Gingerbread Man

despite the utter darkness, slick ground, and thick underbrush. Certainly more quickly than a man as physically unfit as Uncle Marty, carrying a child, could go. Every few steps, they would stop and listen to the cracking and snapping of brush to be sure they were moving in the right direction.
    It was a long walk.
    Finally, they stopped to listen, and didn't hear any more brush cracking. Instead they heard soft crying, only a few yards ahead.
    It was killing Holly to take her time now, to move as quietly as possible through the woods. Killing her, because she kept flashing on images of what that bastard was doing to Bethany now that he'd stopped walking. It was two minutes before they reached them. Maybe less. It felt like hours. Every time the little girl's cries got louder, every time her tone changed, Holly was sure he was hurting her.
    Finally, the woods ended, and they stepped into a clearing. In the center, in utter darkness, she could make out the silhouettes. Uncle Marty was hunched over the little girl. Bethany lay on her back on the ground, sobbing softly and saying, "I want my mommy. Don't hurt me. My daddy will come, he'll come, you'll see."
    Marty was bending over her, reaching down, touching her. "From now on, I'm your daddy. Understand? Say it. Call me daddy. Do it!"
    Holly didn't need to see more. "Get your filthy hands off her, you bastard." She ran at him as she shouted, lifting the hammer as she did.
    He spun before she got to him, swinging a beefy arm at her. Her hammer connected with his shoulder instead of his head. Then he punched her in the chest so hard her hand lost its grip on the hammer as she buckled and dropped to the wet, cold ground. He looked down at her, hulking over her. "Damn you, Holly, you never could mind your own business, could you?"
    Holly scrambled on her hands and knees until she was beside Bethany.
    "Holly?" the soft voice squeaked.
    "It's me, honey. It's all right, it's going to be all right now." The child pressed herself close to Holly, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. She was blindfolded, her hands still bound, but there was no time to untie her now.
    Uncle Marty bent down, picked up the hammer, and leaned over them. "Well, no matter. I can plant you in my little garden, too, I suppose." He lifted the hammer, and Holly folded herself over Bethany to protect her from the coming blow.
    The sound of the impact was dull, and it cracked. But Holly never felt it land. Stunned, she looked up. Amanda stood there, the tire iron in her hands. Marty cowered on the ground at her feet.
    "You will never hurt another little girl the way you hurt me," she said, her voice deep, haunting. Not high-pitched or hysterical, but level and icy cold.
    "No. No!" Marty wailed.
    Amanda lifted the tire iron, and brought it down again. And a third time. The impact sounded wet.
    Holly struggled to her feet, gripped Amanda's hands as she lifted the tire iron overhead yet again, stopping her. She stared down at Uncle Marty. He lay still on the ground, and his head was no longer shaped like a head.
    "He's dead, Amanda. He's gone; it's all right now."
    "He's dead?"
    "Yes. Put it down."
    Shaking, Amanda lowered her arms. But she didn't drop the weapon.
    "Holly? Holly, where are you?" On the cold, wet ground three feet from Marty, Bethany was sitting up, unable to see them, her hands still bound behind her back.
    "Right here, honey. It's all right now."
    As she made her way to the child, hugging Amanda to her side, Holly heard more crashing brush, saw two lights bobbing closer through the forest. Vince's voice shouted her name. Holly released Amanda, who only stared blankly at Vince and Jerry as they burst into the clearing.
    She heard sirens as she bent to untie Bethany's hands. The others couldn't be far behind.
    Vince flicked his light around the clearing until it landed on Holly, and then he came running. He wrapped her in his arms, and Bethany with her. "I've never been so scared in my entire life, Red. Jesus, I'm glad you're all right."
    "Vince?" That was Jerry's voice now. Holly looked his way, still locked in Vince's arms, and she saw where his attention and his light were focused.
    Amanda stood over what was left of Marty. His head didn't look as if it had ever been human. There was blood and other stuff splattered on the front of Amanda's yellow raincoat, and she still clutched the tire iron.
    More feet came crashing through the brush.
    "Vince?" Holly whispered. "Will they arrest her? She