Lying on the ground, Frank held one hand at his right shoulder where blood was beginning to soak his shirt.
“Jesus Christ… Are you alright?!” screamed Bridgette as she ripped off her cardigan and began wrapping it around Frank’s gushing wound in an attempt to control the bleeding. Above them, Frank could see a faint shadow, a figure blocking out the moonlight. Before Kendricks could act, Frank was flailing on the ground below him, kicking and trying to take him down before he had the chance to strike. Frank climbed to his feet with great effort, yielding all his strength into a sucker punch straight to Kendricks’ jaw that sent him flying backwards into the darkness. Shaking his head out of dizziness, Bridgette sat Frank down so she could continue getting the bleeding under control. Thinking Kendricks was down for the count was the biggest mistake she could have made. Bridgette focused on the task at hand and applied pressure to Frank’s shoulder. The last thing that she remembers is an incredible jolt to her skull before being laid out cold by the butt of Kendricks’ rifle.
*
“Get to the stables! There is a phone in there!” yelled Tommy as he and the boys ran across the land in search of a phone. It felt like they were running for miles, their breath heavy as panic rose in the pit of their bellies. Finally they reached the stables, hearts pounding, but as Shane picked up the phone, the expression on his face morphed from one of hope to one of disbelief.
“It’s dead.”
*
Tristan moved stealthily towards the foyer, closer to where the noise had sounded, trying to determine who was in the house with her. Old houses make noises, remember? A groaning floorboard, or maybe a shifting settlement. This was different. It was as if she could hear the rubber of a boot hitting the floor. There! She heard it again. That was no settling foundation. She felt every hair on her arm stand up, as every nerve protested in fear. She knew that if she turned around now, she would see his longing stare. She wasn’t alone.
Kendricks had to stifle his laughter. This was so easy. It was so easy to manipulate people. So easy to get what he wanted. But Catherine had always been a challenge. He knew she wouldn’t come so easy. Slowly, he made his way around to the back of the house and descended into the storm cellar. It was only a matter of time now.
*
Jack finally reached his truck, threw his crutches into the passenger seat, and lifted himself gingerly into the driver’s seat. It was uncomfortable to say the least, as his leg lay trapped in a hard cast. If he were shot an inch lower, he wouldn’t have needed the cast at all, but with a shattered knee cap, there wasn’t much else to do about it. He still had one good leg though. He would just have to be careful. He leaned out to shut the door, reached into the glove box for his gun and pushed hard on the gas, leaving St. Benedict’s behind him.
*
DiNolfo stopped the patrol car, heart pulsing and thoughts racing as she stepped into the night. As her boots transferred from gravel to the dirt floor of the forest, the light suddenly turned off, leaving her in complete darkness. She grabbed the flashlight out of her jacket, flicked it on, and allowed it to illuminate a path before her. Nerves on edge, she peered around from left to right, catching the glare of a deer standing in the fog that had lingered off the mountain. The forest was eerily quiet. Not a cricket nor a bird rustled, but as quiet as it was, DiNolfo knew that she wasn’t alone
*
“Who’s there?!” Tristan yelled, thinking that she would get a response from the typically talkative Kendricks. Slowly she backed herself into a corner. An old trick Jack had taught her. Most people think getting backed into a corner is a bad thing, and it usually is, unless you have no clue where your attacker is coming from. Backing yourself into a corner means no one can stab you in the back or surprise you from behind.