Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
GRACE
Grace wiped her face with trembling fingers.
The sun had risen moments ago, sometime after she’d turned and run for her life away from the buzzards, turned away from their bloody beaks, greedily tearing into the dead flesh, pulling away pieces of skin that dangled and flapped from their mouths before it was swallowed whole.
Grace had run, blinded by her tears, slipping on the dead leaves in her haste to get away, tripping over tree roots, stumbling and falling, but determined. She needed to get back to the villa. She had to get to Chris. Bursting from the jungle path, she’d sprinted past the pool and across the terrace. Into the villa and upstairs, dashing down the hallway, sucking in deep breaths, her legs burning. She’d crashed into the bedroom and lunged onto the bed .
She’d forced Chris to get up, resorting to slapping him when he wouldn’t respond to her commands.
“Get dressed!” She’d ordered, throwing the clothes he’d worn yesterday at him, ignoring his questions, telling him to come with her. She didn’t have time to explain. He would understand soon.
As they hurried from the villa, Chris demanded that she tell him what was going on. What was wrong? Why was she crying? Grace couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t find the words. How could she? She had to show Chris. He needed to see for himself.
“Grace …” Chris said, his voice barely above a whisper. “What is going on? Why are we here?”
Grace stared at the ground. She didn’t understand. Several thin tree roots crossed the damp earth as insects scurried in the dirt. Where were the buzzards? Where was …
Hiccupping a sob, Grace stared at the forest floor. The path was clear. But that wasn’t right. She knew what she had seen. What had sent her screaming and running back to the villa?
“It was right there,” Grace said, pointing at the ground where the most horrific thing she’d ever seen?—
“What was right there?” Chris stepped toward her.
Grace jerked away, stepping back, eyes sweeping the forest. Sunlight streamed through the tree canopy, casting a pale, hazy glow over the thick dense foliage.
“His head …” Grace whispered, tears pricking her eyes as panic and fear invaded her body, twisting and swirling, a maelstrom of terror .
Chris shook his head, confusion in his gaze. “What?”
Grace stared at him. “The buzzards … they were eating his head.”