Page 93 of The Executioners Three
Doodle-loo doo, doodle-loo doo—
Freddie slammed down the Power button. Her mind had wiped clean, a state of pure terror broken only be the gunfire of her heartbeat.
She had no choice now. She had to make a run for it.
In a bolt of speed, her muscles taking over—flightdominatingover fight—Freddie pushed to her feet. She ran for the stairs, reaching them right as the door to the secret room swung wide. But Freddie didn’t look up, didn’t slow as she barreled down.
She hadmaybea three-second head start on whoever was back there, and she had to use those precious seconds well.
She yanked open the attic door and slammed it shut behind her. Four bounding steps and she reached the stairs. She flew down, two at a time, before reaching the landing.
The attic door slammed a second time. The house rattled.
No time,no time.
Freddie leaped across the living room, grabbing the edges of the couch, of an armchair, and using them to fling herself faster.
She hit the kitchen. And again, she grabbed the edges of furniture—but this time, to slow down her pursuer. One chair. Two. She knocked them over. They crashed sideways,maybebuying her one extra second.
She heard glass shatter. She didn’t look back to see if it was jam or something else.
Then she reached the back door, and thank god it wasn’t locked. She turned the knob—its cold brass scratched and worn—and her eyes caught on the yellow raincoat beside the door.
Freddie grabbed it, wrenched the door wide, and burst out into the frozen afternoon. Again, she yanked the door shut behind her. Then she ran, pulling on the raincoat.
Freddie didn’tthinkher pursuer had gotten a good view of her. She didn’tthinkshe’d been in their line of sight, and as long as she didn’t look back, then maybe this person would never see who she was.
She towed the hood in place and sped for the patio. Xena banged against her chest. Snow dusted everything now, lightening the amber and yellow trees—and meaning no matter which way Freddie ran, she left tracks.
She flung the gate wide and raced into the woods. She didn’t take the route she’d taken before, but instead cut right and crouched low enough that the fence blocked her from view.
Until the fence ended.
And behind her, she heard the door to Mrs. Ferris’s house crash shut. Her pursuer was on their way.
Freddie straightened and flat-out ran. Faster than she’d ever known she could run. Her camera thumped new bruises. Her breath came in panicked gasps.
She didn’t look back, even though she wanted to. Even though she wasdesperateto know who had been in that attic with her. Three houses streaked past. Two more fences. Then Freddie reached a street. If she cut right, she could loop down onto her own street, but that was too obvious. Right now, she just had to keep movingawayand get to someplace no one would look for her.
Freddie crossed the street. Hopped the curb. Cut over someone’s lawn and into a small strip of woods that would lead to downtown Berm.
When at last Freddie was tucked inside the trees, she risked a glance back. No one was there.
Freddie wasn’t stupid enough to slow, though. Her pursuer might simply be in a car now, preparing to cut her off ahead. Or maybe they’d taken a different route and would pop out from the other side of these houses.
She couldn’t stop. She couldn’t slow.
It wasn’t until Freddie reached the edge of downtown Berm, where a line of “antique” shops (aka junk shops) marked this corner of blocks, that she finally eased her pace. She could barely breathe. Her legs had turned to Jell-O.
With a whispered apology to Mrs. Ferris, Freddie ducked inside the first junk shop she found—All’s Sell That Ends Sell—and tore off the yellow raincoat. She hung it on a coat rack by the door, then dipped back into the evening.
The sun was almost gone behind the horizon now, and snow clotted thicker as Freddie hurried through downtown. She was careful to keep her pace casual, her hands dug into her pockets like she was cold but nottoocold. Like she always walked around Berm at sunset with a camera around her neck.
Jack-o’-lanterns leered at her. The fairy lights seemed to laugh.
By the time she reached the central block—where Mr. Binder’s shops all stood—the sun was setting. Freddie was shivering, but it was a vague, unimportant problem. One her mind hardly registered because it was clotted too thick with memories and theories and a constant play-by-play of what had just happened.
At a slender alley, Freddie cut left to circle behind the stores. A small parking lot served the city of Berm when the limited street parking could not. It was also where the back door to the Frame & Foto waited—and where Greg kept a spare key in a lockbox.
