You Only Die Twice

Chapter FORTY-ONE





If she got into the truck with him, she knew he’d turn the vehicle around and drive in the other direction, thus skirting the police and the fire department at the other end of the road. He’d drive away from her one hope for safety, he’d pull over, make her get out, and then he’d shoot her dead on the side of the road before he came back to get his friend.

Wherever he was.

“You might as well leave me here,” she said. “I’ve lost a lot of blood. Look at my thigh. Nobody’s going to be able to help me now. Why don’t you just save yourself before they come for you?”

It was a weak argument, but what else did she have at this point?

She waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. For reasons she didn’t understand, he looked to his left. Then to his right. Then he did a complete circle, the gun’s laser beam flashed on and he began to point the gun, though not at her.

“Get them away from me, Maria. And put down your gun. Now.”

There was no one there. He was talking to the woman named Maria again. The same woman he spoke to in the woods, who also hadn’t been there then. The look on his face had changed from one of triumph to concern. His brows knitted together. He looked confused and, if she read him correctly, unnerved.

“Get them away from me! Tell them to put down their weapons! I’m not f*cking around!”

Was he hallucinating? He had to be. Cheryl took a step back.

“It’s not going to end like this,” he said. “Not like this. No way. Isn’t Ted enough? You set us up. We were looking for her and you led us to that hunter. Now, they’re both dead. Satisfied? You should be. I’m warning you, Maria. Put down your gun and tell the rest to do the same. Do it now, or I’ll send you all to hell again. I’m the Chosen One. This time it will be for good.”

The man who chased her earlier was dead. Somehow, a hunter must have killed him. She took another step back.

The heat from the burning forest was becoming intense as the gathering firestorm approached the woods’ edge. She could hear sparks erupting, trees falling, limbs breaking, all thudding to the ground behind her. Whatever animals that were lucky enough to escape were long gone. It was just them now. And the fire. And the police and the firemen down the road who couldn’t see or hear them. And whoever the hell else he thought he was talking to now.

With both hands, he held the gun steady in front of him. He pointed it left, then he swung around and pointed it just to her right, down the street where the police and firemen were fighting a seemingly unwinnable battle, just as she was. By the fixed look in his eyes, if someone was standing next to her, he’d be staring straight at that person.

He’s insane.

She’d thought it before, and she knew she was right. What frightened her was the unpredictability of that insanity. At this point, at this very moment, anything could set him off in ways that could end in her own death. Watching him now, shouting at people who didn’t exist, she knew he was on the verge of approaching a precipice of rage from which he wouldn’t be able to pull back.

“From Galatians 5:19,” he said. “And you hear me on this Maria. You’re the ringleader here, so you hear me. Same goes for the rest of you sluts. This is one of the chief reasons all of you died. This is why we killed you and why I’ll keep killing whores just like you. ‘Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God.’ So, there you go. You haven’t and you never will inherit His kingdom because you’re nothing but a bunch of whores. Not one of you has repented. Not one of you has fallen to your knees, sought the word of God and pleaded for your souls. Instead, you stand there in judgment of me. Me. Of all people―me! You mock me, even though I have the power to channel Him. You hold your guns on me as if I’m the enemy. But I’m not. I’m doing God’s work. I’ve been chosen. You’re the enemy. Do you get it now? It’s you. Not me.”

He turned sharply away from her and seemed to face someone else.

“What did you just say to me? You think I’m crazy? Is that what you said? It is, isn’t it? Well, let me tell you something, lady, I’ve heard that my whole life. I heard it from my parents, who threw me out of the house when I was eighteen. I heard it from my teachers, who didn’t understand why I always carried the Book with me and read from it in class, when they wanted me to learn some useless bullshit like chemistry, history or math. I heard it from people on the street, when I stood up against abortion. I’ve heard it all and it means nothing to me because it’s not true.”

His back was to her. Cheryl Dunning looked down at the dead tree limb she used as a crutch and felt its weight. Not heavy, but not slight, either. He was six, maybe seven feet away from her. Could she do it? And if she didn’t do it, what then? He was going to kill her anyway. It was just a matter of time. If she didn’t act when she had the chance―and she felt she had a good chance right now―she’d forever regret it, even if forever, in her world, was now reduced to a matter of moments.

She lifted the limb quietly above her head, took a step forward and listened to her bum leg drag across the ground.

She froze at the sound of it and looked at him. He was in full rant, raving at someone who wasn’t there, and if he heard her, he didn’t act as if he did. He was pointing his finger at something that wasn’t there. Shoving it at someone he alone could see. He was yelling something about the power of God and how he, as the Chosen One, was the only living person who could channel that power.

“I’m here because of Him. I’m here to carry out His laws. Do you get it? Do you understand my role? The importance of it?”

She took another step, this time tipping her body to the left so her leg didn’t drag as much. It didn’t. She held the limb higher, almost as if it was a baseball bat, and a surge of adrenaline shot through her when she realized she might just pull this off. She stared at the back of his head, took another step and held her breath. Almost within striking distance. His voice bellowing into the night.

They killed Patty. They killed my friend. They nearly killed me. If he lives, how many other women will he kill?

Anger rising, she took another step. And a final one, but this time her right foot caught on something―a dip in the pavement―and she tripped a little.

Which he heard.

He spun around and faced her.

Time warped into another sphere.

The light of the fire shined upon his twisted face. It threw shadows upon it, his broken nose and his bloody horror movie of a mouth.

“You,” he said.

“That’s right―me.”

Before he could lift the gun, Cheryl Dunning reached deep into whatever pool of energy she had left and swung that limb as if it was a bat. She swung it just as hard as she did when she and her father would play ball in Broadway Park. She swung it like a champ wanting to bust a ball out of a stadium so she could run the bases while her father cheered her on. She swung it at his head, cracked it hard against his skull, but the momentum of the act got the best of her.

She lost her balance and fell into him as he listed to her left. She dropped the stick and reached out to grab his jacket for support.

It was the worst thing she could have done.

She fell back and, with her hands still gripping his jacket, she took him down on top of her.