Lost and alone

I froze. I held my breath. I listened for any sound, any sign of him. A night bird trilled loudly in a tree behind me. It sounded like laughter. Human laughter.

I spun around. No one there.

A chill shook my body. I hugged myself, gazing beyond the fat trunks of the twin trees in front of me. I tried to shut away my breathless panic and try to decide which way to go. If only we had stayed on the path. I could have followed it one way or the other. Maybe I would have come out at the dock and found Mac’s canoe. Maybe I could have paddled it back to Shadyside and found help.

But the tall trees circled me, as if holding me inside, holding me in a prison cell. Gazing up, I couldn’t see the moon, so I couldn’t even begin to figure out what direction I was facing.

The strange bird trill burst out again, making me jump. Shrill laughter from high above me. I took a deep, shuddering breath and started to walk.

If I can keep going straight in one direction, I’ll come out either at the house or the water.

I didn’t go far. I stumbled over a rock and landed in a nest of thorny vines. They seemed to tighten around my ankles, thorns digging into my skin. I tried to pluck them away carefully, but they kept scratching my hands.

When I finally freed myself, I stood up, my fingers throbbing with pain. I heard voices. Up ahead. Squinting hard, I couldn’t see anyone. But I heard a harsh shout. Then a high-pitched cry.

The crack of gunshots made me gasp and drop to my knees. I felt the cold, wet dirt seep into my jeans. The sharp cracks bounced around the woods, first in front of me, then behind, the sound ringing off the trees.

When the sound abruptly faded, I stayed on my knees, hugging myself, listening hard, afraid to breathe. My first thought: Did they shoot Brendan? And then: Are they going to hunt me down now? Am I really going to die here in these woods? Stalked and killed like an animal?

I forced myself to stay silent. I knew they were nearby. Maybe only a few yards away.

They shot Brendan. They shot Brendan.

Please … please let it not be true.

I heard the scrape and scratch of footsteps. The sound of a twig breaking under a shoe. To my left. I drew in a deep breath and held it. My throat tightened. I felt like I was about to choke.

And then I heard a man’s voice. I recognized it—the voice of the tall gunman.

“We got the boy,” he said. “Now let’s get the girl.”

35.

Дата добавления: 2015-07-20