The Last Sister (Columbia River)(89)

“Stick to the woods!” she yelled after him.



Emily crawled around the swing set, wishing Tara had been more specific about where she dropped the gun. Harlan was now searching in the woods at the far end of the parking lot, cursing and yelling for Tara. Emily frantically brushed her hands over the wood chips, feeling very exposed and silently pleading for the gun to appear. Tara’s hiding place wasn’t too bad, but if he checked along the fence, he’d probably spot her.

Emily would defend her sister until the police arrived. And to do that she needed the gun. Dust from the decomposing wood chips blew in her eyes, and they watered, making her limited vision worse. She crawled back to a place she’d already searched, convinced she’d missed the weapon. Hurriedly, she checked again. No gun.

The pain in her head throbbed. What if Harlan picked it up?

She could be wasting her time.

A figure moved out of the woods, and she dropped to her stomach, holding her breath, her gaze glued to the shape. Harlan strode determinedly to the fence.

He gave up on the woods.

Panic made her stomach churn.

How can I stop him?

Searching around, she spotted the chain that intermittently clanked against a tetherball pole, its ball missing. She checked Harlan. His back was to her. She rose and dashed to the pole, her back hunched, praying he didn’t turn around.

Gripping the cold metal pole, she stretched, straining her arms, rising on tiptoe and reaching for the junction of the chain and pole, hoping it wasn’t a fused attachment. Her fingers found the end, and she blindly explored the final link. One side moved and she pressed it, opening the link, and then she unhooked it from the pole. Relief made her knees weak.

She clutched the chilled chain; it was no match for a gun.

But it was something.

Harlan reached the fence and followed it. He’d find Tara’s hiding spot in a few seconds.

Emily ran silently to the parking lot, her heart in her throat.



Zander took Madison’s advice and veered down the shoulder of the road and into the trees. It slowed him down. He could barely see where to put his feet and tripped a dozen times. The parking lot came into view and he stopped, searching for Harlan.

He must have heard the sirens. Where would he go?

Harlan had to know he was cornered. Dory had told Zander there was only one way in and out of the park.

Unless you went into the ocean.

Would Harlan react like a cornered animal with nothing to lose?

He had been dangerous to start with. Now he might be worse.

No one was in the parking lot. Dory had described green spaces with playground equipment along the wooded side of the lot and then steep ocean cliffs on the other side. He aimed for the ocean side, straining his vision to make out the fence Madison had mentioned.



Emily’s mind was blank, her gaze locked on Harlan’s silhouette as she ran. The cold chain tight in her hands. She had no plan, just determination. And fear.

Harlan stopped and leaned over the fence, his back to Emily.

He spotted Tara.

He said something, but he was facing the ocean, and the wind blew his words away.

Emily drew closer, her racing footsteps silent, and spotted the shape of a gun in his hand.

He stepped on the lower rail of the fence and swung one leg over, his weapon trained on the large boulder coming into Emily’s view. Tara’s rock.

He’ll see me when he lifts his other leg over the fence.

She was sprinting across the parking lot; there was nowhere to hide.

Instead of turning to face her, Harlan sat on the top rail, kept his gun aimed toward the rock, and awkwardly brought his second leg over. He jumped down, his focus on Tara.

His caution was Emily’s advantage.

She leaped to the middle rail, took one step to the top, and launched herself at Harlan’s back. The impact sent him forward, landing on his knees and falling to his chest. Tuning out his shouts, Emily scrambled and got her weight on a knee in the center of his back and wrapped the chain around his neck. Once and then twice.

His hand caught inside the loop at his neck, allowing some breathing room. He flailed his other arm, and his weapon fired twice. Emily’s ears rang, but she ignored the shots, focused on gathering a length of chain in each hand to increase the pressure around his neck. He thrashed, yanking on the chain at his neck and trying to throw her off his back. She pulled, leaning back, the chain too long between his neck and her hands. It was like riding a bucking horse.

Her knee slipped to one side, losing her point of pressure on his back, and he scrambled out from under her, one hand still stuck at his neck. On his hands and knees, he tried to turn to face her.

Noooo!

She hauled back on the chain, and he hacked and choked but swung his weapon backward and fired. A piercing pain bolted up her calf. She leaned back farther, practically on her back to keep the chain taut.

Tara scooted over and, from her position on the ground, kicked and shoved his legs and hips, screaming and effectively pushing his body toward the edge of the cliff.

She’ll hang him.

If I let go, he’ll fall to the rocks and ocean below. If I don’t let go, he’ll hang.

Hot fire burned in her lower leg. She couldn’t think.

One of Tara’s kicks knocked the gun from his hand, but not out of reach. Her foot hit the weapon again, causing it to skid away, and then she continued her barrage to push him off the edge.