there’s anything fun about this.
“Let me take care of you.” He slowly drops to one knee in front of me. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do something like this.”
I can handle this. I lift my left foot, which he props on his bent leg before letting his hand linger on my ankle.
I have never had to fight so hard to stay still.
My nerves are jumping, and I can’t stop shaking, but I have to smile down at him when he looks up with a grin. “You have the prettiest feet.”
“Thank you.” Please, let this end.
He looks down, slowly pulling the sock over my toes, and I use his distraction as a chance to look around. There are knives in a block next to the stove. Could I?
He said we’re far away from the road, I remember, staring at the knives, trying to figure out if I can reach one in time. “So there won’t be anyone coming up to bother us?” I ask, forcing the words out around my fear and disgust.
“No, ma’am.” He slides the sock over my ankle, then up over my leg, while his hands slide over my calf. “It’s around a mile.”
A mile. Can I run a mile in these socks, through the dark? I have to. There’s no other way. As soon as he finishes eating, I know what he’s going to want to do, and I won’t. I can’t. I could die out there, lost in the woods, running in circles.
I would rather die out there than live here. At least, I have to try.
I switch feet. Once again, it’s like the sight of my toes hypnotizes him. Holding my breath, I start to reach for the knife block. Please, let me be able to do this. Please. If I miss somehow, he’s going to punish me. I know it, I feel it. I’m not going to get a second chance.
His fingertips dance over my skin and make me shudder in revulsion. “So pretty,” he whispers. He even lowers his head a little, like he’s going to kiss my foot, but stops himself.
The second he’s finished, I place my foot on the floor. The socks are good and thick. I only hope they give me enough protection.
He’s still on one knee, looking up at me with that adoring expression on his weathered face.
And I reach for the knife block.
He’s halfway to his feet when I wrap my fingers around the handle and pull it free. “What—”
There’s no time. I can’t even decide where to strike. I can only bring the knife down in a wide arc, slicing through his worn flannel shirt across his right shoulder in a diagonal line down to his ribs.
He falls back a few steps, stumbling against the fridge, staring down at himself. “What did you do?” he gasps, covering his chest with both hands as the blood starts to flow. “Why?”
Then he snarls, lifts his head, and lets out a roar. “How dare you?” he bellows.
And then he lunges at me.
Which means I lodge the butcher knife in his stomach.
The wet, squelching noise unlocks what I’ve been holding back since last night, and I scream. I scream until my voice breaks. He grabs me with his blood-coated hands and drops to his knees, almost pulling me down with him before he lets go to grab the knife handle.
I don’t think. I run for the door, flipping the rusty old lock and pulling it open. The sky is starting to get light on the horizon. There’s a path through the woods left by his tires. My heart almost bursts when I see it. The road must be at the other end.
“You’re... going to... regret that.”
A glance behind me makes me scream again. He’s actually getting to his feet. His face is a twisted mask of pure rage.
There’s nothing I can do but take off running. I feel the stones and sticks under my feet, but ignore them, legs pumping, lungs ready to burst. I only have to follow the path. Make it to the road. I just have to get to the road.
“Allie!” The sound cuts through the air, through the screaming in my head.
That, and the shotgun blast that follows it. Something whizzes past my ear close enough to stir my hair. I’m too exposed. I can’t take the path. Another shot, and bark explodes off a tree not ten feet beyond me. My only choice is to get off the path and run through the woods instead.
Now I have to be more careful. I’m swallowed up by the trees but unable to see where I’m going.
I have to throw my arms out to fend off the twigs and brambles that rake me.
Rocks and sticks under my feet, cutting through the socks, but it’s the sounds coming from behind me that keep me moving.
Like an animal stumbling its way through the woods. Wounded, clumsy. “Allie!”
Faster! I will myself to keep moving, so I ignore the pain, the burning in my lungs, and the scrapes and scratches. An exposed root trips me up, and I stumble against an old trunk, but push myself off. He’s going to kill me. I have to keep going.
“Goddamn you!” He must be losing blood, right?
But he sounds closer all the time, almost like he’s right over my shoulder.
I take the risk of slowing down to look behind me and catch a glimpse of a shape back there.
It’s a little easier to see now that the sky is starting to get lighter.
I don’t even know where the path is anymore.
I’m so far from it that I can’t see it. I might be running in circles.
Finally, all I can do is crouch behind a thick pine whose hanging branches give me a little bit of cover. He’ll get tired, right? Too weak from blood loss. He’ll give up. He has to.
He’s coming closer, those clumsy, stumbling footsteps getting louder. I have to run! He’s going to find me!
That’s when headlights wash over him from the path.
Headlights.
My heart’s in my throat. Cold sweat clings to my skin. Is it…? Could it be…?
The truck comes to a stop. Buck is partly visible in the headlights’ glow, pointing in this direction through the trees. It’s just enough that I can see him, leaning against one of them, breathing hard, grunting as he raises the rifle.
He’s going to fire. Not at me, but at whoever’s getting out of that truck. The door slams, the sound carrying my way and somehow cutting through the pounding in my ears.
“Fuck! There’s a blood trail!”
Kade. It’s Kade! He came for me. He didn’t give up. I can just see him now, standing in the doorway of the shack I ran from. Tears pour down my cheeks, and I’ve never loved him more than at this moment. He must have worked all night to find me.
The problem is that Buck can see him, too. He stands between us, aiming for Kade, who has no idea he’s in the crosshairs as he starts following the trail of blood while his brothers urge him to be careful.
He’s going to get shot.
I can’t let it happen.
It means revealing myself, but I have to do it. I have to take a chance.
“Kade!” I scream. “He has a gun!”
Instead of firing on Kade, Buck swings around wildly, searching for me. “Found you,” he hisses, raising the rifle again.
“Kade!” I shriek.
A shot blasts through the air.
I wait for the pain.
Instead of a bullet tearing through me, Buck drops to his knees to reveal Kade still aiming his pistol. The rifle falls from Buck’s fist before he pitches forward face-first and lands hard in the dirt.
“Allie?” Kade’s frantic shouts shake me out of my horror and get me moving, stumbling through the pre-dawn light, sobbing, to make my way to the closest thing to salvation I’ve ever known.
It takes my last ounce of strength to reach him just before my legs go out, our bodies crashing together. He goes down to his knees with me, arms clutching me to him, holding me so tight that I can feel his heart pounding the same frantic rhythm as mine.
“Allie,” he whispers, rocking me, stroking my hair. “Oh baby. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry.”
I would tell him I’m sorry.
That nothing that happened before matters now.
I would tell him I love him, too.
I guess I will, but for now, all I can do is weep in his arms while the sun comes up on a brand-new day.