Page 152 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

Gritting her teeth, she forced her body lower, her knees scraping the top of the casket. It was there…If she could just force the handle into her palm.

The noise in the coffin was deafening as rocks and dirt hit the wooden sides.

Come on, Nikki, grab the damned gun. But her thoughts were disjointed and slow. Don’t lose it now, Nikki. You can’t. It’s now or never.

Sirens! Shit, he’d have to work fast. How had Reed figured it out so quickly? Shit, he’d spent too much time trying to get a response from Nikki! The Survivor looked into the darkness and concentrated. The sirens were screaming far away, still in the distance, but heading in this direction. He had to get his work done fast and disappear. He already had another car parked on the far side of the fence. All he had to do was scale the wrought iron, make his way down a path, across a small river and there was another vehicle waiting.

Even dogs wouldn’t find him.

But first he had to finish here. Only a few more scoops, but his microphone wasn’t picking up much, just a few scrapes and kicks, but that didn’t indicate Nikki was alive. Or conscious. Those sounds could be from the movement of the coffin.

He felt unsatisfied.

Empty.

He’d so wanted Nikki Gillette to know her fate.

She deserved to realize what was happening to her, that there was no way out, that she would suffer, that she wouldn’t survive. Not like he had.

But he didn’t have time to open the lid and check on her.

The police were getting closer. He heard their sirens, saw the lights strobing the night sky.

Too late, Reed, he thought, throwing in one final shovel of dirt.

Dragging in a breath of stale air, she extended her fingers, nudged the tiny weapon into her hand and pointed the barrel at the roof of the coffin. There was a chance the bullet wouldn’t go through, that it would ricochet back at her or lodge in the earth above.

She had no other option.

And her thoughts were thick. Time and air were running out. She gasped. Coughed. Tried to think straight.

Reed. If only she could see Reed one last time…

Hand slick with sweat, body cold as ice, she forced the muzzle of the gun upward, she wrapped her finger around the trigger, sucked in what was left of her air and squeezed. “Die, you son of a bitch!”

Pain.

Hot searing pain shot up his leg and the sound was deafening. What the hell had happened? The Survivor looked down at his leg and saw the blood oozing, felt the burning. Who’d shot him? He saw the lights now. The cops were closing in. He had to get away.

He started hobbling toward the back fence, but his damned leg buckled. Gritting his teeth, he turned, tripping, falling over himself. Shit.

Sirens screamed, tires crunched and headlights cut through the night.

“Shit!”

He was cornered.

But not beaten.

He dropped back into the pit and waited.

A gunshot had echoed through the graveyard.

Reed, weapon drawn, sprang from his car.

Nikki, he thought, oh, please be alive.

He saw the truck and the fresh grave, mist swirling up from the wet dirt, the rain having abated to a fine drizzle.

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