Another crunch.
It sounded like it came from her right this time. And it was closer.
She could almost feel their merciless hands closing around her neck, tightening. Cutting off the airflow.
Think, Seyla!
She ran a hand over her face and neck to calm herself and confirm the hands weren't there.
The staff building stood to the left, a bright red embassy promising safety. If she made it there alive. Edging around the shelter, pressed against the wood, Seyla made her way toward it. The key dug into her palm, held there with a death grip. The wind whipped her body sideways, ripping the hat from her head and causing her to stumble. Her hair blew around her face and she pushed at it with desperate hands in an effort to see.
When she glanced over her shoulder, the figure reappeared. It came around the other side of the shelter, a hoodie pulled forward to obscure their face. A gust of wind hit, blowing the hoodie backward a fraction to reveal a hideous clown mask.
Seyla slapped a hand over her mouth, but not soon enough to cover the cry that flew from her lips.
The figure jerked its head to rivet the black, lifeless eyeholes of the mask on her.
Abandoning stealth, Seyla sprinted for the door. Her shoulder slammed into the wood frame. She fumbled to fit the key in the lock, too terrified to check behind her to discover how much closer they’d gotten. When the metal knob twisted, she shouldered it with all of her might and tumbled into the room, with one hand still hanging onto the cold, unyielding knob. Seyla spun around to shut it. Stark fear gutted her as the macabre clown figure approached.
It didn’t run.
It walked like it had all the time in the world to kill her.
Why was it so confident?
Had she walked into a trap?
After bolting the door and checking the window to ensure it was locked, Seyla ransacked the room in search of a weapon to use. A small gardening shovel was all she could find. She grabbed it and slid to the floor along the wall farthest from the door.
Waiting.
The door handle rattled. Her entire body froze. She tightened her grip on the gardening shovel until the pain surpassed the fear gripping her. With the other hand, she grabbed her opal necklace. The window rattled. Seyla crouched lower, wishing she could disappear into the floor.
Lord, I need you. Please stay with me, no matter what happens.
The edge of the shovel dug into Seyla’s chest. What was she going to do with it, stab them? Could she do that? Hurt a person like that? The idea seemed worlds apart from some self-defense moves. Stories she’d heard of people freezing with a gun in theirhand instead of defending themselves played across her mind. And shooting people wasn’t nearly as involved as stabbing them.
Would she hesitate? Freeze? Or fight for her life?
Her grip tightened on the shovel.Lord, give me the strength to survive this.
She froze, listening for any indication of where they’d attempt to get in next. A heavy, unbroken silence coated the air.
Where were they?
After five minutes, a fresh worry occurred to her. What would happen when Vanessa or Matt did show up? Would they get hurt? Because of her? Horrible images painted themselves across her mind in permanent ink.
She couldn’t let that happen.
Cramped muscles protesting, she raised her body up from the floor to a crouched position. After a few deep breaths, she padded to the window and eased onto her toes to peek out. A darkened face in a hoodie stared back at her.
/////
Two days.
Was she okay?Jax wondered. Of course she was. Was he? Apparently not.
According to Matt, Seyla had been spending most of her time at the sanctuary getting ready for those grant people to arrive, along with putting together the sanctuary’s booth for the county fair a few days from now. Uncle Sam had given permission for the fair to be held on his property, and with the sanctuary sharing a fence line, they likely considered it a great advertising opportunity.