Sanctuary (18 page)

"You should've seen John. He didn't look so hot when I pushed him off that truck."

What was he talking about?

Meredith hesitated. Her heart raced. Between the adrenaline of the altercation and her concern for Dan, she hadn't had time to put the pieces together. Had Tim been responsible for John's death?

"Did you hear me, Meredith? I shoved him off the pickup. He reached out to me for help, but I did nothing. I watched him die."

Meredith squeezed the trigger of her rifle. The blast was deafening. The bullet chewed through the wall, and she heard Tim cry out. She stared at the wall, making out the hole where the bullet had penetrated. She swallowed and waited. The hall had gone silent.
Tim
had gone silent.

Was he dead? Wounded?

She knew better than to make assumptions.
I hope I hit you, you motherfucker.
Meredith's gaze alternated between the door, the wall, and the bureau, as if one of those things might lend her a clue. Quinn readjusted.

 
"Aunt Meredith?" she whispered from the closet.

"Stay put," Meredith called back.

The girl obeyed. Ernie had stopped barking, but he was still pacing the floor. His movements made Meredith nervous. She wanted desperately to quiet the dog down, to stop him from moving, but she didn't dare let her guard down.
 

 
How long would she wait before going out there? Had she really killed Tim? It seemed implausible, but each second of silence lent weight to the theory.
 

She strained her ears, hoping for a footstep. A groan. Anything that would give her a clue as to what had happened. She stared at the wall, trying to visualize what Tim might look like dead in the hallway, but could only envision his sneering face as he'd brutalized the men outside.
 

She imagined removing the bureau, opening the door, and finding him on the ground. He'd look dead, but when she reached out to check, he'd spring to life and grab her, and then he'd—

She heard a scrape in the hallway.

Meredith jolted to attention, her hands shaking. She aimed the rifle at the hole in the wall, then the door. Ernie began to pant, his mouth open, tongue dangling. A cold fear washed over Meredith's body, as if someone were drowning her in a tub of ice. She listened for an additional sound—confirmation of the first—but heard nothing.

Another minute passed.

Maybe it hadn't been a scrape in the hallway. Maybe it'd been Quinn in the closet, or Ernie's nails scratching the hardwood. She wasn't sure of
anything
anymore. Some part of her thought she was dreaming, that she'd wake up at her farm, or at the Sanders'. That John and Dan would still be alive. That none of this had happened.

She gripped the rifle and tried to will that reality to life, hoping she'd be ripped from this new world and back into the old one—

A crash erupted from the bedroom door. The door buckled. Meredith heard the splinter of wood, then a man's fierce breathing as he reared back for another blow. There was no question what was happening now.
 

Tim was still alive. And he wasn't going to rest until he got in.

"Stay back!" Meredith screamed.

She fired off another round, hardly thinking about the wasted bullet; her only thought was to keep the man
out
. The bullet pierced through the wood, splintering it further. Tim's efforts had created a hole in the door. Just above the bureau, she could see movement through the opening. He disappeared again.

This time, she heard noises in the hallway, proof that he was alive.

"You're forgetting something, Meredith!" he yelled, his voice ragged. "I gave you that rifle. You're almost out of bullets, and we both know it."

Her eyes flicked to the rifle, as if he might be lying. But Tim was right.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
She cursed internally, staring over the side of the bed at the hole in the door. She could see the opposite side of the hallway. The sight of it filled her with fear. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for something else to barricade the door with. But there was nothing save the bed and the thin mattress that were already providing her cover. She was terrified to move, certain Tim would seize the advantage.

Footsteps tromped the floor. Another flash of movement rippled through the door's opening—a man's boot—and suddenly another chunk of the door was knocked inward. Tim ducked out of sight before she could fire. She couldn't spare the bullets.

If she shot him, she had to connect.

She heard a shuffle in the hallway, and then the bureau toppled over, crashing to the floor. Tim skittered back down the hallway. Suddenly the door was in clear view, a gaping hole in the center.
 

She and Quinn were unprotected.
 

Frantic, Meredith pushed the bed, sliding it toward the broken door. She'd only gotten a few feet when the tip of a pistol appeared in the doorway. She screamed as a bullet ripped past her head, embedding itself in the wall next to the closet. She ducked back below the mattress.
   

"The next one hits Quinn in the closet!" Tim shouted.

Quinn began to whimper. Meredith glanced back at the girl's hiding place, suddenly afraid that a bullet had already found its mark, but was relieved to find the two bullet holes in the wall. The little girl was unharmed, for now.

"Toss your rifle and come on out, Meredith. Do that, and I'll spare Quinn."

No answer.

"What do you say, Meredith? That's not a bad proposal, is it?" Tim laughed again, and she felt a surge of anger, an uncontrollable urge to rush into the hall and shoot him. Maybe she could get to him before he got to Quinn. Even if Meredith were injured, Quinn would have a chance.
 

She didn't believe the man's words. Not one bit.

"I'm not going to say it twice," Tim added.

Meredith ran through each of her options, but they were all flawed, all likely to end in death. Even if she gave herself up, there was little chance the man would keep his promise. She'd seen what he did to the men outside. He'd already confessed what he'd done to John and Dan.
 

What else could she do?
Dammit.

"I'm coming out," she said, but she remained behind the mattress.

"The rifle, Meredith."

"I'm throwing it."

She held onto the weapon for another minute, hoping the man might reveal himself, but the doorway stayed empty.

"There won't be another warning before I shoot Quinn," he said, his voice calm, deadpan.

Despite his earlier outbursts, Tim sounded eerily controlled, as if he knew what he was doing, and she knew he was telling the truth.
 

Meredith crept to the edge of the bed and dropped the rifle. She made a loud clatter, letting him know she'd complied. Then she slid it over to the door. The sight of the rifle moving away felt like a resignation of death. She bit her lip, trying to quell her fear. The rifle came to rest next to the door. She watched and waited. After a few seconds, she saw Tim reaching through the hole in the door.

Meredith slowly removed the knife she had tucked in her pants.
 

Then she lunged for him.

Dan could see the house a mile away. Ever since his encounter with the creature, he'd been running on a surge of adrenaline, propelled by the terror that his family would be killed. His legs ached from exhaustion.

He kept his sights on the property, suppressing the anxiety that came with it. At the moment, the house was nothing more than a blurry shape. He could make out two cars in the road. One was the Ford Falcon Tim had been driving. The other he'd never seen.

The sight of two cars deepened his fear. Dan knew nothing about the man they'd been traveling with. Whatever Tim had told him was a lie. There was a possibility the man had accomplices, people who'd been trailing them, waiting for an opportunity. Dan shuddered.

He kept on, jogging through the pain, discerning more details as he ran. It looked like there were bodies in the road. He could barely make them out in the distance. Nothing moved.

He hoped to God they weren't Meredith and Quinn.

The only thing that mattered was reaching the house, verifying his family was uninjured, verifying they were still alive. Dan refused to consider the alternative. Gunshots sounded in the distance.

He panicked and pushed harder.

Meredith threw herself at the doorway, knowing it might be the last move she made. Tim had already retrieved the rifle, and he yanked it through the broken door, trying to keep it from her. But that was his mistake. Meredith wasn't going for the rifle.
 

She was going for
him
.

She lodged the knife in his arm. He cried out in agony. The gun discharged, wedging a bullet in the wall. She released the knife and grappled for the rifle. She caught hold of it. They tangled through the gap in the door, the broken wood scraping their arms and shoulders as they engaged in a push and pull. Tim had his pistol in his hand, as well. She let go of the rifle and reached for his pistol hand, catching hold of his wrist.

Tim yanked forward, smashing Meredith's head into the intact part of the door. But she didn't relent. She felt blood trickling down her face, but she kept firm, knowing that if she let go, she'd die.

"You bitch!" Tim growled.

The man was pulling harder, setting her off balance. She needed to do something.
 

Meredith wedged her boots against the bottom of the door and pulled. In a last-ditch effort, she let go of the pistol and grabbed the rifle with both hands. She tugged. All at once, the gun was in her hand and she was flying backward. She skidded back on the floor and aimed at the doorway.
 

She fired.

Tim dove, but not before the bullet pierced his side. He cried out in pain and toppled out of sight. She heard him crawling down the hallway, gasping for breath. She reached for the door lock, hit the button, and twisted the door open. Then she aimed around the threshold.
 

A bullet struck the wall, and she ducked back inside the bedroom, her heart surging.

Tim was still armed.

"You goddamn bitch!" he roared. His breathing was loud and labored.

Meredith clung to the wall, hoping to keep a barrier between her and the enraged, wounded man. She had two bullets left in the gun. She knew it, and Tim knew it. But Tim was wounded. She'd lodged a knife in his arm, and she'd shot him. She'd also seen him limping outside. She held her breath and waited, hoping his condition would give her an advantage.

She glanced back at the closet, verifying Quinn was still hidden. Ernie barked furiously. Over the last few minutes, the sound of the dog had become a backdrop to the commotion, an addition to the chaos.

She heard Tim sliding down the hallway, dragging himself like a wounded animal. She resisted the urge to peer around and check on him, envisioning a bullet to the face. She'd wait and bide her time. Maybe the blood loss would be enough to pull him under.
Maybe the son of a bitch will die.
 

After a few more seconds, the noise in the hall stopped. The lack of sound was almost as frightening as the man's voice. Had he pulled himself into the master bedroom? Was he reloading? She considered poking her head around the corner, but was terrified of what might happen. She pictured the man at the end of the hallway, his back against the wall, waiting for her to stick her head out so he could fire.
I won't even feel the bullet. I'll drop to the floor, dead, and he'll step over my body on his way to Quinn.
   

But she'd have to look. Eventually. Meredith swallowed and leaned down to the floor. Then she risked a glance. The hallway was empty, but puddles of blood lined the floor leading to the bedroom. Tim was hunkered down, biding his time. Or else he was dead. Meredith retreated back into the bedroom.
 

They needed to get out of here.

Meredith darted to the closet door and slid it open, quietly. Quinn poked her head from the darkness, her face wet and tear-stained.

"When I say so, you need to run down the stairs and out of the house," Meredith whispered.

Quinn nodded.
 

"Follow me," Meredith hissed.
 

The little girl did. They made their way to the door.

Meredith held up her finger, instructing Quinn to wait, and then peered back into the hall. Nothing. When she concentrated, she could still detect wheezing from the master bedroom.

Meredith pulled her close and whispered in her ear. "Take Ernie and run outside. Get into one of the cars. If I'm not right behind you, lock the doors. Don't look at anything else. I love you, Quinn."

Quinn gripped Meredith tighter. Meredith gave her a squeeze and pulled away.
 

"Get ready," she mouthed.

Quinn scooped up the dog. Meredith took a breath and leaned around the corner, verifying the hallway was clear. Then she stepped into the open and aimed the rifle in front of her.

"Go!" she hissed.

Quinn flew past her, rounding the corner and forging down the stairs. Meredith stared at the open door of the master bedroom. No Tim. She backed down the hallway, her finger on the trigger, but no one appeared. When she'd cleared the corner, she turned and bolted down the stairs.
 

Quinn had already reached the landing and was halfway across the living room, approaching the open front door. Meredith felt a surge of hope.

Maybe we'll make it out of this. Maybe we'll get to the car and we can—

Footsteps plodded behind Meredith. Meredith swiveled to find Tim charging at her, his shirt soaked in blood, his eyes rabid. She raised the gun, but not before he'd plowed into her, sending the two of them careening down the stairs.
 

In an instant, Meredith's world became a sea of motion; her body tumbled end over end, the rifle flew from her grasp. Her bones and joints rattled as they hit the stairs. Each rotation brought a new surge of pain, a new burst of nausea. All at once she was on the living room floor, Tim on top of her.