Maggie tried to get a sense of where in the forest she was. What did Griffin tell her? He just wanted to scare the kids. Didn’t want them snooping around the field house. This had to be where they had gotten the salvia. If he wanted to frighten them away, that meant the field house was close to the crime scene.
She couldn’t spend any more time inside. She had already exceeded what she told herself was past high risk. She started to zigzag her way to the back door and that’s when she found the tall cabinet with glass doors, holding a contraption that looked like a rifle.
She went to get a closer look, stepping around one and then another stainless-steel counter. She didn’t see the foot, didn’t see the man hunched on the floor until she was on top of him. She jumped back, ready to run. But the man didn’t move.
In the blue glow she could see his face—eyes wide open, blood trickling from his mouth. Without checking she knew Wesley Stotter was dead.
CHAPTER 68
She had to keep moving.
Don’t stop. Don’t look back.
She could do this. That’s what Maggie told herself as she stumbled under the weight of the backpack with the rifle slung over her shoulder. Up ahead she saw the yellow crime-scene tape flapping from several trees. Just the sight pumped another surge of adrenaline. She could do this. She couldn’t think about Stotter right now. She had to focus on the task at hand.
She had fired an assortment of weapons. How much different could this be from an AK-47? Except that it was very different with cords and packs and an energy source instead of bullets. But she wouldn’t have time to study it. Lugging it was challenge enough. She had also helped herself to a pair of dirty white coveralls she found hanging by the door. She had rolled up the cuffs and the sleeves, pulling it over her shorts and sweatshirt. The warmth helped her ignore the extra bulk.
As soon as she left the field house she thought she heard him. Leaves crackled, a branch snapped. Griffin wouldn’t even need night-vision goggles to track her. But why let her leave with the rifle?
Because he doesn’t think you’ll be able to fire it.
She pushed the thought out of her mind.
For a rare moment the cicadas were quiet but Maggie couldn’t hear Griffin. Again, he was giving her a head start.
Cocky son of a bitch.
She thought she heard a car door slam but she could no longer see the field house or the clearing. He knew she wouldn’t get far. He’d stop and get what he needed.
Within minutes she made it past the yellow tape. She was back at the crime scene. Familiar territory. She could, at least, stay put, get set. But there were a few things she needed to do. She hoped she had enough time.
Without much effort she found what she was looking for. She tried to remember what Donny had told her, then she took a deep breath and got to work.
She saw Griffin without effort. He had put on a pair of the white coveralls, too. Which meant he was ready to do whatever it took. She imagined what the teenagers saw that night when he came for them. Dawson talked about a white wolf. Griffin had known the salvia would provide enough hallucinatory effects to enhance his disguise. This time he didn’t have the bug-eyed goggles. He wouldn’t need them. Maggie had counted on his confidence. That’s why she chose the darkest shadows she could find, though she knew her white coveralls would be easy to spot.
“It’s over,” he told her, stopping about twenty feet away.
She raised the rifle and flipped the switch which sounded similar to racking a round of a shotgun.
She waited.
His steps were slow but not hesitant.
Her finger stayed on the trigger. Just a few more feet. She wanted to make sure he was in range for the full impact. She remembered Platt saying fifteen to twenty feet. She’d make him come as close as possible. She had checked all the connections, made sure the cord from the backpack to the rifle butt hadn’t been disengaged. There were no other switches. She had checked.
Fifteen feet.
The darkness played to her disadvantage now. She couldn’t see his face. Couldn’t tell if he was afraid or smiling. She couldn’t even make out what he was holding.
It was way too dark.
“Won’t make a difference without the power pack,” he said and held up an object.
Maggie felt as if she had been kicked in the gut. That was the one thing that was different about the rifle. It required an energy source in place of bullets. That’s what the backpack was for. Was Griffin bluffing? Did the gun also need a power pack–like battery to hold its charge?
He stepped closer.
She ignored her sweaty palms and steeled herself. He had to be bluffing.
“Stop or I’ll shoot.”
He kept coming and Maggie pulled the trigger.
Nothing.
She tried again and the empty click made her heart stop. She heard him laugh as she threw down the rifle and clawed at the straps of the heavy backpack, trying to shrug it off as she turned to run.