Saturday, August 6, 11:21 p.m.
She needed to get to the road. She knew it led away from here. Eventually, it connected to the highway that went all the way to Toronto, a city she’d once visited. But if anyone was looking for her … the road was two hundred metres away, and the parking lot in between was all lit up. She could stay in the woods, she supposed, and get farther south before exposing herself. That would probably work. But then from Toronto? She wasn’t thinking that far into the future. And if she wanted one, she’d have to stay more than a few steps ahead.
By now, he would be missing her. By now, he’d know she was gone.
He was going to follow her. She knew he would. She could lose him in the city, change her looks. But if she did that, she’d never know if she was safe. He’d always be in the back of her mind. No matter where she went, she’d be expecting him to step out of a doorway and say hello.
Then there was the problem of the man lying at her feet. He was on the ground between the pickup and the Camry, flat on his back and breathing funny. She wasn’t sure what was wrong. She wasn’t sure it mattered now. He was out of view, anyway. She watched his lower jaw working silently in time to the movement of his hand, a pulsing motion, like he was operating a tiny bellows that worked his mouth.
She crept toward him cautiously and then leaned down and rifled the pockets in his jacket. His eyes were wild, following her, trying to communicate with her. She pushed him over onto his side and saw the bulge of his wallet in his back pocket. She wedged it out and opened it. “I …,” he said, and she saw the effort it took him to utter even this single syllable. She opened the wallet. There was a bit of money and some ID. His driver’s licence gave the name Doug-Ray Finch, but he’d told her his name was Henry. Maybe that was a lie, too. She used her foot to settle him on his back again, and he puked violently and breathed it in and his chest rose up. He let out a deep whoop and fell back against the gravel. She put the wallet away undisturbed in his jacket pocket and took a step away into the darkness. But he knew she was still there. His hand was open, straining. His eyes were like starlight in his head.
This Henry complicated matters. This was way too many loose ends, too much unfinished business. No one was going to take care of it for her. It was up to her now.
She backed up off the asphalt and when she hit the grass, she turned and kneeled down behind the derelict pick-up. She peeled her rotten shoes off her feet and ran, crouched, back into the cover of the woods. Back into the heart of Westmuir County.