The Good Daughter (The Good Daughter #1) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,77

the air, almost somersaulting like the fork had, into the gaping mouth of the grave.

Thunk.

Charlie stared at the open earth, waiting, begging, praying, for Sam to sit up, to look around, to say something, anything, that indicated that she was alive.

“Shit,” Bon Jovi said. “Christ. Jesus Christ.” He dropped the gun like it was poison.

Charlie saw the glint of metal from the weapon as it hit the ground. The flash of shock on Bon Jovi’s face. The sudden white of Zach’s teeth when he grinned.

At Charlie.

He was grinning at Charlie.

She scrambled away, crab-like, on her hands and heels.

Zach started toward her, but Bon Jovi grabbed his shirt. “What the fuck are we going to do?”

Charlie’s back hit a tree. She pushed herself up. Her knees shook. Her hands shook. Her whole body was shaking. She looked at the grave. Her sister was in a grave. Sam had been shot in the head. Charlie couldn’t see her, didn’t know if she was alive or dead or needed help or—

“It’s okay, sweetpea,” Zach told Charlie. “Stay right there for me.”

“I j-just—” Bon Jovi stuttered. “I just killed … I just …”

Killed.

He couldn’t have killed Sam. The bullet from the gun was small, not like the shotgun. Maybe it hadn’t really hurt her. Maybe Sam was okay, hiding in the grave, ready to spring up and run.

But she wasn’t springing up. She wasn’t moving, or talking, or shouting, or bossing everybody around.

Charlie needed her sister to speak, to tell her what to do. What would Sam say right now? What would she tell Charlie to do?

Zach said, “You cover this bitch up. Lemme take the little one off for a minute.”

“Christ.”

Sam wouldn’t be talking right now, she would be yelling, furious at Charlie for just standing there, for blowing this chance, for not doing what Sam had coached her to do.

Don’t look back … trust me to be there … keep your head down and—

Charlie ran.

Her arms flailed. Her feet struggled for purchase. Tree limbs slashed at her face. She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs felt like needles were stabbing into her chest.

Breathe through it. Slow and steady. Wait for the pain to pass.

They used to be best friends. They used to do everything together. And then Sam had gone to high school and Charlie had been left behind, and the only way she could get her sister’s attention was to ask Sam to teach her how to run.

Don’t hold the tension. Breathe in for two strides. Breathe out for one.

Charlie hated every part of running because it was stupid and it hurt and it made you sore, but she had wanted to spend time with Sam, to do something that her sister was doing, to maybe be better at it one day than Sam was, so Charlie went to the track with her sister, she joined the team at school, and she timed herself every day because every day, she was getting faster.

“Get back here!” Zach yelled.

Two miles to the second farmhouse. Twelve, maybe thirteen minutes. Charlie couldn’t run faster than a boy, but she could run for longer. She had the stamina, the training. She knew how to ignore the pain in her body. To breathe into the shock in her lungs when the air sliced like a razor.

What she had never trained for was the panic from hearing the heavy tread of boots pounding dirt behind her, the way the thud-thud-thud vibrated inside of her chest.

Zachariah Culpepper was coming after her.

Charlie ran faster. She tucked her arms into her sides. She forced out the tension in her shoulders. She imagined her legs were pistons in a fast-working machine. She tuned out the pine cones and sharp rocks gouging open her bare feet. She thought about the muscles that were helping her move—

Calves, quads, hamstrings, tighten your core, protect your back.

Zachariah was getting closer. She could hear him like a steam engine bearing down.

Charlie vaulted over a fallen tree. She scanned left, then right, knowing she shouldn’t run in a straight line. She needed to locate the weather tower, to make sure she was heading in the correct direction, but she knew if she looked back she would see Zachariah Culpepper, and that seeing him would make her panic even more, and if she panicked even more, she would stumble, and if she stumbled, she would fall.

And then he would rape her.

Charlie veered right, her toes gripping the dirt as she altered direction. At the last minute, she saw another fallen tree.