You Only Die Twice

by Christopher Smith

  But she didn’t see him get up.

  Confused and frightened

  (who is he who is he who is he who is he),

  she ducked low out of sight, pressed her hands against a pine tree to steady herself and felt how moist and sticky it was.

  Sap, she thought. Sap!

  It was so hot in the woods, the fire was heating the trees that hadn’t yet been affected by the flames. The sap was thinning in the heat. It was sweating through the bark. It was starting to run.

  With her father and her grandfather cheering her on in her heart and in her head, she took a filtered breath of air, held it, pulled down her shirt over her nose, mouth and shoulder, and smeared a handful of the sap over the wound in an effort to seal it shut.

  It stung like hell, but it worked. Once, when her grandfather was gutting a deer, he cut himself so badly, he did this until they could get him to the hospital. She’d likely get an infection from it, but she wasn’t concerned―at least not yet. If she could get out of here, antibiotics would knock it out in no time.

  She exhaled, made the mistake of inhaling, and started to cough from the smoke. She pulled her shirt back over her nose and mouth, felt like gagging, but willed herself not to.

  She looked for him, didn’t see him, but what she did see caused her to pause. Cutting through the smoke was a laser beam. It swung left, then right. It was attached to his gun―had to be. She stepped left, away from it and into a thicker dense of woods that helped to conceal her. There, she huddled down and wondered if he could hear the snapping of twigs and limbs over the fire’s roar as she sank into position.

  There are two of them, she thought. Two.

  So, where was the other one? The older one? The one who chased her earlier? Was he behind her? Somewhere beside her? Were there others she didn’t know about? She didn’t know, but in spite of everything her father and grandfather taught her, there was no way she could still the panic rising in her now. Either the fire or the smoke or the lack of water or one of these men would be the end of her. She was certain of that now. She watched the laser sweep left, then right. She watched it scale up, then down. Worse, it was growing brighter, which meant he was getting closer.

  And then he spoke: “Get the fuck away from me, Maria. Now. Or I’ll shoot you, too.”

  Who was Maria? Cheryl hadn’t seen a woman.

  “All of you. Get away from me. I’m warning you.”

  All of them? There was no all of them. She would have seen others.

  “You can stand in my way, Maria, but you and I both know that I can and will walk straight through you. You said so yourself. She’s going to die for her sins, then she’ll be with the rest of you whores.”

  Die for my sins?

  “No, you’re wrong. Sorry, that’s just not true. She’s a whore just like her friend who, by the way, I raped last night. Jealous, Maria? I thought so.”

  Cheryl felt sick to her stomach and closed her eyes. He’s the man Patty drove off with. He raped her. Did he also kill her?

  “All of you are whores. All of you met your deaths for reasons that are in the Bible. You want proof? Fine. From Corinthians 6:9: ‘Do you not know that the wicked will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor male prostitutes nor homosexual offenders’ will find God, Maria. That’s why you’re dead. I made sure you wouldn’t inherit His kingdom because you’re sexually immoral. That’s also why the others are dead. And it’s why she’s going to die, so I suggest you get out of my way so I can find her and put an end to this before the fire comes any closer.”

  He’s insane. There’s no one there. He’s crazy...

  She could hear him start to walk again. Quicker this time. Angry footfalls on the forest floor. She looked up and saw that the fire was nearly upon them now. Maybe one-hundred yards to her right. Closing in fast.

  How could she defend herself against him?

  Quietly, she started to pat the ground for something, anything, to protect herself. She found a rock. Clutched it. She was left-handed and the bullet wound had weakened her arm and thus her throw, but if he came close enough without seeing her, there was a chance that she could surprise him by throwing it at his face. Once, when she was young, she had been a perfect shot while playing ball with her father. But now? With a wounded arm? She’d probably miss, but what else did she have? Her stick? Not good enough. He’d shoot her dead first. So, what else?

  At that moment, in the distance, she learned exactly what else.

  Just above the noise of the fire came the distinct sounds of police and fire sirens.

  CHAPTER TH

  IRTY-SEVEN

  The sirens were ahead of her, just to her left, which told her what she needed to know.

  The road is there.

  She watched the laser dance along the ground. She watched it hunt for her. Search for her. He was nearly upon her now. If she took off into the woods, he’d hear her for sure. So, what to do? Wait him out? Throw the rock in his face? Then run?

  Maybe.

  The one thing she remembered about him when she saw him at the bar with Patty was that he was relatively tall―and absolutely built. At the very least, a rock to his face would stun him, maybe even bring him to his knees if she hit him hard enough, but then what? He’d recover while she broke through the woods and moved toward the sounds of those sirens. And then he’d be right at her back with his laser and he’d shoot her.

  I’m screwed.

  The laser swiped through the smoke. Slashed through it. She heard him cough and clear this throat, which likely was burning every bit as much as hers was. Because of the wind, the smoke wasn’t as dense as it would have been if the wind was blowing in their direction, but it was enough to sting her eyes and make it difficult for her to see, let alone to breathe.

  When he finally emerged into view, she saw that he had his shirt wrapped around his nose and mouth. Brown jacket. Jeans. What she could see of his face confirmed what she already knew. This was indeed the young man who picked up Patty at The Grind. This was the young man who just said to someone named Maria that he raped Patty.

  Did he also kill her? Cheryl had no reason to believe that he didn’t and her body ached for the loss of her friend. Patty had been there for her for years, especially during the most difficult time in her life, when Mark Rand cut her throat after a dinner party in college and left her to die in woods not unlike these.

  But once she survived death, didn’t she? She survived it then and, with luck, she could survive it now. The question was how.

  She was crouched low into a ball in an effort to conceal her white T-shirt, which now appeared orange in the fiery light, which was good because it helped her to blend in with her surroundings. Her head was tucked low against her knees but tilted just enough so she could see him walking forward.

  Forty feet away. Thirty. He turned his head from side to side. Sometimes, he stopped to look at something he likely thought was her, but wasn’t. He never stopped for long. The fire was getting closer. Time was running out for each of them. He either was going to burn in these woods because he was some mad son of a bitch, or at some point, he was going to make a break for it, give up the hunt and save himself.

  But she knew better.

  He just spoke to a woman who wasn’t there. He said he could walk straight through her. Who in their right mind says that? No one. He’s delusional. He’s on a mission to kill and that mission is me.

  Twenty feet.

  He used the Bible to defend killing the woman named Maria. He said that she and the other women he murdered were whores who deserved to die. He’s a zealot. A freak. He will burn here because he probably thinks that God will protect him.

  Ten feet.

  He looked off to his right, away from her, where a burning limb just fell and struck the ground. If she was going to do anything, it had to be now.

  The side of his head was right there, just in front of her. She needed to c
rush his temple. She could kill him right now if her wounded left arm didn’t betray her. Could she throw a ball like she used to? Could she sink it into the mitt, which in this case was the side of his head? Doubtful. At least not in this condition.

  Stop it. I can do this.

  She gripped the rock, felt confident and secure in its size and in its weight, and was about to stand up and hurl it at him when he turned and faced her.

  Their eyes locked.

  Time slowed.

  He lowered his shirt over his nose and mouth, and a smile broke across his face.

  “There you are,” he said.

  His eyes darkened.

  The world spun.

  The rock flew out of her hand.

  She saw it smash into his mouth and break his teeth at the same moment that his gun went off. The sound was muffled, barely audible―the gun had a silencer attached to it. She felt a bullet tear through her right thigh. She reeled back and screamed in pain as she watched him drop face-first onto a bed of needles too warm for someone so cold.

  CHAPTER THI

  RTY-EIGHT

  Cheryl Dunning knew three things.

  She needed to take off her belt and wrap it around her upper thigh to stop the flow of blood.

  She needed to be aware of the man who chased her earlier. Somehow, in spite of everything happening to her now with this other man, she had to listen for him, because he was still out there and he would come for her. In fact, he probably was coming for her now.

  And more than anything, she needed to get out of here as quickly as possible before it was too late.

  The pain in her leg was excruciating, but she moved through it. With trembling hands, she removed her belt from the waist of her jeans, tightened it around her thigh, buckled the clasp and stood.

  Tried to stand.

  The pain was too much. Her leg was too weak. The bullet hadn’t gone through bone, which was a blessing, but it tore through muscle, crippling it, which almost was as bad, but not as insurmountable. She thought there was no way she was going to be able to stand―let alone run through the woods―when in front of her on the ground, the man who wanted her dead was starting to regain consciousness.

  She watched him lift his head and saw exactly what she’d done to his face. Blood leeched out of his mouth and spooled onto the forest floor in thick ribbons of reddish drool. His jaw worked from side to side, he opened it wide as if to see if he even could, and then he closed it and started to spit out the teeth she’d ruined.

  Sluggishly, he turned his head toward her and she also saw that she’d broken his nose. It was mashed to his left and a rush of blood flowed from it. He tried to say something, and failed. She looked around for his gun, but couldn’t see it. Was it beneath him? Of course, it was. Was he aware of it? Right now, in his state, that was doubtful.

  But he’ll know soon enough.

  She reached for the tree behind her, felt her hand stick to it, and she thought, sap. But unlike her arm, there was no time to pull down her pants and coat the wound with it. He was coming around. She watched him shake his head in an effort to clear it. Framed by the fire closing in on them and, in a few instances, raining down on them, he looked like a beast being risen from hell.

  Move, she thought. Move...

  She braced her back against the tree, put her hands down on either side of her in an effort to hoist herself up, and when she did, her right hand fell on top of another rock. For a moment, she stopped in disbelief. Then she pulled the rock free from the earth, looked down at it, and was disappointed that it was smaller than the first one. It was a smooth piece of granite covered in muck, about the size of a jumbo-sized egg and it would be difficult to hit him with it because of its smaller size. She needed something bigger. She looked around, but didn’t see anything of greater substance.

  And then she looked up as he started to rock to his knees.

  “Fucking bitch,” he said, swaying toward her and then sharply away from her as his legs hitched beneath him. “You fucking bitch. You’ll die for that. You’ll fucking die.”

  She looked down and saw the gun, which is just where she knew it would be. On the ground. He’d been lying on it. Had he seen it yet? Didn’t matter. With a strength she didn’t know she possessed, she pushed herself up the tree, using it for support, and bit down hard on the searing pain in her leg as she did so. It was enough to make her want to scream again, but she couldn’t let the other man know where they were, so she stuffed the scream deep inside her and used the pain and her will to live as fuel.

  She wanted that gun. There was one way to get it.

  She cocked her hand over her head, took aim, and flung the rock out of her hand.

  CHAPTER THI

  RTY-NINE

  But she missed. Missed!

  The rock skirted past his face and he stumbled backward, aware―at least on some level―that she’d almost struck him again.

  There had to be another rock, but there was no way that she could expect to get down on her knees, find one, and then get back up again in time to hit him with it. It would take too long. The pain would be too great. She might not get to her feet again. And in the meantime, even if she did so, he’d find the gun. As weak as he was right now, his weakness didn’t matter. He had a gun armed with a laser and right now, both were his best friends. All he needed to do was to plant that beam somewhere on her body and shoot. Then she’d likely be dead.

  Move!

  It was her father’s voice she heard.

  Don’t get lazy on me now, Cheryl. Get out!

  This time, it was her grandfather’s voice and by the tone of it, he wasn’t having any of this. He and her father had raised her to be tough. In spite of a bullet wound to the arm (a mere knick, Cheryl) and one to the thigh (it didn’t exactly hit your heart, did it?), they would refuse to accept any kind of weakness. But that was her Maine heritage. To survive in this state, with its lack of good-paying jobs and its difficult winters, one had to be strong. That’s what they demanded from her. That’s what they prepared her for.

  She couldn’t let them or herself down.

  She pressed away from the tree, listened to the faint sound of the sirens off in the distance and started to stagger in their direction. The pain was ungodly, but worse were the woods themselves. They were dense, unforgiving and difficult to navigate.

  Twigs slapped against her face. She walked forward with one arm on her bloody thigh, and one arm stretched out in front of her in an effort to clear a path for herself―a battle she lost with each step. The only upside is that soon, if she could manage to keeping moving forward, the woods would close behind her, they’d swallow her up, and eventually, they’d shield her from him.

  How far away was the road? How much longer before he came after her? It wouldn’t be long. She may have broken his nose and his teeth, but soon enough, his head would clear. Rage and insanity would drive him forward. Shooting her in the leg wasn’t going to satisfy him. Killing her would.

  She struggled up an incline and saw the red laser beam dart ahead of her. It was there only for an instant, but it told her all she needed to know. He was coming for her now. Not far behind. And then it struck her. Was it him? Or was it the other one?

  “Fucking bitch...”

  It was him.

  She struggled to move faster and grabbed onto saplings in an effort to help pull herself up the hill. The gun went off behind her and this time, she did scream, even if he didn’t come close to hitting her. This time, she screamed louder than she ever had in her life. It wasn’t just a scream borne out of shock and fear. It was a scream that demanded that she be heard. Was that possible given the fire’s roar and the sirens’ wails? Probably not. But she nevertheless screamed again only to hear the gun go off twice.

  In front of her, just to her right, bark blew off a pine and the debris smacked against her face. The laser flashed, and this time it slashed across her outstretched hand before it wavered into the forest. She could hear him beh
ind her, grunting, moaning and heaving as he closed the distance between them.

  “HELP ME!” she shouted. “SOMEBODY! HELP ME!”

  “No one’s going to help you.”

  She reached out for a limb to pull herself up and nearly fell backward when it snapped off. She looked fleetingly at it in the flickering orange light. It was thick, blunt, came from a dead tree.

  Crutch.

  She lowered it beside her wounded leg and was surprised by how much faster she could move with the weight off her leg.

  The laser swept the forest ahead of her. He wasn’t at the point where he could aim steadily, but because he wasn’t shooting, he obviously was at the point where he knew he couldn’t continue to shoot and waste his ammunition. She could hear him crashing behind her, sometimes slipping, often gurgling and spitting, once falling, and figured he must be moving on pure will and instinct.

  Just like me.

  She crested the hill and when she did, her heart stopped at what she saw. She couldn’t believe what she saw. She had reached the edge of the woods. Ahead of her was the road.

  It was like some unreal vision. Something she never thought she’d see.

  She hurried toward it.

  Behind her came another muffled gunshot.

  And this time, Cheryl Dunning went down hard.

  CHAPT

  ER FORTY

  She fell on her side, rolled down the hill and came to a stop at the edge of the road. He hadn’t hit her. He hadn’t won yet. But he was coming. She heard him coming. The woods gave beneath his feet, the smaller saplings crumpled beneath them and when he stumbled, all was crushed by them. Soon, he’d burst into the open and his eyes and his laser would be upon her.