Page 86 of Justice for Samara

“And where’s the other one?”

“Clover Lane. That’s MonicaHunter.”

His hunch had been right. CloverLane was the farthest from town. He was picking them off, one by one, and the Hunter woman was next. “Thanks, Carlin. Owe you a beer.”

“I’m gonna take you up on that, chief deputy.”

For that moment, he hated his title. He had no business being chief deputy. This was his girlfriend, a woman he loved and wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and he’d let the unthinkable happen to her. From the MartinsburgRoad house to the CloverLane location, there were only two possible routes, so he chose the shortest one. When he rounded the second curve on the lane, there it was.

The gold Chrysler sat on the side of the road, the driver’s door and the trunk both open, but there wasn’t a soul to be seen. Michael slammed his cruiser in park and leaped out, looking all around. There was a broken zip tie and a piece of duct tape lying on the ground, and near it, a small puddle of blood. Watching the drops of blood, he saw that they progressed toward the tree line, and he knew what was happening, so Michael checked his handgun in its holster, then grabbed his long gun and took off.

It was easy to follow them, the brush and vines torn through and pressed aside, and he knew he was headed toward the other side of the tree line. When he came out, he asked himself,What would Samara do?The woods directly in front of him made the most sense, and it was also the direction leading away from the car. That’s where she would’ve gone.

Sure enough, there was a lot of vegetation disturbed, and he had no trouble following it. When he reached the other side and burst out of the woods, there was a screwdriver lying on the ground in another puddle of blood, and his heart almost stopped. Somewhere out there was Samara, and he hoped that blood wasn’t hers. Michael saw the cattle, then saw footprints in the dirt here and there, so he kept running away from the car and toward whatever was out there. Another twenty yards past, he shouldered his long gun.

AlexStadler was standing on the rim of the ridge, and he fired a shot down toward whatever was there. There was zero doubt in Michael’s mind who he was shooting at, so he ran straight toward Stadler. When he was within ten yards, he yelled, “Stadler!”

The rogue cop spun to face Michael, his right side soaked with blood and his weapon in his hand. Even though he wobbled, he lifted the gun toward Michael.

One pull of the trigger. Chief Deputy MichaelEdwards dropped the asshole like a stone with one rifle shot straight to center mass. The taller man fell and Michael ran at him, kicked the gun away from his hand, but didn’t even bother to check his pulse. He didn’t care. He crested the ridge and his heart broke.

Below him, almost to the barn, was a figure dragging along, and the movements reminded him of one of those terrible zombie shows, an undead body reanimated to less than perfection and struggling to move. He didn’t yell her name. He didn’t stop. He just ran. He ran down the ridge so fast that he was afraid he’d lose his footing and tumble boots over butt cheeks, but he didn’t care. Blood had drenched the back side of her right leg, and she was barely standing, but he didn’t slow. That zombie was his, and he had to protect her.

When he reached her, his hand touched her arm and she fought against him, slapping at him. She was mumbling something, and it only took him a second to understand: “Get away. Get away. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. Leave me alone. Get away.”

Michael stepped in front of her and took in the sight. Her left arm was bleeding and she was squeezing it with her right hand, blood seeping out between her fingers. “Baby! Samara, it’s me. It’s Michael. Baby, stop. It’s me.” Reaching for his radio, he squeezed the mic trigger. “Central dispatch, this is TCSD unit one forty-eight requesting all personnel to Riggins farm on WyattsvilleRoad. Suspect down, officer shot. Repeat, suspect down, officer shot. Requesting backup and emergency medical to Riggins farm on WyattsvilleRoad. Over.”

“TCSD unit one forty-eight, this is TCSD unit one. All emergency services en route. Stand by. ETA three minutes. Over,” Carter said as he ended the transmission.

“Copy, TCSD unit one. TCSD unit one forty-eight, standing by.” By the time he holstered the radio, she’d stopped. “Baby, we need to get you some help.”

“He’s gonna kill me. He’s gonna kill me, and he won’t stop.”

“Samara, honey, look at me.” He slapped a palm to either side of her face and held it still so she could look into his eyes. “Samara, it’s me. It’s Michael. Look at me.”

Those big brown eyes went wide and she started to shake and sob. “Michael? Michael? Am I alive? Michael? Michael!” Her arms flew around his neck and she gripped him so tightly that she was almost choking him. “Michael! Oh, god, he’s gonna kill me!”

“No, baby. He’s not. I got him. He won’t hurt you again. He won’t hurt anybody again, you hear me? Let’s get you up here in the shade and get some water in you.” When he turned around, the old farmer was standing on his back porch, his shotgun hanging from his right hand. “Sir, you won’t need that. The threat is gone. I need some towels and some water, please.”

“Yes, sir! Got it. Be right back.”

As he disappeared into the house, Michael lifted Samara and carried her to the porch, laying her out on its edge so he could stand beside her. The man handed a glass of water out to Michael, then disappeared back into the house, so the chief deputy helped her to sitting. “Here, babe. You need to drink this. You’re dehydrated.” As soon as the glass touched her lips, she drank greedily. “Just sip it, baby. That’s it. Just a little at a time.”

“Here ya go,” the old man said as he rolled a towel up. “You can use that for a pillow. She got some injuries?”

“Yes, sir. Looks like right leg and left arm.”

“I was a field medic in the military. Let me take a look.” As Michael rolled her gently to her side, the old fellow poked and prodded. “Yep, she’s probably got a slug in there. Let’s see that arm. This one looks like a through-and-through. That should be okay. Not a lot of blood loss. I’d say she’s going to be fine. Honey, drink that water and then lie down and rest. You’ve really been through it.” He leaned toward Michael and whispered, “I’d done run into the house to get my shotgun. I seen her running, and I seen that guy up on the ridge with that rifle, and I knowed what was going on. If you hadn’t got here, I would’ve shot him myself.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it. I might need you to give a statement, if you’d be so kind.”

“Not a problem at all, deputy. Don’t mind one bit. She a police officer?” he asked Michael.

“Yes, sir. A detective. Works for SheriffMelton.”

“That’s a good man there. Good man. You got help coming?”

Michael smiled. “Yes, sir.” In the distance, he could hear a siren. “There they are. They’ll be here in just a few seconds.”

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