red hill - jamie mcguire

The sun had just peaked over the horizon when I saw the water tower looming above the trees.
With Halle’s sweet singing in my mind, I turned the wheel, never so happy to hit dirt road. By the
time I turned left at the cemetery, the night sky had cowered from the clear, bright blue sky. The storm
clouds from the day before had moved on. If the world hadn’t gone to shit, it might have been
considered a beautiful day. The Jeep took the right at the first mile section hard, but I couldn’t slow
down. The closer I came to sanctuary, the more afraid I was. My foot was grinding the gas pedal to
the floorboard, but the Jeep’s engine just growled louder instead of going faster. Maybe five minutes
had passed since seeing the white tower, but it seemed to be taking an eternity.
Turning into the drive, my foot instinctively pulled away from the accelerator. Dr. Hayes’s truck
was in the yard, and a silver Mercedes was parked next to it. He’d made it home.
I didn’t even bother to shut the Jeep door. The second my feet touched the ground, I broke into a
sprint, only stopping until my hands hit the door.
“Dr. Hayes It’s me! Scarlet!” The side of my fist pounded against the wooden frame of the screen
door. “Dr. Hayes It’s Scarlet! I’m not sick . . . please . . . please let me in.”
With every passing second, my relief and excitement turned to disappointment. He was a
radiologist, for Christ’s sake, he had more than one beat-up pickup. Dr. Hayes and his girlfriend,
Leah, only stayed there on his off week. The radiologists worked two weeks on, one week off, and
they all had a farm or ranch they ran away to during those seven precious days. Leah was an attorney
and lived two hours north. They usually had me clean the weekend before they met in the middle—the
farmhouse. It was her Mercedes in the yard. They’d probably met here and then took the doctor’s car
somewhere else. To get his daughters, maybe.
The light on the barn flickered and then turned off. I had nowhere else to go. I had to get inside.
I pulled open the door slowly, wincing at the loud creaking sound it made. The doorknob twisted
and with caution, I pushed it open and listened. “Dr. Hayes” I said softly, half hoping he wouldn’t
hear me, and half hoping he would.
The house seemed untouched. When I’d checked every room and decided no one was home, I
wandered to the back porch and hoisted myself onto the dryer, wondering what I needed to do to
secure the house. Should I board up the windows It wasn’t my house to alter, but even if Dr. Hayes
made it back here with Miranda and Ashley, he might be glad some of the work had been done. My
eyes drifted to the floor, and relief and fear hit almost simultaneously. There were muddy footprints in
front of the door that led to the side patio. I hopped down off the dryer and looked out the Plexiglas
that took up the top half of the door. Something was splattered on the concrete. Something sticky with
chunks of something else—definitely vomit. The footprints led inside and to my right, down the stairs,
and into the basement.
I’d cleaned the basement many times before. It was used for storage, was carpeted, painted, and
not at all scary, but in that moment I was terrified to walk down those stairs.
I stared at the trail of mud and whatever else, and then finally took the first step. It complained
under my foot, and I squeezed my eyes tight, hoping nothing jumped out at me as punishment for
making a sound. When nothing happened, my eyes popped open, and I immediately searched for a
weapon. The closest thing was a hammer sitting in a hand-held, red toolbox lying open on the floor. I