“There’s plenty of birds with creepy calls. I went camping with Dad a lot. Trust me. It’s a bird.” I nudge her along. “Come on, let’s keep moving.”
Reluctantly, she takes the first step. I mark a nearby tree, and follow suit, my steps rushed as if speed will end the search sooner.
We walk, and walk, and walk until the hours bleed into one another. My chalk is barely one inch long now, theXs progressively smaller to extend its life.
We must’ve covered at least five miles and the deeper into the forest we sink, the worse the terrain. My legs ache, my water bottles are empty, I’m hungry, tired, and not even Nash’s hoodie can keep me warm anymore.
I hold out as long as I can, scared of Chloe’s reaction, but once the sky above the leaves is smeared with orange, we’re out of time. We won’t make it back before sunset, and my skin crawls at the thought of five miles through the darkness.
“Chloe...” I press my index finger to the tree, drawing a faint line with the last of the chalk. “It’s getting late. We should head back.”
She spins around, her cheeks and nose pink from the biting cold, eyes hooded like she’s not far off falling asleep. “We haven’t found him yet.”
“I know, I know but... Amari and Levi are out here too. Maybe they found him.”
She glances over her shoulder. “Just a little further? Please, ten more minutes.”
“We’re already pushing our luck staying out so late and I’m all out of chalk.”
Her eyes drop to my hands, resignation marring her face. “Okay, let’s go back.” She inhales a deep breath, letting one lastJensen!thunder across the forest.
The echoes are her only answer, carrying the word far away. Silence falls again like fine dust and Chloe’s shoulders slump. Slowly, dragging her feet, she starts toward me, and we head back, retracing our steps.
Sunset comes and goes. Darkness settles upon us, nothing but the flashlight on my phone illuminating theXs marking the trees.
I’m exhausted, thirsty, my thigh muscles are on fire, and I’m beyond annoyed that I let Chloe talk me into this. I don’t even like Jensen.
I lose track of time, chasing my own thoughts, and this time I do collide with Chloe’s suddenly stationary back.
“Did you hear that?”
“The bird?” I clip, leaning against a tree, my patience hanging by a thread. “Yeah, I did.”
I know she wants to find him; I know she’s scared that he’s injured, but if she doesn’t get a move on, we’ll be navigating in complete darkness.
“It’snota bird, Hailey! It’s the same place we heard that wail before!” She shines a light at the ground, where an empty bottle of water’s lying beside my foot. “I dropped it here to see if we’d hear the bird again. Birds don’t stay in the same place so long, do they?!”
“Chlo—” I fall silent when I hear the sound again. “Maybe it’s a different animal.”
“Or maybe it’sJensen!”
Another wail hits my ears, sending my pulse soaring. It sounds like a whimper now, loud, strained... like someone in a great deal of pain. Like someone who can’t make his vocal cords work.
My heart rams against my ribs while I rationalize. “You’re tired. You hear what you want—”
She breaks into a sprint, darting among the trees with newfound strength, my arguments chasing deaf ears.
“Chloe! Stop! You can’t—” I cut myself off because she’s not listening. I can barely see her in the darkness. “You’ll get us killed,” I mutter, throwing a fewfucksat nothing, and...
I hare after her, only dodging half the low-hanging branches. The rest scratch my arms, neck, and face, but I don’t slow down.The whimpering grows louder, more desperate, agonizing. Like he can hear us coming and tries his best to keep making noises even though it costs him so much pain.
“Jensen!” Chloe shouts, her voice as desperate as her moves. She runs so fast her feet hardly touch the ground.
I barely keep up with her, dashing deeper into the woods, but force my tired legs to push harder, chasing the whimpers and Chloe, adrenaline spurring me on.
Every few seconds, her voice pierces the air, growing louder and more desperate with each cry.
And then, as fast as she was running, she suddenly stops. I catch up seconds later, painfully aware that we’ve raced God knows how far without marking a single tree.
