Mid-flight, she gulped a lungful of air and held it. Her body registered the splash and the cold water at the same time. Once underwater, she fumbled to draw the zipper down as she sunk fast into depths unknown.
Melanie felt the fabric slip from her body as she wriggled free of the stone-weighted bag and watched, with eyes wide open, as it continued on its downward spiral. The second body bag nudged her on the way past, the surprise of it causing her to lose valuable air. She grimaced, shamefully aware of the gratefulness that flooded her at the realization that Chrissy was beyond saving. At least her conscience would be free from that burden.
She summoned all of her strength and kicked hard to the left to stay close to the bank. The current carried her downstream. When she figured her lungs were about to burst, she thrust upward. Surely, the darkness would hide her head from the murderers. Melanie couldn’t recall if a full moon hovered in the sky. The reflection it cast across the water could reveal her presence if the men still lingered by the shoreline. Regardless, she needed to breathe.
Melanie surfaced close to the edge and gulped in the night air, holding back the choking cough threatening to break the deathlike stillness. A twisted limb with sharp edges caught her eye, and she steered her body toward it. She lifted both arms, grateful to hook them around the rough bark. The limb stopped her drifting, and Melanie took a moment to calm herself.
A quick glance behind her told Melanie that the two men had deserted the lake. She heard a motor in the distance, and involuntary sobs broke loose. Melanie forced herself to suck it up, and she heaved her weight upward to rest on her elbows for support. She worked the tape between two sharp edges of the limb, whimpering and sniffling the whole time. Melanie never wanted to come that close to death again.
Her Christian upbringing had made her fully aware of her unforgiving heart and the fact that her soul was not prepared to meet Jesus. Her survival instincts had bypassed her drug-induced mind and melted away the weariness. The need to escape the woods and get to safety repeatedly screamed in her head.
Being a city cop, wilderness survival was not one of her strong suits. The closest she’d come to roaming alone in the woods was during a scavenger hunt on the family estate. Muffled groans of pain and irritation escaped her pursed lips as she stumbled through the bush as quietly as a flawed, inexperienced Miss Prissy could possibly manage. Melanie assumed she’d been moving in the opposite direction for a long while, and she must be miles away when all hope was stripped from her by the sound of a male voice humming a jovial tune. She halted dead in her tracks but not fast enough.
The song ceased, and a man yelled out, “John, you’re back too early. Haven’t finished cleaning up the bloody mess and I still need to ditch the car.”
Melanie sucked in air. Her sense of direction had failed her miserably, for she’d backtracked and was headed toward the scene of the crime. And to beat it all, she’d been discovered. Maybe, if she stayed quiet, he’d think it was an animal and carry on with his task. Attempting the lay-low approach only infuriated the man further.
From behind a forested shield, he bellowed. “I know you’re out there, man. I don’t spook easily, so you may as well come into the open.”
Melanie didn’t answer. She held her breath while listening to him mutter and curse. The click of the gun’s hammer being drawn into firing position put speed in her step and spurred her feet into action.
“Whoever you are, don’t make me come find you,” came the final warning.
She quietly angled away from the voice and upward. It’s amazing the reaction that fear could produce in an otherwise urban gal. Movements quickened, became focused, and she congratulated herself prematurely for discovering trail skills in a time of need. That’s when she heard the voice again. It was in the distance but definitely on the move.
“I was born in the woods,” he called out. “I just want to chat. Didn’t know anyone else kept these crazy night hours.”
He was attempting to lure her out with casual conversation, but her one great advantage was that he didn’t expect to be chasing after one of his dumped-in-the-river victims. Hopefully, he believed his own wild stretch of the imagination, that someone had happened along in the middle of the night. That didn’t make him any less dangerous – it simply kept Melanie’s survival a secret from the one who had felt the need to snuff out her existence.
A branch snapped behind her and she jumped. The man had thrown all caution to the wind, and the earth pounded with every step.
The quiet approach had been lost to his anger, and Melanie took to her feet, running. She hurried, winding her way up the last of the hill until her legs felt like cement weights. In her relief at reaching the crest of the knoll, she stumbled and fell hard on the dirt road.
Melanie muted a cry as her knee scraped the gravel. Blood spurted everywhere. She ignored the sting, turned right and raced along the level surface, allowing herself to celebrate a brief victory only after she’d turned a curve in the road. Her position would remain hidden from the hunter’s view whenever the self-acclaimed
