Page 60 of River & Rue

“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.

23

rue

​. . .​

aftermath

There’s a sandstorm in my head, white noise and grit.

Everything hurts.

Nothing makes sense.

My skin is a network of raw nerves, my pajamas abrasive. My throat aches like I’ve been gargling gravel, and my mouth tastes worse than Lenny’s breath smells. My crusty eyelashes cling on every blurry blink, and a pickax swings rhythmically against my left cheekbone. The dry air sears my sinuses, smelling faintly and bizarrely of burnt cheese.

When I turn my head, my spine crackles like cheap taffy.

Sunlight bleeds around the blackout curtain over my cabin’s bedroom window. More seeps through the doorway from the living room. Even weak, the light makes my eyes sting and water.

I roll blindly, seeking darkness, and the bed disappears from under me. With a pitiful squeal and a thump that vibrates the walls, I land elbows-first on the thin, musty area rug. Groaning and coughing, I heave myself onto my back. Pain radiates from my elbows and pulses through my hips.

As my lungs relearn their primary function, I stare up at the ceiling fan. The white blades whirl lazily, but they look strange. Warped and… soft?

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

River’s amused voice in my bedroom should be shocking; that it isn’t can only be due to the violent tempest between my ears.

Lowering my gaze from the fan, I find him standing in my doorway. He looks as wrecked as I feel—wrinkled T-shirt and pajama pants, shadows beneath bloodshot eyes, loose hair a tangled mess, stubbled jaw. There’s a small, uneven braid on the right side of his face, tied off with a pink rubber band.