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“Three!” Birch crashed through the door, and Sandra realized in the blur that he hadn’t kicked the door down; he had lowered his shoulder and driven through it headfirst.
What a fantastic stroke of luck. Not realizing that she was going to let out a crazy high-pitched banshee war-wail, she did, as she leapt off the toilet and brought the chunk of porcelain down on Birch’s head. Even leaping off a toilet, she barely had any height advantage. His eyes widened in realization of what was about to happen, and he tried to dodge the blow, but there was nowhere to go. His arms flew up to block it, and he managed to get one hand between the weapon and his noggin, but the blow was still significant.
The tall, muscular man with the large knees crumpled to the floor, and Sandra, worried that she’d actually killed him, fell on top of him in a mess of limbs. She scrambled to her feet and stared down at him in wonder. Her crazy plan had actually worked. His chest was moving. He probably wasn’t dead. All the dreadlocks must’ve cushioned the impact.
Now what should she do? She should tie him up, right? So he couldn’t chase her? But did she want to take the time? Mike White was coming, right? Or at least someone was?
The sound of an approaching engine made the decision for her. She started for the door, but then, out of the corner of her eye, saw that there was a back door, and she turned to head that way. It was locked, and her frantic fingers spent precious seconds trying to unlock it, but then she was out the door and running into the woods. She winced as sticks broke beneath her feet. She shouldn’t be making so much noise, but she couldn’t help it. She ran as fast as she could, so glad she’d been training for this for the last few weeks, and when she heard a man bellow something indistinguishable behind her, she ran even faster.
She stayed near the shoreline, in part because the going was easier, and in part because she hoped to stumble upon another camp. She hoped to find one with a Good Samaritan, a phone, or both. She ran and ran, and despite the adrenaline, her legs grew tired. With dismay, she realized she’d been going uphill for a while, and she looked to her left to see that the water was quite a ways below her now. Her chest burned for air, and her muscles were cramping. Praying “God, save me” over and over, she slowed her run to a walk and then to a slow walk. She bent over and tried to breathe quietly, tried to listen for the sounds of approaching madmen. But there was nothing.
Maybe they hadn’t followed her.
Yeah, right. They had followed her. This thought got her moving again, and she began to walk, and then, when the earth sloped downhill again, she began to run. And it was then that her toe caught on an exposed root, and inertia carried the top half of her toward the ground. She put her hands out to brace herself, and they did their job. With relief, she realized she wasn’t injured. But that relief was quickly overwhelmed by the realization that she was still falling. Only it was more like rolling. Rolling down the hill toward the water. She let out a little cry, which she instantly regretted, and her fingers clawed at the ground, trying to find something to grab.
And then there was nothing. Nothing to grab, and no ground beneath her. She was free-falling. Lord, let the water be deep, she thought as she crashed through the surface with a terrific splash.
It was deep. Thank you, Father. It was also freezing cold. Today’s impromptu heat wave had done nothing to heat this mystery lake up, and as Sandra burst back up through the surface, she immediately swam for shore. She wasn’t a strong swimmer, but she put her face in the water and kicked for all she was worth, sure she was going faster than she ever had.
Her hand struck the bottom, and she scrambled to her feet, wiping the water from her eyes as she staggered onto the shore. At least I’m not sweaty anymore, she thought and actually managed to smile at the thought.
“What’s so funny?” a gravelly voice asked, and Sandra stopped smiling.