Читать книгу A Perfect Evil - Alex Kava, Alex Kava - Страница 9

He smashed through the branches, the cracking wood exploding in the dark silence. Were they following? Were they close behind? He didn’t dare look back. Suddenly, he skidded on the mud, lost his balance and slid down the riverbank. He crashed knee-deep into ice-cold water. His arms and legs flayed in a panic, splashing water like claps of thunder. He dropped to his knees, burying his sweat-drenched body, sinking into the silt until he was up to his chin in the rolling river. The current sloshed against him, jerking him, threatening to sweep him back to where he had just escaped.

The cold water numbed the convulsions. Now, if only he could breathe. The gasps racked his chest and stabbed at his side. Breathe, he commanded himself as his lungs strangled for air. He hiccuped and swallowed a stomachful of the river, choking and gagging most of it back up.

He couldn’t see the spotlights anymore. Perhaps he had run far enough. He listened, straining over his own gasps.

There were no running footsteps, no yelping bloodhounds, no racing engines. It had been a close call—the guy with the flashlight. Was it possible the intruder hadn’t seen him crouched in the grass? Yes, he was sure no one had followed him.

He shouldn’t have come tonight. It had become a stupid habit, a dangerous risk, a wonderful addiction, a spiritual hard-on. The shame spread through him, liquid and hot despite the cold water. No, he shouldn’t have come. But no one had seen him. No one had followed him. He was safe. And now, finally, the boy was safe, too.