“Okay.” The man was orienting his map. He wrote on it with a black marker.
The bell for the station’s door rang as three men in camouflaged Army combat uniforms came inside. They all had the same tan berets and sand-colored combat boots.
“Hey, Melinda! My beautiful Melinda.”
The girl smiled at the attention.
The man in front of her looked quickly away from the soldiers. Odd, she thought.
“What you boys want?”
“We’re done for the day and need some cold ones.” One soldier put a six-pack of Budweiser on the counter.
Another soldier nudged his buddy, looking to the man with the map. “Excuse us, sir. We didn’t mean to step in front of you.”
“No, I was just asking for directions.”
His English was okay, but he had some sort of accent, which seemed more noticeable now. The girl almost asked, but he was already gone.
“Hey.”
In the one word said over a cell phone, Clark felt a sense of relief. Just one word. She looked at the clock. It was nearly midnight. But she knew he wouldn’t call until it was over. That was the deal. Don’t call until it is over. Period.
“Hey, you.”
“I need a run, a good long run.”
“Yeah, me too.” It made for an odd date; but then again, there was nothing like a good ten-miler. “When do you want to do it?”
“How about at first light?”
“Sounds good.”
“See you in six hours.”
“Six hours.”
She closed the cell phone, and as she did, Clark looked up from the kitchen window. A security light on a motion detector suddenly illuminated the trees near the lodge. The trees, mostly longleaf pines, had been planted by William away from the lodge and down the slope, so that the security light was illuminating the tops more than a dozen yards away. They moved in the casual breeze. The marsh pines were survivors that could withstand the random fires, bugs, and diseases of the hot, humid summers. They left a dark, nearly impenetrable space underneath their canopy that was thick with layers of pine straw. But the light was set at a high setting. It didn’t randomly go off.
What the hell could that be?
Clark walked to the front hall, where a cavernous stone floor stayed cold all year long, especially during the winter. She could feel the cold pass through her running shoes as she stood next to the door and looked out through the glass of the tall French doors. The doors were stained a dark mahogany, thick, and were tall like the entranceway. The glass was intentionally thick. When one opened the door, it swung heavily on the hinges.
The security light in the front was also illuminated. A breeze pushed leaves from some live oaks up the road across the front of the lodge.
Clark went back to the kitchen. The lodge was isolated, alone, on top of its hill, but she hadn’t felt unsafe. She looked at her cell phone. It was fully charged. She scanned the numbers, seeing the first number on the directory: Mack, the deputy sheriff. She looked up, again, out the kitchen window, only this time to see a face staring back at her.
Clark cried out in surprise, dropping her cell phone to the floor, her heart racing out of control. She heard the crack of glass as she scrambled to find her phone on the floor.
“Oh, my God.”
She grabbed the cell phone as she heard another crack of the glass over her head. Clark ran to the rear of the lodge, holding on to the phone, glancing over her shoulder to see a man tear the door down in the kitchen with the thrust of his body.
Think!
She had discussed this with William several times.
Get to the bedroom.
It was the first line of defense. Go upstairs, lock the solid wood door, use the few seconds before he came through it to call and get to the shotgun. Not the pistol. It had to be a shotgun. William had said it numerous times. When scrambling for one’s life, few could hold a straight shot. A shotgun left plenty of room for error.
Crack.
A bullet went just over her right shoulder. With the one shot, she realized that this wasn’t a random burglary or robbery. This was a killing. He wasn’t coming for her, either. First her and then William.
Clark slammed the door and threw the bolt. She tried to breathe.
Step away from the door.
He had told her that several times. As she did, a bullet cracked the wood.
Breathe and think.
Now Clark understood why he had wanted her to run, to run a marathon. It gave her the chance to breathe, to survive. Her heart seemed frantic, pounding in her chest.
Call.
Clark scanned through the cell phone directory, trying to get back to the first number.
“Goddamn it.” Her hand was shaking. Finally, she hit the number. Another bullet cracked the wood, followed again by a second. It seemed to be more of a message. The number rang and then rang again. She hadn’t even had the millisecond of time for the thought that it was actually well past midnight.
“Hello?”
“Mack, this is Clark. I have someone breaking in.” Mack was the closest one. There was no time for Stidham or anyone else. Mack would blue-light it, and he knew the country roads.
“Okay, I’m on my way.”
Another bullet ripped through the door around the hinge, followed by a series of bullets fired at the different door hinges. Clark grabbed the twelve-gauge shotgun and fired the Dixie Tri-ball three-inch shell at the door. It was a mistake. The large steel balls, the size of marbles, ripped through the wood, fracturing the door, only helping to dismantle it.
Clark fired the second shot at the window. The shotgun slammed into her shoulder like a baseball bat. It also ripped the glass and frame of the window from the wall. She jumped through the opening at the same time that a figure broke through what was left of the bedroom door. A portion of the roofline extended out on the second floor. Clark landed on her shoulder on the cold, ribbed, vertical steel-paneled roof. Her momentum kept her going as she slid down the panels and then fell over the edge. A gutter hung up her fall for a brief second, and as it did a bullet hit her arm, cutting the flesh like a hot poker. Its force helped push her off the roof.
Clark landed in a thick line of azaleas that lined the edge of the house. It broke the force of her fall but didn’t stop her from slamming into the ground. She gasped for air, trying to get up on her knees.
Stay within the edge of the house.
He had told her to use whatever protection possible. Clark knew that the shadow would be waiting at the window’s opening for her to run to the woods. Her movement would activate the security lights, and the lights would then cause her death. It would be an easy shot.
She moved slowly, on the ground, only putting her weight on her left arm once. The pain shot through the arm, causing her to collapse like an umbrella. She suppressed a scream.
Clark worked her way down the edge of the house and then around the corner. She was directly below the security light and its sensor. All four corners of the lodge had lights with sensors. Clark reached to the ground and picked up two rocks. She threw one around the corner back toward where the bedroom was. The light on the back of the house suddenly came on, and with it a bullet zipped back toward a shadow near the tree line. She threw the other rock directly upward to the light above, and when it lit up the front of the lodge, another bullet zipped past the edge.
Clark ran across the front of the house, staying close to the wall, and then at the far end of the lodge sprinted across the open space to the drop-off and the tree line below. She crashed through the limbs, tripping on the pine straw and falling flat on her face. The straw cushioned the blow. Clark tried to breathe, getting up to her knees and moving deeper into the darkness, away from the light.