Killing Hour - Lisa Gardner [143]
Hours had passed with her lying in the mud. Now she lifted one arm and attempted to move. Her whole body groaned. She could feel muscles tremble with effort. Her left hip ached, her ribs throbbed. For a moment, she didn’t think anything was going to happen, then she finally rolled over in the mud. She got her arms beneath her for leverage, pushed up weakly, and staggered to her feet.
The world promptly spun. She staggered over to the pit wall, dragging her feet through the heavy muck and grasping desperately at the vines for support. She leaned too far left, then lurched too far right, then finally got her hands planted against the wall. Her stomach rolled and cramped. She bent in agony and tried not to think about what must be happening now.
She cried. She cried all alone in her pit, and it was all that she could do.
Things came back to her in bits and pieces. Her glorious attempt at being a human spider. Her not-so-glorious fall. She lifted her arms again. Tried out her legs and inspected for damage. Technically speaking at least, she was still in one piece.
She tried to take a step. Her right leg buckled and she immediately sank back into the mud. Gritting her teeth, she tried again, only to get the same results. Her legs were too weak. Her body had simply had enough.
So she lay with her head in the cool, soothing muck. She watched the slime ooze and pop inches from her face. And she decided maybe dying wouldn’t be so bad after all.
If she could just get water . . . Her mouth, her throat, her shriveled stomach. Her parched, festering skin.
She stared at the mud a minute longer, then she staggered up onto her hands and knees.
She shouldn’t . . . It would kill her. But did that matter anymore?
Spreading her fingers, she flattened them into the muck. The small indent instantly filled with putrid, stinking water.
Tina put down her head and drank like a dog.
CHAPTER 42
Wytheville, Virginia
10:04 P.M.
Temperature: 94 degrees
KIMBERLY CHECKED THEM INTO THE TINY, ROADSIDE MOTEL. Ray and his team got their rooms. Kimberly booked another for Nora Ray, plus one for Dr. Ennunzio. Then she reserved one room for her and Mac to share.
She couldn’t meet his eyes when she returned to the car. She distributed keys, deliberately omitting him, which earned her a curious glance. Then she was busy unloading bags from the trunk. They needed a game plan. Ray would ring Mac or Kimberly’s room when the team had a theory. They, in turn, would rouse the others. In the meantime, Mac had his cell phone on and seemed to be receiving a faint signal. Kimberly also turned hers on, in case her father needed her.
Nothing left to do now but grab a shower and snatch a few hours’ sleep. Soon enough, they would all be up again.
Kimberly watched Nora Ray disappear behind the plain white door of the single-story structure. Then she watched as Dr. Ennunzio crossed the parking lot to his wing of the motel. She waited until he was gone from view before finally turning toward Mac.
“Here,” she said. “I got us a room.”
If he was surprised, he didn’t say anything. He simply took the key from her trembling hand. Then he picked up their bags and carried them through the doorway.
Inside she almost lost her courage again. The room was too beige, too generic, too worn. It could’ve been any room in any motel in any part of the country, and for some reason that nearly broke her heart. Just once she wanted something more out of life than desperate attempts at happiness. They should go to a bed-and-breakfast. One of those places with rose-patterned wallpaper and red quilted comforters and a giant four-poster bed. Where you could sink deep into the mattress and sleep well past noon and forget the real world ever existed.
They didn’t have that kind of luxury. She supposed she wouldn’t have known what to do with it if she had.
Mac set their bags down at the foot of the bed. “Why don’t you shower first,” he suggested quietly. She nodded and