Page 29
As we step over a dead oak, the hair on the back of my neck stands straight. Something shifts—too quiet, too deliberate. Instinct kicks in. I don’t break stride, don’t give the presence away. Just slowly, carefully, unclip my holster, the soft click swallowed by the stillness.
Then I hear it—faint, but there. Someone trying like hell to move quietly through the thick cluster of pines off to my right. Heavy footfalls masked by fallen needles, branches brushing fabric, breath held too tight.
We’re not alone out here.
I shift my weight, keeping my movements slow and controlled, trying not to spook whoever’s out there. Jeff's still yammering on about the benefits of safe sex, oblivious, and I don’t even bother looking at him. The only thing that matters now is the sound—quiet, muffled steps moving with a carefulness that feels practiced.
Each footfall is just loud enough to remind me that someone’s following, but not enough to pinpoint them exactly.
I can’t tell if it’s an adult or someone younger. But whoever it is, they’re moving like they know the land—like they’ve been here long enough to know how to disappear into the trees when the situation calls for it.
A small snap of a twig underfoot. I turn my head slightly toward the sound, squinting into the thicket. There, near the base of a thick pine, a movement. A flash of something too small to be an adult—thin, scraggly, a silhouette that’s just a bit too quick.
My hand instinctively tightens around my gun, but then I hear it—a voice. High-pitched, shaky, barely more than a whisper.
“Fuck…”
That’s all I get.
Then a flash of movement small, fast—darting between the trees like a deer spooked by a rifle crack.
“Shit,” I mutter, taking off after it, boots crunching dead pine needles as I shove past branches. Jeff yelps behind me, but I don’t look back.
Whoever it is is small, wiry, and fast as hell as they zigzag through the woods like they’ve done it a hundred times. I catch glimpses of tattered clothes, pale limbs, dirt-smudged skin.
A kid. Definitely a kid.
Running like hell’s nipping at their heels.
I stop cold, heart hammering in my ears, and just listen.
There—footsteps, light and quick, heading west.
I veer off the path and cut through the thicket, branches clawing at my arms, pine needles snapping underfoot. I move fast and silent, instinct and adrenaline guiding me.
Just as the figure breaks through a clearing, I lunge arms out and catch them around the waist.
They thrash like a wild animal, fists and elbows flying, but I hold tight.
“Easy,” I mutter, voice low but firm. “Ain’t nobody here to hurt you.”
Up close, I can feel the tremble in their bones, and now I’m sure—it’s a kid. Filthy, panicked, and half-starved, but definitely just a kid.
Jeff stumbles into the clearing a full ten seconds later, red-faced and gasping like he’s just run a damn marathon. His eyes go wide as he takes in the scene, me holding what looks like a feral child mid-thrash, dirt-streaked and wild-eyed.
“I-Is that…s that a child?” he wheezes, clutching his chest like he might need a damn defibrillator.
“Fuck you, nerd boy! I’m grown!” the kid spits out, voice trembling, but there’s fire in it. He struggles against my grip, kicking his legs in a frantic attempt to break free, but it’s no use. I tighten my hold, holding him steady against my chest.
“Grown, huh?” I murmur, keeping my voice low, steady. “You’re about as grown as a stray cat trying to claw its way out of a corner kid.”
The kid snarls, his eyes flashing with defiance as he twists in my arms, teeth bared like he’s ready to bite me. I see it—wild, untamed, that stubborn streak I know all too well. It’s the same damn fire Lou’s got.
“Don’t call me kid,” he snaps, venom in every word. “I’ll gut you in your sleep.”
I raise a brow, unfazed. “You planning on doing that before or after I feed you?”
That stalls him for half a second—just long enough to see past the snarl. Underneath all the cussing and scrapes, he’s just scared shitless. Starving. Alone. A walking storm front in threadbare sneakers.
