Chapter 31
Hands shaking, heart pounding, I stand perfectly still. I hold my breath, listening.
But the woods around me have gone quiet.
I don’t know where the scream came from. But it was short. Sharp and violent.
It was Sandra. I’m sure.
Opening my mouth, I try to call for my friend. To find out where she is. So I can help.
But her name dies on my lips.
I have frozen in place. I can’t move. I can’t speak.
I need to be as small as possible. And still.
Someone hurt Sandra. Someone hurt her, and they’re out here, and so are you.
Small and unprotected.
You can’t see them. You can’t hear them.
You have to hide. You have to make sure they don’t see you.
Be small and still and silent.
I’m shaking. I can smell the scent of my own fear, rising from my skin. Harsh and metallic.
If I can smell it, does that mean they can too? That other in the woods?
Can they see me?
They got Sandra. They’re going to get me, too.
Are they already creeping closer? Rock or knife or something else in hand?
I look to the left, to the right. It’s all the same. It’s all just gray on blue on black, shadows layered over shadows.
If I don’t move, I’ll end up a heap of forgotten bones on the forest floor, rotting under the twisted roots.
A drop of cold water hits my scalp, and I flinch away from the tree, taking one long step and landing on a fallen branch. It cracks with a sound as loud as a gunshot, and I freeze again, holding my breath.
I have to get out of here. I have to get out and tell someone. I have to get back to the light, back to safety.
I just want to go home. I don’t want to do this, anymore.
The woods sound like they’re breathing around me. Some ancient, thousand-fingered monster, buried in the earth, slowly waking.
A whisper, traveling on the coming storm. Just a few steps away. Something shifting, in the dark, separating itself from the dozens and hundreds of stark black trees, moving closer on light feet.
“Isobel.”
I turn, and start to run.
My feet hurt, equal parts cutting pain and cold. My chest is aching. The taste of adrenaline floods my mouth, dizzying.
I can no longer remember where I came from; everywhere around me is forest. I can’t see where the light is.
A branch catches me in the face, and I cry out, but I don’t stop.
Have to get away. Have to get to safety.
Where is safety? I don’t know. All I know is the animal instinct. Life, light, warmth, people.
Protect me from what resides in the dark.
My foot catches, my ankle twisting; a lightning bolt of pain running up my leg. I fall, trying to catch myself, banging my head, biting my tongue, mouth filling with blood.
Have to get up. Have to get to my feet. Have to keep running.
My father’s voice, words long since worn thin and old, echoing.
“You can’t show that you’re scared. You’ll give away the game. That’s the important thing. As long as you keep playing, you’re safe.”
I gave away the game.
Did they get Sandra? Or did she tell them? Did they scare her into complacency? Did she trade herself for me?
I will never leave these woods. Will never leave this place.
As I lie there, on the harsh, prickly floor of the forest, I turn my head, pulse drumming in my ears, and I see it.
A glimpse of unnatural light.
A lamp, through a window.
It’s just a few feet away. One of the cabins.
I’ve run around, parallel to the tree line.
The wind calms, for just a few moments, and I hear it again. Steps. No more than ten, twenty yards away. And breathing, heavy, labored.
This time, there’s no denying it. I might have imagined the person by the pond last night. Might have told myself I was frightening myself.
But this is real. There’s someone out here with me. And it’s not Sandra.
I lie very, very still.
The steps quiet down. They’re standing still. They can’t see me.
One of the hard, thorny little bushes is stinging my face, digging into the soft skin on my cheek. It hurts, but I dare not move.
The cold damp of the softly rotting fallen pines and moss underneath me is seeping into the fabric of my pants, my shirt. Something runs down my cheek. If it’s blood or sweat or rain, I can’t say.
My breathing is short and shallow, coming in explosive little bursts. I press my lips together, trying to stay quiet.
“Don’t be scared.”
It’s a whisper. No more. The voice sounds familiar. I can’t place it. I don’t know if I’m imagining the recognition. My very thoughts have gotten small, become naught more than basal instincts. More commands than cognition.
I am prey, hiding quietly, praying to go unnoticed. To live another day.
Another few steps. Slow, but not hesitant. Moving closer.
And there’s a smell, too. Wafting over.
Heavy, and metallic, and instantly recognizable. Had I never smelled it before, I would still know it in my very bones.
It’s blood.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
Such a sweet promise.
I know it for a lie the way the rabbit knows the wolf.
Staring at the light, I silently fill my lungs with air, until it feels like they might burst. I blink until my vision unblurs, until I see that taunting light beyond the trees with more clarity than I have ever seen anything before.
There’s a strange calm inside me. One I’ve never felt before.
One chance.
This is not a game anymore. There’s no room for mistakes.
Another step. This one can’t be more than seven or eight yards away. Even in the night, they’ll be able to see me soon. Or sense me. Feel the difference in the air near the trembling mass of me.
I tense my arms.
“Can we talk?”
The whisper harsher now. More urgent. The smell of blood growing stronger.
I push myself to my feet, and I run.
The pain in my feet is gone. I can’t feel the cold. I know only that I need to get to that light.
The trees part before me, the light growing closer. The wind is tearing at me, threatening to throw me down, but I won’t let it.
For a few seconds, I am flying.
And then I stumble out from the woods, back onto the neatly trimmed lawn, the cabins stretching out before me.
I want to turn around. But I can’t let myself.
I can’t remember who is where. I can’t even remember which one is mine. They all look the same, in the night: small, and forbidding, and anonymous. Like they could hide anything and protect nothing.
Running over to the next nearest cabin, I almost trip, again, over one of those stupid fucking inspirational rocks. Stopping for a second, I reach down to pick it up. Maybe I can use it to defend myself.
“Isobel?”
I stop, and I straighten, rock held firmly in hand.
Clara is standing a about twelve feet away from me.
When she smiles, I see that her lip is bleeding.
“What’s wrong?”