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She knew this land. Knew that the well was close. It was boarded over, but if she could get to it, she could hide inside. Her wrist hurt, and her body ached, but adrenaline kept her moving. She was fit and strong. She could do this, keep herself safe and stay hidden from these people until help came.
“They’re around here somewhere!”
“Probably thrown free.”
“Find them!”
Quinn blocked out the voices looking for her. Getting to her feet, she ran. Crouching, she moved left and right, hoping she was going in the direction of the well. She saw the trees up ahead. They’d always been there, and as a kid she’d climbed them.
The well was near.
Moving through them, she veered right, then dropped to her hands and knees and crawled to the dried-up well. Standing, she tried to raise the cover, but her wrist was agony.
“Be strong, Quinn.”
She tugged and pushed until it moved enough for her to climb in. Quinn prayed the wooden steps her father had attached to the side years ago weren’t now rotten, then climbed down—not easy with a throbbing head and sore wrist.
She had to stop halfway and press herself to the wall as she heard voices. She saw the beam of a light and knew they were close. The torch light swept down inside the well. Quinn flattened herself as best she could.
“Something is down there!”
“Shoot!”
Christ.
The sound of bullets firing down at her was loud in the space. One hit her leg. She let herself fall. The distance to the bottom was not great, but if they thought they had killed her, then surely they’d leave.
She hit the ground with a thud, her head colliding with the wall, and she didn’t have to pretend to be unconscious. She was out.
