Sanctuary (15 page)

Meredith gave her a squeeze, fighting back tears of her own. "So do I, honey. But I know he'd want us to keep going. We'll get through this, though. I know we will. We'll find somewhere safe."

Quinn smiled, and Meredith blotted her face. After a few more minutes, Meredith glanced at the doorway, then stood. "Will you be all right up here by yourself? I need to get back to my watch."

"I'm fine, Aunt Meredith. I'll be twelve soon, you know."

"Okay." Meredith blushed as she walked across the room. It was times like these that she recalled how much she'd missed. "You have a birthday coming up, right?"

"August fifth."

"We should celebrate. Wherever we are."

The little girl's eyes lit up. Maybe giving Quinn something to hope for would help offset the pain she'd had to endure. Meredith exited the room and walked downstairs. She checked out each of the windows, ensuring there was no sign of trouble. Then she wandered to a hutch in the living room. She plucked up a framed picture. In the midst of all the activity, she'd barely noticed the photograph.
 

The picture inside showed a man and woman, about sixty years old. A group of four children was kneeling in front of them. She assumed they were the couple's grandchildren. She perused the rest of the hutch, noting a few other pictures of the same couple, and determined they were the house's owners. Or
had
been.

Next to where the picture had been were four sealed envelopes.

"Robert, Louis, Emma, and Teri," she read aloud, shuffling through them.

Letters to the grandchildren,
she thought.

Meredith recalled the partially cooked meal in the kitchen, the place setting for two. There'd been no car in the driveway. She wondered what had prompted the couple to leave, and if they'd made it somewhere safe. Why hadn't they taken the letters? Maybe there hadn't been time.
 

She placed the couple's belongings back on the hutch.
 

Her anxiety deepened.

Though she regretted letting Dan and Tim leave, she understood Dan's reasoning—if a horde of creatures were to catch up to them while they were on foot, it'd be a catastrophe. He'd do anything to keep his daughter out of harm's way. And so would Meredith.

They'll be back soon
, she told herself.
 

She walked over to one of the living room windows and lifted the blind. The countryside was sprawling and beautiful, the way it always had been. Not only did she miss the Sanders', but she also missed her own farm. In any case, she knew they had to move on, that it wasn't safe to stay in Settler's Creek. Meredith sighed.

She looked at the sky, hoping to see another helicopter flying overhead, evidence they were heading in the right direction.

The sky was empty.

Dan struggled against the pain. If he didn't react, he was going to die. Tim ordered him to get out, his words rising above the noise of the car engine.
 

"Did you hear me?" Tim screamed.

But Dan was in a haze. His mind flickered through the events of the past few days: Tim shooting the creature in the garage, Tim distracting Jed and Marvin, the conversation they'd had about family.

It had all been lies.

Dan didn't know what the man's intentions were, but there was no time to guess. He couldn't let this man kill him. He sagged against the steering wheel, letting his arms dangle, feigning unconsciousness.
 

Then he lunged for the shifter.
 

All at once the car was in reverse, careening out of the garage. Dan stomped the gas. Tim grabbed at the door, but his efforts were in vain. Dan heard a gunshot, and glass shattered to his right—the passenger-side window had been hit. The vehicle rolled back down the driveway, Dan fighting to keep the wheel straight. He'd left his attacker behind, but Tim was crouched in the driveway, taking aim at the windshield. Another gunshot rang out. This one collided with the front end.

The car bottomed out as it hit the road. Dan cut the wheel just as another gunshot thudded into the passenger-side door. Tim screamed at him to stop, but Dan continued in reverse, wrenching the wheel in hopes that he could straighten out. The driver's door was still partway open, and it swung wildly with the car's momentum.

He needed to change course. Meredith and Quinn were the other way.

He needed to get back to them.

He stared in front of him, noticing Tim dart out into the road. Several more gunshots rocked the air, and Dan swerved. His head was pounding. He lost control of the vehicle, and it fishtailed into the nearby grass. Dan revved the gas, trying to reverse, but to no avail. The car was stuck in the field.

Shit, shit, shit!
 

In the background, Dan heard the patter of feet on the pavement. He stared down at his waist. He still had the kitchen knife. He withdrew it and held it in his shaky hand. His head was throbbing. There was no time to waste on the vehicle—if he didn't get out, he'd die. Dan tumbled into the grass and crawled. He made his way to the back of the vehicle and ducked low in the four-foot-high grass, immersing himself in the field. He crawled.
 

The footsteps dulled. Tim had reached the grass. Dan kept crawling, weaving through the field, gaining distance from his attacker. Wet blood trickled down his forehead, and he gasped quietly for breath.

The knife shook in his hand; his vision was bleary. Police training aside, he was no match for a gun. Not with only a knife, and not in the condition he was in. His only option was to keep moving.

The footsteps paused. Dan peered behind him, thinking he'd catch a glimpse of Tim, but all he saw was grass. The car door groaned. A moment later, the ignition shut off. Dan resumed crawling.

Hide…hide…

He heard nothing behind him, and the silence inspired him to increase his pace. He changed direction several times, hoping to thwart the man, looking for openings between the blades. The rasp of his breathing was loud and unforgiving. He fought to control it.

Where was Tim?

Dan stopped crawling and listened. He waited a few seconds, certain he'd hear footsteps, the man breathing—
something
. But all was quiet.

He raised himself to a crouch. He held the knife in front of him and inched above the grass, hoping to get a bead on his attacker. The sun beat down from overhead. He could see the car in the distance, but it didn't look like Tim was in it. From what he could tell, the street was empty.
 

Boots crunched the grass.
 

When Dan swiveled his head, he was just in time to catch Tim barreling at him from the side.
 

They collided. Dan lashed out with the knife, but he was too late; Tim grabbed his arm and pinned it to the ground. With his other hand, Tim pummeled him in the face with the butt end of the gun, and Dan winced in pain. Were it not for the blows he'd suffered earlier, Dan might've had a fighting chance. But Tim had taken him by surprise.
 

He was already at a disadvantage.

Tim continued to strike him. Dan clawed at his attacker with his free hand, reaching for the man's neck, but in his weakened state, he could barely defend himself. Dan was out of breath, out of strength. His head swam.

"I'm going to enjoy this, Dan. I'm going to enjoy killing you, and then I'm going to enjoy cutting up Quinn and Meredith. I've been waiting for this."

He caught a glimpse of Tim's face through the haze. The man was smiling. Tim was still pinning Dan's knife hand, and Dan struggled to get it free. He needed to do something. If he didn't, he'd die.
 

Conjuring his last bit of strength, Dan threw back an elbow, connecting with the man's face. Then he pulled his knife hand free. Dan turned and stabbed without aim. Tim stumbled and cried out as the knife penetrated his body. Dan didn't know where he'd lodged the knife, but he didn't wait around to find out. He scrambled for the grass.

The pistol discharged, and a bullet whizzed by his head.

Dan tumbled into the grass and crawled, throwing himself among the blades. He scrambled forward. He waited for the pain of a bullet, but it never came. He sucked in one shallow breath after another, suppressing the feeling that he was going to die. Tim cried out from somewhere behind him, cursing his name.

Hurry…

Dan kept moving, weaving a frantic pattern through the blades. He recalled the house they'd been at. He couldn't be far. If he could reach it, maybe he could find cover. A weapon.
Something
.

He proceeded in what he thought was the right direction, grass whipping at his sore face. His head swam, dizziness threatening to pull him under. But he was making progress. The thin rustle of commotion was getting farther off course, as if Tim had lost track of him. Dan paused and inched his head up, hoping to catch a glimpse of the house he was heading toward. A hundred feet away, he saw the roof of the garage. Tim was nowhere to be found.

A car engine fired in the distance. The Ford Falcon. Tim must've gotten it started. In a flash, it hit him. Tim was no longer behind him, but for a reason.
 

He was heading back for Quinn and Meredith.

Dan struggled to find his footing, but the pain was unbearable. He fell into the grass, his head spinning, and the world pulled him under.

Dan attempted to open his eyes, but his lids were caked shut. He couldn't see a thing. The pain hit him at once. His face and ribs burned; his limbs felt like they were stuck to the ground. He groaned. It felt like his body had been through surgery and some sadistic doctor had woken him without medication.
 

Only a crazed surgeon wasn't responsible for this. It was Tim. The man who'd once posed as a friend, the man who'd kill Quinn and Meredith if Dan didn't stop him. The memories filtered back, as if they'd been poured slowly into a hole in his brain, and they pressured Dan to open his eyes. When he did, the rays of the sun blinded him. He was still in the field. But Tim was gone. He'd driven off in the car.

Goddammit. No…

Dan pulled himself to a sitting position. The world was a nauseating mixture of sun and grass, and it spun around him, as if he were the sole attendee of a carnival ride. He forced himself to slow down, balancing his panic with the knowledge that if he moved too quickly, he'd plunge back into unconsciousness.

After what felt like minutes, he sat upright and peered back through the broken grass. The bent blades looked like a twisted Halloween maze. He remembered crawling on his stomach, trying to get away. He needed to get to the house, to see if there was another vehicle he could take. Meredith and Quinn needed him.

Even if he had walk on broken legs or shimmy on busted knees, he'd get to them.
 

Dan wasn't sure if anything was broken. He hadn't gotten that far yet. But he was about to find out. He pushed off the ground to find his footing. The world spun faster. His legs wobbled, but worked. Fighting the overwhelming urge to vomit, he took a few uneasy steps, pawing at the tall grass for support. He fell twice before finding his rhythm, but soon he was making progress, working his way back to the distant driveway.

When he reached it, he found an empty driveway, an empty garage. No means of transportation. He stared into the distance but saw no other properties. He couldn't risk continuing. He had to double back to the house with Meredith and Quinn.

Anger charged through Dan's body, pushing him to walk faster. He glanced at his waist, taking in his empty holster and the empty place where his knife had been. He was defenseless.
 

As he walked, Dan pictured the twisted face of the man who'd attacked him, the smile that'd revealed who Tim really was. Normally Dan was able to discern people's true nature from a single encounter. After years on the force, he'd acquired a knack for reading people's character. But Tim had been able to mask his intentions, as if he were a skilled actor playing a role. Dan's doubts had been swayed by Tim's earnest attempts to help, by the way Tim had expressed concern for the people around him.

All of it had been a lie. Dan should've known by the precision by with which the man had slaughtered the creature at the barn. His only question was why the man had waited to reveal himself.

Why hadn't he attacked Dan earlier? Instead, he'd gotten close to the group.
 

Perhaps that had been his game all along.

Dan staggered from the grass to the road, his legs threatening to spill from under him. He fought a wave of nausea and continued onward. No matter what had happened, one thing was certain: he needed to get to Meredith and Quinn.

Keller snarled as he drove off down the road. The pain in his injured leg was bordering on agony. He'd already pulled out the blade and wrapped his wound, but the blood seeped through. The knife lay on the seat next to him.

He was enraged by what had happened but anxious to get back to Meredith and Quinn. He'd already formulated a backup plan. That was one of the reasons he'd survived so long in the new world.