CHAPTER THIRTY‑SEVEN

Cordie, crouched in the darkness, watched Robbins and Neala follow the old man through the barrier of heads.

She wondered if she might join them.

But she remembered Grar’s warning.

Your death will be horrible beyond nightmares.

It still applied. It had to.

She lay flat among the crosses, and pressed her eyes tightly shut.

She was finished.

Dead.

Oh Christ.

At least, if she didn’t move, the Krulls might not notice her. She could die here, and save herself from them.

Time passed.

A long, long time.

Longer than Cordie thought a night could last. Then the sky turned pale blue, and finally the sun came up.

Hearing a sound, she raised her head. And saw Heth swinging his legless torso through the crosses. His eyes met hers.

“No, ” she whimpered.

A strange noise filled her ears, a fluttering whup‑ wbup‑ whup. She raised her eyes. At the far edge of the clearing, a helicopter sped over the treetops.

“Jesus, ” she muttered.

She glanced at Heth. His hideous, bloated face seemed to grin.

She scrambled to her feet. She raced toward the cabin, waving her arms high, not giving a damn about the crosses she bumped, the heads that tumbled before her.

The helicopter set down in front of the cabin.

The passenger, a tall woman, stepped out. She wore a red jumpsuit. She carried a rifle.

“Sherri! ”

Cordie rushed toward her.

Sherri shouldered the rifle.

“No! Please! I’m sorry! ”

The shot smashed through the roar of the rotors. Cordie spun around. Heth, a yard behind her, teetered on his outthrust arms.

A hole in his forehead.

He fell facedown.

“Get your ass over here! ” Sherri yelled.

Cordie ran to her.

Channel 3 News July 2

“On the local front, a Mariposa County Sheriff’s posse has failed to return from their search of a wilderness area west of Barlow. The eighteen men entered the rugged forest terrain on Tuesday to investigate reports of multiple killings…”