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He reaches back and picks up the hunting knife, cutting the ties on her wrists. He pulls her to her feet, then stands behind her, gun against her back, the knife at her neck. She feels the hard metal push into her flesh.
“Walk,” he says, shoving her with the gun, and she stumbles on wobbly legs, reaching the door in a few steps.
“Open it.”
She cradles her damaged hand. It’s bleeding a lot now, the wound gaping. She fumbles with the bolts, eventually pulling them across.
The wind hits her full in the face as they step outside. It’s pouring with rain. They take slow steps away from the house, and she looks out into the darkness. She can’t hear any signs of civilization; she can’t see any lights. She has no idea which direction to go.
She can still feel the knife on her neck, the gun on her back. But the pressure is less. It’s a risk, but what choice does she have? There’s no one here, no one is coming. With a sudden twist, she jerks away from him, pushing his right arm with one hand, snapping her elbow back with the other. She makes contact, but she doesn’t look back.
She hears a roar of anger from behind her, making her blood run cold.
And she runs.
CHAPTER
77
IT’S PITCH-BLACK, SHE can’t see more than a foot in front of her, but she runs. Her lungs strain—she runs as fast as she can. She stumbles on a tree root, catches herself, pushing through branches and undergrowth.
Jess doesn’t know how far he is behind her. She feels brambles pull at her clothes, something scratch her face. She catches an uneven piece of ground, rolling her ankle, but she pulls herself up again, running, running.
Where is this place? There are no roads, no signs of life. She claws through bushes, she’s out of breath, frantic. She hears the bang of a gunshot and mentally checks herself. He must have missed, she thinks. How many bullets does he have? She thinks of the knife, she thinks of his threat, and she runs.
But then she hears another bang and something knocks her sideways. She feels the energy sap out of her body. But she pushes herself forward. She can’t let him catch her. She can’t.
She glances behind her, trying to see him, but then suddenly there’s nothing. Her foot meets thin air and she feels herself falling, tumbling over rocks and through dirt. Her hands scrabble at the ground, trying to stop herself.
She hears the crack as her left leg hits the bottom of the slope. She feels the bone break. She comes to a stop. She can taste blood in her mouth, the crunch of mud between her teeth. She tries to move, but her leg isn’t working, and she looks at it in the dim glow. White bone, a piece of her tibia, her shin, sticks out of bloody flesh, her jeans torn, leg bent at an angle.
She grabs at a tree next to her to pull herself to her feet, resting all her weight on her good leg. She tries to limp, but she can feel the grate of bone against bone, flapping flesh moving wetly around the wound. She falls to the ground again with a cry.
Jess curses her broken body. She can’t feel the pain, but that can only get her so far. With her leg broken, shattered into pieces, there’s no way she can outrun him.
She lies still. She tries to slow her frantic breathing. He doesn’t know where she is, she tells herself. Maybe he won’t be able to find her. Maybe the police are already out looking. Maybe. Maybe.
She waits ten, fifteen minutes. Her eyes dart, desperately searching. She strains her ears to listen. She can’t hear anything but the wind and the rain. Maybe he’s gone. Maybe.
She should move. She can’t stay here all night. In the darkness she can see she’s at the edge of a clearing. She imagines a path, a dirt road, anything that could lead her to help. She pulls herself forward on her elbows and her good knee, fingers gripping the mud to edge across.
And that’s when she sees it.
It’s unrecognizable at first. Her brain can’t comprehend the shapes. It hangs above her, pale and white, in the haze of the moonlight. It turns slowly, dripping, flapping. The creak of the rope. The black hollows, the dark red, the streaks and stains.
And then she realizes what it is.
And she starts to scream.
CHAPTER
78
SHE CAN’T LOOK away. Everything in her wants to close her eyes, wants to disappear, wants to stop looking at the horrific scene, but she’s locked. Focused on the body.
It’s a woman. Jess realizes that now. She hangs above her, a thick rope wrapped around her neck, her head bent toward the ground, staring directly at Jess with those unnaturally wide, open eyes. Her tongue is black and swollen in her mouth, her long blonde hair loose and limp around her shoulders, draped almost artistically over her naked breasts. A patchwork of bruises cover her pale body, mottled purple.
Her legs are streaked with red and brown. Her toes point downward; mud, rain, blood, something indescribable, dripping to the ground.
