But only for a second.
Food.
There, on the table in front of her, was a giant box of granola bars, the kind you buy at one of the price club stores. She had never experienced the horror of hunger before. She knew it would probably be smarter to search for a phone—and she would—but when she saw the food right there, so close by, it became beyond irresistible.
Stop, she told herself. Take care of the task at hand.
She checked for a phone in the kitchen. There were none. Now that she thought about it, there were no wires anywhere. She had heard the roar of a generator outside. Was that how they got electricity? Was there no phone hooked up?
Didn’t matter.
There was, she knew, a computer with Internet in the other room. She could get help that way. If she could get to it. She wondered how much longer the computer guy would be outside on his smoke break. She had seen him throw down his cigarette and start turning toward her. Would he be lighting up another one or . . . ?
She heard the front door open.
Damn.
Dana looked for a hiding spot. The kitchen was small and sparse. There were cupboards and a table. Ducking beneath the table would do no good. There was no tablecloth. She would be completely exposed. The refrigerator was small and brown, the same kind she’d had in college in Wisconsin when she first met Jason. There was no room to hide there. There was a door, probably leading to a cellar. She could maybe go down there, if there was time.
Footsteps.
Then another thought came to Dana: the hell with hiding.
A swinging door separated the kitchen from the living room where Titus had grilled her. If the computer guy came in here, if he decided to make his way into the kitchen, Dana would hear and see him coming. It wasn’t like before in the woods. Yes, she was exhausted. Yes, she needed one of those damn granola bars. But right now, if the computer guy entered this kitchen, she had the element of surprise in a big bad way.
And she had an axe.
The footsteps were coming toward her.
She slid off to the side behind the door. She wanted to make sure she had room to wield the axe—yet she needed to leave herself enough of an angle so that he wouldn’t be able to see her until it was too late. The axe was so damned heavy. She debated how to swing it exactly. An overhead chop would be a tough angle. If she aimed for his neck, if she tried to slice his goddamn head off, the target area would be pretty small. Her aim would have to be precise.
The footsteps were right on the other side of the door now.
Dana gripped the handle with both hands. She lifted the axe up and held it like a batter waiting for the pitch. That would be the best angle. Swing like a baseball bat. Aim for the center of the chest and hope to bury the blade deep in his heart. If she missed a little right or left or up or down, it would still cause massive damage.
The footsteps stopped. The door began to creak open.
Dana’s body shook from the strain, but she was ready.
Then a phone rang.
For a moment, the door stayed still. Then a hand released it and the door swung back. Dana let the axe collapse back to her side. For a moment, her eyes fell back on the granola bar.
The guy in the house would be busy, at least for the next few seconds. She grabbed a bar and tried her best to quietly unwrap it.
From the other room, she heard the computer guy say, “Hello?”
New plan, she thought. Grab a few granola bars. Go down into the cellar. Hide there with the axe and granola bars. Rest. Draw strength. Find a place where she could see someone coming and maybe take him down with the axe.
Her jumpsuit had pockets. A break, for once. Still chewing, she jammed granola bars into the pockets. They might notice if the entire box was missing from the table, but five or ten bars gone from a box that had originally held sixty wouldn’t draw anyone’s suspicion.
Dana reached for the cellar door when she heard the computer guy tell whoever was on the other end of the line: “Reynaldo said Dana is on the run.”
She froze and listened. She heard typing and then the computer guy spoke again.
“Dana Phelps. I got it up. What do you need?”
She kept her hand on the cellar door. Again she could hear the clacking of his fingers on the keyboard.
“Here it is, Titus. Brandon Phelps. Do you want his mobile or his number at school?”
Dana jammed her hand in her mouth so she wouldn’t scream out loud.
Her hand dropped back to the axe handle. She heard the computer guy give Titus her son’s cell phone.
No, oh God, no, not Brandon . . .
She moved closer to the kitchen door and tried to hear what was being said, tried to figure out what Titus wanted with her son’s phone number.
But wasn’t it obvious?
They were going after her son.
Conscious thought no longer entered the equation. It was now very simple. No hiding. No staying in the cellar. No worrying about her own safety. Only one thing consumed this mother’s thoughts:
Save Brandon.
When the computer guy hung up the phone, Dana ran out of the kitchen and straight toward him.
“Where’s Titus?”
The computer guy jumped back. When he saw Dana coming toward him, he opened his mouth to scream for help. That would be it. If he screamed, if he got the attention of the other guys . . .
Dana moved with a speed and ferocity she didn’t know she possessed. The axe was already in position, swinging toward the seated man at the computer with full force.
She didn’t aim for the chest. He was too low for that.
The blades of the axe slammed straight into the mouth, smashing his teeth, ripping right through the lips and mouth. The spray of blood nearly blinded her. He fell back off the chair, his back slamming hard on the ground. Dana pulled back hard as he did, trying to free the blade. It came out of his face with a wet sucking pop.
Dana didn’t know if he was dead yet or not. But there was no hesitation, no squeamishness. The blood had already reached her face. The rust taste was already on her tongue.
She lifted the blade again, this time straight up in the air. He didn’t move or resist. She brought the axe down hard, cleaving his face in two. The blade sliced through the back of the skull with surprising ease, as though it were a watermelon rind. His tinted glasses split in two, dropping to either side of what had once been his face.
Dana wasted no time. She dropped the axe and started to fumble for the phone.
It was then that she saw the front door was open.
The old dog stood there, watching her, his tail wagging.
Dana put her finger to her lips, tried to smile, tried to convince the old dog that all was okay.
Bo’s tail stopped wagging. And then he began to bark.