She sprinted past the zombie and launched herself at Mason, grabbing his waist and lifting with all her strength to keep the pressure off his neck. "Help me!" she shrieked at the zombie. Mason dangled at the end of the rope, but Ava noticed that his boots kicked the loose dirt. Blood covered the lower half of his face, and his gaze held hers. His mouth moved but no sound came out. The zombie imitated her grab and lift. He was a foot taller than she and, thankfully, strong.

"Do you have something to cut the rope with?" she gasped.

"In my back pocket," said the zombie. "Hurry."

She let him take Mason's weight and dug in his pocket, finding a multipurpose knife. She flicked it open and sawed at the rope above Mason's head. The rope was new and fresh. She stared into Mason's eyes as she sawed at the fraying rope. "Hang on, dammit!" His eyes were bloodshot, his face turning a deep red.

But he held eye contact.

The rope broke and Mason slumped into the arms of the zombie, who gently lowered him to the ground on his side. Ava knelt beside the two of them, her fingers shaking as she struggled to get the noose over his head. "Are you okay?" she shrieked. "Are you okay?"

His jaw opened but no sound came out. She wiped the crusted blood on his nose and he arched his back in pain. "Fuuuuck!" he moaned.

A broken nose.

Tears of relief streamed down her cheeks. "Is it just your nose? Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"Ribs," he choked out. He met her gaze. "It was Scott. Stop him."

"I know. I just figured it out, but I'm not leaving you. Not right now." She wiped more of the blood off his face, avoiding his nose, as the zombie worked to cut the ropes on Mason's hands.

"I'm fine," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "Get Scott." His gaze moved behind her, his eyes widening.

She looked. Scott Heuser stepped off the last rung of the ladder and sprinted into the woods.

Mason looked at her again. "Get him!"

She drew her gun from the holster at her side. The zombie's hands froze on Mason's bindings, his gaze on her weapon. "I'm a federal agent," she told him. "Can you get him out of here?"

"Yes. Here." He pulled a flashlight out of his cargo pants. "He headed in the direction of the corn maze."

She took the flashlight and gently kissed Mason on his b.l.o.o.d.y lips. "I'll be back." She brushed tears off her cheeks.

"I know."

She ran after Scott.

40.

Scott zigged and zagged through the woods, swearing under his breath. He'd managed to launch Mason off the platform but the rope had been too long. The cop's feet had hit the ground. He might have slowly strangled if those people hadn't shown up and immediately cut him down.

Ava McLane. A few days ago the FBI agent had sat in his office and calmly interviewed him. At that moment he'd known the noose was starting to tighten, but he'd believed he'd have time to finish. Now she'd shown up and ruined everything.

Not everything. To his right and ahead fires raged through the dry forest and started on the corn maze. He could hear the shouts of people struggling to find their way out of the maze as the flames drew closer. He'd watched as the owners had planned and planted the maze, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g it to create a challenge.

He knew every inch.

The pounding of running footsteps sounded behind him and he glanced back. A bobbing flashlight bounced in the dark behind him, gaining ground.

The FBI agent?

He ducked into the maze. Try to find your way out of this one.

Ahead she saw Scott dart down a dark path between the tall stalks of corn.

Noooo.

She stopped at the edge of the corn. People shouted from inside and fire burned aggressively in one quadrant of the field.

Let him go. It's too dangerous.

Close by, a woman screamed in pain. Ava dashed into the corn and encountered the woman clutching her arm, two teenagers behind her, one of them carrying a flashlight.

"He stabbed me!" she shrieked at Ava. Ava paused to look at the dripping wound; it was long but shallow.

"Get your mom to the fire trucks. Don't go back in the corn maze," she told the two teens. Their faces were white with terror. "She's going to be okay."

"What's going on?" the girl whispered, holding her brother's arm. "What started the fire?"

"Something exploded," said the boy, one arm supporting his mother.

"Stay together," directed Ava. "Just keep moving away from the fires."

A man's angry shout came from the corn maze, and she heard the wail of a terrified small child. Ava pointed her flashlight down the dark path.

I can't leave.

"Go," she told the family. "I'm going to get more people out."

The family moved on, and she jogged down the packed dirt path. The corn towered over her head. It wasn't the fresh green cornstalks that she'd seen from the freeway as she'd driven by cornfields in the summer. This was browning, rotting, rust-smelling, claustrophobia-inducing cornstalks. The stalks hadn't looked tall from the forest. Now they seemed twice her height. She followed the cries of the child.

Turning a sharp corner, she found Scott Heuser face-to-face with a bulldog of a father who had a five-year-old cowering a few feet behind him. The father had his fists up, challenging Scott, who crouched in the path with his knife. The father took a step and rounded a heavily booted kick at Scott's knife hand. Scott leaped backward. He was between Ava and the father and child; she didn't have a safe shot.

"Drop the knife!" she shouted. Her feet were planted and her weapon ready, but she kept it pointed away from the three. She shone her flashlight directly at the back of Scott's head.

Scott glanced behind him, blinking in the bright light. He grinned and darted sideways, directly into the stalks of corn. She followed, using her flashlight hand to push the dense stalks out of the way. Rotting leaves slapped her in the face and dirt worked its way into her mouth, leaving grit between her teeth. Her flashlight was useless as she fought to find places for her feet. She could hear Scott a few feet ahead of her, cursing and tripping his way through the corn. He let out a gasp and his footsteps sped up as she heard him break out of the corn and onto a maze path. Ava pushed harder and broke out from the corn a second later. Smoke filled the path and the sky glowed intensely to her right. Flames flickered in the rotting corn. The screams and shouts had dwindled, and she prayed it was because people had found their way out of the maze.

She looked to her right and left, not seeing Scott. She slowly followed the path to the left, a.s.suming he'd move away from the fire. She clutched the flashlight in her left hand and her weapon in her right as she waved the light over the cornstalks beside her. Fire engine sirens sounded over the screams of scared children, and she welcomed them.

Mason?

She put him firmly out of her thoughts, confident he was in capable hands and that his wounds hadn't appeared to be life-threatening. The zombie would get a big thank-you from the both of them.

Her boots made no noise as the sirens multiplied. She coughed from the smoke and wished she had an extra hand to hold her shirt collar over her nose and mouth. The smoke grew thicker.

I need to get out. Let Scott go for now.

Every fiber of her body struggled to accept the decision, but she didn't want to let him go.

I'm so close.

She stopped in the path, straining to hear past the sirens, listening for footsteps or breaking stalks or rustling leaves.

Nothing.

A cloud of smoke engulfed her path and alarm shot through her. Which way is out? She pushed on, her internal compa.s.s stating that she was moving toward the edge of the maze and away from the fires. New far-off shouts reached her ears, but they were commands and orders. Firemen.

She bent over, seeking cleaner air, and sucked in deep breaths. A fit of coughing took over as her lungs protested against the amount of c.r.a.p she'd breathed. She paused and crouched down for a moment where the air was better.

Gun or flashlight? One had to be put away so she could cover her nose. She reluctantly holstered her gun, unwilling to walk blindly in the dark. She pulled the neck of her shirt up over the lower half of her face and moved forward through a break in the smoke. Her eyes burned from the ash.

An arm roughly circled her neck and jerked her backward against a male body, her head smacking against his chest. Her flashlight skittered across the dirt and stopped, shining in her eyes.

Scott.

A knife flashed in front of her face, an arcing glint of metal in the dark, and she didn't pause to think. Her training took over and her body reacted.

In one rapid movement, she twisted to the side and shot her elbow into his windpipe and her heel into his kneecap. A muted crack sounded as her elbow connected. His arm loosened and he took several stumbling steps backward, bending over as he fought through his pain in his throat.

She faced him, her gun drawn and pointed at center ma.s.s. "Do. Not. Move." Her heart raced as she stared down the man who'd killed cops and nearly hanged Mason, her dropped flashlight and the smoke casting odd shadows across his face. Hate raged through her, but she kept her trigger finger in control. One of his hands dug at this throat as if he could tear away the pain she'd inflicted.

"f.u.c.k you." He met her eyes and launched himself at her, his knife hand leading.

She fired. And kept firing.

Surprise lit up his face but the shots didn't stop him. He plunged forward as she shuffled back, her finger pulling her trigger over and over.

He stopped, swaying in the smoke, and for a split second she believed he was immortal.

How is he still alive?

He fell.

Ava stood in the smoke, her gun still trained on his immobile body, expecting him to leap up, his face transformed to that of a creature of the undead. She couldn't move. Her panting echoed off the cornstalks and she wondered if her body would be found next to Scott's, dead of smoke inhalation. She holstered her weapon, wanting to simply sit in the dirt and wait to be found.

Voices drew closer, shouting orders.

Her legs gave way and she sat.

Shots sounded over the fire engine sirens and Mason's heart stopped.

Mason pushed away the hands of the EMT. He was capable of holding his own oxygen mask. His voice was gone and his throat felt as if it was swelling by the minute, but his airway was clear. The trauma seemed contained to his voice box and the left side of his mandible. The EMT had cleaned up his b.l.o.o.d.y face and bandaged the stab wound in his arm, and then ordered Mason to alert him the second he had trouble breathing. Mason had grimaced, imagining the EMT cutting open a new airway through his neck.

The zombie had dragged him out of the woods and back to Scott Heuser's driveway, where fire trucks and police cars had arrived. He suspected he had a broken a foot in his fall but he didn't care. Right now he wanted to see Ava come out of the forest. A bleeding woman with two teens had emerged from the woods, saying a crazy guy with a knife in the corn maze had slashed her arm and he'd been followed by a woman with a gun.

Every cell inside Mason commanded him to run in and find her.

Instead he sat and sucked on oxygen, knowing he could barely walk and worried that his airway would close off.

The helpful zombie had given the Washington County deputies a description of Scott Heuser and told them Ava had been in the woods, headed toward the corn maze. They'd proceeded cautiously, knowing a fellow officer was inside.

Somewhere.

Did Ava fire the shots?

He didn't think Scott had a weapon other than the knife. If he'd had a gun, he would have used it on Mason.

Mason stared at the dark trees of the woods. Smoke billowed around them; the light from the fires toward the back cast an orange glow from within. a.s.sorted zombies and actors with fake traumatic injuries milled around the driveway. It was a set for a horror movie. He crumpled his fear for Ava into a ball and gripped it tight, forbidding it to take over his thoughts. She was tough. She was experienced.

She would come back.

Two firemen moved in the shadows at the edge of the woods, a small zombie between them.

His zombie.

He got to his feet, dropping his mask, and the EMT immediately tried to settle him back down. Mason gestured and batted at his hands, pushing him away, and took off. Pain shot from his feet with every step and he was reduced to hobbling. She spotted him and ran forward, shock growing on her face as she focused on his neck.

"Oh, my G.o.d," she started. "Look at-"

He grabbed her and pulled her close, m.u.f.fling her voice in his shirt. He tried to ask if she was okay, but only grunts came from his mouth. He stepped back, his hands gripping her shoulders as he studied her from head to toe. Dusty ash covered her dark hair and blood dripped from a thin slash on her cheek.

Concern filled her face as she reached to touch his neck, then stopped, fear in her eyes. "You look like . . . like I don't know what. Someone who's been strangled and punched in the nose, I guess."

He chortled, a saliva-filled sound that made her rapidly blink.

"Are you okay?" she asked hesitantly.

He nodded, longing to vocalize his happiness that she was unharmed.

"Can you speak?"

He shook his head as relief overwhelmed him.

"Scott is dead," she said in a flat voice. "He stabbed a woman and tried to stab me." Her gaze dropped and he pulled her close again, wishing he could comfort her with words, but knowing she would read his feelings in his touch. He settled for stroking her hair and back.

The world could continue to burn. He no longer cared.