Shadowfires

unidentifiable form appeared to have crept closer while her attention was diverted. “No way, Jose. We go together.”
    “I figured you'd say that.”
    A tempest of warm wind whirled across the yard, stirring up dust,
whipping the flowers, and lashing far enough into the perimeter of
the forest to buffet Rachael's face.
    Benny edged to the end of the granite formation, the shotgun held
in both hands, peered around the corner, taking one last look at each
of the rear windows to be sure no one was looking out of them.
    The cicadas had stopped singing.
    What did their sudden silence mean?
    Before she could call that new development to Benny's attention, he flung himself forward, out of the concealment of the woods. He bolted across the patchy, dead brown lawn.
    Propelled by the electrifying feeling that something murderous was
bounding through the shadowed forest behind her-was reaching for her
hair, was going to seize her, was going to drag her away into the
dark of the woods-Rachael plunged after Benny, past the rocks, ' out of the trees, into the sun. She reached the back porch even as he was hunkering down beside the steps.
    Breathless, she stopped beside him and looked back toward the
forest. Nothing was pursuing her. She could hardly believe it.
    Fast and light on his feet, Benny sprang up the porch steps, to
the wall beside the open door, where he put his back to the logs and
listened for movement inside the house. Evidently he heard nothing,
for he pulled open the screen door and went inside, staying low, the
shotgun aimed in front of him.
    Rachael went after him, into a kitchen that was larger and better
equipped than she expected. On the table, a plate held the remnants
of an unfinished breakfast of sausages and biscuits. Soup cans and an
empty jar of peanut butter littered the floor.
    The cellar door was open. Benny cautiously, quietly pushed it
shut, closing off the sight of steps descending into the gloom
beyond.
    Without being told what to do, Rachael hooked a kitchen chair with
one hand, brought it to the door, tilted it under the knob, and
wedged it into place, creating an effective barricade. They could not
go into the cellar until they had searched the main living quarters
of the cabin; for if Eric was in one of the ground-floor rooms, he
might slip into the kitchen as soon as they went down the steps,
might close the door and lock them in the dark basement. Conversely,
if he was in the windowless basement already, he might creep upstairs
while they were searching for him and sneak in behind them, a
possibility they had just precluded by wedging that door shut.
    She saw that Benny was pleased by the perception
she'd shown when she'd put that chair under the knob. They made a
good team.
    She braced another door, which probably opened onto the garage,
used a chair on that one, too. If Eric was in there, he could escape
by rolling up the big outer door, of course, but they would hear it
no matter where they were in the cabin and would have him
pinpointed.
    They stood in the kitchen for a moment, listening. Rachael could
hear only the gusty breeze humming in the fine-mesh screen of the
open kitchen window, sighing through the deep eaves under the
overhanging slate roof.
    Staying low and moving fast, Benny rushed through the doorway
between the kitchen and the living room, looking left and right as he
crossed the threshold. He signaled to Rachael that the way was clear,
and she went after him.
    In the ultramodern living room, the cabin's front door was open, though not as wide as the back door had been. A couple of hundred loose sheets of paper, two small ring-bound notebooks with black vinyl covers, and several manila file folders were scattered across the floor, some rumpled and torn.
    Also on the floor, beside an armchair near the big front window,
lay a medium-size knife with a serrated blade and a point tip. A
couple of sunbeams, having pierced the forest outside, struck through
the window, and one touched the steel blade, making its polished
surface gleam, rippling lambently along its cutting edge.
    Benny stared worriedly at the knife, then turned toward one of the
three doors that, in addition to the kitchen archway, opened off the
living room.
    Rachael was about to pick up some of the papers to see what they
were, but when Benny moved, she followed.
    Two of the doors were closed tight, but the one Benny had chosen
was ajar an inch. He pushed it open all