Instinct by Jason Hough (ebook reader web TXT) 📗

see he still has it. “Oh, yeah. Pretty much. I borrow a pickax from Geezer when I go out rock hunting.”

My exasperated sigh cuts off his words. He stands there, silent, as I glance around the workshop. “Nothing here actually works.”

His only response is a guilty shrug.

A silence begins to stretch, one I don’t have time for.

“Okay,” I say, thinking fast. “New plan. I need you to get that fake knife ready.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. But first, give me your shoes.”

Five minutes later I’m in the back of Damian’s shop, standing by the door, the soles of my boots dripping with his fake blood.

His sneakers hang around my neck, the laces tied together. In one hand I have a chisel about twelve inches long and made of stainless steel. In the other, the fake knife.

“Okay. Ready?”

“Are you sure this is a good—”

“Yes. Here goes,” I say. Then I turn and burst through the back door, sprinting hard.

Behind me, Damian hesitates a second, then slams the door closed. It’s perfect, I think. Just loud enough to draw attention from anyone in the alley, but not the rest of the town. I can only hope he follows my directions from there, sneaking upstairs and hiding out in one of the empty apartments above his shop.

Flashlight off, I race across the twenty feet of cement and gravel before crashing into the greenbelt, leaving a neat line of footprints in my wake. They make no sense, of course, but I don’t need them to. I just need my pursuers to take the bait.

A thunderous crack tears down the alley, and at the same moment the tree next to me shudders as a bullet slams into it.

Adrenaline flooding my veins, I crouch, turn back, and surge into the forest.

Shouts from the alley, toward the pub. The gangster with the southern drawl. No sounds of running feet yet, though.

Ferns crowd my path. I push them away, sprinting until I’m surrounded by trees. A low branch smacks into my wrist, causing me to drop the flashlight, but using it would only give me away, so I leave it. I go about a hundred feet farther before I stop, sit, and pull my boots off.

Someone’s running hard down the alley. Flashlight beams begin to play off the backs of the buildings, and then the trees around me. Shadows dance. More shouting. Barked orders.

Working fast, I pull Damian’s running shoes on and tie the laces as tight as I can. They’re a few sizes too big, but they’ll work.

I come to a crouch and throw my own boots as far as I can into the forest, toward the east. They crash into a bush somewhere in the darkness.

Someone back by the buildings calls out. A light focuses in the direction of my boots, followed by a second gunshot that rips through the foliage.

Perfect. Turning ninety degrees to my right, I jog while bent at the waist. A twig snaps under my foot, but I don’t stop. I can only hope no one heard it. The lights remain on that spot east of me, the footfalls still going that way.

After another hundred feet, I turn right again, working back toward the alley.

Several people are off in the forest now, searching the area where my boots landed. I have a minute, I think—maybe less—before the ruse is up.

The sound of gunshots and commotion has unleashed a flurry of activity from Main Street. Multiple people heading this way, rushing down the connecting alleys or through the buildings themselves. Flashlight beams swing erratically as they race toward their prey, egged on by the ever-present droning voice of Mrs. Conaty. “Kill the liar Mary Whittaker. Kill the liar Mary Whittaker!”

I expected a few of them to come.

From the sound of it, though, they’re all headed this way.

Time to make my move.

“Kyle, it’s me.”

“Mary? What the f—”

“Quiet. I don’t want to hurt you, so listen, and don’t fucking move.”

“Hold on, what—”

“Quiet. Did they inject you with something? Give you a pill?”

“No.”

“Force you to drink something?”

“No! I—”

“Bullshit. They told you to lie.”

“Just listen. They tied everyone up, forced us to drink some Granston Ale. But none of them knew how to tap a keg, so Doc had me do it while they were busy with the others. I poured my own from a different keg.”

“Just yours? Why not everyone’s?”

“That was my plan, but they were watching—at fucking gunpoint by the way—as I poured most of them.”

“Then what happened?”

“They made us all sit on the floor, on our hands, and watch a video on repeat. Mrs. F’ing Conaty, telling us—”

“Okay. And then?”

“They thought I was under their control. I snuck away when—”

“Keep your voice down. I believe you.”

“Mary, what the hell’s going on?”

“I’ll explain later. If there is a later. Right now I need you to get the hell out of here. Run and don’t look—”

“Your nose.”

“What?”

“What happened to your nose, Mary?”

“It’s a long story.”

“What happened to your fucking nose?”

“I tricked them! Like you did. I’m not with them. Okay? Okay?! I’ll tell you everything later, I promise. Now get the hell out of here. Get off the mountain. Far as you can.”

“Like hell I will. You need help.”

“I… what?”

“Remember? You need help, Mary.”

“Fuck. I forgot again.”

“Is that related to all this?”

“Yeah… Yeah it is. I’ll explain that later, too. You’re right, though, I do need help.”

“I’m not sure I like that look in your eye.”

“Just had an idea. Maybe there is something you can do for me.”

“Anything.”

“First, your gun safe. The Luger still inside?”

“Yeah.”

“I need the combination.”

“I’ll just open it for you. Come on, let’s go up there. We can hide out—”

“No, Kyle. Hiding isn’t going to work now. Give me the combination. There’s something else I need you to do. Does your Jeep—”

“If you’re going to tell me to run, to go get help in Granston, forget it. I’m staying with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You need help.”

“And you are going to get