by Jeremy Bates
Up until this evening she had held together remarkably well. Even when she told him she wanted some space, he knew that was her anxiety talking, and once she had a few days to let everything settle, she’d be ringing him up for company. But when he’d shot the cop—which she’d inevitably caused by blowing the whistle on them—well, that had taken everything to an entirely new level. Jack could operate on that level. But could she? He wasn’t sure. All this death was a lot to deal with. What was the body count now? Four? Yes, when Zach was taken care of. Three she would know about. Could she deal with that? Three deaths on her conscience? A cop as one of them for good measure? He wasn’t sure. The difference between them was he understood the destruction as a necessary means to avoid prison, whereas she only saw it as cold-blooded murder. She was too pure, too innocent—too naïve—to accept good and evil were one, interchangeable, neither existing without the counterpart, and sometimes one had to be used to achieve the other.
This was a fact of life and something he hoped he could get her to see after he explained his plan to her. And if she didn’t take to it?
He couldn’t leave behind any loose ends.
Invisible branches continued to slap at his face and rip his skin. He charged ahead, never slowing, until he smashed into a tree trunk with his bad shoulder. The trumpeting pain, combined with the impenetrable darkness, distorted his perception so he no longer knew in which direction he’d been running. Only willpower prevented him from passing out. If he let that happen, he would die.
Suddenly he heard splashing. Someone crashing through water.
Jack forced his legs to carry him in the direction of that sound. A few short steps later he burst through the trees into an open glade that housed a large pond dimpled with the machine-gun patter of the rain. A crack of lightning flared overhead, Jack could see Zach forty feet out, swimming frantically toward the far shore. He planted his feet, aimed, fired. Zach cried out.
Jack ran a few feet into the water and fired again. Click. He ejected the empty magazine and seated the spare one he took from the cop with the heel of his palm. He rolled his hand over the top of the slide, pulling it back toward his chest, and returned his attention to the pond.
Zach was no longer in sight. He’d disappeared below the surface.
Jack remained where he was and waited. When the weasely fuck resurfaced, dead or alive, he’d put a hole in the back of his ratty little head.
Chapter 37
Katrina was beginning to lose hope she would catch up to Jack and Zach. She couldn’t hear them anymore. It was as if they’d both vanished—or died. Still, she pressed forward, putting one foot in front of the other. To turn back would be to give up. And she would not do that, no matter if it meant she had to walk all night and morning.
Bandit barked and looked back at her, urging her on. Apparently he still had their scent.
Good.
A thousand thoughts were swarming through her head. First and foremost were those of Zach. She couldn’t let Jack get him, couldn’t let Jack kill him. She was still struggling to adjust to how quickly her entire perception of Jack had changed in such a short period of time. Only yesterday she had thought, well, yes, admit it, she had thought she’d fallen in love with him. He had swooped into her broken life and had seemed like the man who would make everything better. But just as quickly as that romanticized image had formed, it had been tainted. Hell, it had been vaporized.
If only I’d been more alert—
A gunshot bafflingly close. She reflexively ducked her head. A burst of sound from somewhere ahead of her. Bandit took off in that direction.
She charged after him, praying it wasn’t too late.
Chapter 38
The shot whistled past Zach’s head, splashing into the water ahead of him. Knowing the next, or the one after that, was going to connect with the back of his skull, blowing bits of brain all over the water, he took a deep breath and dived.
Suspended in blackness, he aligned himself so his belly was parallel to the bottom and swam in what he hoped was the direction opposite Jack. He was already out of breath from the run through the forest, and his lungs began to burn badly. He knew he would have to go up for air soon. He also knew if he did so, and he wasn’t far enough away from Jack, he would be an easy target. He kicked and kicked harder. Maybe it was desperation, maybe mind over matter, but somehow he managed to get a second wind and keep going for another twenty feet or so before his lungs felt ready to explode once more. Abruptly he touched slimy weeds, which became denser and denser, brushing his face, entangling his limbs. This encouraged him. It meant he had gone the right way. There had been no weeds where he’d entered the pond.
He stuck his head above the surface of the water and took a huge breath. The air was like poison to his overworked lungs, causing him to heave and cough. Serendipitously, a clap of thunder resounded overhead at the same time, swallowing the noise he made. He turned in a circle, relieved to find he was concealed by a nest of weeds and lily pads. He made out a lone shape on the edge of the far bank, which had to be Jack. Zach couldn’t remain there, treading water. Jack would start scouting the perimeter of the pond soon. Nor could he swim anywhere, no matter how quietly. Once he left the cover of the weeds, Jack would spot him. His only option, it seemed, was to crawl up the shore and make a break for the forest again.
He peddled through the water until he felt the muddy bottom beneath his feet, then he slithered out on all fours like a lizard. Dirt and slime were surely infecting the cut in his hand, but he couldn’t think about that.
The blast of a gunshot sent him flat to his stomach.
Chapter 39
Katrina stumbled into a clearing. Although there was no longer a canopy of branches overhead, the storm clouds had rubbed out the stars, leaving the night smudged in blacks and grays. The rain was falling harder than ever, pelting her exposed skin and face, blurring her vision. She held a hand to her eyes and scanned the tall grass, the large pond, the perimeter of crowding trees. She didn’t see Jack or Zach anywhere.
A gunshot made her jump. She cried out, covering her head and dropping to her knees. Another gunshot. She heard the bullet ricochet off the tree to her right.
“Jack, stop!” she shouted. “It’s me!” She raised her head and saw a shadowy figure circling the pond toward her.
“Katrina?” Jack said when he had closed to within ten yards of her. He was hunched over, almost limping. The closer he came, the louder Bandit growled.
“Shhh, boy,” she said. “It’s okay. Just wait.”
Jack stopped before her. He looked terrible. His shoulder injury looked bad, but it was his face that shocked her. Lines etched the skin around his eyes, brow, and mouth, making him appear twenty years older. Even in the poor light, she could see he was as pale as a ghost.
Lightning flashed, slicing angular wounds in the sky. Thunder boomed.
“You should have stayed in the house,” he told her. “I almost shot you.”
“God, Jack,” she said. “Look at yourself. You need to get back to the house.” That was her last best hope, she knew: get him to focus on his own health, thereby giving Zach the time he needed to get good and far away.
“What don’t you understand?” he said harshly. “If Zach gets away, we’re finished.”
“We’re already finished, Jack.”
“You’re giving up? Just like that?”
“I’m not giving up. I don’t want to get away with it anymore.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“I wouldn’t be able to live a day in peace.”
“You’d get over it.”
“Two people are dead, Jack. No, I wouldn’t get over that. I never will.”
“You’d still have to live with your conscience in prison.”
“At least I would have accepted my guilt. There would be closure.”
The look on his face became one of disgust, like he didn’t know her anymore. “You have no idea what you’re talk
ing about with all this holier-than-thou bullshit. After a week in the slammer, after the things that would be done to you, someone as pretty as you, you’d do anything to be free again.”
“I won’t let you kill Zach.”
“I have a plan.”
She glanced at the gun in his hand and wondered if she could wrestle it free. Not a chance. Should she sic Bandit on him?
“Listen,” he went on, and the anger that had been in his voice had been replaced with feverish excitement. “Zach was spying on you, right? The cop busts him. He somehow gets the gun and shoots the cop. We hear the shot, come outside, confront him. He resists. I kill him in self-defense.”
“No, Jack.”
“Yes.”
“It won’t work,” she said, simply to buy Zach some final seconds.
“It will.”
“Nothing has so far.”
“We’re right at the end. Just see it through.”
“The first question people will ask is why Officer Murray was watching my place.”
“Because you reported a Peeping Tom a few days ago.”
“He died in my house. If he busted Zach outside, he would have died there as well.”
“So we move the body.”
“They can tell things like that.”
“Not these yokels.”
“It’s finished, Jack. It’s time you accepted that.”
“I will not accept that.”
“Then you’re on your own.” She felt satisfied Zach was long gone by now. Her mission was accomplished. “Goodbye, Jack.”
He raised the gun. “Afraid it’s not that simple.”
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“You think I’m going to let you just walk away from me?”
That’s exactly what she’d thought. It was over. Zach had escaped. Jack had lost. Very soon the police would be swarming her house. Jack, who urgently needed medical attention, would be taken to a hospital and arrested for murder. There was no way he could talk his way out of it this time.
“Jack, there’s nothing to gain from shooting me.”
“If you’re not with me,” he said, his eyes flashing, “you’re against me.”
“Jack—”
He aimed the gun at her forehead.
Chapter 40
When Zach realized that Jack wasn’t shooting at him, he scrambled toward the forest. Bits and pieces of Jack and Katrina’s conversation floated to him. He could only make out a few words above the roar of the rain, but from the forceful tone, he knew they were arguing.
Zach reached the tree line. He was home free. All he had to do was keep going, find his way to a road or a cottage, and get to a police station.
But he didn’t flee.
Katrina was likely in trouble. After all, she’d just betrayed Jack to the dead cop. What would he do to her? Zach didn’t know, but he did know she had risked herself coming out here to save him, and he couldn’t in all good conscience leave her on her own.
He picked up a stick about the length and width of his arm. He didn’t ruminate on what he was about to do. If he did, he would chicken out. He zeroed in on Katrina and Jack’s voices and spotted them in the dark, two lumpy shapes standing next to a tree. He started toward them, slowly, quietly, stopping when he was less than twenty feet away. He could see them better now. Jack’s back was to him.
One chance.
He gripped the stick more tightly, brought it back like he was up to bat, and closed the remaining distance between them with long, careful steps.
“Jack,” Katrina said, and there was breathless terror in her voice.
Jack raised the gun. He was going to shoot her.
Zach abandoned stealth and made a final dash. Jack spun around at the last moment. Too late. Zach cracked the stick across the side of his face. Something that could only be blood splattered everywhere. Jack collapsed to the ground with a grunt. Zach was still pumped up on fear and adrenaline and craziness and he kept swinging the stick, bashing Jack’s head in as hard as he could, over and over. Katrina appeared beside him, shouting something, pulling him away. Panting, he stepped back. He felt spaced out. He blinked and looked at Katrina.
“You okay?” he asked, and his voice seemed like a stranger’s voice, like when you listen to yourself on the answering machine.
She hugged him fiercely. “He was going to kill me,” she blurted, the words muffled by his sweater.
Zach looked over her head at Jack. The boxer was sniffing around the limp body. “He’s not going to hurt you now,” he said.
“Is he dead?”
“I don’t know.” He stepped apart and felt for a pulse. “No, he’s alive.”
“What do we do with him?”
“Leave him.”
“What if he comes around?”
“There’s no way we can carry him back to the house.” Zach shrugged, trying to read Katrina’s face in the dark. “Should I... I don’t know—finish it?”
“Kill him?” She sounded appalled.
“If he comes around, he’s going to come after us again.”
“Then we don’t have any time to waste,” she said decisively. “We have to get back to my place, call the police, get them out here.”
“I don’t like leaving him.”
“There’s no other option.” She retrieved the pistol from where Jack had dropped it in the mud. “And we’ll have this, just in case.”
Chapter 41
Katrina’s living room resembled the scene of a drug bust gone wrong. Officer Murray’s body was sprawled dead center. An arm was bent awkwardly behind his back. Glassy eyes stared at the ceiling. His yellow windbreaker and Polo shirt were stained red, with more syrupy blood pooled around him. Most of the glass in the front bay window was on the lawn. What remained in the frame resembled jagged teeth. A stack of boxes had been knocked over, spilling the few things she’d left in them across the floor. A drug bust gone wrong? she thought. Hell, this was all because of a lie gone wrong.
“Lock the doors and windows,” Katrina told Zach. “I’ll be right back.”
She went to the bedroom, shadowed by Bandit, peeled the sheet off the futon, and returned to the living room, where she used it to carefully cover the poor cop’s body. She grabbed her cell phone and called the police. She spoke to the dispatcher for a few minutes, explaining what had happened, answering some questions, then hung up.
Zach had returned from his task of securing the house. He said, “What do you want me to tell them? The police? I’ll tell them whatever you want me to.”
“I want you to tell the truth, Zach.”
“But you don’t have to be involved. I’ll say I saw Jack kill the old man, then drive the body away, all by himself.”
“The truth,” she repeated. “That’s it.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
There was only one chair, so they both settled down on the floor to wait for the police to arrive. Katrina wondered what was going to happen to her. She could not, as Zach had suggested, put all the blame on Jack. Even if it worked, and she emerged from the circus that would surely follow this night blame free, she would not be able to live with herself. She’d made a mistake, one with unthinkable consequences, and she had to pay for that, even if it meant she would grow old, childless, behind bars.
“Did you hear that?” Zach whispered suddenly.
Katrina was immediately alert. “What?”
“The back door. It sounded like someone was trying to get in.”
Jack! she thought. He’d followed them back here!
“Are you sure?” she demanded. All she could hear was the drone of rain on the roof.
“I … I don’t know. I think so.”
Katrina got to her feet. “You locked everything, right?”
“Except that.” He nodded at the front window.
“It’s at least five feet off the ground. Jack would have to hoist himself up
and through. No way. Not with his shoulder and all that glass.”
“He’s pretty strong,” Zach said doubtfully, fear permeating his voice.
“It doesn’t matter. The police will be here any minute. We just need to stay put.”
“Can you use that?” Zach asked, indicating the gun.
She nodded. “If I have to.”
Jack stared at the back door, wondering what to do. The bitch had locked it. No matter. He would find a way in. He had to find a way in. Because that little shit Zach was with her.
The prick had surprised him, just as old Charlie had. But it didn’t matter. It had worked to Jack’s advantage. Now he knew where Zach was. If he acted quickly enough, he could still have everything turn out his way.
No witnesses.
Jack would have kicked down the door, but he wasn’t sure he had the strength. Aside from the fact his head felt like someone had just played polo with it, the entire left side of his body was numb, the right side not much better. Besides, noise was not good. He could only assume Katrina had the SIG, since he hadn’t been able to find it when he came around.
He stumbled along the side of the house, trying the windows, finding them all locked. A wave of dizziness washed through him.
Think. Don’t lose focus. Think.
He crouched down and pried the screen off a basement window. The window slid open without protest. Yes. He lowered himself in, his shoulder screaming in protest as he contorted his body to fit through the small space.
Then his feet touched the floor and he was inside.
