And once more he began to run.
Alix
She lay flat on her stomach, her cheek pressed against the cold concrete. The floor under the car was slick with motor oil; the smell of it made her want to retch. She closed her throat against a surge of bile, remained perfectly still.
She could see Cassie’s bare feet and the hem of her robe several yards from the car; she could also see the crumpled body of Adam Reese, the splotch of blood on the front of his jacket. Cassie hadn’t turned, hadn’t moved since she’d shot Reese-as if the act had momentarily paralyzed her. It was another few seconds before the feet moved, turned once again toward the car with such suddenness that the robe puffed out to expose thick ankles. There was a quick intake of breath, and then “Alix? Where are you?”
Alix held her breath.
Cassie’s voice rose querulously. “Where did you go?”
After a moment the feet moved out of Alix’s line of vision, back toward the front of the car, shuffling like those of an old woman. She turned her head then, peered out the other side. There was a line of cardboard cartons some four feet away, with a space large enough for her to wriggle through between two of them. She was too confined here under the car; if Cassie realized where she was, there would be no way to defend herself, no way to escape a bullet. Behind those boxes, she would still be protected, yet have more freedom of movement.
But what if she made sounds and Cassie heard them? With that overhead light on, she would make a perfect target, even with the car between them The side door slammed resoundingly. When the echo died, the silence was once again acute.
Alix lay motionless, taking in small amounts of air through her mouth. Her chest ached, blood pounded in her temples. She realized she was still clutching Mandy’s headband; her fingers pressed the beads as if she might be about to say a rosary.
You’ve got to move sooner or later. Do it now, while she’s still over by the door.
She made herself move in the direction of the cardboard cartons. She was almost to the rear wheel when she saw an old bathroom plunger lying behind it. It was good-sized, with a wooden handle two feet long. Not much of a weapon, but better than nothing.
Inching along, she stretched her arm out until her fingers could just touch the handle. Then she lay still again, listening. Heard nothing except the heavy silence. But once she came out from under the car, exposed herself in the light… that damned ceiling bulb hung right over the car…
Smash it, she thought then. It hangs down low, you can reach it with the plunger… and in the dark you’ve got a much better chance
… smash it!
She crawled forward, took a firm grip on the wooden handle; her head was out from under the car now. Behind her, on the other side of the car, Cassie moved and then called, “Alix?” again. The sound of her name drove her the rest of the way out from under, up onto her knees.
Cassie heard her, shouted something unintelligible just as Alix located the bulb, and lunged up at it swinging her club.
But her first swing missed high, hitting the cord instead and setting the light swaying and dancing crazily; light swirled, weird shadows climbed the walls and then fell back again. Cassie fired a shot, but in her haste her aim was off-line: the bullet cut a furrow across the top of the car to Alix’s left with a sound like fingernails dragging down a blackboard.
Wildly, Alix swung again at the swaying light. She lost her grip on the plunger as she did so, but in flying out of her hand it struck its target. The bulb shattered; the garage was plunged into darkness.
Another shout from Cassie, but no more shots. Alix dropped to her hands and knees again, crawled behind the row of cardboard cartons. When she’d gone as far as she could she got up in a crouch and extended her hands into the darkness around her, searching for another weapon. At first they encountered only empty space, then she felt a lumpy plastic shape, probably a large sack of potting soil or fertilizer. Her touch stirred up what was inside and a faint but pungent filtering of dust tickled her nostrils. She put a hand up in a vain effort to stop a sudden sneeze.
The sneeze came out as a little choking noise, loud in the electric stillness that filled the garage.
Cassie said, “I hear you, Alix. You can’t get away, not even in the dark.” She began moving, coming toward the car.
When she got to it, would she think to open one of the doors for the dome light? Alix squeezed the plastic sack, seeking more shelter. When she tried to straighten, her head banged into solid wood. Wincing with pain, she raised a hand and felt the rough underside of a shelf. Probably a potting shelf, like many old garages had.
Cassie said, “I hear you!” Her tone was horribly gay, like that of a wicked child playing hide-and-seek.
Alix was disoriented now, but she guessed she had moved at an angle toward the rear comer. The potting shelf must be built into the right angle formed by the walls. If she went the other way…
“I’ve got you now,” Cassie said. “You can’t see where you’re going in the dark.”
Neither can you.
As if Cassie had read her mind, she said, “I know where things are in here. I can get around without light; you can’t.”
Then maybe she wouldn ’ t put on the dome light. And that would be to Alix’s benefit. Cassie knew the garage, yes, knew the whereabouts of everything that was in it; but moving around a familiar place in light or even half-light was entirely different than trying to find your way when you couldn’t see at all.
Alix could hear her now, no longer making an effort to be quiet as she felt her way around the hood of the car at the back wall. Alix moved too, away along the side wall toward the front, keeping on the balls of her feet, knees bent, hands touching the exposed studding for balance. Ahead she could make out the faint outline of the big double doors, a lighter gray-black against the clotted darkness within.
Were the doors locked? Even if they weren’t, they might be difficult to open and get through quickly. Still, they were the closest means of escape: she would have to try them.
Behind her, Cassie was still moving. It sounded as if she was now feeling her way along the side of the car, on the other side of the line of boxes.
If she sees or hears me at the doors, Alix thought, will she try shooting in the dark? She might; or she might want me to get outside, where the light is better. How many bullets does a gun like hers hold? Six? Don’t most pistols hold six? Two on Adam Reese (God!), another intended for me. That leaves three, if the gun was fully loaded to begin with. Three too many…
She continued to make her way blindly toward the faint outline of the doors, her hands picking up prickly little splinters from the rough studding. Somewhere, she realized then, she had lost Mandy’s headband. Why she should even think of that she didn’t know. Abruptly, the studding ended and she touched something that felt like pegboard. She paused, listening to Cassie’s movements and trying to gauge the distance to the double doors. Not more than ten feet.
It sounded as if Cassie had reached the rear of the car. Her breathing was more ragged now, almost asthmatic. Alix suspected she wouldn’t be able to hear small sounds; she shifted her weight, moved forward, testing. Cassie remained where she was.
Alix felt the wall again. It was definitely pegboard, the kind of material people use to hang things on. Tools, garden tools. Maybe “You can’t hide from me, Alix. You can’t! You’ll just make me kill you and I don’t want to do that.”
The hell you don’t, Alix thought.
She inched along, her fingers touching the tines of a bamboo rake. No weapon, that.
“I didn’t want to kill Adam, either. He made me. They all made me. I never wanted to kill anyone.” The words trembled with pathos and self-pity.
Go ahead, Alix thought, keep on maundering. Keep on listening to the sound of your own voice so you won’t hear what I’m doing.
