Kiss the Girls

aim.
    No one was there to shoot me, or applaud my performance, either. The deep woods were silent and appeared absolutely empty.
    The monsters had disappeared… and so had the house.

Chapter 110

    I CHOSE the same general direction that Sampson and I had come in. It was definitely one way out of the woods, and it might be the route Casanova and Will Rudolph would take. I hated leaving Sampson and the women, but there was no other choice, no other way.
    I stuck the Glock into my shoulder holster and I started to run. Faster and faster as my legs began to work again, remembered how to
run fast.
    A trail of fresh blood on leaves led a few yards into the thick undergrowth. One of them was bleeding heavily. I hoped he would die soon. I was on the right trail, anyway.
    Vines and thorny bushes tore at my arms and legs as I moved through the densely overgrown thicket. The leafy branches whipped across my face. I didn’t care about being whipped.
    I ran for what must have been a mile, or seemed like it. I was perspiring, and searing pains ripped through my chest. My head felt as hot as the engine of an overheated car. Every footstep seemed heavier than the last.
    For all I knew, I was putting distance between myself and the two of them. Or maybe they were right behind me? Maybe they had watched me come out? Trailed me? Circled around behind me? Two on one wasn’t how I wanted this to go down.
    I looked for more signs of blood or torn clothing. Some sign that they had been through here. My lungs were on fire now, and I was soaked with perspiration. My legs ached and were tightening up.
    I had a flashback, a rush of images. I was running with Marcus Daniels in my arms, in Washington, D.C. I saw the poor little boy’s face again now. I remembered hearing Sampson scream in shock and pain back at the house. I saw Naomi’s face.
    Something was up ahead—
two men were running.
One of them was holding his shoulder. Was it Casanova? Or the Gentleman? Didn’t really matter—I wanted both of them. Wouldn’t settle for less.
    The wounded monster showed no signs of slowing. He knew I was bearing down on him, and he unleashed a bloodcurdling yell. It reminded me that he was an unpredictable madman of the highest order. The scream—
“Yaaaaahhhhhh!”
—echoed through the fir woods like the howl of a wild animal.
    Then another primal scream.
“Yaaaaahhhhhh!”
It was the
other
madman.
    Twinning,
I thought. They were both natural animals. They couldn’t survive anymore without each other.
    The sudden sound of gunfire caught me off guard. A chip flew off the bark of a pine tree and whipped past my head. It came within an inch or two of cutting me down, killing me on the spot.
One of the monsters had turned around that fast, fired off a shot.
    I crouched behind the tree that had taken a bullet for me. I peered out through leafy branches. I couldn’t see either of them up ahead. I waited. Counted off the seconds. Tried to get my heart to start again. Which one of them had fired the shot? Which one was wounded?
    They had been near a crest of a steep hill in the woods. Had they gone over the top? If they had, were they waiting for me on the other side? I slowly moved out from the safe cover of the tree and looked around.
    It was eerie and quiet again. No screams. No gunshots. No one seemed to be there. What the hell were they up to?
I had just learned something new about them, though.
I had another clue to go on. I’d seen something important a moment ago.
    I sprinted to the balding crest of the hill up ahead. Nothing! My heart sank, fell a million miles into the abyss. Had they gotten away? After all this?
    I kept running. I couldn’t let this abomination happen. I wouldn’t let the monsters go free.

Chapter 111

    I THOUGHT I knew the direction of the state highway, and I headed that way. I had my second wind, or maybe my third, and ran more easily now. Alex the Pathfinder.
    Maybe two hundred yards ahead of me, I spotted them again. Then I saw a familiar flash of gray: a curling ribbon of highway. I could make out a few white-shingled buildings and ancient-looking telephone fines.
A highway. The way for them to escape.
    The two of them were running in the direction of a shambling roadhouse. They still wore their death masks. That told me Casanova was in charge. The natural leader. He loved his masks. They represented who he believed he really was: a dark god. Free to do whatever he chose. Superior to the rest of us.
    A