Page 36 of Property of Hayride
“Yeah, Charles?”
“I think we found the kid.”
I look at the map, find the grid that Charles is searching, and run toward it. If Thad is dead, I don’t want Nat or her father to find him. That’s too fucked up. She’ll never recover from a shock like that.
I hear Scythe shout my name, but I don’t stop.
Thick trees cover the ground, but I know this forest. I grew up exploring it. It doesn’t take long to reach the part of the forest where Charles is searching in his section of the grid. I find him asI skid to a halt, staring at the body that’s been cut down, a rough piece of rope wrapped around the neck.
It’s just like the first victim with entrails exposed, knife wounds, and death by hanging. The work of the Hillside Stalker. Someone, maybe Rashell Allen, is copying his kills.
The guy is sliced up. Blood is soaked into his clothing. He’s got a gray beard that’s stained crimson.
It’s a man, but not a young one. It’s not Thad.
Relief hits me so hard that I drop to my knees. It’s not Nat’s brother.Thank fuck.
I feel like shit because this poor bastard is dead, but I can’t help feeling grateful that Thad’s body isn’t on the ground. I pull out my phone and call Scythe.
“It’s not Thad,” I tell him as he answers.
“Fuck. Who is it?”
“I can’t tell. The face is all cut up.”
“Goddammit!”
I feel such relief that I don’t realize I’m wrong. There’s not just one person with a rope around their neck.
Charles points to my right. “Hayride. Look.”
I turn my head and jolt. My body goes rigid because I’ve seen his photo. Nat showed me a snapshot of the two of them the night of the hotel tour. They’re both smiling.
It’s Thad.
I hop to my feet and rush to his side. He’s cut, but not as badly as the dead man only a few feet away. Blood is soaked into his shirt and jeans, but it’s splatters, not widespread pools.
A groan escapes his lips as I sink to my knees, knowing he needs medical attention right away if he’s going to survive. “Thad. Can you hear me?”
“Hayride!”
I forgot Scythe is on the phone. “I was wrong. So fucking wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s here, Pres. Thad is alive.”
I hear someone cry out, and I know it’s Nat. Scythe must have the call on speaker. “He’s hurt.”
I turn to Charles. “Did you call 9-1-1?”
He shakes his head. “No, but I called Boomer’s office. They’re sending an ambulance. Mary said it’s on the way.”
The forest is too thick back here. It’s a minefield to navigate, especially when carrying heavy medical equipment. The EMTs will never get a stretcher in here.
“Hey, Thad. Can you hear me?”
He groans again, and I lightly slap his cheek. “Hey, I know it’s painful to move, but we need to get you out of here.”
