Chapter 14 Ava
FOURTEEN
AVA
The forest swallows me as soon as I step past the last white lip of the clearing. The cabin and vehicles vanish behind me, lost in a nightmare of snow and too much distance. All that remains is the endless press of trees that goes on for miles.
The air shifts, growing colder under the canopy, when it should block out the unrelenting wind chill. Twigs crack and pop against the soles of my boots. The meager layer of snow under the treetops is the only thing reminding me I still exist on this plane and haven’t traveled to Narnia.
When the divots against the earth end my map, plentiful crimson droplets bead against the interspersed whiteness. The stark ruby points in the frost give me hope of finding him. But each one makes my stomach lurch. A jarring reminder that Scott is out here injured.
Is he pulling himself away from a threat, or is the threat dragging him away from rescue?
I try not to picture him harmed, the strength gone from his solid frame.
The thought gnaws at me anyway, leaving lingering panic clawing in its wake.
If he’s hurt, what am I going to do? Carrying him is out of the question.
Moving him anywhere quickly is a sick joke.
I have to hope that, if I find him—no, when I find him—he’s able to move on his own.
More trees pop up in my way, crowding closer the deeper I go. Their limbs catch on my coat, ripping slits against the material.
I’d laugh at myself if I weren’t so scared. I’ve spent my entire life exploring these woods. I doubt there’s an inch within a ten-mile radius I haven’t walked, but none of it’s recognizable at the moment with my hysteria taking hold.
Whenever the wind shakes the branches above, snowflakes drift down in slow, silent spirals.
They land, settling against my nose and lashes.
Light filters through in thin gray slats, the day already dulling, and I wonder how much longer I’ll have before the forest plunges into total darkness.
My pulse stutters just thinking about it.
“Scott…” I whisper his name.
The call dies instantly, swallowed by the thicket. I know damn well even if he’s within a stone’s throw, he won’t be able to hear me. I’m too nervous to announce my presence more than each footstep already is, but the dead air pushing in around me begs to be broken.
A low sigh passes through the trees, a breath that doesn’t belong to me. A shiver tickles down my spine. I don’t dare call out again. If something else is close enough to hear me, I’d rather not know.
Something catches in my periphery, stirring between the trees to my left. My breath solidifies in my throat. Whipping my head to follow it, I raise the shotgun and point in its direction, but nothing’s there, just a shift of shadow.
Must have been a deer or a fox. It could have been nothing at all, just my eyes deceiving me in the half-light. But the prickle at the back of my neck doesn’t fade. I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. Followed from just out of sight.
I keep moving, swinging the gun from side to side, forcing one foot in front of the other. I’ve gone too far to chicken out and head back now.
The measly trail begins to scatter. Drops thin out, smears fade, until I’m left squinting at broken twigs that could have been made from the weight of a body or natural decomposition from the environment.
My straining eyes ache from searching. I’m not a tracker.
I know nothing about what to look for other than what I can remember from the random survival tips my dad used to share with my brothers and me.
It takes everything in me not to collapse right here and instead push forward.
My internal self continuously needs convincing that the next step, the next tree, the next rock, will reveal another mark.
The ground pitches upward without warning, the slope slick beneath the crusted muck on the bottom of my boots.
My thighs burn as I climb, carefully placing each step after checking for traction.
My fingers grab tight around thick roots as I balance the gun in my other hand.
By the time I drag myself to the top, I’m dizzy and trembling, breath puffing in frantic clouds.
Clearly, I need to hit the gym more often.
But then I see it.
Nestled in a hollow below, half-hidden behind a cluster of trees, is a rundown hut that should be condemned.
It sits one with the ground, leaning like it grew out of the earth itself and then rotted in place.
The wood is blackened with age, the roof slouching under a heavy layer of pine needles and melting snow.
It’s too small to be lived in, no bigger than a shed or a hunting blind, but a thin, twisted ribbon of smoke snakes upward from a hole in the roof anyway.
My stomach lurches at the sight. Someone’s inside.
Relief and dread crash into each other in my chest. Scott could be there. He could’ve dragged himself inside, found help, or a safe place to hide out.
But what if… no. I can’t finish the thought.
The silence around me is worse than any sound. Every step I take down the ridge feels deafening. The earth slips under my weight. Packed patches of snow groan under my boots. I barely keep myself from slipping down on my ass the rest of the way.
I move quickly when my feet hit flat ground, pressing close to thicker trees, crouching as I move.
I don’t want whoever’s inside to know I’m out here.
At least, not until I know who, or what, I’m facing.
My hands ache from anxiously clenching around the barrel of the shotgun.
I pray the forest I’ve always loved will be the shield I desperately need.
The smoke curls lazily, rising through the treetops to the darkening sky. It’s proof of warmth and life, but is my unexpected company wanted by whoever’s inside? Or am I walking into a trap?
The hut looms, teasing like a bad decision waiting in the wings.
Its single window offers no insight, the glass opaque beneath layers of frost and filth.
I creep closer, every muscle screaming at me to turn back.
My palm presses to the rough, splintered wood of the weathered wall.
I inch forward, forcing my trembling legs to obey.
I draw in a deep breath, pushing up on my toes to peer through a streak in the glass.
Faint shapes blur on the other side, softened by a flickering firelight.
I pick at the pane with my gloved fingers, breaking through the thick layer of grime to see clearly.
Except my breath fogs the new spot, reducing my view until my eyes water from squinting.
A lumpy mass lies frozen on the floor. It’s too human in shape to convince my mind it’s anything but. It takes staring too long for my brain to register that the dark blue jacket is Scott’s. My heart thunders so violently, I nearly faint from all the excess oxygen coursing through my veins.
“Scott…” I mouth his name, not daring to let the sound penetrate the air. Yet, a wimper slips from my throat before I can stop it, the high sound like an untrained puppy. I slap a hand over my mouth, horrified that my body’s betrayal might give me away.
A shape in the corner moves.
Not the mass, I’m now confident, is Scott’s unconscious body. Something beyond it, tall and slow shifts, a shadow sliding along the opposite wall. It’s there and gone in a blink, but my blood runs ice-cold.
I stumble back from the window, inching precariously along the wall of the hut.
My distracted panic causes the shotgun to topple into the mud.
My knees give, sliding me down the rough planks until I’m crouched low in the muddy slush, teeth clenched hard to keep from screaming.
My lungs heave, dragging air in ragged bursts I can’t silence.
I press a fist to my lips, eyes squeezing shut.
What do I do? Go in gun ready? Run? Hide?
My brain scatters in a thousand directions, none of which seems to be the right choice. If it’s Scott in there fucking unconscious, I can’t abandon him. Especially not now, after trekking this deep into the woods. Night’s almost upon me. The last of the daylight vanishes by the minute.
I won’t be able to follow my footsteps back. I’ll get lost, wandering until my body shuts down from the cold or the fear finally takes my heart out of its misery.
I could actually die out here.
I swear I can hear my heart ticking down the seconds I have left to choose before whoever is inside opens that door and finds me crouched down in the mud.