“It was probably just the trees,” I tell her. “Or birds.”
Bears.
Wolves.
Anything that survives in the dark.
I don’t know what wildlife is still out there, surviving, adapting.
I don’t want to find out.
The weak torchlight cascades along the forest and the trees once more. Foliage, moss, boulders, boots—
My heart sinks. It drops to my gut, now an icy puddle, and I aim the torch at the pair of black, leather boots planted between two trees.
My heart doesn’t get the chance to beat—
Not before I spin on my heels and barrel into a run.
If Connie follows, if she chases me down the trail, I don’t know.
I don’t risk looking back at her.
I look ahead, chasing the faint beams of light down the trail.
The weight of the satchel cuts into my shoulder, slowing me down.
But the adrenaline is pumping through me. It keeps me on my feet, forces me into a sprint.
I jump over fallen branches like I wasn’t tumbled and thrashed by violent waves.
I swerve around overgrowth like I wasn’t battered in the flood.
I run like my legs didn’t give out when I was free of the waves, like I wasn’t sagging to the ground with sheer exhaustion.
Something in me rebirths—
And when I hear the cry behind me and it turns into a grunt, I just keep on running.
I leave Connie behind.
I leave Samick behind.
I save myself, and I run towards Bee.
TWENTY-ONE
SAMICK
Water splashes around his boots.
It is the song of the forest.
And it layers over the quiet of death.
There is peace in it.
But not this time.
