Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 74214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
I crawled forward, half-blind, grabbing for a low branch and hauling myself back up onto my feet.
My chest heaved; my throat burned.
Somewhere ahead, the turned field of the pumpkin field could be seen through the trees.
Even in my panic, I’d headed toward a place that felt like safety to me.
The garden center.
Civilization.
I staggered forward.
Behind me, the footsteps came again, slower now, measured.
Not quite running—stalking.
“Yes,” I whispered to myself.
The garden center would probably be empty. But it was close to the highway, to cars, to people who might help. Or at the very least, call the police.
The trees thinned.
I burst into the open field, morning light spilling over the fallen stalks of corn and the occasional pile of pumpkin guts.
My legs nearly gave out when I hit the soft soil, my shoes digging into the fresh earth.
I didn’t look back to see if he was still behind me. I couldn’t.
Better to focus on where I was heading.
My lungs screamed for air. My legs felt made of jelly and elastic, everything wobbly and weak.
Still, I flew forward toward the haunted house.
My palm skidded uselessly on the splintered wood door.
Locked.
Of course, it was locked.
I jiggled the handle, rattled it hard enough to make the hinges shake.
The door gave a tired creak, but nothing else.
Leaves crunched behind me.
I spun, but there was no one there.
No one there?
Where could he have gone? What made that crunching sound?
My stomach flipped, memories of the last time I’d been ‘chased’ through the woods.
Was it all in my head? Was all the fear and adrenaline making me conjure up images that weren’t there?
No.
No, damn it. I’d seen him. I’d kicked him.
Maybe he’d just seen how exposed we were now and decided to turn and make a run for it before someone came to my rescue.
I inched up the building, the cramp in my side like a white-hot stab as I kept moving.
From what I could tell, none of Dante’s men were standing around. It was probably too early. Everyone was likely still warm in their beds, waiting to climb out from under the covers until the promise of coffee motivated them enough.
I had nowhere to go. None of the businesses up or down the highway would be open yet, save for the convenience store a few complexes down.
And my car was on the other side of the woods still.
I reached for my pocket, figuring I could call for a ride. Or just bite the bullet and reach out to the police.
Only to find an empty pocket.
My mind flashed back to the woods, to when I’d seen the man.
Standing behind the body I’d been trying to snap a picture of.
When I’d run, I must have dropped my phone.
What was wrong with me?
I kept inching forward, wincing when my steps crunched on the gravel.
I cursed the crew from the night before for being so thorough in putting everything away when they were done. No pitchforks or shovels were sitting out for me to grab and use as a weapon.
Taking slow, deep breaths, I glanced through the windows of the shop, looking for anyone possibly hiding out.
I moved toward the corner, ready to make my way to the highway where the occasional car sped by.
I didn’t hear a crunch, a breath, the air move around me.
But I felt the hand slap down over my mouth, felt the arm anchor around my midsection, squeezing until the pressure made my air catch in my lungs.
I tried to kick back, but I was lifted off my feet, leaving me pedaling at the air, unable to break away.
My hands moved out, fingers curling into claws, and raking my fingers down the backs of his hands, his arms.
“Fuck,” he snarled, his breath hot on my ear.
Satisfied that I was causing pain, I dug harder, feeling the hot, sticky sensation of his blood coating my fingertips.
“You’re gonna pay for that.”
Not if I had anything to say about it.
I wiggled and writhed, throwing my weight in every direction. The more he struggled, the more I jerked around.
And then, with my belly dropping, I felt us both falling backward.
There was just a second to brace for the impact.
We crashed hard. If I had any air left in my lungs, it would have whooshed out of me. I did get the satisfaction of hearing all the air escape my attacker, though, as he not only fell on his back, but had my weight crashing into him as well.
His hands released me involuntarily.
I was ready for it, rolling onto all fours, pushing up, and starting at a dead run.
My lungs were greedy for air. I sucked in quick, deep breaths as I forced my legs to charge forward.
I made a beeline for the greenhouse, knowing it wouldn’t be locked because there was nothing worth stealing in the off-season.
But there might be shovels, plant spikes, even a pair of scissors.