You Only Die Twice

Chapter THIRTY-SEVEN





The sirens were ahead of her, just to her left, which told her what she needed to know.

The road is there.

She watched the laser dance along the ground. She watched it hunt for her. Search for her. He was nearly upon her now. If she took off into the woods, he’d hear her for sure. So, what to do? Wait him out? Throw the rock in his face? Then run?

Maybe.

The one thing she remembered about him when she saw him at the bar with Patty was that he was relatively tall―and absolutely built. At the very least, a rock to his face would stun him, maybe even bring him to his knees if she hit him hard enough, but then what? He’d recover while she broke through the woods and moved toward the sounds of those sirens. And then he’d be right at her back with his laser and he’d shoot her.

I’m screwed.

The laser swiped through the smoke. Slashed through it. She heard him cough and clear this throat, which likely was burning every bit as much as hers was. Because of the wind, the smoke wasn’t as dense as it would have been if the wind was blowing in their direction, but it was enough to sting her eyes and make it difficult for her to see, let alone to breathe.

When he finally emerged into view, she saw that he had his shirt wrapped around his nose and mouth. Brown jacket. Jeans. What she could see of his face confirmed what she already knew. This was indeed the young man who picked up Patty at The Grind. This was the young man who just said to someone named Maria that he raped Patty.

Did he also kill her? Cheryl had no reason to believe that he didn’t and her body ached for the loss of her friend. Patty had been there for her for years, especially during the most difficult time in her life, when Mark Rand cut her throat after a dinner party in college and left her to die in woods not unlike these.

But once she survived death, didn’t she? She survived it then and, with luck, she could survive it now. The question was how.

She was crouched low into a ball in an effort to conceal her white T-shirt, which now appeared orange in the fiery light, which was good because it helped her to blend in with her surroundings. Her head was tucked low against her knees but tilted just enough so she could see him walking forward.

Forty feet away. Thirty. He turned his head from side to side. Sometimes, he stopped to look at something he likely thought was her, but wasn’t. He never stopped for long. The fire was getting closer. Time was running out for each of them. He either was going to burn in these woods because he was some mad son of a bitch, or at some point, he was going to make a break for it, give up the hunt and save himself.

But she knew better.

He just spoke to a woman who wasn’t there. He said he could walk straight through her. Who in their right mind says that? No one. He’s delusional. He’s on a mission to kill and that mission is me.

Twenty feet.

He used the Bible to defend killing the woman named Maria. He said that she and the other women he murdered were whores who deserved to die. He’s a zealot. A freak. He will burn here because he probably thinks that God will protect him.

Ten feet.

He looked off to his right, away from her, where a burning limb just fell and struck the ground. If she was going to do anything, it had to be now.

The side of his head was right there, just in front of her. She needed to crush his temple. She could kill him right now if her wounded left arm didn’t betray her. Could she throw a ball like she used to? Could she sink it into the mitt, which in this case was the side of his head? Doubtful. At least not in this condition.

Stop it. I can do this.

She gripped the rock, felt confident and secure in its size and in its weight, and was about to stand up and hurl it at him when he turned and faced her.

Their eyes locked.

Time slowed.

He lowered his shirt over his nose and mouth, and a smile broke across his face.

“There you are,” he said.

His eyes darkened.

The world spun.

The rock flew out of her hand.

She saw it smash into his mouth and break his teeth at the same moment that his gun went off. The sound was muffled, barely audible―the gun had a silencer attached to it. She felt a bullet tear through her right thigh. She reeled back and screamed in pain as she watched him drop face-first onto a bed of needles too warm for someone so cold.