38

Cheryl swam along the shoreline, keeping out of the surf. Her arms and lungs burned with fatigue, and her legs felt heavy. She knew it would only be a matter of time before she began to cramp, and she had to get ashore. She altered her course, turning toward the beach. She swam until exhaustion threatened to drag her under the surface. Just as she was about to succumb to the numbing weakness, her hands touched the bottom. It took the last of her reserves for her to climb to her feet and stagger out of the water. Once on solid ground, she scrambled to the security of the boulders that littered the rugged coastline and dropped to the ground. She leaned against the hard black rock for several minutes, inhaling deeply and watching the sea for signs of an approaching boat.

Finally, she felt strong enough to continue on and grabbed the hard black surface of the boulder and pulled herself erect. She stretched her aching muscles and wondered if Anne had gotten away. Over the sounds of the rolling waves, she heard the sound of a boat motor in the distance. Her heart began to pound. No, she thought, I’m not going to let him get his hands on me again. Frightened over the prospect that Fischer would be searching the shoreline from the still out-of-sight boat, she scanned the short span of beach, looking for anything that would give away her location. She gasped when she spied the line of footprints in the sand that told the world where she was. She had two options: run or try to wipe out the tracks. She chose the first and clambered up the steep bank that lined the shore.

_________________

Fischer stomped into the house.

You didn’t get them?

Of course he didn’t get them. I bin tellin’ you for years he’d fuck up a roll call in a one-man submarine!

Shut up, Hallet.

“I’m hurt, Mum.”

That will be the least of your troubles if they get away. You’re just like your father.

Woman, you watch your mouth!

You know you would have always been a clam digger if not for me. You had no head for thinking.

Beatrice, one of these days you’re gonna go too far.

“But, Mum, one of them took the punt.”

The other one didn’t. She can only swim so far. Now go find her. Follow the coast road—she’ll have to cross that eventually. Stop at every house along the road if you have to. She’ll need clothes and help. We’ll worry about the other one later. Son, sometimes you’re a sore disappointment to me.

Sometimes?!

Hallet!

Fischer stood still, his head hanging and his damaged left arm limp along his side. “I . . . I’ll try harder, Mum.”

I know you will—after all, half your blood is mine. Now go, it’ll be alright to leave me here with your father for a while.

Fischer spurred into action. He walked to his room and discarded his bloody, torn shirt by throwing it into a corner. He grabbed a denim one and slid it over his injured shoulder. He hissed in pain when the stiff fabric touched the deep gouge in his shoulder and the rip in his back. Leaving the shirt unbuttoned, he cursed and walked down the stairs through the kitchen and into the den and took his father’s .45 caliber revolver from its place in the gun rack. Fischer opened the small drawer below the rack, took out a box of cartridges, and filled the gun with hollow-point bullets. He returned to the kitchen, grabbed the van keys from the key rack, and left. The door slammed behind him as he stepped into the night.

_________________

Cheryl followed a hiking path along the edge of the cliff. She had no idea where she was, but she believed there had to be a road or houses nearby, as they littered the seacoast.

After what seemed like hours, she discovered a dirt parking lot and saw the shine of macadam. A road! Now all she had to do was find a house and get help.

Less than one hundred yards from the parking area, she spied a light shining through the trees and headed for it. She turned up a sand drive and paused just out of the light. Through the window of a rundown house, she saw an obese man wearing a filthy T-shirt standing over a cowering woman. He raised his arm and slapped her. Through the partially open window, Cheryl heard him screaming at the woman, and she backed away from the window into the safety of darkness. The last thing she wanted was to appear naked before yet another brutal man. She skirted the house and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw a clothesline filled with women’s clothes. She grabbed a pullover blouse and pulled it on. Just as she stepped into a pair of faded blue jeans, the light mounted on the wall beside the door illuminated her. She froze, like an animal caught in the headlights of a runaway truck. The woman she had seen through the window stood in the door, silhouetted by the light behind her.

Cheryl slid the pants up and snapped them. The jeans were a size too large but were better than running around in the nude.

“What are you doing?” the woman asked.

“Please, I need help . . . I’m running from a man.”

“Who isn’t?”

“You don’t understand how dangerous he is.”

From the knowing look on her face, Cheryl realized the woman understood. “Show me one that ain’t.”

“Laurie, who’s out there? Who the fuck you talking to?”

The woman glanced over her shoulder and said, “Take the clothes, and get out of here.”

“Please, could I use your phone? Or maybe you could call the police for me.”

“I wish I could, honey, but the rotten son of a whore ripped the phone off the wall last week.”

“Goddamn it, woman! I asked you a question! Who the hell are you talking to?”

The man’s dark bulk appeared behind the woman. She glanced over her shoulder and then turned back to Cheryl and said, “Go on, run. There’re other houses down the road. Go!”

Cheryl bolted for the trees. Just as she entered their safety, she heard a loud slap. Scared and fatigued, she retreated into the darkness. Exhaustion overwhelmed her; she needed to rest for a while. Her strength and stamina depleted, she dropped down and rested her back against an ancient pine; the blouse stuck to the sappy bark and pulled it up her back. I have to get up, she thought. I have to keep going. But fatigue wouldn’t let her. She rolled over and curled up in exhaustion.