You Only Die Twice

Chapter FORTY





She fell on her side, rolled down the hill and came to a stop at the edge of the road. He hadn’t hit her. He hadn’t won yet. But he was coming. She heard him coming. The woods gave beneath his feet, the smaller saplings crumpled beneath them and when he stumbled, all was crushed by them. Soon, he’d burst into the open and his eyes and his laser would be upon her.

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 woods, 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 truck 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 quietly 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 for 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.”