I was about fifteen feet ahead of Clay. I would have to use that advantage as soon as I reached the top. If only I had some hot water or oil.
He wasn’t taking any chances. He freed up his right hand, pried loose a small rock, and threw it at me. I thought there was no way it’d actually—
“Ow!” I screamed, as the rock hissed into my hand.
He’d tagged me directly on the knuckles. A one-in-a-hundred shot. The pain was instant, loosening my grip, but it was a miss for my opponent. He was aiming for my head.
I looked down toward him. Thirty feet behind me now—but he’d chosen his route badly and had hit a dead end. He’d have to go down and over to my route and, maybe in a few minutes, catch up with me. But he readied another rock to throw.
I had the rifle on my back. I remembered when I fired it into the air, the recoil. My shoulder was still sore. If I tried shooting it now, it would knock me off the wall. Thinking about the gun, I lost concentration, promptly losing the foothold under my left toe.
I started to fall.
I swung half a pendulum arc, my body anchored only by my middle three fingers on my right hand as I lost three of my four holds. Pebbles crumbled from where my feet were, a hundred feet down to the crevasse below me. My rifle strap slid off my shoulder, down my torso, past my legs, and sailed toward the abyss, ricocheting off the cliff face, past where Clay might have caught it midair—no chance, although he did try—before spinning into the trench below.
We both paused for a moment.
He broke the silence. “Let’s stop and think, Miranda. I believe we may have a misunderstanding.”
I could see the look in his eyes. There was no misunderstanding. He was a demonic tarantula crawling up from below relentlessly. I’d originally thought we were evenly matched. I was wrong. He was immensely better at this. He had chosen a bad route, but was now rushing up behind me with a violent focus.
Bloodlust.
Then he made a move I didn’t see coming.
“Aaron!” he yelled upward.
What is he doing?
“Aaron Cooper!” he yelled again.
I kept climbing.
“Your wife is coming to kill you, Aaron!”
What?!
“She thinks you betrayed her!”
He’s insane. Did he actually think this would work? I started accelerating my climb even faster than its already uncomfortable speed. I took risks that required not looking down. “Don’t listen to him!” I shouted upward.
“She’s lost her mind, Aaron!” he yelled. “Protect Sierra! Because Miranda is coming to kill you!”
My husband would never believe this. Though, in his delirious state…I scrambled over the edge in an ungraceful lunge, then stood by the road getting my bearings. I grabbed the purple kangaroo hat. My predator was no more than thirty seconds behind me on the trek. I’d need every nanosecond of that margin.
Go!
The black SUV was parked down the road. I vaulted the guardrail and sprinted directly for it. I was of course profoundly relieved to see it there, but also instantly reminded that this vehicle was the source of my misery.
No matter, it was a sight for sore eyes. This model came with all the options I ever wanted: Aaron and Sierra!
As I got closer, stumbling my last few steps, I could see the two of them lying against the rear wheel. When I sent them up here, it had seemed impossible. I don’t know if I actually believed they could make it. But there they were, delivered as promised. One napping daughter and one still-intact husband.
“Get inside!” I shouted at them. “Get inside!”
Clay was just making his way over the guardrail, only ten seconds behind me. I fumbled for the keys and the unlock button. Aaron and Sierra started to stir, roused by my voice, but gradually, too gradually for my liking. I arrived like a train wreck, my own momentum slamming me against the rear door on the driver’s side. I yanked it open to shove (as gently as I could) the wobbling Aaron into the interior, throwing Sierra in his lap. I flung open the driver’s door and jumped in, cranking the ignition just as the rear window was shattered.
Clay had found a rock—probably forged from his own kidney stones—to smash the window. He was already thrusting his arms into the back seat, attempting to grab my husband by the collar.
“Daddy!” cried Sierra, seeing her father about to get yanked into the clutches of pure evil.
I stomped on the gas and gunned it. Clay’s arms retreated as the SUV rocketed forward, and we finally hit the road at full speed. I wanted to make Clay appear in my rearview mirror and shrink.
And he did. Just as two white vans emerged in the distance behind him. His reinforcements.