Page 82 of Love Bleeds Red
“Shit!” Polly gasps, grabbing my hand as floodlights blaze to life around us. We’re like rats trapped in a maze.
We sprint across the open lawn, not bothering to be stealthy now. Our feet pound against the damp grass. There’s shouting coming from somewhere. Not the main house, somewhere on the grounds.
“Polly?” I cry.
We’re so screwed.
“There!” She points to the dark tree line far ahead. “We can lose them in the woods!”
That’s what Cat thought too and look what happened.
I push those memories aside and let Polly pull me forward.
The alarm system is so loud, every fiber of my being wants to shrink into a ball. To hide until it stops.
We’re getting closer. The trees are no longer a blur of shadow.
But I stumble, sliding on a patch of wet grass. Polly hauls me up. “Come on, we’re almost there!”
In my dreams, the trees were this dark entity. Pulling me in, holding me hostage, painfully biting into my skin. But now, they’re my salvation. A chance to disappear into the growth.
I hear a voice, but it’s coming from a speaker or a radio. There’s no time to stop and see where exactly it is. “They’re closing in on the fence!”
“Fence?” I pant out, remembering the huge iron gate we passed through that first night.
“It’ll be okay,” she says.
We hit the edge of the tree line, away from the search lights. I want to double over, to catch my breath, but she keeps pulling me.
A few feet into the brush, the alarms cut out. It’s almost worse than the shrieking sound. Our voices, footsteps, even our heavy breaths, are completely exposed now.
Branches tear at my skin and I stumble again, relying on Polly’s strength to hold me up.
“There’s an old trail somewhere,” she pants. “Saw it on a map.”
Something rustles behind us. We both freeze. Then I hear it, heavy breathing and the swish of pants rubbing together. Whoever it is, is coming closer.
Polly grabs my arm, pulling me behind a thick tree trunk. We hug ourselves against the rough bark, hoping to God that we’ll stay hidden.
A guard dressed in black comes into view. He sweeps his flashlight beam across the forest floor. He’s alone, but I know that doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous. His radio buzzes with static as he moves closer to our hiding spot.
The beam of his flashlight passes inches from my face. I hold my breath, tightening my grip on the kitchen knife with my sweaty palm.
He takes a step, then another. His boot lands on a fallen branch right next to where we’re hidden.
“I know you’re here,” he mutters. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Polly squeezes my free hand while I mentally calculate whether we should take our chances and run.
I look down at the kitchen knife in my grip, its silver blade shines in the moonlight. His voice morphs and suddenly it’s King calling my name. Mocking me. Telling me all the vile things he’s going to do to me and my friends.
I’m so done being powerless.
“Stay!” He raises his weapon, but I’m already moving, crouched low.
Months of rage and fear and helplessness explode out of me.
“No!” I scream from somewhere in my chest and drive the kitchen knife forward with every bit of strength I have. It sinks into his thigh with ease, cutting through fabric, muscle, and sinew. He howls, dropping his flashlight as he staggers backward.
