Page 52 of Silent Prey

Spotting marks on the wall above the makeshift bed of pine boughs, Sheila got closer. Someone had used a rock to scratch letters on the wall.

B-E-V-E-R-L-Y K-I-N-G

The question was…had Beverly scratched these letters herself, or had the killer done it?

While Sheila was still pondering this, she heard a distant scream from outside. A woman’s scream.

She spun around, then bolted toward the mouth of the cave. Once outside, she took a moment to orient herself, straining her ears for any further sounds. The forest was eerily silent, only the rustling leaves breaking the quiet.

Sheila took off at a run, her feet pounding the forest floor as she headed in the direction of the scream. The trees were thick here, the foliage hindering her, but she pressed on, fear propelling her steps.

Suddenly, she broke through the tree line and skidded to a halt. Ahead of her was a small, sunlit clearing. She looked around, trying to figure out where the sound had come from.

Then she spotted movement through the trees on the far side of the clearing: one figure stumbling along, a second figure loping after on all fours like a dog.

Or a coyote.

Swallowing hard, Sheila took off across the clearing, her fists clenched. She raced through the grass, eyes fixed on the figures ahead of her. The stumbling figure was a woman.

Beverly—it had to be.

Sheila's heart was pounding against her ribs as she ran, her labored breathing filling her ears. She pushed herself to run faster. She could see Beverly scrambling helplessly through the thick undergrowth, scraping and clawing at the earth as she attempted to put some distance between herself and her pursuer.

It was no use, however. The man chasing Beverly—for Sheila was close enough now to see that it was indeed a man, clad in the skin of a coyote and running on all fours—was gaining on her with an easy grace that suggested he could have gone even faster if he had wished. She didn’t stand a chance of escaping him, and they both knew it.

As did Sheila.

Pulling up sharply, Sheila drew her sidearm. “Stop!” she shouted.

The man didn't even look in her direction. Instead, he seemed to gain speed, closing the distance between him and Beverly in a few swift strides. His arms reached out, his fingers clawing for the woman's back.

Sheila drew in a breath and let it out as she took aim, not thinking, just letting her body do the work. The gun bucked in her hands, and the man—whose fingers had just begun to scratch at Beverly’s neck—twisted and fell away, disappearing behind a thicket of dense shrubs.

Beverly stumbled, falling to her knees. Sheila raced to Beverly's side, skidding to a halt on her knees and quickly checking the woman for injuries. Beverly was shaking. Her clothes were torn and matted with dirt, her face streaked with tears.

"It's okay," Sheila said, keeping her voice steady despite the pounding in her chest. "You’re safe now."

But as comforting as those words were meant to be, Sheila knew they were far from the truth. The man clad in the coyote skin could still be alive—and nearby. She scanned the surrounding undergrowth, her hand never leaving the grip of her weapon. Blood speckled the petals of a black-eyed-Susan.

Where had he gone?

Beverly was talking in a hurried voice. “He was...he was wearing a skin, like an animal," she stuttered. Her dark eyes were wide with terror and her body shivered uncontrollably, shock setting in. "Who does that?"

"We're going to get you out of here, Beverly," Sheila said, attempting to use her voice to counteract Beverly's rising panic. She put an arm around the woman's shoulders, helping her to stand.

Keeping a close eye on her surroundings, Sheila pulled out her phone. No service—not a big surprise, given the remoteness of the area. She would just have to take Beverly and retrace her steps back to the cabin, where she would reunite with Finn. Hopefully, he’d managed to call for help.

As for the killer, perhaps they could get a few dogs out here to track him down. How fitting that would be.

With Beverly clinging to her, Sheila began the arduous trek back to the cabin. Each rustle in the underbrush caused her to grip her sidearm tighter, eyes darting around for any sign of their pursuer. The forest was dense and seemed to close in around them, obscuring the path ahead and casting eerie shadows that played tricks on her eyes. The silence was haunting, broken only by their labored breaths and the crunching of leaves beneath their feet.

“How did you find me?” Beverly asked.

“A lot of luck,” Sheila said. “And a little bit of intuition."

A rustle in the underbrush to their right made both women jump. Sheila tightened her grip on Beverly and pointed her gun in the direction of the sound. But there was no follow-up noise—just the forest, silent once more.

Beverly's entire body seemed to shake with fear. "What if he comes back?" she whispered.

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