Page 57 of Property of Scythe
But I’m resourceful. After all, I’m a second-grade teacher. It comes with the job description. I can make a diorama out of popsicle sticks and form a whole zoo from modeling clay. I’ve got skills.
Scythe has to have kitchen shears. It’s a staple for any cook. With deliberation, I rise to my feet and begin checking drawers. I find the scissors easily. They’re in the second drawer I check.
Armed with my new weapon, I sneak through the house and return to the porch. Emma is still standing in the rain. Alone.
I creep forward and linger at the edge of the porch. It’s dark and difficult to see in the rain. The clouds are sparse, though, and the moonlight gives enough illumination that I can scan nearby buildings and both sides of the house. Wherever the killer went, he’s not close enough to prevent me from cutting Emma’s ropes and setting her free.
That’s the first part of my plan. The rest is sort of up for debate and is more of a Hail Mary. I’ll worry about that when it’s time.
For now, I inhale a deep breath and sprint toward Emma.
I hope we both survive.
Chapter 18 Lottie
Emma is tugging at her restraints and shaking her head as I run toward her. She’s trying to talk, but the tape is preventing me from understanding her words, not to mention the thunder that keeps cracking across the sky above our heads.
The downpour has me soaked in seconds. My clothes are sticking to my skin. It’s no fun when my jeans rub my inner thighs. I fumble with the tape as I reach her and finally manage to rip it off, apologizing if I hurt her.
“There’s no time for that! You’ve got to hide. He’ll be back any second!”
“I can’t. Not until I cut the ropes for you.”
“Lottie, this is crazy!”
I know it is. I’m not under any illusions.
I’m usually an expert with scissors, so it’s a bit frustrating when my fingers shake and they slip from my hands. I have to pry them out of the mud and cuss as I’m trying to cut through the ropes aroundEmma’s wrists.
This is going to take too long.
With a final snap of the metal blades, I almost cheer as the ropes fall to the ground. I drop to my knees and begin working on her ankles next, cutting through the rope with the sharp edges. The soft grip handle snaps off, and I grit my teeth as the jagged plastic slices into the meat of my palm.
Just as the ropes fall away, I look up, noticing we’re not alone.
And that’s when Emma screams.
“Get to the panic room. Hangman is inside with Mila. You’ll be safe,” I assure her. “Run!”
Emma doesn’t hesitate to listen, taking off in the rain toward the back of the clubhouse. There’s the door through the kitchen that’ll give her access inside, and she can reach the panic room. She’ll make it. I know because the killer is staring at me, and he’s not interested in chasing Emma. She served her part in his deadly game.
I still don’t know where Boomer is, and I haven’t seen anyone else. Something must have happened to distract them. I try to think logically as I grip the scissors in my uninjured hand. My palm stings as blood coats my fingers. It’s mingling with the rain, and I brush the excess fluid on my thigh, staining the denim blood red.
I’m surprisingly calm. Maybe it’s because this isn’t the first time that I’ve stared death in the face. I feel defiant. Strong. Ready to kick ass and hurt this motherfucker for causing terror in my new town.
He’s not getting away with this. I didn’t let Jerald Carter win. This asshole isn’t going to win either.
He starts laughing like he knows my thoughts, slowly moving my way. His steps are methodical and calculating. He’s stalking me, taking his time because he thinks he’s going to get the best of me.
But this game has two players, and I intend to be the victor.
I’m waiting for him to get a little closer before I run. Thecornfield is close, and I can lose him inside it. It’ll buy me time for help to arrive because Scythe has to be on his way.
It’s after midnight, and the Fear Farm must be closing by now. We know the killer is still on the loose. Scythe said he was going to piss him off and lure him to the festival, but somehow, that wasn’t working. Or maybe it did, and he’s just angrier than ever.
When the killer’s steps pick up speed, I lift my middle finger, flip the bird, and grin right before I dash into the cornfield. It’s probably not smart to taunt him, but I don’t care. The stalks whip at my face and clothes as I push through, lashing at my skin. I wince as I feel a cut open on my right cheek.
Rain is still falling in heavy sheets, but the thunder and lightning have stopped. The clouds are thick and gray as I stop my frantic pace and drop to a crouch. My hands slap over my mouth as I breathe, trying not to make any noise.
