Chapter 37
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SEVEN
ZIGGY
The forest is gloomy. Foggy. The type of stillness that makes my head too quiet. Kennedy, Booker, and Foley are fanned out ahead of me as we cover the distance between Old End and the hillside I live on.
The last people who passed through here were dangerous. They had guns with them, and somehow, Wilde dealt with it, but he’s always seemed superhuman to me.
If I’m confronted by someone with a gun … I don’t know what I’ll do. If Kennedy is? Yeah, I’ll kill them.
We’re all on high alert for any unusual sounds, and even Booker and Foley have set aside their antagonism to search. The forest is huge, but it’s familiar, and if there’s someone out here, we’ll find them.
“I can’t believe none of you brought a weapon,” Foley says, lifting his Peril post a bit higher. It might not be one of Lynx’s knives, but that thing aimed at the head would do real damage.
“We don’t know that this person is dangerous,” Kennedy points out.
“We don’t know that they’re not either,” Foley throws back.
They both make a point, but a weapon was the furthest thing from my mind. Even if I did have one, there’s no guarantee I would have used it.
“Now, now, boys,” Booker says. “Wouldn’t want you getting into a fight and getting injured, would we?”
Well, he would. Though I suppose after being up and at it all night that even he needs to rest. I know all the people in town, but Booker is one that I struggle to get a read on.
Wilde likes to go to the swimming hole to relax, and Rooney likes to make soaps and candles and carve them into weird shapes.
Lynx spends his free time cooking or with the kids.
Booker though? I have no clue what he gets up to when no one is watching.
I’m not so sure that I want to know.
A loud crack comes from our left, and the four of us freeze. I’m peering through the trees, trying to make out any movement, but as the seconds stretch on without a sign, I relax.
No one there.
Kennedy turns to the rest of us. “We’re never going to find this guy.”
“We’ll find him.” Foley passes his stick to the other hand, and the small bit of sun we had disappears behind a heavy rain cloud. His piercing blue eyes turn toward the sky. “Let’s keep moving.”
Kennedy glances back at me. “You okay?”
I nod because out of the three of us, he’s the one who doesn’t know the forest well. If anything, I should be asking him that question.
“We need to get into the mind of our nighttime visitor,” Booker says. “They’re creeping in the dark and stealing food. Perhaps they’re not here for nefarious reasons. Unfortunately.”
“What’s unfortunate about that?” The shock comes through in Kennedy’s tone.
“I find the alternative much more fun.”
Kennedy eyes him with the same wariness I normally do. “Chances are this guy is lost and needs help.”
“Then why didn’t he ask for it?” Foley pushes some long grass aside with his post. “I don’t trust it.”
“Also, I find that innocent people don’t make off with very sharp, very large knives,” Booker adds.
Kennedy stops walking. “He what?”
“Poor thing chose Lynx’s favorite one too.” Booker’s smile spreads. “I’d hate to see what Lynx does to him once he’s found.”
“I almost hope the poor bastard isn’t found,” Kennedy croaks.
“If he’s smart,” Foley says, swiping more shrubs out of his way, “he’ll be hidden somewhere off the main paths. With easy access. Shelter.”
The storm clouds above rumble, making our creeping pointless.
“Definitely shelter,” he repeats. “There aren’t many places like that, right?”
“Hobby Straight was the first place we checked,” Booker says. “Those creepy little cabins attract chaos.”
“Surprised you don’t live there.” Kennedy flicks a look his way.
“Me?” Booker’s voice turns overly dramatic and offended. “I exist for a quiet life. I’m a man of simple pleasures. A mere servant to my community.”
“Fuck simple,” Foley says. “The only pleasure you should be given is the kind that drives you out of your mind.”
“Ah, but what if I’m already out of it?” Booker taps his temple, and I tune them out.
The few times I’ve seen the two of them together, it ends with Foley pissed off and storming away and Booker apathetic to whatever happened. They’re starting to get loud, and if they keep it up, whoever we’re looking for will hear us coming long before we see them.
At least between the thunder and the growing wind, it’s drowning them out.
I glance behind me, that suspicious instinct growing. There really can’t be many places to hide if I go off Foley’s requirements, and since Hobby Straight is clear, it narrows the possibilities even more.
Leaves crunch under my feet, a thin fog clings at my ankles, and the deeper we walk into the forest, the more it feels pointless. There’s no shelter this way. Only trees and trees and more trees.
We need to be smarter about this.
Off the main path. Easy access. Shelter. Access to food is probably high on the list too. So they’d have to be within walking distance of most of our homes.
That chilling feeling creeps up my spine again, and I glance back out of instinct.
Is this how Kennedy feels when he’s at my place? If so, I don’t blame him for being unsettled. I’d hate having to look over my shoulder and second-guess what’s lurking.
For me, the darkness of my mine is comforting. The openness of the trees is the problem. It’s never normally an issue, but knowing that someone is in our town, touching our things, potentially armed—it’s a mystery that none of us wants.
So I can understand Kennedy’s point of view when it comes to not knowing.
Maybe instead of the wall, I should have installed lights after all. Then he’d know exactly what was down there.
Nothing.
Or at least … it should be nothing.
Even though Kennedy felt like he was being watched. Even though he thought he heard something. My favorite shirt that wasn’t where I left it.
My feet stall as a ridiculous idea burrows into my brain.
I think I know where the stranger is.