Belle was in the lane, walking through the pouring rain. Lightning crashed overhead. She walked even though she could barely feel her legs. She was shuddering, and when she put her hand out in front of her in the strobing blue-white half-dark she could see it shaking, she could feel it, tremors zipping not only through her arms but throughout her whole body. She was going to pass out. She knew she was. She would fall down flat and someone would come hurtling through here in a car and then she really would be dead.
There were no streetlights out here. The rain was drenching. Thunder rolled in the distance, then more lightning split the sky, neon-bright. She had no idea what direction she was heading in or what she was going to do. She could hear owls hooting in the woods and far away in the distance a fox barked. Trembling, soaked through and shivery from the water and feeling more wetness, frightening wetness, drenching her, dripping down from her head and streaming from the punctures on her leg, she stepped up onto the grass verge, moaning with pain as she moved.
Then . . . Christ, a car! She half-turned, seeing the full beam of headlights, and thought oh thank God.
Then she felt a fresh bolt of terror.
What if it was them?
What if they somehow knew she’d got out of there and were coming to find her? Stumbling, groaning, Belle staggered over to the far side of the broad verge and there was a ditch. She sat down on her arse and let herself drop into it. It was deeper than she expected, and she felt her feet sink into muddy water up to a foot deep. Agony erupted in her leg and as she slipped down sideways her head was suddenly afire with pain. Trying not to shriek, she ducked down as the car rounded the lane. It was moving slowly, as if . . .
As if whoever was in there was looking for something.
The car glided slowly by, its headlights sweeping mere inches above her head. Then it was gone, up the lane. Teeth chattering, she crouched there and wondered if they’d come back. If she ought to just stay down here until daylight. But . . . she didn’t think she’d make it through the night. Not here. It was cold, wet, and she was hurt. Hurt badly. She could feel blood still running down from her head, over her face. Her body was wet and her leg was in filthy muddy water; she’d die if she stopped here.
Sobbing with pain, Belle hauled herself hand over hand out of the ditch. For minutes she lay there on the grass verge, too weak to move. Thunder crashed overhead. She was losing blood. She had a horrible picture in her mind, of being found here in the morning, face down on the verge, dead.
No!
She was not going to die. Harlan was not going to win. No way could he have this final victory over her.
Belle pushed herself up, onto her hands and knees and from there to her feet. She staggered on. Somewhere there would be help. There had to be. And then she heard a car coming from the other direction. She wanted to walk out into the road, flag it down, beg for help – but it could be them, coming back.
Not the ditch. Not again.
But there was nothing else. No trees to hide behind. Only big hedges, either side of the lane. No safe shelter anywhere. The lightning would show her up. She’d be caught. Whimpering, she went back to the ditch and slipped down into it once again, feeling the horrible squelch and suck of the mud, shuddering at the icy chill of it.
The car was rounding the bend. Slow again. Were they checking, looking for her? The car cruised past, very slow. Belle held her breath. If they stopped, searched more closely, she’d be done for. They’d throw her back in with those monsters and that would be it.
The car slowed.
She couldn’t breathe, didn’t dare.
Then there was a roar from the engine and the car shot away, surging around a bend in the lane. The headlights faded. The noise of the engine faded too. Soon there was only the endless drenching patter of the rain and the hard, frightened thudding of her own heart.
Belle crouched there. She waited, shivering, agonized.
Then she clawed her way back up out of the ditch and lay there for long moments on the verge.
Got to move.
They could come back.
I can’t. I can’t do it, she thought.
She pushed up onto her elbows, forced herself to her knees and then to her feet. She walked on.