CHAPTER 61 HANNAH

61

Hannah

HANNAH COULDN'T BE

LOST.

Couldn't be.

She knew every inch of these woods, or thought she did, but as she huddled behind what was left of a fallen oak, trying to get her bearings, she didn't recognize anything. She'd avoided the familiar paths the moment she ran from the Pickerton house and cut through the trees, knew that if she just headed down the mountain and found the river, she'd eventually get to the highway and find help. But she hadn't found the river, and it felt like she'd gone too far. She was still heading down, that much was certain, but if she ventured too far from the river, she'd miss the highway altogether and end up somewhere down in the valley.

"You're making my job easy, Hannah. Nobody'll find your body way out here!"

Hannah's breath caught in her throat. She spun around and pressed her palm against the bark of the fallen tree. Although Malcolm had shouted that, he sounded far closer than he had the last time she heard him. When she craned her neck, she heard the snap of twigs and branches under his feet. He was making no effort to hide. She caught sight of him a moment later, no more than fifty feet away coming toward her at a slight angle. He paused, faced the sun, then turned in a slow circle. She couldn't see his face. He still had that burlap mask on his head, but somehow she knew he was smiling. She thought of the flies under his skin, her mind's eye conjuring up hundreds of them crawling around his head, his ears, his nose. Frenzied in the trapped, humid air of that mask. Their buzz somehow fueling him.

He clutched something in his hand, and when he completed his circle she realized it was an ax. The something much better than the screwdriver he found back at the house.

She had to move, couldn't stay here. He'd surely find her, and if he managed to get close, hovered over her in that mask holding an ax, she'd lose it. She wanted to believe she was stronger than that, that she'd fight him off; she wanted to be the girl who pushed a grandfather clock on top of him, but her heart was beating like a wild drum, tears were streaming from the corners of her eyes, and every inch of her body was trembling. Strength and reason had fled. That was the truth. If he managed to corner her, she was dead.

Hannah drew in a deep breath and ran.

She pushed up from behind the tree and bolted as quickly as she could. She knew he'd hear her, but it didn't matter. He was too close to hide; all she could do was run.

"There you are, baby doll!" Malcolm swiveled in her direction, but didn't come after her, not at first. Instead, he rolled the ax in his hand. "Thought I'd have to chase you all the way to Barton, but this is as good a spot as any. Hold still, and I'll make it quick. Promise."

Hannah got maybe thirty feet when she heard a car. No, a truck. Something big. It had to be the highway, she'd found it after all! She'd—

Hannah didn't see the small patch of mud until her foot slipped out from under her. She tumbled over some loose rocks, fell, and rolled down the hill. She slipped over an embankment, went airborne, and cracked against a copse of trees at the bottom, finally coming to a stop. When she managed to roll to her back and look up, she realized she'd fallen much further than she thought. Malcolm appeared on the hill above her, nearly thirty feet up. He first looked down at her, then beyond her, and froze.

Hannah twisted around, every inch of her body hurting, and realized what he was looking at.

She was at the base of the mountain, maybe a hundred feet from Route 112. Between her and the highway was a chain-link fence. Hannah wasn't exactly sure where she was, but she didn't remember ever seeing a fence along the highway before, especially one like this. It was at least twelve feet tall, topped with razor wire. About every twenty feet there were signs that read: DANGER ELECTRIFIED FENCE FATAL

Below that, the message was repeated in Spanish.

The fence posts were cemented down into the ground, and she could see fresh tire tracks in the mud on the other side. The fence itself went as far as she could see in both directions.

Hannah scrambled to her feet.

Both her palms were scraped and bleeding. She had a nasty cut on her left forearm. Her right leg hurt like hell, but nothing was broken.

Behind her, Malcolm was carefully scrambling down the hill, using the ax for leverage.

Hannah heard the truck again, that was followed by several voices barking orders at one another somewhere down the fence line to her left. Hannah ran toward them as Malcolm dropped to the ground behind her.