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A single door connected the basement to the garage. Erica closed it behind her as quietly as possible. The air was cooler, not so thick, and she sucked it into her lungs greedily. An SUV and an old pickup truck greeted her. From where she stood, the voices of the men were garbled but she kept attuned to their low murmur. As long as she could hear that, she knew they were still in the kitchen.

All three of the bays were closed. There were two other doors just like the one she’d come through. In front of the vehicles, at the top of a short flight of stairs, was the first door. It led to the kitchen, where Mace and his meathead minions were presently discussing their perverted, murdery plans. The other was along the opposite wall from where she stood. It had to lead outside. Her feet carried her toward it. As she passed each vehicle, she peered through the windows. Was it too much to ask for one of them to have left the keys behind? After all, they were dumbasses.

Footsteps rumbled from the direction of the kitchen, receding. Erica’s heart thrashed wildly against her rib cage. How long did she have before they made it to the death room and realized she wasn’t there?

No keys in the vehicles. That would have been too easy.

She couldn’t hear them at all now and she knew they were probably entering the basement. An idea formed in her mind a split second before their voices drew closer. She’d go in the direction they least expected. Bonus if she found something she could use to get the hell out of here. First, she threw open the door that led outside. Then she turned back, racing up the steps and pushing her way into the kitchen. Just as the door closed behind her, shouts erupted from the garage.

“Where the hell did she go?”

“Shit. She got out.”

Every part of Erica’s body shook, adrenaline shooting through her veins like fire and ice at the same time. All she had were seconds, heartbeats to find a way out and the percussion section in her skull was reaching an agonizing crescendo. She nearly collapsed when she saw the phone one of them had left on the kitchen table.

Dumbassery was on her side today. It might just save her.

Snatching it up, she chanced a look out the windows. Dawn was breaking. The men poured from the garage and ran across the driveway. The meathead minions disappeared into the woods alongside the house. Mace jogged toward the rear. By the time she found the back door, she was hyperventilating.

She knew she should stop to think about her next move, to strategize, but fear overruled logic. Get out. All she had to do was get out. The locks on the door turned easily. As she gripped the knob, a strange sensation descended on her, like the heat of someone standing directly behind her, brushing lightly against her back. Terror strangled the scream rocketing up her throat. All that came out was a weird little gurgle. When she whipped around, she was alone.

Get out. Just get out.

She pulled the door open and froze, quickly closing it again. A second later, she cracked it, peering through a tiny sliver. Mace stalked across the backyard and stopped at a small shed. He disappeared inside. Ten seconds later he emerged, face lashed with fury, and went back the way he’d come. She waited until he was out of sight and then took several deep breaths before stepping outside. Her mind begged her to cross the yard slowly in case Mace returned, but her body wouldn’t listen. Twigs and leaves crunched beneath her feet. The noise seemed almost as loud as the gunshot from earlier even though she knew that wasn’t possible.

The yard wasn’t so much a yard as a huge clearing hemmed in by even more trees. There was a wooden apparatus, like an arch, with hooks and other weird stuff dangling from it that she knew had something to do with hunting. Several crudely built plywood tables dotted the area, each one facing a different target. Big blocks with bullseyes painted on them. Some were riddled with bullet holes while others were impaled with long, thin shafts adorned with brightly colored fletching. Erica did a double take when she saw a rabbit sitting on top of the archery target. No, not a real one. It was fake, made of some kind of foam. There were two more on the ground near the target. Of course these sickos would get off practicing shooting arrows into defenseless little rabbits.

Someone had been getting ready to use the archery target recently because scattered across the surface of one of the tables was a mess of arrows and other materials as well as a bow. It looked just like the kind Jennifer Lawrence used when she played that badass girl boss character in those movies about food and killing games. Erica made a beeline for that table. Just before she reached it, the foot still wearing a sneaker caught on something—a rock, maybe—and she crashed into the table. The materials went flying every which way, some landing in dirt and others landing in grass.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

Surely that was loud and she was near the edge where the yard met the driveway. Random items had rolled onto the asphalt. There was no time to clean up or put everything back into place. If someone had heard that, they’d be on her in no time. She plucked an arrow off the ground. One with a deadly-looking broadhead on it. Her thundering heart filled with joy as she imagined plunging its sleek, silver, razor-sharp point into the flesh of the men pursuing her.

A shout came from nearby. Too close. Clutching the phone in one hand and the arrow in the other, Erica started moving again. Another bout of dizziness assailed her. The spikes driving into her head rose to a new level of pain. She had to keep going. Plunging into the forest seemed like an exercise in futility. What if it went on forever? They’d hear her. Be able to track her. She’d have no sense of direction. What if she walked for hours only to end up right back here? Could she walk for hours with the entire cast of Stomp giving the performance of a lifetime behind her eyes? Her gaze flitted to the shed again. They’d expect her to flee into the trees. That’s where they were already searching.

Hopefully they’d be gone long enough for her to make a call.

She sprinted toward the small structure. A cry of relief escaped her when the door opened with no resistance. Laboring for breath, she sealed herself inside. Hazy light filtered through a single, small, grime-covered window near the back. One-handed, she brought up the phone’s lock screen.

“Holy shit.”

Her own face stared back at her. There she was, blowing the camera a kiss. Holden had taken this stupid picture. Whenever they were together, he made sure it was on his home and lock screens. One time, he’d forgotten, and left a photo of the redhead on the display. Erica didn’t need a passcode to make an emergency call, but she entered his anyway. Within the first week of knowing him, she’d surreptitiously obtained it.

Deep down, she knew he was the guy they’d killed in front of her in their creepy little death room but this confirmed it.

The hours-old memory of his brain splattering across her face made her hands tremble. She stumbled forward, needing to sit, needing to breathe before she could call 911, and tripped over another body.