Page 49 of Not This Place

approximately 1.2 to 1.5 gallons of blood," Rachel said, her tone clinical. "You lose more than 40% of your blood volume, that's when you're in real trouble."

“C-ch—God, please!” he exclaimed.

“About 5.5 liters of blood, in case you needed help with that." Rachel's voice was still steady, but she could hear the edges soften a shade. "Loss of 750 ml or more - that's when hypovolemic shock can set in."

Leroy let out another groan, his eyes glassy when he looked back at Rachel. He glanced at his companion again. The man named Mattie held his gaze for a long moment before grunting, his hands clenching around the wheel.

“She’s bluffing,” he muttered under his breath. “She’s a cop.”

"We'll stop at a hospital, but first—you take me to your boss." Her words hung in the car like a judge’s sentence.

Leroy swallowed hard, nodding.

"You heard her, Mattie." His voice was shaky as he glared at his silent companion.

The car veered off the road hastily, sending dust clouds billowing in its wake. As it rumbled back onto the road.

She glanced out at the sprawling black silhouette of Texas landscape flashing by. Cacti and desert scrub darted in and out of view, warped by the broken beam from the headlight.

"We're close," Mattie grunted finally—his voice rough as sandpaper. The vehicle swerved onto an unmarked dirt path hidden amongst tall Joshua trees.

The car lumbered over a rocky terrain, headlights bouncing off jagged rocks and plants lining the narrow path. Suddenly up ahead loomed an enormous hacienda-style building, bathed in moonlight with gnarled shadows clinging to its ancient stone walls.

She frowned. No cars in the driveway. No sign of life. The building was silent, and windows darkened.

“Mattie,” moaned his friend. “Mattie… come on.”

“Do you want the hospital or not?” Rachel demanded. “This isn’t it. Is it? This isn’t anything.”

“No! No, this is the decoy. It’s… it’s in case we’re caught. This is nothing. Please… Look, look. I need a hospital. God, please. Look at my leg! Look! Mattie, Mattie, please!”

"Shut it, Leroy!" Mattie barked, glancing at him through the rearview mirror. His eyes then flickered back to Rachel, a trepidation creeping into his gaze. "Alright. Alright. We're going to the hospital."

"No," Rachel snapped, her grip tightening around the gun. "Not yet. Where’s your boss?”

She knew she couldn’t hold out much longer. He really had lost a lot of blood. She needed to get him to a hospital.

But Ethan was on the way, and the closest hospital was further than the distance between the incoming paramedics and themselves.

Time was not on Leroy’s side.

“I’ll tell you!” he exclaimed suddenly. “I’ll tell you. Our boss is—”

But Mattie moved even faster. Rachel shouted. She spotted the knife in his hand a second too late.

He jammed the blade into Leroy’s neck

with a final, desperate grunt. Blood spurted onto the windshield, splashing in red streaks across the glass and painting a sickening mural. Leroy's eyes bulged, his hands clawing at the blade embedded in his throat. He collapsed against the seat with an agonized gurgling sound.

Rachel lunged forward and caught Mattie’s wrist before he could withdraw the bloodied blade. The metallic scent of blood filled the already taut air.

"Drop it," she ordered, her voice echoing louder than thunder in the enclosed space of the car. Mattie glanced at her, but remained defiant – his hand convulsing around the weapon's hilt.

The car swerved sharply once more, jarring Rachel from her tense standoff. Her hold slipped, and Mattie capitalized on that momentary lapse by shoving her back with all his waning strength. Rachel hit the roof of the car due to a sudden jolt over a large bump. They were no longer on the road. A sharp gasp escaped her lips as pain seared through her shoulder.

Quick as lightning, she recovered and whirled on Mattie again. Any semblance of mercy had evaporated in that gut-churning instant.

Mattie was trying to keep the car straight. But they’d veered off into the desert, and clouds of dust now

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