The Running Girls(70)

She wasted no time, battling through the water and grabbing hold of the now damaged lamppost as, behind her, the SUV careered into the first-floor windows of a shop and was sucked within.

The bent lamppost was battered, but after some struggle afforded Laurie an unsteady perch. She managed to sit atop it, balanced precariously on the bent, bobbing metal, which threatened to give way at any second and throw her into the swirling water already nipping at her heels.

The monster hurricane was everywhere. Laurie watched the crazy patterns of the thundering rain with hypnotized horror as her body convulsed. Everywhere she looked there appeared to be something that would kill her, be it the wind, the swirling water, or the flying objects that kept shooting past her. From her new perch, she could see that the high school was on the next corner, less than a hundred yards away, but her strength was gone, and the surge seemed twice as strong as before. It now carried its own terrifying new soundtrack—an ungodly throbbing rumble that chilled her more than the water had. She tried to dig out her phone again, as if miracles could happen, but it hadn’t survived the last few minutes. How I’d love to take one last look through my photos, she thought, as the rumble deepened and its volume swelled.

What the hell? Laurie turned her head toward the sound . . .

And found a boat, just yards away. A powerful, rumbling speedboat, bucking the current and bearing three figures within it.

“No time to be hanging around,” came the bellowing voice of one of the figures, torn by the wind.

Not for the first time in the last few minutes, Laurie wondered if she was dreaming as she looked down at a speedboat containing two coastguardsmen and Lieutenant Filmore.

“What say we get the hell out of here?” said Filmore, as one of the guardsmen threw a lifesaver overboard and told Laurie to jump.





Chapter Forty-One


Laurie got a glimpse of her reflection, grimacing as she caught sight of the swelling on the side of her head. She’d spent the last thirty minutes in and out of consciousness as she’d taken the improbable boat ride down toward the high school, where she was currently lying in a makeshift emergency ward.

“Follow the light,” said the doctor tending her.

Laurie looked away from the mirror, focusing her eyes on the penlight, the pain in her head now a dull ache.

“Any nausea?”

“Not at the moment.”

“OK,” he said, sitting up straight and swiping his palm wearily over his face. “I want you to stay here for the next few hours. We’ll need to monitor you for a possible concussion.”

Laurie tried to push herself up but her arms felt insubstantial. “I need to be—”

“What you need to be doing is resting,” said the doctor. “Someone will check in on you every twenty minutes, but please, try to get some sleep.”

So disoriented had she been that Laurie hadn’t even noticed the IV drip in her arm. She couldn’t remember leaving the boat once they’d reached the school or what, if anything, she’d told Filmore. It didn’t matter. What she’d tell him now was that a killer was out on the loose somewhere, and she needed to find him.

She tried to get up again, her body feeling like it was floating above the bed. Maybe he’s here, she thought as her eyelids began to lower. What would happen then, she thought, before finally succumbing to sleep.



The smell of coffee roused her sometime later. She looked up from her position on the bed to see David holding a cup, his look a mixture of happiness and concern.

“Is that for me?” said Laurie, not recognizing the dry rasp of her own voice as David sat down next to her on the bed.

David placed his coffee down on the side table. “No, this is for you,” he said, handing her a cup of water.

She winced as she sipped the tepid liquid.

“Umm, good, huh?” he said.

Actually, it was. She felt herself perking up as the liquid passed down her throat. When she’d finished it, she pushed herself up and looked around at the small cubicle. “What time is it?”

“Ten-thirty p.m.”

“How long have I been out?”

“You’ve been sawing logs for about ten hours.”

“Jesus, how did you let this happen?” said Laurie, reaching for the tube stuck in her arm.

David lunged for her hand and held it. “Whoa, cowboy. What are you doing?”

“I need to talk to Warren,” she said, grabbing hold of David’s arm with her free hand.

“OK,” he said, “I can get him, but you need to see the doc first. You’ve had quite a time of it, Laurie.”

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that.”

Laurie matched her husband’s smile. “That might be so, but I need to speak to Warren now.”

David shook his head. “I don’t understand you sometimes.”

“This is about your dad, David.”

The lightness in David’s eyes died at the mention of his father. “I heard what happened to Maurice.”

“I’m not sure it was him, David,” she said, realizing as she spoke how absurd it sounded.

David frowned. “What? You don’t think Frank killed his brother?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not . . . I found some . . . evidence.” She couldn’t get into it all with him right now, certainly didn’t want to tell him about the letter just yet. “That’s why I need to talk to Warren.”