Page 79 of Forbidden to Fall

What if it was a bear? Were you supposed to play dead? Or was that with mountain lions?

All the questions I should have asked James when I’d had the chance pelted my brain.

Another rustling.

Closer this time.

“James,” I whispered. My voice was hoarse from disuse.

I went quiet, listening for more movement.

The few feet between James and me felt like the difference between survival and certain death. A bear didn’t need two humans for its midnight snack—or whatever time it was.

Another rustling snatched the breath left in my lungs.

Grabbing the edge of my pad with one hand and my sleeping bag with the other, I scooted toward James in a panicked, ungraceful wriggle, like a caught fish flopping toward water.

When there was a foot left between us, James stirred, and I stopped abruptly. His hands were clasped on his chest.

More rustling.

I grasped his cold hand. “James,” I hissed.

He stirred, his eyes slowly fluttering open. His sleepy gaze settled on me and immediately grew more focused.

“There’s something out there,” I whispered. “In the trees.”

He blinked a few times, then raised up on his elbow, his gaze searching around. A little shiver ran through him, and he looked at the dark pit, where just a few embers glowed.

He grabbed the flashlight next to his sleeping bag and got out. “Where did you hear it?”

“Behind me. Back there.” I pointed in the direction of the sound.

He directed the light there, then walked toward it. Toward mortal peril.

“What if it’s a bear?” I whisper-hissed as he walked into the trees.

I debated for a second, then scrambled out of my bag. Apparently, I preferred walking into danger in company to being a sitting duck by myself.

The warmth of my sleeping bag gave way to the cold night air, and I shuddered, hurrying up beside James as his flashlight scanned the area.

There was another big rustle, and I grabbed his arm instinctively. The solidness of it reassured me.

The flashlight roamed, then settled on a tree trunk.

James looked down at me, latched onto his arm like it was the only thing standing between me and the gruesome headline of tomorrow’s news. “Squirrel.”

Sure enough, a bushy-tailed squirrel stared at us like a deer in the headlights, its tiny paws gripping the bark in a way oddly reminiscent of how I was gripping James’s arm. It stayed stock-still before scrambling up the trunk and out of sight.

I let out a big breath and released James’s arm. “In my defense…”

He smiled. “It’s okay. How long were you imagining the worst before you woke me?”

“Hours,” I said.

His eyes widened.

“Okay…minutes.”