Page 110 of Only the Devil

There’s no place to hide.

I spot a door on the back wall.

And charge for it.

Sparks fly at the same time a gun fires.

He missed.

There’s no cover between me and the door, so I dive under the belly of a second plane.

“Daisy. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Maybe you should’ve tried that before you shot at me.”

“Fair point.”

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, not that I care, but hoping for distraction, to buy time to figure out where I should go. Where’s Jake?

“It’s a job,” Thompson says. “Supposed to be an easy job. Nothing’s ever easy. Guess there’s a reason for the saying.”

Slinking back, I scan the ground, trying to get my bearings.

A strong hand touches my arm—I scream. In my periphery, I see a shape of a man–not Jake–and I run.

Straight for the door. My hand reaches the metal knob, and I twist.

It turns. I fling the door open.

Run.

As fast as I can. Sprinting to the edge of the woods.

Gun fire sounds behind me.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Run.

To the woods.

Pitch black.

Crickets chirp.

The lights on the hangar click off.

Oh no.

My eyes burn.

Jake.

He wouldn’t let this happen.

He must be hurt.

This is my fault.