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EIGHTEEN

Stumbling over tree roots as darkness fell all around them, fear gripped Amy Clark. The last thing she wanted to do was spend a night alone with Margos. As the smell of woodsmoke drifted through the forest toward them, he poked her in the back. Terrified he would murder her at any moment, she glanced over one shoulder to see him smiling.

“There’s a cabin ahead.” Margos pointed through the trees. “I want you to go right up to the front door and knock. Tell them you got turned around in the forest and lost your friends. Just get the front door open, get invited inside, and I’ll do the rest.”

Heart thundering in her chest, Amy gaped at him and then looked away quickly. “What are you going to do to them?”

“I haven’t rightly made up my mind.” Margos slid a knife out from his belt and ran his thumb along the blade. “I’m not planning on shooting anyone. I don’t want to make a noise and alert the cops. They’ll be somewhere close by, but my friends are watching them. They’ll be coming soon to meet up with us. Once I have dealt with the owner, I’ll give them a call.” His lips spread into a wide grin. “I bet you’re looking forward to another night with us. Isn’t that right, Amy?” He gave her a little push. “Off you go now and do what you do best.”

Staggering along the dark trail, Amy searched her mind for something to say to the homeowner to alert him that Margos was intending to kill him, but Margos was keeping very close behind her and would hear every word. Could she stand by and see another person murdered? She stumbled out of the forest and into a clearing before a log cabin. Just knocking on the door of a cabin in the middle of the forest at night was dangerous. It was a given that people were armed in this vicinity. The wildlife was dangerous, and it surprised her that they hadn’t run into anything that considered them as a potential meal. Trembling, Amy lifted her hand and knocked on the door. “Hello, is anyone home?” The sound of footsteps came from behind the door and the curtain across the window beside the front door moved slightly.

Stepping back to be seen in the shaft of light streaming from the window, Beth held up both her hands, so that the person peering at her from inside could see she wasn’t armed. When the door cracked open an inch and a man’s face appeared, she formed a gun with her fingers and indicated behind her with the other hand. Hoping the man would understand her, she lifted both eyebrows and mouthed, “Help me.”

The man appeared to be oblivious to her gestures and just stared at her as if she had gone completely mad. The door opened a little wider, and the next second, a knife flew through the air and with a sickening thunk stuck in his throat. The man grasped at his neck, eyes bulging, and made frantic attempts to remove the knife, and then he fell back, crashing to the floor and sending a statue of a horse on a side table toppling. Terror-stricken, Amy stepped to one side too shocked to speak or scream. From behind her, Margos appeared out of the gloom. He pushed past her and walked straight into the house, bending only to pull the knife from the man’s throat before checking each room. Paralyzed, Amy stared at the man as bright red blood gushed out and spilled across the floor. His eyes locked on hers and, horrified, she watched his life slip away.

“Get in here.” Margos stood at the door to a kitchen. “Make supper.”

Fear had turned the blood in her veins to ice. She couldn’t move. A sticky crimson slick had pooled around her feet. The smell of it and the dead man’s voided bowels made her want to puke. She covered her face with both hands, unable to believe what was happening. She jumped when Margos’ voice came from close behind her.

“Turn this way and walk around the blood.” Margos shook his head and grabbed her by the arm. “You can’t possibly be that stupid.” He sighed. “Ah, well, I guess maybe you can.” He gave her a shove toward the kitchen.

Desperate to survive, Amy pushed her thoughts in another direction. So far, she’d practically ignored them and not complained. Although she had endured mental and physical abuse, they hadn’t killed her. Every minute she remained alive was a chance to escape. Perhaps when they were asleep, she might be able to sneak away. Margos mentioned there were cops in the area. Likely when the others arrived, they’d speak about them. If she discovered where to locate the cops, she’d be able to get to them. It seemed that playing dumb was her only chance of survival. Hunting through the kitchen to discover ingredients to make supper, she found a large container of chili in the fridge. She lifted the lid and sniffed. The container was full and from the smell had been made only recently. She recalled how her mother had made slow-cooked chili over six to eight hours and then left it to sit overnight in the fridge before serving it the following day. She had always said that the next day’s chili was the best. Maybe this man had the same idea?

The poor man who owned the cabin kept a well-stocked pantry and she found the fixings for making cornbread. Trying to keep her mind on her task helped a little to keep away the horrors of what had happened. Her hands trembled as she prepared the cornbread. Margos announced he’d found alcohol and she could hear the clink of glasses as he dropped them on the coffee table in front of the fireplace. As she slid the cornbread into the oven, voices came from the front of the cabin. The other men had arrived and they went about dragging the body from the front door down the steps and into the forest. Risking a peek around the kitchen door, Amy watched as they dragged a rug from another room and placed it over the smeared blood trail inside the door. They closed and locked the door behind them and went into the bathroom to wash up, all chatting as if on a great adventure. She caught enough of the conversation to know they had a plan to deal with the cops, but they didn’t discuss anything in front of her. The sight of their grinning leers made her sick to her stomach. The depravity they would make her endure overnight terrified her. As they filed into the kitchen one by one and sat at the table, she avoided their gaze and kept herself busy. Perhaps with the drink and full bellies they’d fall asleep. It would be her only chance to escape.