Ignoring the pain racking her muscles, she picked her way over sparse gravel and made her way to the van. It was locked, no keys in the ignition, but the passenger door was still shattered so she was able to reach inside and open the door, then scrounge around the interior. She hoped for a set of keys, but found none. She prayed for a weapon, but guessed if he had any, they were locked in one of the metal boxes bolted to the floor in the back of the van. She found nothing that could help her but an unopened package of cookies, a flashlight, and an old T-shirt. She tested the flashlight. It worked. Thank God! Her stomach rumbled for the food, but there was no time for that now. She had to get moving. He was locked up tight, but who knew if that stupid Myra would show up.

Her insides curdled at the thought of wearing anything that had touched his body, but she couldn’t be picky. Swallowing back revulsion, she threw on the dirty shirt and only took the time to shine her flashlight’s beam on the license plate. She memorized the numbers, saw the vehicle was some kind of Dodge, and then decided to head for the main road. Zoe had been forced to run through the woods, but no way would Chloe be able to find her at this point. No, the road was better. Find a house and call the damned police.

Again she tried the stupid cell. Just in case.

Nothing, of course. Dead.

“Fine.” Carrying the flashlight in one hand and the cookies and useless cell in the other, she followed the flashlight’s weak, wobbling beam and started jogging along the dirt ruts, where thankfully there were only bits of gravel to dig into her feet. Still, she’d kill for a pair of running shoes. Hell, no, she’d kill for a car that worked—anything to get her away from that damned cabin of death.

She thought of the monster she’d trapped in the dungeon and hoped he died a horrible death. Prick! What a sicko!

Don’t think about him, just keep running!

That part was natural. She’d run all of her life. On the soccer field. For pleasure. With friends in 5K or 10K races, even a half marathon just last year. And now the pain of the injuries she’d sustained while being held by the freak were giving way to an adrenaline rush that surged when she worried that somehow, some damned way, the freak could escape.

Run, run, run!