Page 34 of Enduring Promise

He pushed harder, his legs burning as he fought to keep pace with Hillary. She was impossibly fast, her dress catching on branches and tearing as she barreled forward. Russ stumbled over an exposed root but caught himself, his flashlight slipping from his grip for a moment before he snatched it back up.

“Hillary, wait!” he called, his voice hoarse. But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Another scream ripped through the air, closer now, and Russ felt his stomach twist.

The trees thinned suddenly, giving way to a small clearing bathed in pale moonlight. Russ skidded to a halt as Hillary dropped to her knees ahead of him, her flashlight beam fixed on a figure lying in the brush.

“Claire!” Hillary’s voice cracked as she scrambled forward, her hands trembling.

Russ stumbled into the clearing, his flashlight sweeping over the scene. Claire lay crumpled in a pile of leaves and branches, her body unnaturally still. Her hair was matted with dirt and twigs, her face pale against the dark backdrop of the forest floor.

Russ’s chest tightened. The world seemed to narrow around them, the distant sounds of the search party fading into the background.

“Is she—?” Russ couldn’t finish the sentence, his voice breaking.

CHAPTER 33

Hillary dropped to her knees beside Claire, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she scanned her for injuries. The flashlight beam trembled in her hand, illuminating Claire’s pale face and the deep gash on her forehead. Blood streaked her temple, already drying, but her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths.

“Is she alive?” Russ’s voice broke through the thick tension, his flashlight casting long, shifting shadows around them as he scanned the woods. His hand hovered near his side, ready to defend if Michael appeared.

“She’s breathing,” Hillary said, her voice steadier than she felt. She gently pressed two fingers to Claire’s neck, feeling the strong reassuring pulse beneath her skin. “But she’s hurt. A cut on her head. I need a second to assess.”

Russ moved a few steps away, keeping his flashlight moving in wide arcs, illuminating every bush and branch. “We don’t have much time. Michael could be anywhere. We need to get her out of here.”

Hillary leaned closer to Claire, brushing a few stray leaves from her hair. “Claire,” she said softly, her voice urgent but gentle. “Can you hear me? Claire, it’s Hillary.”

For a moment, there was nothing—only the rustle of leaves and the distant barking of search dogs. Then, Claire’s eyelids fluttered, her hazel eyes struggling to focus in the dim light. She groaned softly, her hand instinctively reaching for her head.

“Hey, hey, take it easy,” Hillary said, placing her hand over Claire’s to keep her from touching the wound. “You have a good cut there. You’re going to be okay, but we need to get you out of here.”

Claire blinked, her gaze darting around as if trying to piece together where she was. “Hillary?” she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m here,” Hillary reassured her, squeezing her hand. “You’re safe. But we need to move. Where’s Michael? Do you know where he went?”

Claire’s face twisted in confusion and fear. “I... I don’t know,” she said, her voice trembling. “We fought. He grabbed me, and I pulled away. I fell... hit my head. I don’t know which way he went.”

Russ cursed under his breath. “We’re on our own for now. We need to get her back to the house. Can you walk, Claire?”

Hillary shifted, gently propping Claire up against her knee. “Let’s try, okay?” she said, draping Claire’s arm over her shoulder and slowly helping her to her feet. Claire wobbled, her knees buckling slightly, but Hillary tightened her grip, steadying her. “I’ve got you. Lean on me.”

Claire winced, her breathing labored as she leaned heavily into Hillary. “He’s furious,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “No one at that party is safe. You don’t understand... he burned the barn down. He’ll do worse than that. He could set the whole house on fire. He saw the light on the intercom and heard everyone coming upstairs. He knows they heard him.”

Hillary exchanged a grim glance with Russ, who was still scanning the woods with his flashlight, every muscle in his bodytense. “It’s over, Claire,” Hillary said firmly. “Everything he’s done was recorded. A room full of people heard his confession. He’s going down, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.”

Claire’s head lolled slightly as they began to move, the uneven ground making each step a challenge. “He’s not going to go quietly,” she murmured. “He’s dangerous. He’ll want revenge.”

Russ’s jaw tightened, his flashlight beam flicking toward every fleeting rustle or shadow. “Let him try,” he said darkly. “But for now, we focus on getting you back safely.”

The trek through the woods was slow and grueling. Every step felt like an eternity, the thick underbrush clawing at their legs and slowing their progress. Hillary gritted her teeth, ignoring the strain on her back and shoulders as she bore Claire’s weight. The air was damp and heavy, the scent of pine and moss doing little to soothe her frayed nerves.

Russ moved ahead of them, his flashlight cutting through the darkness. Every now and then, he’d pause, his head tilting slightly as he listened for any sound that might signal Michael’s presence. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the crunch of their footsteps and Claire’s labored breathing.

“Almost there,” Hillary said softly, though she wasn’t sure how much farther they had to go. She could feel Claire’s weight growing heavier, her steps more unsteady. “Just keep going. You’re doing great.”

Suddenly, a sporadic light flickered in the distance, bobbing slightly as it moved closer. Hillary’s heart leapt. “Over here!” she called, her voice cutting through the thick night air.

The light grew brighter, joined by two more as a group of men from the party emerged from the woods. Their flashlights illuminated the small group, and they rushed forward, their faces angry and ready to fight.

“Claire!” one of them exclaimed, immediately moving to help. Another man, tall and broad-shouldered, turned to Russ. “Where’s Michael?” he demanded, his voice sharp.

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