You Only Die Twice (24 page)

Surprised
she still clutched the stick, she hoisted herself up, stepped into the road (
the
road!
), looked left, then right, and saw, to her right, off in the
distance, the flashing lights of police cars and fire trucks.
 

Men and
women were scrambling.
 
Jets of
water shot into the sky.
 
In the
wild blaze of the fiery light, Cheryl thought the water itself looked like
liquid fire hosing down the woods in an effort to make them burn faster.

Because
of the wind, which was fueling the fire higher into the sky, the crew needed to
be there because the fire already was whipping across the road, on the other
side of which the woods continued.
 

She looked
at it all with a sense of despair.
 
In her condition, she might as well be twenty miles away from them, even
if only a mile separated them.
 
It
didn’t matter.
 
Because of what he
did to her leg, she couldn’t get to them fast enough.
 
Worse, even if she screamed to them from
here or waved her arms, they wouldn’t see or hear her.
 
They were of no use to her.

Get it
together, Cheryl.

Her
father.
 
Even now.
 
Urging her on in spite of it all.

Smoke whipped
across the road in soiled veils on black.
 
She watched the shadow of an animal―another fox?―rush out of
the wood
s, slink across the road and disappear into the forest.
 
It moved so freely, she watched it with
envy while she herself planted her crutch on the pavement and took a step.
 
And another.
 
And another.
 
She moved as quickly as she could, the
will to live as powerful as the pain in her thigh.
 
He shot her twice.
 
If she could prevent it, she wasn’t
about to let him do it again.

Ahead of
her, on the side of the road, was a truck.
 
It wasn’t exactly on the road.
 
Instead, part of it was on the road and part of it was on the
grass.
 
It was just sitting
there.
 

It
belongs to them.

It was
huge.
 
Bulky.
 
A man’s truck.
 
Over-sized wheels.
 
So clean and shiny, it seemed alive in
the reflection of the flames that danced across it.
 

She felt
a surge of hope.
 
If the doors were
unlocked, she would have access to a horn, hazard lights and high beams that
she could flash on and off in an effort to get someone’s attention down the
road.
 
And even if they weren’t
unlocked, she’d smash the window with the stick and hopefully set off the
alarm, which would do the trick.
 
They’d hear it.
 
Someone
would question it.
 
They’d come for
her.

Move.

With
everything she had left in her body, she hopped on her left foot while keeping
her balance with the stick in her right hand.
 

The t
ruck was
twenty feet away, give or take, and the effort was exhausting.
 
She hopped and she hopped, and she felt
as if she was going to faint each time she lifted into the air and landed onto
the ground.
 
The loss of blood, the
lack of water―each was quiet
ly killing her.
 

Thoughts
of her own death seeped in, but she pushed them aside.
 
She was too close.
 
She fought too hard to lose now.
 
When her second death came, she deserved
a hell of a lot better than going out like this.
 
Before she left this world f
or good, she
deserved to have been loved by someone other than her family.
 
She deserved the love of a man.
 
A good man.
 
And children.
 
She wanted children and
grandchildren―she could taste that just like she could taste the blood in
her dry mouth―and it
drove her forward.

She
reached out the hand that held the stick and placed it down on the truck’s bed.

Where is
he?,
she wondered.
 
He
was just behind me?
 
Is he in the
woods, following me there?

She
hopped to the door, tried the handle, but it was locked.

Other
side.

She
hopped around the front of the truck and tried the handle.
 
Locked.
 
She’d need to smash the glass to get
inside, but she needed to do that on the driver’s side, so she could
immediately turn on the lights and start to blare the horn.
 

Again,
she hopped around the front of the truck, stumbled once, righted herself, and
kept going until she saw that somehow, though she hadn’t heard him, he was in
the middle of the street, limping toward her, his left hand holding his jaw,
his right hand holding the gun, which was pointed at her.

The
sight of him startled her.
 
The
fire’s roar and the sirens’ blare masked his footsteps.
 
She stared at him.
 
Assessed him.
 
Given the way he was limping due to the
buck that had rammed him, and how he was cradling his jaw, it was clear that he
was hurt.
 
If he shot, would he hit
her?
 
How good was his aim?

Does it
matter?
 
All it takes is one
shot.
 
One lucky shot and I’m
finished.
 
He could pop off five
shots, four could miss, but one might land in the middle of my forehead.
 
Don’t be stupid.

He
staggered a bit to his right.
 
She
noticed how much blood was on his jacket, how much blood still ran from his
nose and mouth, and wondered who was weaker?
 
Him or her?

There
are other ways to do this.

What other
ways?

Wait him
out.
 
See what happens.

She
watched his hand dip a bit.
 
Was the
gun getting heavy?

He’s not
going to wait to see what happens.
 
He’s running out of time himself.

She was
about to smash the stick through the window in an effort to sound the truck’s
alarm when the laser cut the distance between them and wavered over her
heart.
 
She looked down at her
chest, saw that the beam didn’t leave the area between her breasts, and then
slowly she looked back at him.

He was
smiling at her and she thought it was the ugliest, most terrifying smile she’d
seen.
 
It was the bloody smile of a
monster lifting its head from a fresh kill.
 
It was a smile that reeked of the
madness of a monster.

He
lowered his free hand into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys.
  
He jangled them at her.
 
Then he did it again, harder, as if to
underscore the idea that he’d won.
 

Jangle,
jangle.

“Get on
the other side.”
 

Sometimes,
it was difficult to understand him.
 
He was slurring his words.
 

He spit
and then glared at her.

“I said,
get on the other side.
 
You’re going
to die for your sins.
 
But not
here.
 
We’re getting out of here.
 
You and me.
 
Get in the truck.
 
We’re going for a ride.”

CHAPTER
FO
RTY-ONE

If she
got into the truck with him, she knew he’d turn the vehicle around and drive in
the other direction, thus skirting the police and the fire department at the
other end of the road.
 
He’d drive
away from her one hope for safety, he’d pull over, make her get out, and then
he’d shoot her dead on the side of the road before he came back to get his
friend.

Wherever
he was.

“You
might as well leave me here,” she said.
 
“I’ve lost a lot of blood.
 
Look at my thigh.
 
Nobody’s
going to be able to help me now.
 
Why don’t you just save yourself before they come for you?”

It was a
weak argument, but what else did she have at this point?
 

She
waited for him to say something, but he didn’t.
 
For reasons she didn’t understand, he
looked to his left.
 
Then to his
right.
 
Then he did a complete
circle, the gun’s laser beam flashed on and he began to point the gun, though
not at her.

“Get
them away from me, Maria.
 
And put down
your gun.
 
Now.”

There
was no one there.
 
He was talking to
the woman named Maria again.
 
The
same woman he spoke to in the woods, who also hadn’t been there then.
 
The look on his face had changed from
one of triumph to concern.
 
His
brows knitted together.
 
He looked
confused and, if she read him correctly, unnerved.

“Get
them away from me!
 
Tell them to put
down their weapons!
 
I’m not fucking
around!”

Was he
hallucinating?
 
He had to be.
 
Cheryl took a step back.

“It’s
not going to end like this,” he said.
 
“Not like this.
 
No way.
 
Isn’t Ted enough?
 
You set us up.
 
We were looking for her and you led us
to that hunter.
 
Now, they’re both
dead.
 
Satisfied?
 
You should be.
 
I’m warning you, Maria.
 
Put down your gun and tell the rest to
do the same.
 
Do it now, or I’ll
send you all to hell again.
 
I’m the
Chosen One.
 
This time it will be
for good.”

The man
who chased her earlier was dead.
 
Somehow, a hunter must have killed him.
 
She took another step back.

The heat
from the burning forest was becoming intense as the gathering firestorm
approached the woods’ edge.
 
She
could hear sparks erupting, trees falling, limbs breaking, all thudding to the
ground behind her.
 
Whatever animals
that were lucky enough to escape were long gone.
 
It was just them now.
 
And the fire.
 
And the police and the firemen down the
road who couldn’t see or hear them.
 
And whoever the hell else he thought he was talking to now.

With
both hands, he held the gun steady in front of him.
 
He pointed it left, then he swung around
and pointed it just to her right, down the street where the police and firemen
were fighting a seemingly unwinnable battle, just as she was.
 
By the fixed look in his eyes, if
someone was standing next to her, he’d be staring straight at that person.

He’s
insane.

She’d
thought it before, and she knew she was right.
 
What frightened her was the
unpredictability of that insanity.
 
At this point, at this very moment, anything could set him off in ways
that could end in her own death.
 
Watching him now, shouting at people who didn’t exist, she knew he was
on the verge of approaching a precipice of rage from which he wouldn’t be able
to pull back.

“From
Galatians 5:19,” he said.
 
“And you
hear me on this Maria.
 
You’re the
ringleader here, so you hear me.
 
Same goes for the rest of you sluts.
 
This is one of the chief reasons all of
you died.
 
This is why we killed you
and why I’ll keep killing whores just like you.
 
‘Now the works of the flesh are evident:
sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife,
jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness,
orgies, and things like these.
 
I
warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things will not
inherit the kingdom of God.’
 
So,
there you go.
 
You haven’t and you
never will inherit His kingdom because you’re nothing but a bunch of
whores.
 
Not one of you has
repented.
 
Not one of you has fallen
to your knees, sought the word of God and pleaded for your souls.
 
Instead, you stand there in judgment of
me.
 
Me.
 
Of all people―
me
!
 
You mock me, even though I have the
power to channel Him.
 
You hold your
guns on me as if
I’m
the enemy.
 
But I’m not.
 
I’m doing God’s
work.
 
I’ve been chosen.
 
You’re
the enemy.
 
Do you
get
it now?
 
It’s
you
.
 
Not
me
.”