Dust to Dust

patchwork of the rock-bordered flower beds she had seen in the front. At the edge of the yard the trees became more numerous and gradually became a forest.
    Diane waited near a stand of box hedges. She didn’t have the automatic fear response to darkness that many people had. She was a caver and she enjoyed the dark. Sometimes in a deep cave she liked to sit down and turn off her lamps and let the absolute blackness surround her. Perfect darkness had a kind of beauty to her, so she didn’t mind the darkly waving trees or the black forms that dotted the yard. Her gaze shifted from what looked like a birdbath to a bench, to a planter, and to several things she couldn’t identify.
    She lost sight of Hanks and Daughtry. They’d gone around to the opposite side of the house looking for entry. It grew quiet. The only sound was the breeze. She stood staring at the house, watching. She became aware of the sound of breathing.

Chapter 3
    Diane wasn’t afraid of the dark, but she was afraid of people lurking in the dark. A chill went down her spine with the realization that the steady, faint whisper easing into her awareness was the sound of someone breathing. She gripped the gun firmly as she reached with her other hand for the phone in her pocket. Trying not to look like she was fleeing, she started walking toward the house.
    She had taken only a few steps when she heard the sound of footfalls behind her crunching on the forest detritus. The sound was too close. Some unexpected instinct rose in her and instead of running, she dropped low to the ground and sprang back hard with her shoulder into the knees of the approaching figure, knocking his legs from under him. He fell forward across her and landed hard with a loud groan as Diane rolled away. The voice sounded male.
    Being tripped over didn’t hurt as much as Diane had feared. She didn’t get kicked in the side or flattened and was on her feet quickly. As she stared at the prone figure on the ground, she heard someone calling her name. The phone. She’d dropped it and it lay a couple feet away, too far to pick up. It was Hanks’ voice shouting through the receiver.
    “Hanks,” Diane yelled as she brought up her gun and pointed it at the figure rising slowly to his feet.
    He was taller than she—about six feet in height, she guessed. He was dressed in black and wore a ski mask. He stood frozen in front of Diane’s gun. It was too dark to make out any details at first, but a sudden shift of the clouds away from the moon illuminated him enough that she saw his gaze move to the right and behind her.
    What came next was a blur of dark shapes and sounds. She spun around in time to see a clublike weapon swinging toward her. She jumped out of the way and was only nicked by the tip. But it was enough, along with her own sudden movement, to propel her down an embankment that bordered the box hedges. It was not steep and she almost didn’t fall. Her first few steps were a forced run down the slope before she tripped and rolled to the bottom. She’d held on to the gun for those first few steps, but dropped it when she fell. Diane glanced up the embankment and saw a figure at the top. He reached out his hand to hold on to one of the slim tree trunks, preparing to climb down toward her.
    Damn .
    Diane searched the ground for her gun. She saw a glint in the moonlight about halfway up the slope. Not good. If she went for it, she’d meet the intruder halfway. She picked up a nearby thick piece of limb to use as a club. Not nearly good enough. She’d go for the gun.
    Just as she started to move, she heard shouts and a gunshot. The gunfire was very close, just a few yards from her. The figure at the top of the bank turned and disappeared from her sight. Diane lunged for her gun and picked it up. As she ran her shaking hands over it, she discovered the safety was on. Good thing the first guy hadn’t been able to see in the dark either. She felt for dirt or debris and tapped the side of the gun against her hand, hoping nothing had lodged in the barrel.
    Diane scrambled up the embankment, her heart beating hard in her chest. At the top she heard two more gunshots and more shouts. She crouched to catch her breath and pick up her phone. It was no longer connected to Hanks. Her thumb started keying in his number, then stopped. No use distracting him. Diane scanned the backyard from her vantage point, hidden in the box hedges. It was now strangely quiet except for rustling in the