She was sluggish. Nearly tripped on herself.
Too late!
Whack! The thick handle of a pitchfork crashed into the side of her face.
Pain splintered through her cheek, sending off needles of agony into her eye. No…Oh, God, no!
Blood erupted through her nose and skin.
She threw up a hand to protect herself and staggered backward, trying to reach the open door, hoping to catch a glimpse of the bastard’s face, but it was obscured, hidden in the shadows of a hood.
“Shannon!” a male voice yelled, as if from a distance. Her attacker? Stunned, she reeled, trying to run, her legs wobbly, blood pouring down from her face and down her throat. She could barely see and every breath she took felt like she was taking in fire.
Only a few more steps!
“Shannon!” the male voice again yelled from somewhere outside the building.
“In here. Help!” she cried, but the words were strangled, muted over the rush and whoosh of the fire.
She took another step toward the door.
CRACK!
The back of her head seemed to explode.
She pitched forward, landed on the cement.
He came at her again, this dark figure silhouetted by the red, shifting, eerie light through the windows.
She screamed.
He raised his club again and she tried to zero in on his face, but it was covered. As he lunged, intent on striking her, she forced herself to roll to one side, then leap up. Dizzy, spitting blood, she grabbed the end of the pitchfork before he could beat her.
Her fingers surrounded the smooth wood handle and she put her weight into it, hoping to drive the tines into the bastard’s chest or neck. But her fingers were slick with sweat and her own blood, and she couldn’t hold on. As if she weighed nothing, he twisted the pitchfork and she lost her grip, her boots slipping in the blood.
He yanked it away and she fell back. Her injured shoulder slammed into the concrete. A hot, searing pain ripped down her arm, ricocheting through her body.
Writhing, she let out a scream and rolled toward the open door, away from her attacker. Blackness pulled at her, begging her to leave consciousness and agony behind, but if she did she knew whoever had done this to her would kill her. Would beat her with the handle of the pitchfork or drive the sharp, long tines into her body.
Sirens!
Loud. Piercing. The wail of sirens cut through the night air.
If she could only hang on…help was on its way…she curled into the fetal position, protecting herself from the blows she knew were coming, and closed her eyes. It was so hot…she couldn’t breathe…Stay awake!…Don’t pass out!… but she was losing the battle, the pull was so great…For God’s sake, Shannon, don’t let go!
But it was useless, the pain too intense. She lay on the floor, spent, her blood seeping onto the concrete. With no last thought she gave herself over to the enveloping blackness…
Chapter 7
Travis unlatched the last kennel.
A German shepherd hurtled past him, nearly knocking him over in the darkness, racing to follow the pack of Border collies, Labs and a couple of mutts of undecipherable lineage that he had freed.
He’d managed to get all of the anxious, howling dogs out of their cages despite the fact that the kennel had been plunged in an eerie darkness, pierced only by the hellish red glow seeping through a bank of small windows. None of the lights had worked.
Nonetheless, all the dogs were now free and running wildly through the fields and into the woods. Through the door he saw them racing away from the fire that climbed higher and higher into the night sky.
He thought of the man he’d seen seconds before the first explosion. Who the hell was he? Travis had no doubt that the son of a bitch had set the blaze intentionally. But why?