No Sanctuary (35 page)

She picked up speed. She tucked her head down and darted her long legs out fast and far. The belt and rope in her right hand flew as she pumped her arms. They lashed her face and shoulder and breast, they whipped her thigh and groin. They scorched her. She wanted to throw them down. But she might need them later. She couldn’t waste time balling them up to stop their flailing. So she ran as hard as she could, bearing the pain, hoping the snapping belt and rope would stay away from her eyes.

The sound of Holden’s crashing feet went silent. “Stop or I’ll shoot!” he shouted.

Gillian sprinted across the clearing. She heard her harsh breathing, the soft crushing noise of her footfalls, the sharp smack of the belt striking her bare skin, the softer whup of the rope’s lash.

She listened for a gunshot.

She could almost feel a slug crashing into her back. Right between the shoulder blades.

He doesn’t want to kill me, she thought. That’d spoil his fun.

He’ll try to go for the legs.

The sound of the gun reached her ears, filled her head. It was a quick metallic clack.

Silencer?

She heard the sound again and realized it was the hammer dropping.

The hammer snapped down fast, again and again. Gillian didn’t try to count the quick hard dada, but they went on and on.

She glanced back.

Holden stood in a shooter’s stance at the edge of the clearing, far behind her. The front of his pale knit shirt had a dark patch of blood on one side a few inches above his waist. He brought the revolver up dose to his face and scowled at it.

That was all Gillian saw before she swung her head forward again.

Empty gun, she thought. What luck!

Then she thought, My good Christ, I’m the one who unloaded it !

It was the revolver she’d found yesterday in his desk. Had to be. She remembered the cartridges tumbling into her palm, how she had dropped them into her shirt pocket and the heavy feel of them against her breast. Then she had put the revolver back into the drawer where it belonged-where Holden must’ve grabbed it before driving her from his home.

I saved my life.

The thought astonished her.

Not only had she rendered the revolver harmless, but it had caused Holden to stop while he took aim and snapped the hammer down on all the empty chambers. Now he was far behind her.

You’re not out of it yet, she warned herself. Don’t let it go to your head. You’ve had a couple of reprieves, that’s all. You’re in the middle of nowhere and he’s not going to give up............

She came to the edge of the clearing, dodged a tree, and dashed into the shadows.

Hide? she wondered.

Not yet. But maybe soon. Duck behind some rocks or something.

He might see you do it. Then he’d have you.

If you’re going to do it, you’d better do it now.

Hide. If you get away with it, you can backtrack to the car. Maybe he left the keys.

Fat chance.

Maybe he did.

If the keys are gone, disable the car. Stay on the dirt road; you’ll get to a real road. Flag down a car ...

I’m naked.

Big fucking deal.

Maybe I can find something in bis car to put on.

Gillian heard him racing through the woods. A long way off. She looked back and couldn’t see him.

Do it! she thought. Hide!

Still running as fast as she could, she swung her head from side to side. The tree trunks looked too skinny to hide behind. There were no clumps of bushes in sight. The few rocks jutting out of the forest floor seemed too small.

Climb?

He’ll see me.

People don’t look up. That’d been a big point in some novel she’d read years ago. The thought had intrigued her at the time, and she’d never forgotten it. People look down and around, but they rarely look up.

Get above Holden, maybe he’ll run right by.

Off to the right, not far ahead, stood a pine that was much bigger than most of the others. Its lower branches drooped to within a yard of the ground. Its upper trunk was completely hidden by the surrounding green of its bushy limbs.

Gillian raced toward it. As she ran, she shoved the belt between her teeth. She balled up the rope and pitched it to her right. It uncoiled in midair, sailed down, and dropped over a sapling about twenty feet away. She wished it had gone farther, but that was good enough. It might throw Holden off her trail.

If he sees it.

She dashed the rest of the way to the tree, dropped to her knees and scurried beneath the umbrella of its foliage. She crawled to the trunk. She stood up. The lowest branch was as high as her shoulders. She wrapped herself around the trunk and began to shin up it. The belt was in her way. A few times, it got caught between her chest and the trunk, and tugged at her jaw. But she kept her grip on the belt, freed it when it snagged, and kept on climbing.

She heard the distant crunch of Holden’s footfalls.

They were coming closer and closer.

She got a knee onto the lowest branch. Reaching up, she clutched a limb. She carefully straightened herself. She raised her left leg, squirmed against the trunk, found a foothold on the other side of the trunk, and thrust herself higher.

Holden sounded very close now. His shoes were thudding on the forest floor. She heard him gasping for breath.

Peering around the trunk, she saw patches of light through the tree’s curtain of foliage. But she couldn’t see Holden.

If I can’t see him, be can’t see me.

She wanted to climb higher.

The branches above her feet looked thick, but not as thick as those she had stepped onto before. If she put her weight on one and it bent even a little bit, a whole section of green on the outside of the tree might shake and give her away.

So she stood motionless, left foot braced on the branch, arms and legs hugging the trunk. Hearing Holden’s approach, she pressed herself more tightly against the trunk. She wished she could sink into it and disappear.

The sounds of the rushing footsteps stopped.

Near the place where the rope had landed?

He knows he’s lost me, Gillian thought. He doesn’t see me anywhere ahead, doesn’t hear me running. He’s starting to suspect I’ve tried to hide on him. He’s trying to figure out where.

Her heart thudded wildly. Calm down, she told herself. Pretend we’re playing hide and seek.

Pretend, hell!

Strange. She’d spoken so fondly of playing hide-and-seek to Jerry. Just yesterday.

And here I am now, playing it for keeps.

She wondered if she had ever tried hiding in trees. And then she remembered that she had—many times. She remembered standing on branches high up, clinging as the tree swayed in the wind, staring down as the kid who was “it” searched the yard and never looked up. The thrill had been like a giggle trapped in her throat.

Had she ever been found when she was hiding in a tree? She didn’t think so. They found her when she hid in bushes, under stairs, in window wells, but not when she climbed trees.

Maybe that’s the real reason she had decided to climb this one.

The forgotten trick of a kid game.

It worked then, she told herself. It’ll work now.

It better.

What’s he doing?

For the past minute—maybe longer—Gittian hadn’t heard a single footstep. He’d been panting for air when he arrived, but that had stopped very quickly.

If he left, she thought, I would’ve heard him. He must just be standing there, looking around, listening, waiting. Maybe he thinks I’ll decide the coast is clear and come out of hiding.

Maybe he did leave.

That’s what he wants me to think.

I’ll stay here all day. All night. Whatever it takes.

Footsteps rushed toward her tree.

Gillian’s heart lurched. She jerked her face back from the trunk and looked down.

Holden scurried under the hanging limbs, stood and gazed up at her.

Her breath blasted out as if she’d been punched in the stomach.

Holden’s knife was lashed to the end of a stick—tied there with the rope she had thrown to lead him astray.

The stick was six feet long.

Before Gillian could move, he jabbed upward with the makeshift spear. Its point sank into her right buttock. Yelping, she reached down for the knife. It pulled out of her and slashed at her hand, but missed.

She tugged the belt from her teeth and twisted herself away from the trunk. She pivoted, her right leg swinging backward through the air, foot kicking at the shaft of Holden’s knife-spear, then finding its way onto the same branch as her left foot.

The maneuver had turned Gillian around. She no longer had her back to Holden. She hugged the trunk with her left arm. Her right arm swung, whipping at the knife with the buckle-end of the belt.

The knife circled on the end of its stick. The lashing belt did little to keep it away. It slashed and thrust. Sometimes it got her. It poked the side of a calf. It nicked a hip. It sliced a thigh. It cut a half-inch slit across the top of her pubic mound.

Gillian knew he was toying with her. If he wanted, he could hack her to pieces or bury the blade in her. Instead, he tortured her with shallow stabs and slices.

He stared up at her with wide, eager eyes. His lips were a straight line. His tongue slid out between them as he made a hard sweeping slash at Gillian’s belly. The blade missed her by no more than an inch. As it passed, she struck it with her belt. The end of the belt wrapped the wooden shaft and she tugged. Holden tugged at the same instant. The belt jerked from her hand. Holden’s lips curled into a smile. He shook his spear. The belt slid down its shaft and dropped to the ground.

Gillian unhooked her arm from the tree trunk. As she sidestepped carefully, Holden jabbed the blade at her face. She flinched and nearly lost her balance. Her right arm waved. Her left hand grabbed an overhead branch. The knife point stung her left armpit, then scraped along the underside of her breast. The blade moved up between her breasts and turned, its edge pressing into her right breast.

She darted her right arm in, grabbed the shaft just below the knife handle, thrust it away from her body and leaped.

Leaped forward, diving, clutching the spear with her other hand as she flew.

Flew over Holden’s head.

Insane, she thought. Like diving into an empty pool.

She kept her grip on the spear as she crashed headfirst through a tangle of limbs that beat against her falling body. A branch pounded her hip, throwing her over. Then her back struck the ground.

She raised her head. Her skin was a maze of welts, scratches, and bleeding cuts. They itched and burned. But she couldn’t worry about that now.

The dive had carried her through the wall of foliage surrounding the pine. The spear was still in her hands. It had snapped in the fall, leaving only a few inches of shaft jutting out below the knife’s handle.

But she had the knife!

Gazing between her feet, she saw Holden scuttling through the shadows under the tree.

She gasped, rolled over, pushed herself up and whirled around to face him.

He held the rest of the spear—a long crooked pole. The break had left it with a point. He walked toward Gillian, both hands on the pole, shaking it at her. “Gonna shove it up your ass,” he whispered. “Gonna make you a scarecrow.” .

I’ve got the knife, she thought. But his words sent ice through her bones. He seemed so sure.

He lunged forward, driving the pole toward her belly. Gillisn slashed at it. The heavy blade knocked it aside. She threw herself at Holden, swinging the knife in a backhand stroke. He hurled himself out of its path and the blade cut only air. She glimpsed a blur of streaking pole and cried out as a blast of pain shot up her arm. Stunned, she saw the knife fly from her hand.

Holden turned, watching the knife, and started to go after it while it was still falling.

Gillian whirled around and ran.

It’s over, she thought.

Christ, I had the knife.

She sprinted.

It’s over, but I won’t make it easy for him.

Her arm throbbed. Her wounds burned. She felt blood and sweat sliding down her skin. Branches whipped her. Her feet snagged on something and she fell and skidded and scurried up again and kept on running.

In the distance ahead, the forest shadows were broken by brightness.

Another clearing? she wondered.

Maybe a lake!

If it’s a lake up there, I’ll dive in and swim. Maybe Holden can’t swim!

She glanced back.

Holden was racing after her, no more than twenty feet away. He had the pole down at his side, clutched in his left hand. His right hand held the knife.

Gillian dashed out of the trees.

Clear open space ahead.

Rocky ground for a few more yards.

But no lake.

A valley.

Gillian tried to stop.

GOD, NO! was her 6na1 thought before she stumbled off the edge..

This is it, Gillian thought as she plummeted.

Her feet hit rock. Her knees shot up, one striking her chin like a pitched hardball.

She was lying on the beach. She could hear the nearby surf. Her skin was sizzling.

I’m going to have a doozy of a sunburn, she thought.

I’d better roll over.

She couldn’t move. The sun seemed to be pressing down on her, holding her motionless.

If I don’t roll over ...

A kid ran by, kicking up sand. Grains of it flew into Gillian’s open mouth. She started to choke.

Coughing, she raised her head and pushed herself up on her elbows. The sight of her naked, battered body destroyed the dream. She coughed and spat. Blood sprayed her chest. So did bits of something—not sand, though. Chips of broken teeth? Her vision darkened and swam. She twisted quickly onto her side and vomited.

When she was done, she squirmed away from the mess. She rolled onto her back and her right leg slipped into emptiness. With a gasp of alarm, she jerked it up and crossed it over her other leg. Her pounding heart sent waves of pain through her head. She patted the ground and felt an edge of rock no more than two inches from her side.