Stone Cross (Arliss Cutter #2) - Marc Cameron Page 0,124

piece of wood enough times to know it took time to pull it free, not to mention more grip strength.

She found herself wondering about targets. A blow to Rick’s head would certainly kill him, though maybe not right away. And the skull was hollow. Would the blade lodge in there too tight for her to retrieve? That would leave her a sitting duck for Morgan, who would probably just take out his pistol and shoot her while she tried to wrench the axe out of Rick Halcomb’s brain. Soft tissue would be better—like a young willow branch—but you needed a sharp axe for that, and this one didn’t look like it had seen a stone in a while. Morgan was squatting next to the open stove again, staring at it like it was TV or something. His neck tilted to one side slightly, offering a tempting target. If it was sharp enough, maybe she could just take off his entire head . . . She pictured it—or what she imagined it would be like. Surely cutting off someone’s head wouldn’t be liberating, but in her mind, it was all of that and more.

She glanced sideways now, measuring the distance to the axe. She looked at Rick, who stood glued to the frosted window, then Morgan. Maybe she should kill Morgan first. They wouldn’t expect that. The high side of that, she thought coldly, was that Rick would just kill her if she wasn’t able to get him too. Morgan would eventually kill her if he was left alive, but not for a while. He had other plans. She could see it now in his eyes every time he looked at her. He was probably imagining them now. Drawing out his pleasure by pondering on what he would do, while he looked at the fire.

Sarah gave an involuntary nod, sending more pain down her neck. She squeezed the blanket tighter in her fist. No, she would take Morgan first. Dying was far from the worst thing there was. All she had to do was look at David to know the truth of that.

Another gust of wind hit hard, feeling like it was about to tear the roof off. A flurry of sparks blew out the open door of the stove. It happened every time the wind gusted, and Morgan stomped out any embers that hit the floor. Rick glanced over his shoulder, almost caught her looking at the axe. Then both men resumed their vigils of fire and ice.

Another gust rattled the window.

Sarah released the corner of the blanket, using the palm of her hand to smooth it flat against the bunk.

Rick scratched more frost off the glass.

“I think she’s here,” he said, leaning close enough to touch the windowpane with his nose.

A dog yipped outside, setting Sarah on edge. Donna was coming. She had to move now.

Sarah rolled off the bed as soon as both men’s attention was focused on the door. Morgan was still squatting by the fire, groaning, putting both hands on his knees to stand the way he always did. Brimming with relief and excitement, Rick put a hand on the doorknob, ready to go greet his wife.

He was closer. She’d have to hit him first.

Sarah swung the little axe with everything she had at the same moment he turned to give some last bit of instruction. The blade hit him just below the nose, stopping his words as it cut downward, bisecting his chin and then opening his windpipe from top to bottom before severing his jugular.

Her legs were wooden from sitting for so long, and she stumbled, carried away with the ferocity of the swing, burying the blade in the side of the wooden bed.

Rick Halcomb slumped to his knees, croaking in dismay, hand clutching his throat. Sarah turned away as he fell, struggling to free the axe.

Morgan Kilgore was on her in an instant.

“You little shit!”

He grabbed her by the hair and heaved her backward, away from the axe. Flailing, she slipped on the growing puddle of Rick’s blood and fell face-first against the logs. Morgan left the axe where it was, hopelessly lodged in the wood, and turned to check on Rick. He cradled the dying man’s head in his lap, looking up every few seconds at Sarah to make sure she didn’t move. It was impossible to stanch the massive flow of blood. The axe had done its job too well. Rick Halcomb could not have survived if he’d fallen directly onto