Blood Hunt

him. Grabbing his shoulder, he discovered why. To his shock, an arrow protruded from his jacket. The feathered end must have hit the car bumper as he fell, wrenching the shaft sideways in the wound.

An arrow. A narrow wooden stake. Fear flooded him.

Pressing against the sale barn wall, he jerked the arrow out, clamping his jaw to keep from screaming again as the shaft grated under his collar bone. The arrow came free in a spurt of blood…and more fear. No metal tipped it. Instead, the shaft had been sharpened to a point. No doubt now that Lane was his assailant. He remembered those blue ribbons in Anna’s album that Lane won for archery.

He pressed the jacket against his shoulder, using the thick pile lining to soak up the blood, then picked up the gun again with his left hand…glad his father taught him to shoot with either hand. Gritting his teeth against pain, he pulled his feet under him and crouched listening.

Gravel shifted almost inaudibly…the sound coming toward him, angling to his right.

He peered around that side of the car. Yes, there she was, a shadow emerging from the mist. He had a clear shot, but shooting left-handed meant losing his cover…either by standing or stepping from behind the car. He had to shoot fast, then.

He jumped sideways, crouched, hoping she would not expect that, and took aim.

“Stop!” Lane called. “Don’t move.”

To Garreth’s horror, his finger froze on the trigger. Like being at Wink’s back door all over again, without the fire.

Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Put down the gun, lover.”

The words dragged at him like daylight. Grimly, he fought them, fought to pulled the trigger. He had a perfect shot. Shoot! Shoot! But his body refused to obey. With all his will trying to fire, his hand slowly opened and dropped the gun.

“You’re weak. You hurt, poor baby.” The shadow came closer. “You just want to curl up and wait for the pain to go away.”

No! He had refused to give up in that alley and damn if he would do so here!

Jason Voorhees appeared out of the mist in heavy boots, dungarees, and a ragged barn coat…carrying a bow with another arrow nocked, the bowstring half drawn. Now Garreth understood the paint smell. Between the gym and here, Lane had stopped to increase her invisibility by spraying the white hockey mask black.

Could two play the power game? Panting in pain, he stared hard at her. “You don’t want to shoot me.” He stayed crouched, presenting as small a target as possible, protecting his chest. The body armor stopped bullets but not thin, penetrating weapons like arrows. He poured his will at her. “Put…down…the bow. Lay…it…down.”

She continued drawing back the bowstring. “You don’t have the experience to use that against me. Now, sit up,” she crooned. “Give me a good target so it’ll be over quick.”

No. No! his mind screamed…while his body slowly, inexorably straightened.

She smiled. “That’s a good boy.”

Desperately he fought to look away, fought to focus on his pain, to become angry, but nothing worked.

She held him, pinned him with her eyes like a butterfly specimen.

Off behind her exhaust pipes roared, accompanied by haunted house shrieks. Scott Dreiling’s Trans Am tore into sale barn grounds from River Road.

Lane glanced around.

Free! Garreth snatched up the gun and rolled sideways. From flat on his back he fired at her chest.

Her jerk told him the shot found its mark…yet she immediately steadied again, as if nothing happened.

He had no time to wonder how that could be. The pipes roared louder and gravel spat at them as the Trans Am shot past. In the middle of the parking lot it swung into donuts. On the third one it braked.

Scott shouted out his window, “What’s this! Officer Mikey lying down on the job! I’ll have to report you. And you’ve got four flat tires. So now…catch me if you can.”

The passenger, whose voice he recognized as Scott’s buddy Kenny Leeds, shouted, “D-man, he looks hurt! Shouldn’t we — ”

The roar of the Trans Am’s motor drowned the rest as it gunned back out the way it came.

With Scott gone, Garreth saw Lane had, too. No, a shadow hovered near the stock pens by the tracks. Lane called, “You need a head shot to stop me with lead, lover. Come and try again.”

Then she crossed the tracks and disappeared west. Into Pioneer Park? Another good place to ambush him.

He awkwardly holstered the gun, then fingered his radio. He ought to call in. Attacking him provided a legitimate reason for a full manhunt, and for treating her as armed and dangerous. But it put every officer involved at risk. They would never believe how dangerous she was, or that no bullet short of one in her brain could stop her. The very thought sent him back to Wink O’Hare’s apartment watching Harry bleed. He refused to let that happen again. Injured or not, he had to deal with her by himself.

Besides, despite what Lane claimed, vampire healing should kick in soon to stop the pain and bleeding, right? Very soon, he hoped, starting after her. Every step jolted his shoulder and brought a new wave of pain. He forced himself to keep moving.

Garreth tried putting himself in Lane's place, to guess her next place to ambush him. Did the bow have the range to shoot him from the bandstand?

Not the bandstand. Footsteps sounded on his left…moving away. He saw her leap the wall bordering the park’s south edge. Fuzzy light from a streetlight showed her heading down Landon.

She did not intend to ambush him here? Where, then? She must have some plan, but what? Maybe just to keep him following until he collapsed. The way he felt — light-headed, nauseated, shaky as he crawled over the wall after her — that would not be much longer. If he gave up. Not an option. He had to catch her.

“Baumen Seven.”

Garreth groaned. Not now, Doris, please; not now. Tell her he was busy? He tried his voice first, and decided that croak was worse than not answering.

Doris called him again, then after a pause: “Baumen Five. 10–19 ASAP!”

Garreth used speculation to distract himself from his pain. She urgently wanted Duncan at the station. Because he failed to answer? If that, why the request to come to the station rather than sending Duncan to Garreth’s last reported location?

Those questions sustained him to Walnut. Ahead, a streetlight at the Pine intersection shone bright enough in the mist to show Lane there and turning left. He forced himself into a jog. He must not lose her.

Down at Oak, a patrol car raced across the intersection toward Kansas, light bar flashing. Duncan heading out in a hurry…and turning north up Kansas, from the sound of his engine.

He reached Pine to find Lane had disappeared. Had she gone to Kansas? No, he saw nothing of her when he reached there. As much of the street as he could see was deserted…except for the expected vehicles in front of the Brown Bottle and VFW hall. Maybe Lane had taken to an alley. A hand on the wall of the Pioneer Grill helped steady him jogging back to the alley behind it.

The radio spat, “Five to Seven!” Duncan.

If he answered, Duncan would want to know his location.

He saw nothing up the alley, but turning to check the alley across the street…yes! Something moved in the mist beyond the post office. Hunching low, he dodged across the street.

“Seven, respond!”

After flattening against the post office wall, he peered around the corner into the alley. The shape seemed to be hesitating between the post office and Wiesner’s Flowers. Waiting for him to appear…backlit by the Pine streetlights?

“Five, what’s the situation?” Doris asked.

“The car’s where the Leeds kid said. Tires flat. No Seven.”

So Scott, or at least his buddy, did report what they saw?

The pitch of Duncan’s voice climbed. “There’s an arrow with blood on it…and bloody hand prints on the car.”

Garreth slid around the corner into the alley, hugging the building and searching for something to use as a shield. If only trash downtown went into metal cans with lids like those of homeowners, instead of into dumpsters.