Page 4 of Sanctuary

Then I leave the room, moving quickly, pulling out my gun so I’ll be ready if Aidan makes an appearance.

He doesn’t. He must still be struggling to get his cart up the mountain in the mud.

Good. He deserves every obstacle he encounters.

Instead of going back down the road, where I know I’ll run into him, I find the head of that hiking trail and hurry down thatway instead. I look for hiding places along the way that will keep the supplies safe and out of sight, but there’s nothing that will work. So I have to descend all the way to where I left my cart.

I empty the bag into it and then start back up to the school again.

I’m exhausted and damp with perspiration by the time I reach the building a second time. There’s still no sign of Aidan. He must have really gotten stuck.

I race to the storage room again and fill my bag with unopened packs of notebook paper and construction paper, along with some child-size dictionaries and pencil sharpeners. As much as I can squeeze in and still get the bag zipped.

There are at least two more bagfuls of supplies available. More pens and pencils. More paper. And a small selection of textbooks. I’ll grab those on my next load.

I summon my strength and take a deep breath before hauling the heavy bag onto my shoulders again. Then I hurry down the hiking trail so fast I slide part of the way.

I’m so exhausted after I dump the second load of supplies in my cart that I have to sit down for a couple of minutes to steady myself.

This would be so much easier if I didn’t have to race through it to claim everything before Aidan. I hope the damned man sprains his ankle or runs over his foot with his own cart.

It doesn’t matter if they offered it to him first. The job is now mine.

Physical exhaustion requires me to move slower on the hike up the third time. I get a sick feeling in my gut as I enter the school again. I’m not sure how I sense it, but I’m not wrong.

When I reach the storage room, the shelves are entirely empty.

Everything remaining has been taken.

Aidan must have finally made it up the mountain.

I’m so outraged I smother an angry exclamation. He stole half my haul. And for no good reason.

Yes, he thought it should have been his, but he doesn’t need it. The payment can’t be very important to his livelihood.

He simply wants to win.

I have only a few choices available to me right now, but one of them fills my mind with a red-hot fog and compels my legs to move. I run down on the crumbling road, following the tracks of Aidan’s cart in the mud.

Halfway down, I discover one spot where he clearly got stuck for a while. The wheels gouged out deep crevices, and his footprints are scattered on all sides of them, displaying how he struggled to dig out the cart.

The markings in the mud give me only a small degree of vindication. He still managed to make it to the top and steal supplies right out from under me.

I keep running, finally catching a glimpse of his cart and a glint of the dark gold of his hair at the base of the mountain.

He’s about to turn onto the old highway where he’ll be able to make much better time.

I pull out my gun as I start running.

“Stop! Stop right there!” I try to sound as forceful and authoritative as I can. I’ve never been a pushover, and my voice is lower, kind of husky. But I’m brutally out of breath from all my exertion, so I’m not sure my loud demand is as intimidating as it’s supposed to be.

Aidan stops.

When he reaches for the gun at his hip, I pull my trigger. The bullet whizzes right past his ear.

“I missed on purpose,” I tell him. I’m usually a careful, thoughtful person, but I’m far too angry for nuanced strategy right now.

Aidan has half my supplies in his cart.

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