Hunting Eve

“I’m not a climber, you know.” She moved toward the cliff. “You may lose your Kevin if I slip or—”

“You won’t lose him.” He stood looking at her, the rain pouring down his face. “He won’t let you, Eve.”

She felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

“Go on,” he said softly. “Now.”

She hesitated, then sat down on the edge of the cliff, grasped the rope, and began to crawl her way down the rough stone precipice.

The rope was abrasive, tearing her hands as she tried to place her feet against the stone to take pressure from her upper body.

Rain.

Cold.

Thunder.

Wind whipping up from the valley and swaying the rope and her body.

“Hurry,” Doane shouted.

Hurry? There was no way to hurry. Did the bastard think that she was enjoying hanging here over this nothingness?

Keep calm. The one thing she could count on from Doane was that he wouldn’t let her fall. He wanted Kevin.

Ten feet.

Another twenty until she reached the start of the slope.

That twenty feet seemed to be more like a hundred.

But she reached it, and her feet touched the dirt and stone that was the slope.

But the dirt was mostly mud now, and she was slipping and sliding.

Another ten or twelve feet before she would reach the cluster of rocks Doane had said had halted the slide of her reconstruction of the skull.

Steep, slippery feet.

She fell and felt the embedded stones in the dirt cut her knees.

She struggled up again.

Another four feet to go.

Those rocks were right ahead.

But she didn’t see any sign of that damn reconstruction. Could it be Doane’s imagination, and he had sent her on this wild-goose chase?

Two more feet.

She still couldn’t see anything.

But she could feel it. She could feel him.

She stopped and inhaled sharply.

Kill you. Kill her.

Swirling darkness. Darker than the storm around her.

Nausea.

Fight it off.

Move. Get over it. She couldn’t stay here paralyzed, huddled in the mud. That would be a victory for Kevin, a victory for Doane.

She felt a tugging on the rope around her body. Doane was becoming impatient.

Screw you, Doane.

She took another minute and moved forward.

Nausea. Struggle against it.

Then she saw the skull.

She stiffened, her hands clenching into fists so hard her nails bit into the palms.

Dear God, she had hoped all her work would be destroyed by the fall from the cliff.

It should have been destroyed.

Incredibly, the reconstruction was still miraculously intact. The nose was a little askew. The plane of the left cheek would have to be smoothed, and the eyes would have to be inserted.

But then Kevin would be complete, brought back to Doane the way he was before Zander had killed him and destroyed that face.

Kill you. Kill him.

Snarling evil. Clamminess. Smothering.

She braced herself at the assault. It might not have come from Kevin. It might have come from Doane on the cliff. She had come to the point when they were becoming one to her.

She could try to finish the job. She could take the skull and toss it the rest of the way down to the valley below.

Nausea. Panic. Smothering.

“You don’t like the idea?” She crawled the rest of the way to the skull. “That must mean it’s a fine plan.”

Except that it would only mean that Doane would make her climb down to the valley and search for the skull. It would be a waste of time when she had to find a way to escape from him again.

Escape. She felt a sudden plummet of despair at the thought of having to go through that nightmare again. She had been free, and now she was back in Doane’s cage.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself, she told herself in disgust. She had made choices tonight that might have been foolish, but she could not have done anything else. She would do it again.

So find a way out of Doane’s cage. She had advantages that she hadn’t had before she had escaped the last time. She knew where she could find a phone and a gun if she could just break away from Doane.

And if Zander managed to work his way up that mine shaft, he would be going after Doane.

Common enemy.

No, she couldn’t count on Zander. She had told him she knew she was on her own.

But a gun and a phone were still valuable assets for a woman on her own.

“Stop wasting time,” Doane yelled down from the cliff. “Bring up my son!”

Bring up the monster.

She stared down at the skull. The empty eye sockets seemed to glare up at her. “I’m going to give you back to him,” she whispered. “You deserve each other. But I promise I’ll find a way to destroy both of you.”

She shrugged out of the backpack and opened the rear compartment.

She took a deep breath, then reached out with both hands and picked up the skull.

Nausea. Heaviness. Breathlessness.

She dropped it quickly into the backpack and closed the flap.

She let her breath out in an explosion of sound. Closing that flap didn’t really contain the evil that was Kevin, but it closed him away from her for the moment.

She put the backpack on again. She jerked on the lead rope to signal to Doane she was ready and started crawling up the slope.

Lightning.

Thunder.

Rain.

And that horrible heaviness on her back that was an almost unbearable burden.

She had reached the steep stone of the sheer cliff, and she pulled herself to her feet. “Doane!”

He started pulling her up the cliff.

She braced herself against the stone and pulled herself hand over hand.

She could make it.

Don’t think of Kevin.

Move. Climb.

Block the monsters from your thoughts.

Don’t think of Doane waiting for her at the top.

Think of Joe. Think of Jane.

Think of Bo

*   *   *

SHIT!

Agonizing pain shot through Zander as he grabbed the exposed tree root and pulled himself another few feet up the mine shaft. He threw the strap of his backpack over the root and fastened it under his arms in case he lost consciousness again. His body was going into shock. He had been blacking out during the last hour of the climb. He had ripped the front of his shirt and formed a support bandage around his wrist. But there was no question that the wrist was broken.

He checked his phone. Still no signal, of course. The tower was too far away. Even after he climbed out, he would probably have to walk a good two miles to get any kind of reception at all. Inside the mine shaft, it was a totally lost cause. He winced as searing pain jolted through him as he put away the phone.

Ignore it. Use that technique the Buddhist priests had taught him to block it all out.

But the priests had not had to climb up a narrow, muddy mine shaft, with only the occasional rock or outgrowth of vegetation to support him. Nor use that broken wrist to catch himself when his other handhold was in danger of failing him. Like right now, when he was hanging from a slender tree root with his whole weight swinging from the grip on that fragile plant and his hip wedged in a small cavity that gave meager support. Or digging his fingers into stone cracks or into the slippery mud as his feet and knees pushed him up toward the top.

Yet the priests had probably gone through even more severe challenges for their faith. Zander had seen them do some fairly incredible things. Unfortunately, Zander had no blind faith to keep the demons of weakness and pain away. So close out the agony and concentrate on the job to be done.

In a minute. When the throbbing stopped. That last lunge had caused the bone to pierce the skin.

He closed his eyes. At this rate, it would take him several hours to reach the top.

Rest. There was no hurry. Eve had either escaped Doane or been captured.