Lisa Gardner - The Survivors Club

There was a second person upstairs. Oh no, Meg…

Griffin didn't have a choice anymore. He abandoned the cover of the table and made his move.

Jillian came around the side of the old house. The first thing she saw was Fitz on the ground, kneeling over another man. “Come on, buddy, come on, hang in there.”

“Detective Fitzpatrick?” she called softly.

He jerked around sharply. It was hard to see his features in the rapidly growing dusk, but his movements appeared dazed.

“Jillian, what are you… Never mind. Got a cell phone? I need it now!”

“Is he…”

“That son of a bitch David Price shot him as he opened up the basement bulkhead. Guess David was already waiting in the cellar.”

“Meg…” the man on the ground murmured. “Price… going to shoot… her.”

“Shhhh, Griffin's got her.”

“She's still in the house?” Jillian dropped down on her knees next to Fitz, then dug in her purse for her cell phone. The downed detective didn't look good. She could see the stain growing rapidly along his left side. His thin face was abnormally pale, sweat beaded his brow. He was going into shock.

“Here.” She thrust her phone out to Fitz, then took off her long coat and draped it over the man's chest. He was starting to shake now. The cold grass wasn't good for him, but she didn't know if they should move him. She glanced nervously around the bare yard. They were five feet from a house with an armed killer and the damn landscaping didn't even offer a bush or tree for cover.

Fitz was on the phone. In a quiet, controlled rush he was demanding backup, demanding an ambulance, demanding assistance for an officer down. “Detective Waters has been shot,” he said. “Repeat, we require immediate medical assistance.”

Jillian took Waters's hand. His fingers felt cold and clammy to the touch. “M-M-Meg.”

“Meg's fine,” Jillian lied. “Please don't worry.”

“Got up… basement stairs. I… distracted… Price.”

“Shhhh, it's going to be all right, Detective. Relax now. You heard Fitz. Griffin's inside. Griffin will take care of Meg.”

Fitz was done with the phone and was now looking from her to Waters frantically. Jillian understood his dilemma.

“I'll stay with him,” she said. “You go help Griffin.”

“He's a good guy,” Fitz said gruffly, still torn as he looked at a downed fellow officer.

“I have Detective Waters,” Jillian repeated firmly. “You help Meg.”

Fitz gave Waters one last look. The detective wearily, blearily waved him off. “G-G-Go.”

Fitz turned. He ran back around to the front of the house, where David Price waited with a gun, where Griffin stalked a killer and where Meg fought for her life.

Jillian sat down in the cold, damp grass. She clasped Waters's hand in hers. “Stay with me, Detective,” she murmured. “We're going to get through this. I promise you, we're all going to get out of this alive.”

Meg was at the window, exposed and vulnerable to the partially open doorway. She could hear movement now, creaking down the hall, growing rapidly closer. David was coming. Slowly but surely, he was checking out each small, bare room.

Not much time, not much time. Come on fingers, work!

She had her arms up, her elbows bent. Sensation was returning to her swollen fingers, and though they felt clumsy and sluggish, she finally had some movement. She'd gotten the blinds up. Now she fiddled with the metal half-moon window clasps until she finally got them turned.

Finally, the tricky part. Her arms were all wrong. Her shoulders still felt strange and disjointed. She didn't think she could push anything up, let alone an old window stuck in its casing. But there was only one way out of this house at the moment. Only one way to circumvent David.

I am not a victim. I am not a victim.

Meg was weeping. Her breath was labored, her whole body hurt. She thought of how much she loved her parents. She thought of how much she loved Molly. And then she shoved her arms beneath the window, sank her teeth into her bottom lip and pushed with all her might.

The window squeaked, her arms screamed, and then… The window rocketed up. She stuck her head out into the crisp night air. And found herself looking straight down at none other than Jillian.

David heard the squeak of a window opening. Meg! She was trying to bail on him. He took two quick steps down the hall, leading with his gun, then he heard another sound, also up ahead, but this time to the right. He halted immediately, straining his ears.

Griffin, he deduced, trying to sneak up the stairs. Goddammit, why couldn't he have just died in the foyer? David was running out of time for these little games. Dammit, he'd had a plan !

He frowned, caught the expression and forced his brow to smooth back out. Think. What could Meg really do from a second-story window? Fall? Break her back? All the easier to kill her later. Griffin posed the more immediate threat. He would deal with Griffin first.

David moved to the right side of the hallway. He pressed his back against the wall and brought his gun up to his chest in a two-handed grip. Griffin would be coming up the stairs low, trying to be less of a target. He might also be wearing a flak vest. So David would also go in low and aim for the head.

He bent his knees, sinking down to the hall floor. He felt fluid, smooth as silk, even after picking the locks of his shackles, divesting himself of his chains, and taking out a fully armed escort. In some ways, prison had been the best thing that had ever happened to him. He'd entered the ACI a physically weak man with a gift for charm. He'd emerged with a finely honed, absurdly flexible physique and a whole new understanding of human nature. Old David had preyed on kids. New David would prey on the entire world.

But first, he would kill Sergeant Griffin.

David eased steadily into the shadows.

“You can't jump,” Jillian was saying, low and frantic from the yard.

Meg shook her head desperately and leaned out the window.

“Dammit, Meg, it's too high-”

Meg couldn't speak through the gag, just show her bound, bloody wrists.

“Oh, Meg…”

Meg took a deep breath, then threw one leg over the windowsill.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Jillian cried. “Quick, I have an idea!”

Flat on his belly, Griffin slithered his way slowly up the hardwood stairs. He held his gun just in front of his face as he peered warily into the dark void waiting at the top. He grew closer and closer, knowing that at any time Price could strike.

Five steps from the top.

Groans down the hall. Squeaky floorboards, the sound of glass vibrating. He couldn't think about those things yet. He had to keep his attention on the top of the stairs.

Four steps from the top. Three, two…

And then.

Suddenly, quickly, David Price's face materialized in the gloom. A burst of fire. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.

Griffin squeezed the trigger even before he felt the first bullet graze his forehead. He rolled sideways, hitting the unforgiving wall as he fired desperately, trying to hit a man he could no longer see. Rings of light exploded in front of his eyes, the muzzle flash temporarily breaking into his dark, dusky world and blinding him.

Blood. Pain. His head.

Griffin kept firing. Then he came up the stairs with an enraged roar.

David ran across the hall. He heard Griffin still firing. Good, good, good, blow your fucking wad, shoot up the staircase. David didn't have many shots left; he certainly wasn't going to waste them.

He darted into the bedroom, already looking for Meg.

A cool breeze immediately hit his cheeks, accompanied by a relatively brighter flash of fading daylight. He forced his gaze to readjust and realized that the blinds were up and the bedroom window was open. In the next moment, he heard a thump out in the yard.