22. River
river
. . .
not a stray dog
The following five minutes remind me of when Olive and Ivy were five and lost their minds after decimating our dad’s candy stash. Rue vacillates between bouncing around the cabana, touching everything in sight—including me—and standing like a zombie while she stares at the ceiling, floor, or walls.
I manage to convince her to put on the sweatshirt and flip-flops I found in her backpack, but she won’t wear shorts or drink any water.
After a surreal negotiation that includes mention of a raccoon on a leash, I successfully bribe her into taking a few sips from her water bottle.
The promised chocolate is in my cabin, but I’m hoping she forgets about the bubble bath.
Finally, with her enormous bag on my back and her hand secure in mine, I lead her outside. The pool deck is thankfully empty, the air still and silent. Moonlight paints everything in a silvery sheen, turning shadows darker by comparison.
Rue skips beside me, humming under her breath as I guide her toward the hedges. I stay on high alert, my ears peeled for the sound of voices. I’m not entirely sure why, but I don’t want anyone else seeing her like this.
As we reach the path, Rue glances back at the pool.
“Do you think Matteo and Wyatt kissed? I hope they did.”
My fingers spasm around hers. “Oh yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.”
My mouth bypasses my brain. “You’re not upset? That Matteo was, uh… doing what he was doing with Penelope?”
“Why would I be? It’s not like I want Penelope anywhere near my no-no square.”
I trip on nothing and nearly fall. Only Rue’s vice-like grip on my hand keeps me from eating a rose bush. She laughs, high and wild, and pokes me in the ribs. My extremely ticklish ribs. I almost go down again; she yanks me upright.
“Have you ever had a threesome? I haven’t. Talk about overstimulating. One person is hard enough.” She giggles. “Hard.”
Rolling my eyes to the sky, I send a plea into the stars that Rue isn’t in the percentage of people who get horny on acid. It might actually break me.
She starts skipping and humming again, and I relax.
The peace lasts ten seconds.
“Priya told Maya and Maya told me that Penelope followed you to your cabin your first night here and knocked on your door naked. Did you have sex?”
I look at her in horror. “Fuck no. I slammed the door in her face. Priya was the one who dragged her away when she tried to break in through a window.”
She appears relieved, but it’s hard to tell with her wide-eyed, wandering gaze. The visuals are probably hitting full force now, a suspicion that’s confirmed when our path narrows and veers into the woods.
“The trees are breathing.” She gasps. “That branch just waved to me. Hi there, Mr. Tree. It’s so nice to meet you.”
The wonder in her voice makes me wish I could see what she sees, but the impulse doesn’t last long. Even if I weren’t trip-sitting, there’s no way in hell I’d eat one of Kirk’s mystery gummies.
Knowing how precarious acid trips are and how quickly they can go off the rails, I was worried the walk might freak Rue out.
I should have known better. She’s enraptured by everything—the moonlight streaking the path, the shifting shadows in the forest, the glowing solar lights.
She even fixates on my arm, fascinated by the texture of my knuckles and palms, the veins on my hand and forearm, and the goosebumps her fingertips draw from my skin.
I really don’t want to risk her peaceful state of mind, which is why I don’t tell her when, halfway to the cabin, I start freaking out.
For the last few minutes, I’ve heard an animal moving in the woods.
Something a lot fucking bigger than a squirrel or an opossum.
I swear it sounds like it’s following us.
Stalking us. I’ve been surreptitiously scanning the forest, but between the moon and the path lights, the shadows beyond are impenetrable.
Adjusting my grip on Rue’s hand, I subtly increase our pace for the third time. We’re speed walking at this point, but she remains oblivious, lost in her trip. More than once, I have to partially lift her when she’s distracted by something and doesn’t pick her feet up fast enough.
Despite our pace and the noise we’re making, whatever’s tracking us keeps getting closer. My slight hope that Dan’s messing with us wanes—he doesn’t have the patience to keep a prank going this long.
With my free hand, I slip the steel water bottle out of the side pocket of Rue’s backpack.
Whatever’s out there, I have zero qualms about bashing its head in.
Unless it’s a bear or a mountain lion, in which case I’m probably fucked.
But if I can hold it off long enough for Rue to escape, I can live with the consequences. Or more accurately, not live with them.
If I do survive, I’m going to have serious words with Kirk and Claudia, both of whom assured us the property was secured against native predators.
A branch snaps directly to my right. Jerking to a stop, I haul Rue against me. She snuggles into my side, but I’m panicking too hard to appreciate her instinctive response.
Fingers flexing on the water bottle’s cap, I face the direction I last heard the animal. My senses strain as I wait for another sound or movement in the undergrowth. When ten seconds pass in silence, I lower my head to whisper in Rue’s ear.
“Stay quiet for me, okay? If I tell you to run, I need you to sprint as fast as you can. This is really important—don’t look back and don’t stop until you find someone. Can you do that for me?”
She nods against my chest.
Spotting movement to my right, I tense and squint. But once again, I can’t see anything.
A cold sweat breaks out on my body. I try to remember specifics from my dad’s lessons on how to handle animal attacks, but our handful of father-son camping trips were over twenty years ago.
All I can recall is that if the animal is bigger than you, you’re supposed to act like you’re bigger than it. And don’t run.
Rue begins to tremble. She makes a small sound, then another. It keeps repeating, gaining in volume, until I finally comprehend what I’m hearing.
Laughter.
“Please, Rue. Please be quiet.”
The unrestrained fear in my voice silences her instantly. Her head lifts from my chest, and I glimpse a guilty expression before I resume scanning the woods.
“I’m so sorry. I completely forgot to warn you.”
She’s not even trying to speak softly.
My hand flies from her shoulder to her mouth. Shocked eyes blink up at me, then narrow.
She licks my palm.
“Stop it,” I hiss.
She does the opposite, doubling her efforts. Her tongue swirls and flicks over my skin, even poking between my fingers. It’s so obnoxious and distracting, I have no choice but to give in to her demand.
She wipes her face roughly on her sleeve. “Bleh. Salty.”
I gape, forgetting the threat in the trees, the fact she’s high, everything.
“You’re the most confusing person I’ve ever known. Wildflowers in one hand, live explosives in the other. I never know which one you’ll throw.”
Clasping her hands beneath her chin, Rue flutters her lashes. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
I shake my head. “Does any part of you understand what’s happening, or are the trees still talking to you?”
She huffs and wriggles free of my arm. “I’m high, not brain-dead. As I was trying to say before your hand assaulted my tongue, we’re not in danger. It’s just Lenny you’re hearing. She walks me home at night.”
I lose any ability to keep my voice down. “Who the fuck is Lenny?”
A low growl comes from the trees, lifting the hairs on the back of my neck. My head whips toward the sound.
“Get behind me.”
Does Rue listen? Of course not. She sidesteps my reaching hand and crouches at the edge of the path. When I lurch toward her, she throws me a blistering glance.
“Stay back. She’s sweet but protective. I’d rather not have to pull her teeth out of your throat.”
The air passing through my tight throat is insufficient, my lungs burning with effort. I’m aware of Rue’s strange affinity with animals, but this… this is a lot.
“I’m terrified of something happening to you. At least tell me what to expect. A wolf? Mountain lion?”
Surprisingly lucid eyes scan mine, and her features soften. “Lenny’s an unwanted stray. Lonely, scarred, and afraid to trust people.” Her voice cracks, and she quickly lowers her gaze.
My stomach drops, my intuition screaming that she’s talking about more than the dog—that she’s describing herself.
“Rue?” Her name is a whisper, the single syllable weighted with a hundred questions I don’t know how to ask.
She shakes her head roughly.
“You asked me to trust you earlier. I’m asking you to trust me now. I appreciate your concern, but I know what I’m doing.”
My hands haven’t stopped shaking, and it feels like my chest is splitting in half, but I force myself to say, “Okay. I trust you.”
Rue nods, and her pale hand extends toward the darkness. My fingers flex on the water bottle, every part of me tense and ready to launch to her defense.
“Here, Lenny. Come here, sweetheart. It’s okay.”
Amber eyes flash in the gloom. My heart jackknifes, and the bottle almost slips from my hand. Rue continues murmuring, her voice warm and soothing.
A head moves into view. Twitching black nose. Long, narrow muzzle with several scars. The fur on her chest is white, the rest of her a mix of gray, brown, and tan. Her ears are similar to a German Shepherd’s, tall and erect, but they look huge on her narrow head. One is missing its tip.
I don’t breathe as Rue reaches out to scratch beneath Lenny’s chin. She leans into the touch, her tongue lolling, displaying upper and lower canines that are startlingly white, large, and long.
“Who’s a good doggo? Did you eat some rabbits today? Smells like you did. I bet you want some strawberries and cheese for dessert, hmm?”
Lenny’s gaze lifts over Rue’s shoulder, her lambent eyes locking onto mine. She doesn’t bristle or growl, just stares at me as Rue continues showering her with affection.
I have the eeriest feeling the animal knows what I’m thinking and is amused.
My voice scrapes like sandpaper. “Rue? Please tell me you know that’s not a dog.”
She shrugs. “Close enough.”
And she continues petting the coyote.