Page 79 of Catching Fire

Fuck, she thought, wishing suddenly that she, too, was a jogger. But it didn't matter, it was too late now.

As she passed through the tree line—again only a small handful of trunks deep—she finally spotted a blip on the horizon. With a slight shift in direction, she aimed toward it. Whatever it was, it was the only thing out here.

Seline didn't know how long she ran, but it wasn’t that far before she was able to make out the peak of a roof and the pale color of what was probably once white siding.

It was a house!

Even as she dashed toward it with everything she had, she wondered: Did she dare lead Sanders to someone else? Would he then slaughter them all? Or would the homeowners defend her?

At the very least, she thought, they might not be home. But a home out here may very well have a gun or something else she could blow up. She decided to try her luck with whomever might be there.

With her eyes on the prize and her hope the thing fueling her, Seline aimed toward the tiny house and ran with everything she had.

Chapter Fifty-Three

No!Seline screamed in her own head.

No one was home.

She’d hoped for a miracle, that the owners would hear her pounding on the door and take her in and she’d be safe—finally. But she’d wasted time knocking and gone hoarse yelling and all for no one.

Giving up on help, she'd broken the glass in the door, just like at Sanders place. She’d wrapped her hand in the spare shirt, broke the little window, and then reached in and turned the lock. She was an old pro at breaking and entering now.

Her heart sank. She’d done all that work to blow up the other house, to bring everyone there, and now she was too far away. Sanders had pushed her from the one chance at rescue that she had. She was sad and angry and about to start shaking.

Though it would be easier to give up, she hadn’t come this far to sit on the porch and cry. So she walked her way inside and checked the place out. They could forgive her later.

Somehow, the home held no more weapons she could use than the kitchen knives she'd passed. On her rush through the place, she'd found a gun safe. Exactly as she suspected, the home out in the middle of nowhere definitely housed gun owners. But the safe was doing exactly as it was supposed to do—keeping her out.

Though this place was lived in, Seline couldn’t find a damn phone either. That would have been her second best option after a gun. But the owners appeared not to have a landline. That meant maybe there was a cell tower nearby, but since Seline had no cell phone it would do her no good until she found one.

She wanted to scream and beat her fist on the wall. But it was too late to wallow in her bad luck. Instead, she searched the house, keeping an eye to the windows and staying low, in case Sanders showed up. She didn’t want to be seen.

Listening for him, she grabbed one of the knives—the only weapon at hand—and checked every drawer and closet. The house yielded nothing of value.

When she’d looked everywhere she could and come up with nothing, she moved into the short central hallway. Though she could see the front door, it had no windows and she wasn’t visible. With her back to the wall and the knife firmly in her clenched fist, she tried to eat or at least drink some water.

Maybe he hadn’t found her. Maybe she’d gotten away.

Seline didn’t know how long she sat there like that, but the tension slowly ebbed from her bones. She could only sustain that level of fear for so long. She breathed deeply and, though she still waited for the sharp retort of a bullet or a crash as he breached the door, nothing came.

Was she safe?

Just when enough time had passed that she’d started to believe he wouldn’t find her, the front doorknob rattled.

Seline’s chest clenched hard at once again being thwarted. Sanders had found her.Could nothing work in her damn favor?

“Bitch! I know you’re in there!”

Any hope that it was the homeowner disappeared in a puff of smoke. Sanders had caught up, and she had only a few options. But Seline was already on her feet.

She could try to get out the back door before Sanders made it around to the side. But even if she made it, she could run but he would be right behind her.

Another option was to go out the window from one of these back rooms. As the door rattled and he raged behind her, she pushed against the sash, but it didn’t want to lift. It appeared to have been painted shut.

And that meant maybe her best chance was to stand and fight.

She told herself it had taken him a while to find her. While he’d been hunting, she’d been resting. She was ready. Standing in the back room, she dropped her precious bag at her feet.

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