Page 39 of Silent Past
Sheila's light found her first—Rachel Harper, arranged with terrible care against the far wall. She wore ceremonial robes, their beadwork catching the light like fallen stars. Her hands were folded in her lap, her head tilted slightly as if in contemplation.
But her skin was still warm.
"Finn," Sheila breathed. "She hasn't been dead more than an hour."
A pebble clattered somewhere in the darkness behind them.
Someone else was still in the cave.
Sheila and Finn swept their lights methodically through the chamber, checking every alcove, every shadow. The killer had to be here somewhere—someone had moved through these passages just minutes ago. But the cave offered only silence broken by the steady drip of water.
"We need backup," Sheila said quietly. "And Jin needs to see her before she gets too cold."
She checked her phone—no service this deep. "Let's head back toward the entrance, call it in."
They moved carefully through the tunnels. The temperature seemed to be dropping even further, as if the cave itself was trying to preserve its latest victim.
They were halfway to the entrance when they saw it—a shadow moving ahead of them, a figure racing through the beam of their lights.
"Police! Stop!" Sheila shouted, but the figure was already disappearing around a bend.
They gave chase, their footsteps echoing off stone walls. The tunnel narrowed and they were forced to run single file. Finn's light caught glimpses of their quarry—a man in dark clothing, moving fast. He reached the cave entrance several seconds ahead of them, disappearing into the night.
They emerged from the cave in time to see him sprinting toward the parked Subaru. The car's lights flashed as the killer unlocked it. By the time Sheila and Finn reached their truck, the Subaru was already moving, gravel spraying as it accelerated down the service road.
Sheila threw the truck into gear and grabbed her radio. "Dispatch, this is Stone. 10-80 in progress, heading east on Forest Service Road 177 toward Highway 40. Suspect is driving a green Subaru, Utah plate Victor-Charlie-Seven-Four-Nine-Eight. The suspect is wanted for homicide. All units respond."
The truck's tires found purchase on the gravel as they gave chase, their headlights illuminating the cloud of dust kicked up by the car ahead. The killer had maybe fifteen seconds on them—close enough to follow, far enough to make stopping him difficult.
"Highway 40 is three minutes ahead," Finn said, checking the map on his phone. "Highway Patrol's setting up spike strips at the intersection."
Sheila pressed the accelerator harder, but the rough road made pursuit dangerous at higher speeds. The killer seemed to have no such concerns—the Subaru bounced and slid around curves with reckless speed.
They were gaining slowly when the killer's brake lights suddenly flashed. He yanked the car hard to the right, onto what looked like an old logging track.
"Don't lose him!" Finn said. Sheila was already turning to follow, their truck's suspension protesting the sharp movement.
The logging track was even rougher than the service road. Tree branches scraped against their windows as they pursued the killer deeper into the forest, away from their backup, away from the highway where Highway Patrol waited.
The green Subaru's taillights glowed like demon eyes in the darkness ahead, weaving through the narrow logging track. Sheila kept pace, slowly closing the distance. The truck's powerful engine gave them an advantage on the rough terrain.
"He's running out of road," Finn said, gripping the dashboard as they bounced over another rut. Their headlights illuminated a wall of pines ahead where the track appeared to end.
But then the Subaru's brake lights flashed. The vehicle fishtailed violently, kicking up gravel and pine needles. For a moment, Sheila thought he'd lost control.
"Sheila!" Finn's warning came just as she realized what was happening.
The Subaru had spun completely around and was now accelerating straight toward them, its headlights blinding. The killer had turned this into a deadly game of chicken.
Through the glare, Sheila caught a glimpse of movement—the driver's door opening. A dark figure leaped from the vehicle, rolling into the underbrush as the Subaru continued its trajectory, now a three-thousand-pound missile hurtling toward them with no one at the wheel.
Time seemed to slow. Sheila's training took over. She cranked the wheel hard to the right, but the truck's tires lost traction on the loose gravel. They slid sideways, the world tilting as the right wheels left the ground.
"Hold on!" she shouted.
The truck crashed through the understory, small trees snapping under its weight. Behind them, the Subaru roared past, metal screaming as it slammed into the larger pines they'd narrowly avoided.
They came to rest at an angle, the truck's front end buried in brush. Steam hissed from somewhere under the hood. The impact had been violent enough to deploy the airbags, which now deflated slowly in the beam of their one remaining headlight.
