Chapter 2 - The Crawl in the Rain
The second screw yielded with a faint metallic scrape that sounded like a thunderclap to my terrified ears. I froze, pressing my cheek hard against the icy tile floor, barely daring to draw a breath. Above me, the creak of the floorboards stopped right near the landing.
"Andrew?" Margaret’s voice echoed down the hallway, raspy and impatient.
"Just getting a glass of water, Mom," Andrew replied. His bare feet padded softly down the steps.
Panic surged through my chest, cold and precise. I had seconds. I shoved the tip of the rusty bottle opener into the third screw, twisting violently. The metal bit into my palm, slicing the skin, but I felt nothing through the white-hot blur of adrenaline. The third screw gave way. The last one was loose enough that I yanked the metal ventilation grate free with my bare hands, ignoring the sharp edges that sliced into my fingers.
Through the narrow opening at the base of the heavy wooden door, torrential rain poured into the gap, soaking my shirt. I forced my left arm and hand through the small aperture, reaching upward toward the deadbolt thumb-turn on the exterior side of the utility lock. My shoulder groaned; my broken leg throbbed with a agonizing, rhythmic rhythm that threatened to make me pass out.
Clack.
The footsteps reached the kitchen doorway.
Turn, damn you, turn, I prayed silently.
My slick, bloody fingers caught the edge of the latch. I twisted it with everything I had left. The lock gave way with a soft click just as the kitchen light flicked on.
"Emily?" Andrew’s voice was sharp.
With a desperate, animal sob, I threw my weight against the bottom of the door. It burst outward into the storm. I shoved myself through the opening into the freezing deluge outside, dragging my ruined leg over the sharp metal doorframe.
"What the hell!" Andrew yelled behind me.
I was outside in the pitch-black darkness of our backyard, rain washing the sweat and blood from my face. I couldn't walk. I couldn't even stand. I flipped onto my stomach and crawled, using my hands and right knee to pull myself through the mud toward the dense tree line bordering our gated development's perimeter fence.
"She's escaping! Andrew, get her!" Margaret screamed from the open doorway.
Behind me, heavy boots slammed onto the wet patio tile. "Emily! Stop right there, you crazy bitch!" Andrew shouted.
I didn't look back. I clawed at the mud, roots, and pine needles, pulling my body forward inch by excruciating inch. The agony in my shattered shin felt like a burning iron clamped to my bones. Every time my left foot dragged across the rough ground, dark spots danced across my vision.
Keep moving. If he catches you, you will die here.
The beam of a flashlight sliced through the sheet of falling rain, scanning the yard. Andrew was running toward the back fence, assuming I had headed for the main gate. He didn't think I could crawl through the thick overgrown briars near the drainage ditch at the property boundary.
I reached the muddy embankment of the storm drain and tumbled headfirst into the ditch. Water rushed over my chest, freezing and swift, carrying me several yards down the concrete culvert toward the main road outside the neighborhood's perimeter wall. I clutched a exposed tree root, holding my head above water, gasping for air as Andrew’s flashlight beam swept harmlessly over the brush thirty feet behind me.
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I stayed submerged in the muddy water, shivering violently, until his angry shouts faded into the distance. Only when I was sure he had gone back toward the house to get his car did I drag myself out of the culvert and onto the gravel shoulder of the public highway.
Headlights appeared through the rain, approaching fast. I raised one trembling, mud-caked arm into the blinding light and collapsed into consciousness as the sound of screeching tires filled the night.
