“Mary Beth, I got a gun here and, you probably figured out, under the circumstances I got no problem using it. Just come on out. You don’t, I’ll shoot inside and I’ll probably hit you.”

She crouched down against the wall behind the door, waiting for the gunshot.

But he never fired. It was a trick; he kicked the door hard and it swung into her, stunning her for an instant, knocking her down. But as he started inside she kicked the door closed just as hard as he’d shoved it open. He wasn’t expecting any more resistance and the heavy wooden slab caught him on the shoulder, knocking him off balance. Mary Beth stepped toward him and swung the coup stick at the only target on him she could reach—his elbow. But he dropped to the floor just as the rock would have struck him and she missed. The momentum of her fierce swing pulled the stick from her sweaty hands and it skidded along the floor.

No time to get it. Just run! Mary Beth jumped past the Missionary before he could turn and fire and she sprinted out the door.

At last!

Free of this hellhole at last!

She ran to the left, heading back toward the path that her captor had brought her down two days ago, the one that led past a big Carolina bay. At the corner of the cabin she turned toward the pond.

And ran right into the arms of Garrett Hanlon.

“No!” she cried. “No!”

The boy was wild-eyed. He held a gun. “How’d you get out? Flow?” He grabbed her wrist.

“Let me go!” She tried to pull away from him but his grip was like steel.

There was a grim-faced woman with him, pretty, with long red hair. Her clothes, like Garrett’s, were filthy. The woman was silent, her eyes dull. She didn’t seem the least bit startled by the girl’s sudden appearance. She looked drugged.

“Goddamn,” the Missionary’s voice called. “You fucking bitch!” He turned the corner and found Garrett aiming the pistol at his face. The boy screamed, “Who’re you? What’d you do to my house? What’d you do to Mary Beth?”

“She attacked us! Look at my friend. Look at—”

“Throw that away,” Garrett raged. Nodding at the man’s pistol. “Throw it away or I’ll kill you! I will. I’ll blow your fucking head off!”

The Missionary looked at the boy’s face and the gun. Garrett cocked his pistol. “Jesus …” The man pitched the revolver into the grass.

“Now get outa here! Move.”

The Missionary backed away then helped Tom to his feet and they staggered off toward the trees.