Sanctuary (17 page)

This time there was no warning. The second man fired a shot; the bullet skimmed the pavement near the driver's door. Meredith jumped at the report. In an instant, her fears swam to the surface: Tim would be shot, and they'd be discovered, dragged out, and killed. Dan was already dead. Something must've happened. Why else wasn't he here?
 

Don't think that way, Meredith
.
 

She lifted her rifle toward the window, considering her options, each more suicidal than the last. She couldn't let these men kill Tim. But the need to protect Quinn kept her grounded.

She watched as Tim opened the driver's door.
 

"Are you armed?" the fat man demanded.
 

"I have a pistol," Tim said.
 

Dan's
.

"Throw it on the pavement. Step out slowly."

Tim complied, the clatter of the weapon like the final, resigned act of a condemned man. He stepped out of the vehicle, hands raised. Then he stepped away from the car. Meredith noticed his leg was bleeding. The armed men closed in on him. The man in the black T-shirt trained his gun on Tim while the other moved in to frisk him. After patting him down, the fat man guarded him while the other searched the vehicle.

"Nice ride," he remarked with a sneer. "Where'd you get it?"

"I found it in someone's garage," Tim answered.
 

Tim's demeanor was surprisingly calm. Meredith doubted she'd be able to hold it together as well. Especially when he was already wounded. The man in the black T-shirt ducked inside the car, rifling through the interior. Meredith glanced over at Quinn, who was awaiting instruction. They'd already gotten a head start on the barricade; the back door was almost unblocked.

We should get out of here.

The thought hit her with such force that she started to stand. She should take Quinn and go out the back door, make a run for it…maybe they could get away. But they couldn't leave Tim. Could they?

Commotion drew her attention back to the window.
 

When she peered back outside, she was shocked to see Tim holding the gun to the fat man's head. Somehow, he'd taken control. The man in the black T-shirt was at the door of Tim's vehicle, aiming his weapon at Tim.
 

"Drop it! Now!" Tim shouted.
 

The man in the black T-shirt's face went slack, as if he was considering his options. He set the gun on the asphalt.
 

"Kick it over!" Tim screamed.
 

The man did as he was told. Somehow—
miraculously
—the situation had reversed. Meredith sighed in relief, but it wasn't enough to settle her nerves.

"What's going on, Aunt Meredith?" Quinn whispered from across the room.

"Nothing, honey. Stay where you are. Things are going to be okay. We're going to get out of here soon."

Hopefully Tim could defuse the situation. She'd wait until things were safe, then collect Quinn and go out to meet him. They'd find out what happened to Dan and they'd…

An explosion rang out as Tim fired at the fat man's head. Blood sprayed from the side of the man's skull, and the dropped to the ground in a heap. Tim fired at the man in the dark T-shirt, connecting with his shoulder, sending him reeling back into the open car. Then Tim sprung, pulling the man out and disarming him. He slammed the man into the side of the car.
 

The man cried out in pain, his black T-shirt wet with blood.

"You son of a bitch! You think you can come in here and take what's mine?" Tim screamed. He glanced at the front door of the house. It looked like he'd noticed it was open. "They were mine! You hear me? You had no right!"

He pistol-whipped the man. The man's head ricocheted against the car. Blood sprayed from the corners of the man's mouth.

"You've fucked everything up!"

Tim whipped the man again, then again, each blow harder than the last, his anger intensifying. He shrieked in rage, as if the man might answer him, but the man was already non-responsive, his face caved in a crimson mask. He was probably already dead. Meredith clasped her hand over her mouth, stifling her terror.

After several more blows, Tim released the man and he slid to the pavement. His legs folded as he fell. He hit the ground with a dull
thud
. He didn't move.

Tim stood in place for a minute, still holding the gun.
 

Then he turned toward the house.

His face was a twisted mess of rage and insanity. The man she was looking at bore little resemblance to the man they'd traveled with, but she could tell it was the
true
man, the one who had lurked there all along. In an instant, everything became clear.
 

Tim had killed Dan. And he was coming for them next.

Meredith let go of the shade. Tim was coming, and he'd find them. It was too late to flee. The front door was open, and he was walking inside.

She raced across the room and shut the bedroom door. It clicked into place. She fumbled for the handle, locking it. Ernie had wriggled free from Quinn's grasp and out into the bedroom, barking uncontrollably. His feet slid across the hardwood. There was no time to silence him.

"Quinn! Help me with the bureau!"

The little girl emerged from the closet and ran to assist her. The bureau was on the same wall as the door, and it ground against the floor as they pushed it over.

"Meredith? Quinn?" Tim yelled.

He sounded surprised, as if he'd already counted them dead. She heard his accelerated breathing in the living room, the creak of his boots on the floor. Meredith ushered Quinn back to the closet, watching her slip inside. Then she darted behind the bed and aimed the rifle at the door. She prayed Tim would leave, that this nightmare would end. But she knew it wouldn't. The only thing between her and the unhinged man was a door and a bureau.
 

"Where are you?" he called again, his voice cracked.

She pictured the dead man's blood-ridden face outside and swallowed the urge to be sick.
 

She heard the creak of hardwood as he checked the ground floor. Feet hit the stairs. Ernie barked violently, as if his vocal cords were enough to ward the man off. The footsteps stopped outside the bedroom.

The door rattled.
 

Finding it locked, Tim roared in anger. Meredith stared at the thin door, envisioning the man on the other side—not the man who'd shared the journey with them, but the man who'd slaughtered the men in the street. It was as if Tim had transformed into another person, some bizarre version of the infected. But she knew his behavior wasn't the result of any virus.
 

He was sick, but in a different way.

"Open the damn door!" he screamed, his control depleted.

She contemplated firing at the door, but was terrified to waste her bullets. Without a clear shot, she'd be expending her ammunition needlessly.
Maybe he'll go away
…
maybe he'll leave us alone…

As slim as the hope was, she held onto it.

The man pounded again. Meredith stared at the barricaded door, as if the man would suddenly break through the center, his face bloodstained and maddened. But the door remained intact. Outside, Meredith heard the whip of the wind, the chatter of insects. When she concentrated, she heard Quinn's nervous breathing from the closet. More than anything, she wanted to comfort the little girl, to assure her things were all right. But they weren't.
 

Dan was dead. Tim must've killed him.

Meredith couldn't process that right now. She needed all her concentration to get them out of the situation. Even if the barricade staved off the raving man for a while, he'd find his way in, and then only time and bullets would determine who lived and who died. She stared at the rifle in her hands. Only four shots left. No spare ammunition. Tim had the pistol, at least, and probably the rifles from the men he'd killed outside.
 

For several minutes, silence prevailed. Then the footsteps retreated. Meredith tried to pinpoint Tim's location, but she couldn't determine where he'd gone. She pictured the two cars out in the road—the one Tim had arrived in, and the one the men had driven. For a split second, she fantasized about running to the window, throwing it open, and jumping. But that wouldn't work.
 

They were on the second floor. They'd be more apt to break a leg than get to safety.

Meredith detected the man's footsteps again. Tim was in the next room—the master bedroom he'd slept in. Meredith scrambled to the foot of the bed so that it was between her and the wall to the next room. She pictured the man firing through the wall, striking her with a bullet.

Instead, he knocked.
 

One rap. Then two.
 

As if to taunt her. As if it were a game, and not three people embroiled in a struggle for their lives. Meredith gritted her teeth. If only she had a clear shot...if she knew how thick the wall was...

She wanted nothing more than to shoot the bastard.

The man knocked again. This time he was at the bedroom door again. Meredith startled. She hadn't even heard him make his way back down the hall. She dove to the other side of the bed, taking cover.

"Meredith? Quinn? I know you're in there."

Meredith didn't answer.

"I know you saw me outside. I want to explain myself."

Meredith resisted the urge to reply. Anything she said would give away her location, allowing the man to home in on her. She was already cornered and trapped, confined in a bedroom that felt more like a tomb than a safe haven.
But it could be worse. I could be out there, beaten and shot like those men…

Something crashed against the bedroom door, and it wobbled. Tim was either throwing himself against it, or hitting it with an object. She kept her finger on the trigger, ready to fire at the sight of him.

"Stay back!" she yelled reflexively, breaking the silence.
 

"I know you saw what I did to those men. I lost it, Meredith. They were going to kill you and Quinn. With the front door open, I thought they already had. I was angry."

Meredith ignored him. The man's words were meaningless; she'd already seen what he did. She'd heard his words. She hunkered behind the bed, her rifle tight in her grip.

"Where's Dan?" she called, trying to hide the quiver in her voice.

The hallway went silent for a second. "He's coming. He found another vehicle. He's a few minutes behind me. Open up and we'll talk about it."

"I don't believe you."

"He said he's going to take us to Abbotsville."

"Where is he?!" Meredith shouted, her rage overtaking her fear.
 

Tim stifled laughter. "He's dead, Meredith. I beat his face into a pulp, just like I did to the men outside. And then I shot him."

Meredith closed her eyes. The door rattled. Tim laughed.

"You son of a bitch," Meredith hissed. She kept the rifle pointed at the door, ignoring the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

Five excruciating minutes passed.
 

In that time, Meredith heard Tim pacing the house, walking from one room to the next. Every once in a while, he'd smash something, displaying his anger that they wouldn't open up. She held her position next to the bed. Quinn cried softly in the closet. Each one of the girl's muffled sobs was like a needle to her heart. Quinn had heard everything. She knew her father was dead, and there was no way Meredith could comfort her.
 

Not without compromising their safety.

Meredith shook with anger. She wanted nothing more than to break down the door and find Tim, to end his life for what he'd done. Instead, she was forced to wait for the moment when he'd break down the door. As soon as he came into view, she'd shoot him. There was no question in her mind.
 

But what if she missed? She couldn't entertain the possibility. She couldn't fail. Soon, he'd come through the door, and she'd be ready. She both desired that moment and feared it, and the longer she waited, the more restless she became.

The footsteps returned. Tim was in the hallway again.

"Do I hear crying in there, Meredith?" Tim called through the door. "Are you upset about Dan?"
 

The sound of Tim speaking Dan's name felt sacrilegious, disgusting. He'd beaten and shot him as if the man was nothing more than a piece of garbage. He shouldn't be allowed to say the man's name. He had no
right
.

She clenched her teeth, refusing to respond. She tried to determine his location. It sounded like he was a few feet to the right of the door.

"I'm sorry I killed your father, Quinn."

The little girl sniffled.

Keep talking, asshole.

Meredith aimed at the wall, using the sound of Tim's voice to determine where he was standing. If Tim wouldn't make the first move, she'd do it herself. She clenched the trigger, preparing to fire.