Chloroform — take in a sharp breath and hold it!.. Quick, purposeful movements by the so-called victim — it's a trap!.. Beddy-bye, Doc — he knows who I am! This is no random — mugging. Trying to beg — to talk them out of whatever they're going to do — would be hopeless…
Three times in her life Nikki had taken self-defense courses for women. She came away from each of them frustrated, embarrassed, and a little frightened by how much she had already forgotten. But there were three recurring rules the courses had permanently impressed on her brain: Do something quickly; go for the testicles, the nose, or the knee; and as soon as possible, run. Still on her knees, her back to the massive assailant, Nikki drew her fist up in front of her eyes and jackhammered her elbow back into the man's groin with all the force she could muster. Air exploded from his lungs. He grunted, released her, stumbled backward briefly, and dropped onto his butt like a sack of grain thrown from a truck. The chloroform-soaked washcloth flew off to one side. The rail-thin man in the yellow T-shirt was scrambling to his feet, but Nikki was quicker to hers. She kicked him viciously under the chin as he was coming up, snapping his teeth together and sending him sprawling backward. Then she whirled and sprinted across the road into the forest.
"Get her, Verne!" the larger man shouted, speaking without the mountain twang Nikki had become used to over the day. "For chris-sakes, just shoot the bitch!"
"Shit, Larry, she broke my tooth. She broke my fucking tooth in half!"
Nikki was several paces inside the trees when she dared checking over her shoulder. Larry, Mr. Business Suit, was wobbly, but upright. He had shed his jacket, revealing a torso the size of a Volkswagen. Sun sparkled off his expansive white dress shirt, highlighting a shoulder holster on the left and dark sweat stains beneath his ham-hock arms. Verne, also on his feet, seemed less dazed. He had pulled a snub-nosed pistol out of the front of his waistband and was starting across the road after her, still rubbing his jaw. He fired once, but Nikki was charging ahead into the brush and had no idea if the shot was even close.
These men know who I am and are trying to kill me! her mind screamed. Move! Just move!
Terrified and bewildered, she raced ahead, trying to get a sense of her situation and to formulate some sort of plan. On her side of the ledger, she was in far better shape than Larry and probably as fit as Verne. Also, she was running for her life.
Her disadvantages were obvious — two men with guns, knowing the area, angry as hornets, and determined to kill her. Not good. Still, she could feel herself maintaining some composure and continuing to fight the urge to panic.
"Cut in over there!" she heard Verne call out. "If I don't get her first, she's going to run out of real estate in a hurry. Just don't let her backtrack."
Nikki held her hands in front of her eyes to keep from being blinded by slashing branches. The town was several miles to her left. To her right, from what she could remember, was nothing until the main highway, maybe ten miles away. Verne sounded concerned about her doubling back between them, so that might be what she should do. She quickly rejected the notion. The chances of getting caught by one of them while heading back toward the road seemed too great, especially when there was no guarantee even if she made it that a car would come. It had to be straight ahead, searching for a place to hide until dark. Then she could make her way back into Belinda.
A plan, however thin, decided upon, she flattened herself behind the thick trunk of a tree and listened. Verne wasn't that far behind. She could hear him speaking. It took a while before she realized that he wasn't speaking, he was singing — singing to her in a twisted, haunting child's voice.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are. All-ee, all-ee in free. Come on, little lady, there's no place to go."
Her focus on Verne was interrupted by a gunshot from off to her left. The bullet slammed into the tree where she was hiding.
"What in the hell're you doing?" Verne called out.
"She's right there, jerk," Larry responded. "Right behind that tree. Give it up, Doc. There's no place you can go."
There was a second shot, then a third, but Nikki was already sprinting ahead, weaving through trees and leaping over brush. The huge killer had moved much quicker than she would have imagined him capable of. Underestimating him was a mistake she wouldn't make again. The trees and dense undergrowth were both her ally and her enemy, concealing her to some degree, but at the same time tearing at her face and arms, threatening to trip her, or blind her, and always keeping her from getting up much of a head of steam.
Why are you doing this to me? Why?
Nikki wanted to stop and scream out the question. But these were men with orders, not answers. Instead, she plunged ahead, splashing into a shallow stream and trying, for a few dozen yards, to sprint down the center of it. There had to be somewhere to hide, or else a path where she could accelerate and put some distance between her and the men. She slipped on wet stones once, then again. Finally, she abandoned her efforts and scrambled up the muddy bank.
"She's in the brook," Verne called out. "No, there she is, on the other side. This way! This way!"
Two more gunshots cracked off. One of them snapped a branch right next to Nikki's face. Unless she could get some space to use her speed, she was going to be shot. She cut to her right, running low to make herself less of a target and to prevent the bushes from getting a straight-on whip at her eyes. It was late summer and the forest floor offered no collections of dead leaves large enough to hide her. She was gasping for air now, struggling to maintain her pace. But she knew she was slowing down. A voice inside began telling her to huddle on the ground behind a tree and simply pray they overlooked her. What other chance did she have?
She knelt on one knee and remained motionless as she tried to regain her wind. For ten seconds, fifteen, all was quiet. Could she possibly have outdistanced them that much in such a short time? The question was answered moments later by the breaking of a stick and some bushes rustling. At least one of them was near — very near. She was gripped by fear now, out of ideas. Again her internal voice warned her to stay put and take her chances. Her instincts urged otherwise. She sprang up and again began running, crashing through the dense brush.
"This way! Over here!" Verne cried out.
Nikki burst through some bushes and stopped short. She was standing in bright sunlight at the upper border of a rock ledge. Stretching out before her was a lake, nestled in a bowl of verdant forest. The ledge sloped slightly downward for about ten yards to a sheer drop-off fifteen feet above the water's surface. In the distance she could barely make out a couple of boats. This is what Verne had meant when he said she would soon run out of room. Her composure was completely gone now. "Cube" no longer existed. She was trapped and going to die, and all she could think of to do was scream.
She sensed both killers pinching in on her. Running from them was no longer an option. The only move she could fix on was the lake — to dive in fully clothed and hope she wasn't a fish in a rain barrel. At the instant she turned to charge down the granite slope, there was a gunshot, then another. The second bullet grazed the side of her skull, just above her ear. Stunned, she spun and fell heavily. Her head struck the rock with dazing force. Helpless and barely conscious, she rolled down the incline and off the ledge.
She hit the surface of the lake face first, aware only of the cold water enveloping her and the fact that she couldn't seem to move in any purposeful way. The fall had driven most of the air from her lungs, and as soon as she entered the water, she began drifting downward. Within ten seconds, she had settled on the stony bottom. For a few moments she was aware, and consumed with the horror of her situation. Then, as blackness and peace closed in around her, she took a breath.