Page 51 of Silent Prey

Sheila knelt beside him. She didn’t have a first aid kit, so she would have to improvise.

“Give me your bandana,” she said, holding out her hand.

Finn reluctantly untied it and passed it to her. She wrapped it around his leg above the wound.

"Finn," she said, inspecting the wound, "this needs stitches. We need to get you back."

"No," he said immediately. "We're close. I can feel it."

She looked at him, studying his pale face and the stubborn set of his jaw. He was as driven as she was—maybe even more so. But she also knew this injury was too serious to be ignored. There was no way the bleeding would stop, not if he tried to walk on it.

"I'm not letting you bleed out in the middle of nowhere because you're too stubborn to admit you're hurt," she said. "This isn't a debate, Finn. We're going back."

Finn looked about to argue but winced again, his face paling further. "Fine," he said. "But you go on."

She rose and looked down at him with a doubtful expression. "You really expect me to leave you here alone?"

"I'll call for help, see if they can bring a helicopter in," he insisted, leaning heavily against the tree. “But we can’t both leave. We know who set that trap, and that means he’s probably close by.”

And that explains why it was so easy to find the cabin, Sheila thought. She chewed her lip, hating the idea of leaving him behind but knowing he was right. They couldn't afford to lose the chance of catching the killer, not to mention rescuing Beverly.

"Fine," she agreed reluctantly. "But promise me you'll call for help."

Finn gave a small nod of agreement as he leaned his head back against the tree. He looked so vulnerable then that Sheila began to second-guess the plan. But time was of essence, and she couldn't let her emotions cloud her judgment.

“I’ll see you again soon,” she said, the words a promise.

Finn nodded and said nothing.

She gave him one last look before turning to follow the footpath again, praying that they had made the right call.

As she followed the trail deeper into the woods, each crunching leaf under her boot felt like a ticking clock. She tried to focus on the trail ahead, careful to avoid any more traps. She wished Finn was beside her, his steady presence always a grounding force during their investigations.

He’ll be fine, she told herself. But would he? He’d been bleeding pretty badly, and there was no telling what kind of bacteria might’ve gotten into the wound. She tried to convince herself that the antibiotics would kill whatever was in there.

But still, she wondered.

The path led her into a narrow defile with steep, craggy edges. It would be a perfect spot for an ambush. Sheila listened to the eerie silence of the defile, her heart pounding in her ears, and wondered if the killer was nearby, watching her approach.

Gritting her teeth, she pressed on anyway, moving as silently as possible down the rugged terrain. She heard a soft rustling overhead and froze, straining her ears for any other sound of movement. There was nothing but a soft hush of wind passing through the sparse foliage overhead. Was it just a small creature, or had she alerted her quarry?

Then the trail opened up, and off to her left she saw a large hole in the cliff. A cave.

And the boot prints led right up to it.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Sheila approached the cave cautiously, her senses on high alert. Adrenaline surged through her veins, making her heart beat faster in her chest.

She pulled out her phone to use as a torch, sweeping the beam around the cave entrance. The mouth of the cave was large, but the darkness inside was as thick and consuming as a black hole.

Taking deep, calming breaths, she stepped inside, playing the light from her phone around the walls of the cave. It was a small cave, no more than thirty feet deep, but there were signs of recent occupancy. A makeshift bed of pine boughs lay along one wall, beside which rested a discarded canteen. The ground by the entrance was disturbed, likely from the killer's moving in and out.

She took a step farther in, her phone light illuminating the scattered remnants of a recently extinguished fire. The smell of charred wood hung heavy in the air, mingling with something else...something metallic. Blood.

Her heart pounded as she slowly swept the cave with her phone. There, against the far wall, was a large smear of dried blood. Beside it lay a discarded knife coated in the same rusty red substance.

Suddenly she heard a rustle behind her. She spun around, phone held high. But there was nothing. Just the howling wind brushing past the entrance, bringing with it a chilling reminder of her isolation.

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