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Authors: Marjorie Thelen
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door. He
couldn’t have seen the feet from his vantage point because he had circled on the opposite
side of the house from the garden.
I did a 360 degree check on the clearing where the house stood. It was clear only
for about fifty feet on all sides then the forest took over. I couldn’t be sure if
anyone was watching from the forest and was torn between whether stay put or go looking
for Zach. Neither was safe, but I knew action was better for me, as opposed to sitting
here wrapped in sheer terror. I picked up the gun and eased from the Rover.
The air was as tense as my tautly bunched muscles. It was quiet. No birds sang. Was
that because someone was in the forest to disturb their singing? If they were still
around would they try to kill us, rush us, overpower the Rover? Who were they? The
unsettling image of terrorists crept into my mind, the black hooded variety.
What was I doing here?
I ran from the Rover to the shelter of the house and circled to the back on the side
where the garden was. The house was typical construction for the region, stucco with
red tile roof. Giant rose bushes lined the side of the house blooming profusely in
red and yellow.
I saw the body stretched full length in the garden, like taking a nap. But a red stain
on the head of the figure belied the image of a peaceful nap. Nausea welled up in
my throat, but I kept going. I had to find Zach. A Mediterranean style arbor, slats
of wood crossing open beams, covered the patio to the back of the house. The door
to the house stood open. I drew near and peered in.
“Zach?” No answer. I eased a few steps into the kitchen.
“Zach?”
I heard footsteps overhead. Maybe the man of the house was okay, but why was his wife
laying in the garden? There was only one pair of footsteps. If they weren’t Zach’s
…
I peered up the stairs.
Zach crouched over a body at the top of the landing. I only saw the top of the head
covered in thick white hair, stained dark red on one side.
“I told you to stay with the Rover.”
“Zach, there’s a woman’s body in the garden.”
“I saw her from the upstairs window. They’re both dead. Shot in the head at close
range.”
He moved quickly down the steps, gun upraised, and brushed past me. Standing back
from the window, he studied the yard and garden.
“Are you going to report it to the police?”
“I can’t, this couple isn’t really here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. This is a safe house. This couple doesn’t exist, so there is no
one to report missing.
“What?”
He ignored my question. “I’ll call someone to dispose of the bodies later but for
now, we get out of here. I’ll go first. If I draw fire, run out the front door in
a zig-zag line to the Rover.”
He turned and his gaze held my eyes in a moment of connection, the connection we had
had before this awful ride had begun. Those hard, dark eyes softened.
“If I don’t make it, leave in the Rover without me.” He grabbed my chin and held it.
“Don’t play hero, okay?”
I nodded and before I could say anything he was out the door, gun in hand, running.
A rifle cracked, and he dropped to the ground.
“Zach,” I screamed from the open door. “Zach!”
He rolled over and over into the cover of shrubs by the shed. “Get down.” His hand
waved. “Get down. Go out the front door. I’m going for the Rover.”
Another shot cracked and hit the side of the shed above the bushes where he hid, and
he returned fire. I stood paralyzed by the sound of the gunfire. It sounded like the
shots I had heard fired at target practice. But this was not target practice.
I whirled and ran through the house and out the front door, propelled by some hidden
banshee that shrieked inside my head to get the hell out of there. I ran for the Rover,
dove and crashed into the passenger door as a bullet flew by my ear and ricocheted
off the fender. I yanked open the
couldn’t have seen the feet from his vantage point because he had circled on the opposite
side of the house from the garden.
I did a 360 degree check on the clearing where the house stood. It was clear only
for about fifty feet on all sides then the forest took over. I couldn’t be sure if
anyone was watching from the forest and was torn between whether stay put or go looking
for Zach. Neither was safe, but I knew action was better for me, as opposed to sitting
here wrapped in sheer terror. I picked up the gun and eased from the Rover.
The air was as tense as my tautly bunched muscles. It was quiet. No birds sang. Was
that because someone was in the forest to disturb their singing? If they were still
around would they try to kill us, rush us, overpower the Rover? Who were they? The
unsettling image of terrorists crept into my mind, the black hooded variety.
What was I doing here?
I ran from the Rover to the shelter of the house and circled to the back on the side
where the garden was. The house was typical construction for the region, stucco with
red tile roof. Giant rose bushes lined the side of the house blooming profusely in
red and yellow.
I saw the body stretched full length in the garden, like taking a nap. But a red stain
on the head of the figure belied the image of a peaceful nap. Nausea welled up in
my throat, but I kept going. I had to find Zach. A Mediterranean style arbor, slats
of wood crossing open beams, covered the patio to the back of the house. The door
to the house stood open. I drew near and peered in.
“Zach?” No answer. I eased a few steps into the kitchen.
“Zach?”
I heard footsteps overhead. Maybe the man of the house was okay, but why was his wife
laying in the garden? There was only one pair of footsteps. If they weren’t Zach’s
…
I peered up the stairs.
Zach crouched over a body at the top of the landing. I only saw the top of the head
covered in thick white hair, stained dark red on one side.
“I told you to stay with the Rover.”
“Zach, there’s a woman’s body in the garden.”
“I saw her from the upstairs window. They’re both dead. Shot in the head at close
range.”
He moved quickly down the steps, gun upraised, and brushed past me. Standing back
from the window, he studied the yard and garden.
“Are you going to report it to the police?”
“I can’t, this couple isn’t really here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. This is a safe house. This couple doesn’t exist, so there is no
one to report missing.
“What?”
He ignored my question. “I’ll call someone to dispose of the bodies later but for
now, we get out of here. I’ll go first. If I draw fire, run out the front door in
a zig-zag line to the Rover.”
He turned and his gaze held my eyes in a moment of connection, the connection we had
had before this awful ride had begun. Those hard, dark eyes softened.
“If I don’t make it, leave in the Rover without me.” He grabbed my chin and held it.
“Don’t play hero, okay?”
I nodded and before I could say anything he was out the door, gun in hand, running.
A rifle cracked, and he dropped to the ground.
“Zach,” I screamed from the open door. “Zach!”
He rolled over and over into the cover of shrubs by the shed. “Get down.” His hand
waved. “Get down. Go out the front door. I’m going for the Rover.”
Another shot cracked and hit the side of the shed above the bushes where he hid, and
he returned fire. I stood paralyzed by the sound of the gunfire. It sounded like the
shots I had heard fired at target practice. But this was not target practice.
I whirled and ran through the house and out the front door, propelled by some hidden
banshee that shrieked inside my head to get the hell out of there. I ran for the Rover,
dove and crashed into the passenger door as a bullet flew by my ear and ricocheted
off the fender. I yanked open the
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