Lisa Gardner - The killing hour

That got him crashing down behind her. It also put a smile on her face. It made her feel better all the way around the next bend, where they finally got their first lucky break.

Kimberly saw it first.

“Where are we?” she asked wildly.

“We’re in our section, there shouldn’t be any overlap…”

Kimberly pointed to the tree, with its freshly broken branch. And then she saw the crushed fern, followed by the flattened-down grass. She started walking faster, following the unmistakable signs of human passage as the coarse trail began to zigzag through the woods. It was wide. It was clearly marked. A single person, crashing down nearly out of control. Or perhaps even a man, doubled over from the weight of carrying a heavily drugged body.

“Mac,” she said with barely contained excitement.

He was looking at the sun. “Kimberly,” he said grimly. “Run.”

She went careening down the path with Mac hot on her heels.

Virginia

8:43 P . M .

Temperature: 94 degrees

TINA HATED THE MUD. It oozed and popped and smelled. It rippled and writhed with things she couldn’t see and didn’t want to know. It undulated slowly, like a living beast, just waiting for her to succumb.

She didn’t have a choice. She was dangerously exhausted and dehydrated. Her skin burned from too much sun and too many bug bites. On the one hand, she felt as if her entire body were on fire. On the other hand, she had started shivering, her overheated skin breaking out incongruously with wave after wave of goose bumps.

She was dying; it was that simple. People were comprised of something like 70 percent water. Which made her a pond, now literally drying up from drought.

Curled up against the hot surface of the rock, she thought of her mom. Maybe she should’ve told her about the pregnancy. Sure, her mother would’ve been upset, but only because she personally knew how hard the life of a young, single mother could be. Once the shock wore off, she would’ve helped Tina, offered some support.

And it would’ve been something else, too. Bringing a little life into the world, seeing her baby’s scrunched-up, squalling face. She could picture her and her mom crying together in the delivery room, exhausted and proud. She could see them picking out cute little baby clothes and fussing over midnight feedings. Maybe she’d have a girl, one more tough cookie to continue the family tradition. The three Krahns, ready to take over the world. Oh, the state of Minnesota had better look out.

She would’ve tried so hard to be a good mother. Maybe she wouldn’t have succeeded, but she would’ve tried.

Tina finally turned her head, looking up at the sky. Through the slits of her swollen eyes, she could see the yawning blue canvas of her prison. The horizon seemed to be darkening now, the sun finally sinking from view and leaching away the white-hot glare. Funny, it didn’t feel any cooler. The humidity was still a stifling wet blanket, as oppressive as the cloud of mosquitoes and yellow flies that continued to swarm her face.

Her head fell back down. She stared at her hand, inches from her face. She had open sores from scratching the hundreds of mosquito bites. Now, she watched a yellow fly land on her skin, dig into her open wounds, and lay a pile of tiny, shiny white eggs.

She was going to be sick. No, she couldn’t be sick. It was an inefficient use of the little water she had left. She was going to throw up anyway. Not even dead yet and already being used for maggot bait. How much longer could she possibly go on like this? Her poor baby. Her poor mom.

And then, that calm, practical Minnesotan voice from the back of her head started speaking to her again: You know what, girl? It’s time to get tough. ’Cause you either do something now, or you really do get to forever hold your peace.

Tina’s gaze went to the oozing black mud.

Just do it, Tina. Be tough. Show the rat bastard what you’re made of. Don’t you dare go down without a fight.

She sat up. The world spun; the bile rose immediately in her throat. With a gagging cough, she choked it back down. Then, she pulled herself wearily to the edge of the boulder and gazed at the muck. Looks like pudding. Smells like…

No throwing up!

“All right,” Tina whispered grimly. “I’ll do it. Ready or not, here I come!”

She stuck her right foot in the muck. Something promptly slithered against her ankle, then darted away. She bit her lower lip to keep from screaming and forced her foot deeper into the muck. It felt like sliding her body into rotted-out guts. Warm, slimy, slightly chunky…

No throwing up!

She thrust her left foot into the ooze, saw the clear outline of a black snake slide away and this time she did scream, long, hoarsely, and helplessly. Because she was afraid and she hated this and oh God, why had this man done this to her? She’d never hurt anyone. She didn’t deserve to be cast in a pit where she was baking alive while flies laid shiny white eggs into the deep sores of her skin.

And she was sorry for having sex now, and she was sorry for not taking better precautions, and she was sorry she had messed up her young life, but surely she didn’t deserve this kind of torture. Surely she and her baby at least deserved a shot at making a better life.

The mosquitoes swarmed. She batted at them again and again, while standing mid-calf in the muck and gagging helplessly.

Drop down, Tina. It’s like plunging into a cold pool. Just grit your teeth, and plunge into the muck. It’s the only option you have left.

And then…

There, in the distance. She heard it again. A sound. Footsteps? No, no. Voices. Someone was around.

Tina jerked back her head to the mouth of the open pit. “Hey,” she tried to scream, “hey, hey.”

All that came out of her parched throat was the croak of a frog. The voices were fading. People were around, but walking away, she was sure of it.

Tina grabbed her half-empty gallon of water. She took giant, greedy gulps, desperate for help and careless of rationing. Then, with her newly lubricated throat, she threw back her head and screamed in earnest.

“Hey, hey. I’m down here! Someone, anyone! Oh please, come here…”

Kimberly was running. Her lungs were burning; a stitch had developed in her side. Still she powered down the slippery slope, crashing through thick brush, jumping over rotting logs, careening around boulders. She could hear the hot, heavy breathing of Mac, racing by her side.

It was a suicidal pace. They could twist an ankle, plummet over a ledge, crash into a tree, or suffer things that would be much, much worse.

But the sun was setting fast now, daylight slipping through their fingers to be replaced by a fiery dusk that shot the sky bloodred. And the path, so distinguishable only fifteen minutes ago, was already slipping into shadow, vanishing before their eyes.

Mac surged ahead. Kimberly put her head down and forced her shorter legs to keep up.

They came crashing down the heavily wooded slope into a sudden, broad clearing. Thorny bushes and tightly packed trees gave way to knee-high grass. The ground flattened out and footing eased up.

Kimberly didn’t slow. She was still tearing forward at full throttle, trying to pick out the trail in the fading light, when she registered two things at once: the jagged tumble of hundreds of boulders off to her left and then, just fifteen feet up the pile, a startling strip of red. A skirt, her mind registered. And then… A human body. The girl!

They had found the girl!

Kimberly streaked toward the pile of rocks. Vaguely, she heard Mac yelling at her to stop. He grabbed at her wrist. She pulled away.