Expecting to Die

by Lisa Jackson

  Obviously Kywin was either a liar or self-deluded or both. Somehow he’d placed himself and Austin Reece in charge of the phones so that everyone was “cool” with the cells and keys being confiscated. Then, while the burning tip of a cigarette had bobbed from the corner of his mouth, Kywin had told everyone that the girls were supposed to go “hide” and the boys would “seek.” That produced a snort of laughter from Austin. The object, Austin had interjected, was for the girls to elude their hunters by running or hiding or using any trick they could. The two boys, tall, broad-shouldered Austin and all-bunched-muscle Kywin, had shared a knowing look that should have sent alarm bells ringing through Bianca’s brain. Reece had explained that the last girl who didn’t get caught was the big winner, though Bianca didn’t know exactly what that girl might win. Kywin, the bohunk, hadn’t explained. Nor had any of the other idiot boys, most of whom she’d known since preschool, including Teej, who had, she hated to admit, turned out to be a real hottie with a hard soccer body.

  Big deal. He was also one of the biggest egomaniacs in the school and his two sidekicks, Rod Devlin and Joaquin Castillo, weren’t much better.

  A minute or so after the girls had taken to the woods, the boys were let loose. She’d heard the boys hollering, big feet thundering as they gave chase. It had been unnerving and energizing and scary as hell. For the first time in her life, she’d felt like prey being stalked. Adrenaline had fueled her as she’d picked her way through a copse of saplings. All she’d known was that she didn’t want to get caught. As careful and silent as she’d moved, it had worked. For a while. Then she’d cautiously stepped around a clump of brush.

  A meaty hand, slick with sweat, had reached out of the umbra and clamped over her shoulder. She’d shrieked and jumped before she’d recognized Kywin Bell, the jerk-wad.

  “Got you, you little cop-kid-bitch! Now, you’re gonna git it!” There had been an evil, almost sexual, tone to his deep voice, and she, quick as a cat, had managed to slip out of his thick-fingered grasp.

  Heart drumming, she’d yanked back her arm and spun away from him, then taken off, cutting up the north-face path that she’d hiked as a kid with her father.

  “Hey! Wait. I got you!”

  She’d ignored his outrage.

  She was fast and sly and had quickly eluded him, but if that jackass caught up with her and tried to scare her again, she planned to nail him good by kicking him hard, right in the nuts. She only wished she had a pair of steel-toed boots to make it worth her while instead of her pink Nike running shoes. Shoes with a reflective strip near the soles. Shoes that would give her away if anyone shined the tiniest bit of light in her direction.

  Gulping in lungfuls of air, she forced her heart rate to slow as she listened for any sounds from the others. No voices. No excited screeches of a girl being found. No laughter. No running footsteps. Not one damned sound other than her own breathing.

  Weird.

  And wrong. Very wrong.

  Aside from the hoot of an owl or the occasional riffle of air as a bat passed, the woods were silent. And dark.

  What the hell was going on?

  She considered the fact that this whole “game” might have been a setup. That she was being pranked, or hazed or whatever, that while she was running and trying to elude the boys, everyone had let her go off in the woods alone and now were partying somewhere else.

  Great.

  Despite the heat rising from the forest floor, a chill slid down her spine.

  Don’t let your own paranoia get the better of you. Maddie would never set you up like this. Right? And you’re a nobody, not anyone that the others would target. More likely, aside from Maddie, they don’t even know you’re out here.

  Truth to tell, she wasn’t sure what to believe.

  A darker voice inside her mind reminded her that she could be a target, that as a cop’s daughter she was looked upon with suspicion. Hadn’t her mother arrested Kywin’s old man just a few months ago for some kind of domestic violence?

  It would be just like that jerk-wad to turn this on her. Hadn’t he called her a “cop-kid-bitch”? Damn. And Reece, he was just bad news, the only son of a rich lawyer. Smart, surly, and smug all rolled into one Princeton-bound golden boy. Ugh.

  Of course there were others, too. Donald Justison, the son of the town’s mayor, back from college. He was a douche bag if there ever was one. And Bryant Tophman? The preacher’s son who was all innocent and godly to his family? What a two-face! Far from the angel he portrayed himself to be, he might be the worst of the lot, what her mother called “a devil in disguise.” Tophman wasn’t the ring leader—that honor was reserved for Austin Reece—but Toph was an instigator.

  Once again, she decided, she should never have come. Why had she listened to Maddie?

  Because you’re an idiot!

  Even though she was sweating from her exertion and the heat, Bianca shivered, rubbed her arms, and considered heading back down the hill. What was she afraid of? They were just boys, after all. Boys she knew. So she didn’t like them. Big deal. She’d almost convinced herself to turn back when she heard it. A rustling sound, like dry leaves turning in the wind, or a snake slithering through summer-bleached grass.

  Her heart jerked.

  Everything went quiet.

  Eerily so.

  Goose bumps rose on her flesh.

  She eyed the undergrowth, the surrounding trees knifing upward into the dark sky.

  Nothing.

  Not even a breath of wind.

  So what had the noise been?

  She heard it again.

  Closer.

  And not a rustle, but more of a shuddering of branches.

  A muffled sound. Steady.

  Footsteps? Someone or something heading her way through the brush?

  Well, that would make sense, considering the game. Right?

  A twig snapping?

  Again, that would be a normal sound.

  And yet . . .

  From the corner of her eye, she caught movement, a shadow darting. Then the rustle of dry leaves, sounding like the warning from a coiled rattler ready to strike.

  Her skin prickled.

  The wind?

  Not on this still, hot night.

  Without another thought, she took off, willing herself up the final point of the hill, hearing the big, snorting beast following after.

  What the hell was it?

  She wasn’t going to slow down to find out. As she crested the ridge, the trees parted and moonlight filtered from the sky. Breathing hard, she hazarded a quick glance over her shoulder and saw the immense creature, whatever it was, still running, lumbering on hind legs, one eye catching the weak light and seeming to glow. Man? Beast? God, the hairy thing had to be seven feet tall! A low growl emanated from the brute. Oh, no!

  She let out a terrified scream and kept running.

  It’s a prank. It has to be.

  But she wasn’t listening to the rational side of her mind, not when her heart was pounding double-time! All her instincts screamed at her to run, get away, put as much distance as she could between her and the . . . the monster. Downward she sprinted, trying to be careful, not twist an ankle, as branches and cobwebs clawed at her. She slipped and slid on the trail, running blind but trying to see the path. Behind her, the . . . the thing crashed through the underbrush. No longer was it being stealthy, content to surprise her. No. Now it raced in full, noisy pursuit.

  Again she heard its growl. A thunderous peal.

  Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God!

  Down, down, down!

  Faster, faster . . . oh, Jesus. She stumbled. The toe of her sneaker caught beneath an exposed root. She pitched forward into the darkness. Her foot caught, her leg twisting painfully.

  “Aaaooow.” Her arms flew out. Her knee wrenched as her foot became untangled and she hit the ground. Hard. Bam! Her chin bounced on the unforgiving ground, and she felt the skin split.

  “Oof!” All the wind in her lungs c
ame out in a rush.

  Get up, get up! No time for this. Get onto your feet, Bianca.

  Hot pain pulsed in her shoulder. Too bad. She couldn’t stop moving. She had to get away.

  Move!

  The forest seemed to shrink around her.

  More loudly, the earth trembling beneath it, the monster rushed at her.

  “Damn it,” she muttered, forcing herself to her feet, to find traction. Her ankle throbbed. Oh, crap, it hurt, but she gritted her teeth and moved more slowly, not by design, but because the pain prevented her from running all out. Limping slightly, she hurried along the path. Batting away branches, listening hard, she slipped and slid ever downward.

  Get off the trail. It’s too easy to track you if you stick to the worn path.

  She eyed the surrounding trees, the shadowy hillside, the unknown. Could she risk it? Biting her lip, she strained to hear. Was the thing closer? Had it given up? Was it even now waiting farther down the hill, ready to ambush her?

  If only she had her damned phone! She could call or text, use her GPS to find out where she was or get hold of someone to help her, even if she had to call her older brother and listen to him read her the riot act. It didn’t matter.

  Damn it, why had she listened to stupid Maddie and come up here?

  Frustrated and sucking in her breath, she stuck to the path. She figured she was more than halfway down the hillside, and it was easier to slide down than climb up. Besides, the last time she’d seen the creature, it had been higher up. Once she reached the bottom, she would follow the creek, knowing that it would lead back to the Long property. From there, given enough moonlight, she could make her way home and hopefully sneak back into the house.

  And tell no one? You’re scraped and bruised and probably have a sprained ankle or worse. Mom will find out. And what about that thing, the massive creature that chased you? Are you just going to forget about that, too? Get real, Bianca.

  Battling tears, she kept on.

  Another growl.

  So close!

  She jumped, scrambling faster, losing her footing on the gravel again.

  “Shit!”

  Down she went, her feet sliding out from under her as she began to roll down the hillside, the world dark and spinning. Scrabbling to grab hold of anything solid, she tumbled over rocks and twigs and pine cones that scraped and cut her bare arms and legs. She couldn’t help the cry that escaped her as she wildly grasped for grass or roots or shrubbery, something that would slow her plummet to the bottom of the ravine. Her heart was thudding, her mind spinning, her fingers bleeding, nails splitting as she clawed into the dry earth.

  Oh, God, please help me!

  Clunk! Her wrist banged into a scraggly sapling. “Yeeooow!” she cried, barreling downward, bouncing and spinning until suddenly she stopped, her body landing at the bottom of the chasm, dust and pine cones flying as she skidded over a bank and into a shallow creek. Cool water slid beneath her.

  “Oooh.” The sound came from her own parched throat. She tried to lift her head, to get her bearings, but the world was spinning, starlit sky moving wildly, her vision swimming, her balance off.

  Don’t stop! Get up. It’s still out there.

  Dizzy, she attempted to focus. Her hair was wet, curls moving with the slow current. Pain wracked her body, and she coughed and snorted dust.

  On your feet, Bianca!

  Her mind was screaming at her, but she was woozy, her entire body aching. Bruises, she felt, were forming as she gazed upward to the stars far, far away, winking in the heavens. A thin veil of clouds scudded across the moon. The vision of the heavens was surreal, a balm over her pain.

  For the love of God, you can’t just lie here!

  Move!

  It’s coming!

  Her mind was screaming at her, yelling at her to get her battered body moving again. Water splashed against her legs and torso. With what she considered a monumental effort, she lifted her head, pain searing through her brain. Oh, God, was she seriously hurt? And where was the beast, that horrid monster with its bad breath, gold eye, and hairy arms? She squinted into the surrounding scrub brush and trees as she moved her arms and legs.

  She saw nothing. No huge, towering Neanderthal. Heard not a whisper over the gurgle of the creek, water sliding over stones.

  Thank God.

  But he’s out there. Get up! Get out of here! Follow the creek back to the old Long logging camp. From there, you can get home.

  But the others? Maddie . . .

  Forget them. Forget her. Get the hell out. NOW!

  She listened again, her ears straining, all her senses on alert. She noticed a weird, rotting smell. A skunk spray? The creature’s breath. Oh, dear God—

  Something slimy slid over her leg.

  Move, Bianca!

  Struggling, she rolled over, found a rock or limb or whatever to push herself upright when she felt that branch give a little. She gripped harder and realized that she wasn’t holding on to a limb at all. It was too soft. Almost mushy with a hard core. And . . . oh, God, as her mind cleared, she realized the stink was something awful, not a skunk smell at all, more like the odor of something dead.

  She recoiled. Backed up. Scrambling and sliding away from whatever it was, the trickle of water cold on her buttocks, she stared at the form—was it human?—lying across the creek bed.

  She barely breathed.

  No . . . no . . . but . . .

  What the hell?

  The thin wisps of clouds moved, moonlight shining along the silvery stream. Bianca’s head cleared and she realized she was staring at a corpse. Decomposing, flesh rotting, bones exposed to the scant moonlight, the dead woman—a young one—lay face up in the ravine. Pale hair floated around a decomposing head in the slowly moving water. Teeth were exposed, with no lips to hide them, and black holes were drilled deep into her skull where once her eyes had been.

  Oh. Jesus. No!

  Bianca threw herself to her feet. Running, stumbling along the creek, she let out a scream loud enough to wake the dead in all of Pinewood County.

  CHAPTER 3

  Regan Pescoli’s eyes flew open at the buzzing sound. The room was dark. Santana was snoring softly in the bed beside her, the digital clock blinking a blue 2:32, her cell phone vibrating and skittering on the nightstand.

  Great, she thought sarcastically. This was the problem with being a detective with the Pinewood County Sheriff’s Department. There was always the chance of what Deputy Pete Watershed called “Sleepus-Interruptus.” Watershed was a dick, of course, but even dicks could be funny once in a while.

  With one hand, she reached for her cell, missing it and knocking it onto the floor. Stupid. With an effort, she slid to the edge of the bed. Leaning over the edge, she swiped the damned phone from the floor before pressing it to her ear.

  “Pescoli,” she answered around a yawn and blinked as she pushed herself to a sitting position. The last thing she wanted to do in her current state was climb out of bed, squeeze into her usual work clothes, and head down to a crime scene. Pushing her hair from her face with her free hand, she tried to shake away the remnants of a nightmare that had been chasing through her brain.

  “It’s Rule,” a male voice said. Kayan Rule was a deputy with the department, an African-American who looked like he would be more at home as a power forward on a basketball court than he did in a Pinewood County Sheriff’s Department uniform. He was a good cop and a hunk with a killer smile. “I think you might want to come up to the old lumber camp owned by the Long family.”

  “You think wrong,” she said, then, regretting her tone, added, “What’s up?”

  Beside her, Santana stirred, his near black hair visible on the pillow in the darkened room. With a groan, her husband roused and levered himself up on an elbow to stare at her.

  She ignored him.

  “I’ve got your daughter here with me,” Kayan said.

  “My daughter?” she repeated, suddenly wide awake, her heart clutc
hing. “Bianca?” As if she had another.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s she doing there? What’s she done?” Pescoli asked, images of Bianca being caught with a boy, or alcohol, or weed, or all three, running through her tired mind. Perfect. Now that Jeremy, her eldest, was finally starting to get his act together and had become a semi-valuable member of society, his younger sister was taking up the Pescoli Torch of Rebellion. Just what she needed.

  “She stumbled on a dead body. At least that’s the way she’s told it.”

  “What? Bianca came across a corpse?” This wasn’t computing. Bianca was supposed to be spending the night with a friend.

  And this surprises you, that your daughter lied about what her plans were? Come on, Regan, you remember what it was like to be seventeen.

  “Bianca’s at Reservoir Point with a dead body,” Pescoli said.

  “Right.”

  Pescoli tried to wrap her mind around what she was being told, to think more like a cop, less like a mother. “Who’s the victim?”

  “Unconfirmed. Female. Teen from the looks of her. Maybe fifteen, or sixteen, around there. No ID. But, there was a girl who was reported missing about a week ago. Friday of last week, to be exact. Destiny Rose Montclaire. We’re checking it out.”

  A teen. Little more than a child, a girl. Pescoli’s heart nosedived. “Does Bianca know her?”

  “She says she knows of her, but they weren’t friends. That’s the general consensus of the kids up here, but we’re still checking it out.”

  “Who’s up there with Bianca?”

  “Quite a few teenagers. A party. They claim they were playing some kind of game. War or tag or hide-and-seek, something. Boys chasing girls.”

  Pescoli’s heart dropped like a stone. This was getting worse by the second.

  “Your daughter was being chased when she stumbled upon the body. We’re sorting it all out, but it’ll take a little time. Like I said, you probably want to come up here.”

  “I do. But first I need to talk to Bianca.”