Chapter 16: The Chase: Into the Woods
Rain lashed Jace’s face like frozen needles. Mud sucked at his boots, threatening to spill him and Kate into the sodden undergrowth with every staggering step. Her weight, slight as it was, felt like lead against his chest, a furnace radiating through his soaked shirt despite the icy deluge. Her head lolled against his collarbone, her breath shallow and wet against his neck. Each gasp hitched, scraping raw in her damaged throat.
Hold on. Just hold on.
The shotgun blasts from the cabin had faded, swallowed whole by the storm’s howl and the dense curtain of rain. That answering roar – inhuman, guttural, vibrating with pure hate – still echoed in his skull. It hadn’t sounded like death. It sounded like fury unleashed.
He stumbled, his bad shoulder screaming as he fought to keep Kate from slipping. A jagged bolt of lightning ripped the sky, bleaching the world monochrome for a terrifying instant. Towering pines became skeletal giants, clawing at the bruised clouds. Dripping ferns looked like grasping hands. The thunderclap that followed was a physical blow, shaking the ground beneath his feet.
Behind them, closer than he’d hoped, came the sound. Not footsteps. A heavy, wet dragging. A rhythmic thump-scrape… thump-scrape through the mud and fallen branches. Slow. Deliberate. Relentless. It cut through the storm’s white noise like a knife.
"Jace..." Kate murmured against his skin, her voice thick with fever and terror. Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused, reflecting the fleeting lightning. "He's... in the trees. The fire... didn't take him...?" A shudder racked her body, violent enough to make Jace grunt with the effort of holding her. Her fingers weakly clutched the fabric of his shirt. "Smell him... gasoline... rot..."
He didn't answer. Couldn't. Breath burned in his lungs. His shoulder felt like molten glass grinding with every jarring step. The dragging sound grew louder. Thump-scrape. Closer. He veered sharply left, plunging deeper into a thicket of dripping spruce, the dense branches whipping at his face, snagging on Kate’s blanket. He needed cover. Distance. Anything.
"He wanted... my stars..." Kate whispered deliriously, her trembling hand fluttering weakly towards her inner arm, where the small constellation tattoo lay hidden under soaked bandages. "Said they were... dirty. Like me." A choked sob escaped her. "Always dirty..."
Her words, fragmented by fever and pain, punched through Jace’s adrenaline haze. The killer’s words back at the boathouse surfaced, vile and sharp: "Filthy little slut. Think your ink makes you special?" It wasn't just murder. It was annihilation. Erasure. Kate’s art, her tattoos, her very self – targets for his deranged hatred.
The dragging sound stopped abruptly. Silence, thick and suffocating, pressed in, broken only by the drumming rain and Kate’s ragged breathing. Jace froze, straining to hear past the hammering of his own heart. Had he lost it? Doubtful. It was listening. Hunting.
A low, guttural growl vibrated through the wet air, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere. Not human. Not animal. Something broken. Then, the dragging resumed. Faster now. Thump-scrape-thump-scrape. Coming straight for the thicket.
Panic, cold and sharp, sliced through Jace’s exhaustion. He couldn't run much further carrying her. Couldn't fight effectively with one arm. Couldn't leave her. Lightning flashed again, illuminating a jagged outcrop of dark rock twenty yards ahead, partially shrouded by a curtain of cascading rainwater and thick ferns. A potential overhang? Shelter? Trap?
No choice. He lurched forward, legs burning, ignoring the agony in his shoulder, the drag of the mud. The dragging sound closed in behind them, a horrifying metronome marking their dwindling lead. Branches snapped loudly under something heavy and determined.
He reached the rock face. It wasn't a cave, but a deep, narrow cleft eroded into the base of the outcrop, barely wider than his shoulders. Ferns hung thickly over the entrance like a sodden green curtain. Inside, it was dark, smelling of damp stone and wet earth. Just deep enough to offer cover from direct sight.
He shoved through the ferns, stumbling into the shallow recess. It was cramped, barely enough room to crouch. He lowered Kate as gently as he could onto the relatively dry stone floor beneath the overhang. She whimpered, curling instinctively onto her less injured side, her face deathly pale except for the feverish flush high on her cheeks. Her eyes rolled back, showing white.
The dragging sound stopped right outside the fern curtain. Heavy, wet breathing filled the small space between the storm’s roar and Jace’s own frantic pulse. He could smell it now, overpowering the wet earth: burnt meat, gasoline, and the cloying sweetness of infection. The same rot he’d seen weeping from Kate’s bandage, magnified a thousand times.
Jace pressed himself flat against the cold rock wall beside the entrance, his good hand scrabbling silently in the mud at his feet. His fingers closed around a heavy, water-slick stone, rough and jagged. A pathetic weapon against buckshot and madness. But it was all he had.
The ferns rustled violently. A blackened, blistered hand, strips of charred skin hanging loose, shoved through the greenery. Fingers, cracked and weeping, curled around the dripping fronds, wrenching them aside.
Lightning flashed, searing the scene into stark relief. The killer filled the narrow entrance. Rainwater streamed down the ruin of his face, pooling in the hollows of exposed cheekbone, washing ash and pus from the weeping socket where his eye had been. His remaining eye, bloodshot and insane, scanned the dark cleft, fixing instantly on Kate’s huddled form. His blistered lips peeled back from broken teeth in a silent snarl of triumph.
He took a heavy, dragging step forward into the shallow cave, blocking the light. The stench of decay rolled off him in waves. The shotgun was gone. Perhaps Henry had managed that much. But the raw, animal hatred radiating from the ruined man was weapon enough. He raised a hand, not towards Kate, but towards Jace pressed against the wall. A gesture of dismissal. Of possession.
"Mine," the ruin gurgled, the word thick with fluid and malice. His single eye burned into Jace’s. "You’re… next."
Jace tightened his grip on the cold, wet stone. The cave walls pressed in. Kate’s shallow breaths were the only counterpoint to the killer’s wet, rattling inhale. There was nowhere left to run. The storm screamed outside. The dripping water inside the cave sounded like a countdown. He met the killer’s gaze, the jagged rock heavy in his hand, the taste of mud and fear sharp on his tongue. The next move was his. And it would be ugly.
The jagged stone felt impossibly heavy in Jace’s slick hand, cold and rough against his palm. Rainwater streamed down the killer’s ruined face, dripping from the exposed curve of his jawbone and pooling in the hollow where his eye should be. His single, bloodshot orb remained locked on Kate’s trembling form, a predator claiming its wounded prey. That wet, guttural mine hung in the damp air between them, thick with rot and malice.
Adrenaline screamed through Jace, a high-pitched whine beneath the storm’s roar and Kate’s shallow, fear-scraped breaths. He saw the killer shift his weight, readying to lunge past him towards her. No time for thought, only instinct forged in darker alleys than this forest. Jace didn't swing the rock. He shoved it forward like a clumsy piston, straight into the man’s already ravaged midsection.
It connected with a sickening, wet crunch. The killer doubled over, a choked gasp escaping his blistered lips, reeking of gasoline and decay. Not dead, but staggered. Jace seized the moment. He rammed his good shoulder into the man’s chest, driving him backwards out of the cleft’s narrow mouth. They stumbled together into the lashing rain and deep mud beside the rock face. The killer’s ruined hand flailed, clawing at Jace’s injured shoulder. Agony erupted, white-hot, tearing through muscle and the careful stitches Henry had placed.
Jace roared, more animal than man, the sound ripped raw from his throat. He used the momentum, the sheer desperation, to push harder. The killer’s boots slipped in the treacherous mud. He went down with a heavy splash, landing flat on his back in the churned mire. Jace stumbled back, gasping, clutching his screaming shoulder. Blood, warm against the freezing rain, seeped through his torn shirt. The jagged stone lay discarded in the mud.
"Kate!" Jace rasped, spinning back towards the cleft, ignoring the ruined thing struggling to rise behind him. He needed her out, needed to run now. He ducked back into the shallow shelter. She lay curled tight, her eyes wide with fever-glazed terror, fixed on the rainy opening. Her whole body vibrated with shivers despite the unnatural heat radiating from her.
"Jace...?" Her voice was a threadbare whisper.
"Up. Now." His own voice was gravel, harsh with pain and urgency. He slid his good arm beneath her shoulders again, biting back a groan as he lifted her. Her small sound of pain cut deeper than the wound in his shoulder. She felt lighter, fragile as old bone. "Gotta move. He's down, not out."
He hauled her out of the cleft just as the killer heaved himself onto his hands and knees in the mud, coughing violently, dark fluid spattering the ground. The ruined face lifted, rain washing grime and pus down its ravaged planes. That single eye found Jace again, burning with renewed, feral hatred. He snarled, a wet, guttural sound, and began pushing himself up. Slowly. Relentlessly.
Jace didn't wait. He turned and staggered deeper into the woods, away from the rock face, away from the thing rising from the mud. Every step jolted Kate, sent fresh waves of agony through his shoulder. The storm’s fury was a wall they pushed against, the trees swaying wildly overhead, branches whipping like angry limbs.
"Where...?" Kate managed, her head lolling against him. Her skin burned against his rain-chilled neck. "He's... he's still..."
"Not for long," Jace gritted out, scanning the chaotic darkness ahead. He saw nothing but more trees, more rain, more night. Panic threatened to close his throat. No shelter. No weapon. Kate fading in his arms. The killer’s dragging, determined footsteps began again, a grim percussion behind them. Thump-scrape. Thump-scrape.
He spotted it then: a massive, lightning-blasted oak, its enormous trunk split and hollowed by age and fire. The opening was low, black, barely visible behind a curtain of dripping ivy and thorny vines. It looked like the maw of some forgotten creature. Better than nothing. Better than the open woods with that thing gaining.
He veered towards it, plunging through the clinging vines, ignoring the thorns tearing at his clothes. The hollow inside smelled of damp rot and ancient woodsmoke. It was cramped, barely taller than kneeling height, but deep enough to offer concealment. He lowered Kate into the driest corner, the blackened wood scraping against her blanket. She immediately curled tighter, her breath hitching with pain and fever.
"Stay quiet," he whispered, his voice rough. He pressed himself against the rough, charred wood near the entrance, peering out through the tangle of vines. Rain sheeted down, obscuring the woods beyond. He couldn't see the killer yet, but he could still hear the dragging steps. Closer. Thump-scrape. Searching.
Kate’s trembling hand found his leg in the dark. Her fingers were like hot coals. "Jace... I'm so cold... inside." Her teeth chattered violently despite the furnace heat of her skin. "Like... drowning... all over again."
The raw fear in her voice, the echo of the boathouse, cracked something open in him. He looked down at her shadowed form, the desperation in her fever-bright eyes. The relentless dragging sound outside, the tightening trap of the storm, the smell of her infected wound mixing with the scent of decay trailing their hunter – it all coalesced into a suffocating pressure.
He knelt beside her, the movement sending fresh fire through his shoulder. He covered her trembling hand with his own, slick with rain and blood. "Listen to me," he said, his voice low, urgent, forcing a steadiness he didn't feel. "That thing out there… it’s not the first monster I've run from." He took a shaky breath, the admission scraping like broken glass. "Years ago... got mixed up with people who collected debts. Not money. Favors. Dark ones."
Kate’s eyes, wide and glazed, focused on him with a flicker of surprise. Outside, the dragging sound paused. Listening?
"Made a mistake," Jace continued, the words tumbling out, driven by the shared terror and the need to anchor her, anchor himself. "Crossed someone I shouldn't have. Ended up... tied to a chair in a basement that smelled like wet concrete and piss." He tapped the jagged scar snaking from his temple down his neck, barely visible in the gloom. "This? That's where I learned bone fractures under pressure. Learned what real fear tastes like." He glanced towards the entrance, every nerve screaming. "Got out. Barely. Ran. Changed my name, changed my face, changed everything." He squeezed her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "Thought I was done hiding."
The dragging footsteps resumed. Louder now. Deliberately closer. Thump-scrape. Right outside the thicket of vines hiding the hollow. Jace tensed, every muscle coiling. He felt Kate’s grip tighten convulsively on his hand.
The vines rustled violently. A blackened, blistered hand pushed through, tearing aside the dripping foliage.
The blackened, blistered hand tore through the dripping vines like rotten cloth. Rainwater streamed off charred skin stretched taut over knuckles. The killer’s ruined face filled the hollow tree’s jagged opening, that single, hate-filled eye scanning the cramped darkness, finding Kate instantly.
"Got you," he gurgled, the sound thick with fluid and triumph. He lunged forward, his movements jerky but terrifyingly strong. Jace threw himself sideways, blocking the path to Kate, his torn shoulder screaming. He slammed his good forearm against the killer’s throat, feeling the grotesque slide of burnt flesh beneath wet fabric.
The killer snarled, a wet, animal sound. His blistered hand clamped onto Jace’s injured shoulder, fingers digging into the torn muscle where Henry’s stitches had ripped. Agony exploded behind Jace’s eyes, white-hot and blinding. He cried out, his grip faltering. The stench of gasoline and decay flooded the hollow, choking.
"Jace!" Kate’s scream was raw terror. She scrambled backwards, pressing against the charred wood wall, her fever-bright eyes wide with dawning horror. The killer shoved Jace hard against the opposite wall of the hollow. Jace’s head cracked against the blackened wood, stars bursting in his vision. He slid down, dazed, mud and rainwater soaking his legs.
The killer turned. His focus narrowed entirely on Kate, curled in the corner like a wounded animal. That single eye burned with possessive madness. "Mine," he rasped, taking a heavy, dragging step towards her. Rain plastered his remaining strands of hair to his skull. Mud dripped from his ruined clothes.
Kate whimpered, trying to push herself further back, but there was nowhere to go. The hollow ended inches behind her. Her hands fluttered uselessly, too weak to fight. Her breath hitched, shallow and terrified. The killer reached out, his blistered fingers curling towards her ankle, stained dark with mud and pus.
"No!" Jace roared, shaking off the dizziness. He launched himself from the muddy floor, tackling the killer’s legs. They crashed together into the thick sludge churned up inside the hollow. Mud splattered Kate’s face. Jace grappled wildly, trying to pin the flailing, impossibly strong limbs. His injured arm was useless, a throbbing weight.
The killer twisted violently, throwing Jace off. He kicked out, a heavy boot connecting solidly with Jace’s ribs. Air whooshed from Jace’s lungs. He gasped, curling inward, pain radiating through his chest. The killer rose above him, silhouetted against the rainy opening, dripping mud and rainwater onto Jace’s face.
"Pathetic," the ruin spat, turning back to Kate. She was frozen, trembling violently, her gaze locked on the approaching horror. The killer leaned down, his ruined face inches from hers. She could smell the burnt meat, the lake rot, the gasoline trapped in his pores. His blistered hand reached past her flinching arms.
It clamped onto her upper arm, just above the small constellation tattoo hidden under soaked bandages. His grip was iron, searing hot even through her fever. Kate screamed, a sound ripped from her bruised throat. He yanked.
Kate gasped as the hand grabbed her and pulled her out onto the muddy forest floor.
The killer hauled Kate from the hollow like a discarded ragdoll. Mud slapped her face as she hit the ground outside, the cold shock jolting through her fever. His blistered hand crushed her uninjured arm, the heat of his grip burning even through her sodden sleeve.
"Thought your little fire stopped me?" he rasped, rainwater dripping from his exposed jawbone onto her cheek. His breath stank of char and decay. "Fire just... cleanses. Burns off the filth." He wrenched her arm higher, making her cry out as her ribs screamed. "Like yours. Your dirty stars. Your dirty skin."
He let go of her arm only to fumble at his belt. Metal glinted dully in the storm-light as he pulled a heavy hunting knife, its blade streaked with rust and old, dark stains. He held it up before her terrified eyes.
"See this?" he gurgled, shaking it. "Gonna scrape you clean. Peel that nasty ink right off." He leaned closer, his ruined face inches from hers, the raw socket weeping. "Cut the slut outta you." His voice dropped to a grotesque, salivating murmur. "Make you pure again."
He pressed the cold, dirty blade flat against her throat. The pressure wasn't hard, yet. A promise. A vile caress. Kate froze, paralyzed. Her vision swam with fever and terror, the rain a blur, the knife a sharp, cold line against her pulse. She saw the manic gleam in his single eye, the way his blistered lips twitched. "Gonna take my time with you, little painter," he whispered, the words slimy against her ear. "Make you scream pretty."
He shifted his grip on the knife, preparing to slice. The blade tilted, the edge finding the vulnerable hollow beneath her jaw. Kate squeezed her eyes shut, a silent whimper escaping her bruised throat. This was it. Drowning in mud, not water.
Jace exploded from the hollow behind the killer. Not a roar this time, but a low, feral snarl ripped from deep in his chest. He moved with the desperate economy of broken bones and sheer will. His good hand shot out, clamping like a vice over the killer’s wrist just as the muscles tensed to draw the blade across Kate’s throat. Fingers slick with rain and mud scrabbled for purchase on the blistered skin.
The killer grunted, startled by the ferocity of the grab. He tried to wrench his arm free, but Jace had every ounce of his failing strength in that grip, anchoring the knife hand away from Kate. Jace drove his injured shoulder hard into the killer’s back, a brutal shove that sent fresh, white-hot agony tearing through his own body. The killer stumbled forward, off balance, his weight crashing onto Kate’s legs. She shrieked, a raw sound lost in the storm.
For a heartbeat, they were a tangled knot of limbs and mud: the killer half on Kate, Jace clinging to his knife arm, the blade waving wildly. The killer thrashed, trying to buck Jace off, his free elbow smashing backwards, cracking against Jace’s ribs. Jace gasped but held on, his vision graying at the edges. He could smell Kate’s fever-sweat, the killer’s rot, the metallic tang of the rain-slicked steel.
He saw his chance. The killer’s head was turned, snarling back at him, that one furious eye glaring. Jace didn’t think. He let go of the wrist with his good hand and, in the same desperate motion, grabbed the killer’s hair – what was left of it – yanking his head back violently. The knife, suddenly freed, started to swing wildly in the killer’s grip. Jace’s other hand, slick with rain, mud, and his own blood, shot out again. Not for the wrist this time. For the blade itself.
His fingers closed around the cold steel just below the guard. He ignored the edge biting into his palm. He twisted, using the killer’s own off-balance momentum against him, wrenched the knife arm sideways and up. The killer, head still wrenched back, couldn't see it coming. Jace drove the knife forward with every shred of strength left in his battered body. Not at the neck. Not at the chest.
Straight into the killer’s remaining, hate-filled eye.
The blade punched through with a sickening, wet thuck, like a boot sinking into deep mud. Jace felt the resistance, the jarring impact against bone, then the awful give. He shoved, hard, driving the blade deeper, feeling the handle jar against the orbital ridge. The killer stiffened. A grotesque, choked gurgle erupted from his throat, a sound utterly devoid of rage, filled only with wet, animal shock. His body convulsed violently, a puppet with its strings cut and knotted.
Then, stillness. Utter and absolute. The killer’s weight slumped, heavy and final, onto Kate’s legs. She screamed again, writhing under the sudden dead weight. The knife handle protruded obscenely from the ruined socket. Dark fluid, thick and viscous, welled around the blade, mixing with the rain running down the ravaged face.
Jace stumbled back, gasping, clutching his bleeding hand. He stared, numb, at the body pinning Kate, at the knife jutting from the eye like a grisly monument. The storm roared on, indifferent. Rain plastered his hair, washed the mud and the killer’s fluids from his skin in diluted streaks. He felt hollowed out. Empty. The jagged stone was still somewhere in the hollow. Henry’s shotgun was back at the cabin. He’d used the killer’s own knife.