Page 28

“That’s what I was going to ask. The light went out. I thought something was wrong with the flashlight, and I called to you, but you didn’t answer. I tried to go to you, but I got turned around, I think—it was so dark. Then I thought…”

He trails off, and his cheeks flush.

“You thought what?”

He gives a low, wry laugh. “I, uh, mistook a mushroom for a zombie hand.”

“You…?”

“Hey, I hate zombies, okay? It was cold and slimy, and it felt like … Well, whatever. It was a fungus. Then I heard you and came running. Did the flashlight go out?”

“No, you disappeared,” I say.

“What? No, I never—”

I hold up a hand, asking him to let me finish. “That’s what I experienced. You walked beyond the flashlight beam, and I asked you to hold up so I could get closer and keep you in the light. You seemed to stop. Then you were just frozen in place and when I walked closer, you vanished. I started backing up to the road, only the road wasn’t there. I was inside the woods, and I realized you didn’t vanish. I did. I moved somewhere.” I take a deep breath. “I know that sounds ridiculous.”

He gives a shaky laugh. “Did I mention I mistook a fungus for a zombie hand? It really did look and feel like—” He swallows the rest. “I thought I was walking toward the road, but I couldn’t find it either. And I never heard you tell me to stop. I was just going to dart past the light and grab the branch, and then the light was gone, and so were you. So I don’t know what happened, but it was like both of us … moved. Somehow.”

I wait for him to acknowledge the impossibility of that. To acknowledge that it makes no sense and therefore something is wrong here.

But he only looks around. “What matters is that I found you, and now I want to get out of here.”

“Please tell me you know which way is out.”

“No, but I’m sure we can find it. Those hazard lights should still be on and blinking. Let’s walk…” He squints and points. “That way?”

“As good as any.”

“I’ll count steps. After fifty, if we don’t see the lights, we can reconsider.” He glances down at me. “I’m going to ask you to hold on to me. My arm. My sleeve. My shirt. I won’t touch you, but I’d like you to hold on, so we stay together. Is that okay?”

My laugh is shaky. “After that experience, I’m inclined to say we hold hands, just to be sure.”

He puts out his hand. “That works, too.”

I take his hand firmly, and as his fingers envelop mine, something inside me relaxes.

We set out, me with the flashlight lifted in my left hand, him with the crowbar brandished in his right. I keep the beam on our path, and we walk in silence.

I want to ask more about what he saw. See if I can push him to acknowledge this is not normal.

I will. Later. Right now, we should be quiet, using all our senses.

The only thing I hear is the crunch of undergrowth beneath our feet. We move in tandem, until even our steps sync as he seems to instinctively slow to match my stride.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

The shadows stay where they are, cast only by trees and bushes, disappearing when the angle of the light changes.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

Then another sound, one that has us both stopping, heads jerking up.

“You hear that?” Henry says.

It’s the distinctive growl of an engine, coming from our right.

“Car,” I say.