Diana needed something to defend herself with. Her eyes took a few more moments to adjust, and then she could see the straw that littered the floor and a ladder leading to the hayloft. Propped against the ladder was a pitchfork.
Diana would be damned if she were going to let the old farmer throw her into his root cellar. She had somewhere to be, and she would get there no matter what it took.
Boots pounded, and Amos Stiggims entered. He was still holding his folding knife. He ran a dozen steps farther, then stopped. “Where is she, boy? Where did that tricky bitch get to?”
Diana gauged the distance to the ladder. It would put her near Stiggims, but it couldn’t be helped. The mongrel was halfway to the rear of the barn and posed no immediate threat.
“Find her, boy,” Stiggims urged. “I saw her come in. She has to be here somewhere.”
Girding herself, Diana bounded toward the ladder. She was almost to it when both Stiggims and the dog heard her. Hercules spun and growled. Amos bleated an oath and lunged, trying to grab her.
Diana barely skipped aside in time. Another long stride and she had the pitchfork, then she turned to confront them. Amos stopped cold, a twisted smile on his face. Hercules stopped, too, but only for a few heartbeats. Then he slunk forward.
“Stay, boy! Stay!” Stiggims commanded. To Diana he said, “Be reasonable. Put that down. I don’t want to hurt you. All I want is your company.”
“For how long?” Diana shot back. “A year? Five years? A lifetime? No thank you.”
“It won’t be so bad. I’ll treat you decent. I’ll keep you fed and let you take baths and everything.”
“You’re all heart.”
The farmer stiffened in indignation. “No need to take that tone.
You could be worse off. You could be on the road with no one to look after you.”
“I don’t need babysitting. I’m a grown woman.” Diana was keeping an eye on Hercules. He was still in a crouch and could spring in a twinkling.
“All the more reason for you and me to stick together, girlie.
Like I told you, I don’t intend no frisky business.”
Hercules took another step and Diana turned, the pitchfork in front of her. “Warn him off or so help me I’ll stick him.”
“Stay, damn it!” Stiggims spread his arms in appeal. “Let’s talk this out, you and me. We can work things out so they benefit both of us.”
“You’re crazy, old man,” Diana said flatly. “I don’t care if it is the end of the world. You can’t do as you please with every female who comes along.”
“There’s only been you. It won’t be so bad. I have plenty of food stored. The rest of the world will starve, but we’ll have full bellies.”
Diana had to get out of there. The dog was inching toward her.
Then Amos moved so he was between her and the door. “Out of my way. I’m leaving.”
“I’m more spry than I look, girlie. And Hercules, there, is a regular lion when he’s mad. Make it easy on yourself. Drop that thing and come along without a fuss.”
“Please, Mr. Stiggims. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“That’s damn decent of you. It truly is. But you’re putting the cart before the horse.”
“Please.”
“Beg all you want. I’ve made up my mind.” Stiggims crouched and showed his yellow teeth.
“There are limits and I have reached mine.” “Is that so? Then it’s root hog or die, girlie.” “Call me that one more time.”
“What? Girlie?” Stiggims chuckled. “Gets your dander up, does it?”
Diana clenched the pitchfork harder.
“Are you one of those feminazis I hear about on the radio?”
“No, I’m a pissed-off woman.” Diana lunged, bur it was only a feint. She expected him to do what he did, namely, spring back and bawl at the dog.
“Get her, Hercules! Attack, boy!”
Whirling, Diana braced the long handle against her side, the pitchfork angled up. The dog was already in midair. It came down right on the tines, yipping as they tipped through its body like knives through butter. The dog weighed as much if not more than she did, and she was knocked back.
“Hercules!” Amos Stiggims cried. He stared at the dead dog, then screeched and came at her like one possessed.
Letting go of the pitchfork, Diana evaded a wild slash. She backpedaled and Stiggims came after her, his eyes lit with maniacal fury. He swung the blade at her throat, her chest, her face. She bumped into something and nearly fell. Reaching back to steady herself, she realized she had collided with the ladder.
Darting around it, she tried one last time.
“It doesn’t have to be like this.” She tried to stay calm. “Drop the knife and let me leave.”
“Bitch!” the old man shrilled, and thrust his knife between the rungs.
Diana had her bi-weekly volleyball sessions to thank for the reflexes that enabled her to grab his wrist, wrench with all her might, and break the bone with an audible crack. He screamed and slumped, and she came around the ladder and landed an uppercut any boxer would envy. It nearly broke her hand, but it left him on his knees, too woozy to resist as she dived a hand into his pocket and palmed the keys.
Five minutes later the truck was roaring down the country road, raising a thick cloud of dust in its wake.
Diana Trevor gripped the wheel tightly. She had a long way to go and nothing was going to stand in her way.
Except dying.
The Color of God
New York City
Patrick Slayne drove with fierce intensity. He needed to put as much distance behind them as he could in as short a time as possible. He pushed the Hunster past ninety when the streets permitted and took curves perilously fast.
Alf Richardson was as pale as snow. “It’s like being on a roller coaster, only worse.”
“Can’t you slow down?” Deepak Kapur complained.
“Of course I can,”
