He swore he heard Ava scream.

Her heart stopped as he fell.

Screams filled the forest. Her screams.

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 hoarsely. “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 bloody 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, trimming 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.