You Only Die Twice - By Christopher Smith Page 0,45

that the fire soon would overcome, there was a loud snap and the ground shook. She knew what it was without looking. A thick branch weakened by the fire had fallen. More would fall.

This whole forest is going to fall. Because of me. What have I done?

In spite of the pain she felt from what he did to her earlier, and in spite of the weakness she felt from not having any food or water for so long, Cheryl Dunning did what her father would have done. She dug deep into her soul, she found the strength she needed to survive and she ran faster, hoping beyond hope that someone soon would see the fire, report it and then maybe, just maybe, she’d hear the sounds of sirens and would be able to move in their direction to find a place of safety.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“There’s a fire,” Patty Jennings said. “In Monson. Look.”

Along with Barbara Coleman, who asked her to stay the night with her and James “because we’ll worry terribly about you if you don’t,” Patty sat in a fresh pair of clothes on a generous-sized sofa and looked at the television across from her.

They were in the living room. The six o’clock news was on. In the center of the screen was an aerial shot of the portion of Monson that was burning.

“I don’t see any signs of the fire department,” Barbara said.

“Out there, it’s strictly volunteer. It might take a while.”

“A fire that size should attract the help of a few towns.”

“It probably will. But it’s so rural out there, even the surrounding towns that have fire departments are volunteer. What they need to do is get Bangor and Brewer out there before it really gets out of hand.”

“I hate fires,” Barbara said. “Especially forest fires. I always worry for the animals.”

“So do I.”

“There’s just a breeze here in Bangor, but there, it looks as if they’re having gusts of wind, which will only make the fire worse. And it’s dark now, which will make it harder to fight when the fire departments arrive.” She shook her head. “What a shame. Monson is a ghost town. How did a fire like that begin?”

Patty shrugged. “The only thing I can think of is that it’s hunting season. Somebody either took a shot and it created a spark, or they were smoking and didn’t put out their cigarette properly.”

“Don’t get me started on hunting season,” Barbara said. “I have no issue with hunting deer or moose or whatever if a family needs the meat to get through the winter. That just makes sense to me. So does thinning the herd, which is another service hunters offer. But sport hunting just so you can mount a dead head on a wall? That repels me. Who wants a glassy-eyed head mounted on their wall? Or a big fish stuffed to gills? I don’t get it.”

Patty smiled, but didn’t respond. The newscast cut to another story and she sat in something of a fog as she recalled her day. The emergency room visit. The judgmental look she caught from one of the nurses on duty while her vagina was swabbed. Taking her story downtown with James, where they continued their conversation with one of his detective friends. The humiliation of having to tell some stoney-faced detective that she left her friend behind to go home with a stranger who ultimately raped her―and then posted photos of her on a website, which she also shared with him.

At least his face is out there, she thought. At least they got the drawing right.

Earlier, when she first turned on the news, his face and the act he “presumably” committed were the lead story. People who were at The Grind the night before were asked to call the Bangor Police Department if they had any leads on who the man was, what he drove, and if he left with anybody.

So far, her name was kept out of it, but eventually it would break, and then people would know what she’d done. They’d say she deserved what she got, they’d say she was a horrible friend to Cheryl Dunning, and the fire that had smoldered for years about her personal life, skewed and ruined by her ex-boyfriend’s lies and malice, would burst into flames again, making the fire burning in Monson look small in comparison.

But could she blame them? She played straight into their hands. She became the person everyone thought she was.

What was I thinking?

If she thought