CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Cordie lay on the ground, curled up and shivering at the foot of the tree, afraid to move. She’d stayed that way for a long time.

Hours must have passed since the woods echoed with the monstrous yell of the beast and she’d seen its dark shape stride through the trees. Hours since she’d heard Ben’s pleading, terrified voice. God, he must’ve met an awful death.

The thing had come her way, and passed her by.

But it might be lurking near.

She couldn’t stay on the ground much longer. She had to urinate badly, and she didn’t want to wet herself.

Finally, she rolled onto her belly. She raised her head. Her eyes searched the forest. The air had a blue‑ gray cast, and she could see a long distance into the surrounding trees.

With sudden dread, she realized that the night’s protective darkness was gone.

She got to her knees. Her right arm, numb from being crushed by her body for so long, hung useless at her side. Slowly, feeling returned to the arm. It tingled and burned. She shook it. She flexed her fingers. When the arm felt usable again, she stood up.

She turned slowly, studying the woods. She seemed to be alone.

Quickly, she lowered her pants. She squatted and let herself open. Her stream sounded terribly loud hitting the leafy ground. Eyes on the woods, she wished the noise would end. But she wasn’t willing to stop the flow; getting rid of the aching tightness felt so good. Finally, she finished. She stood and pulled up her pants.

For a few moments, she stared in the direction that Ben had run. She didn’t want to see his body. She couldn’t just leave, though. Not without knowing, for sure, that he was dead. To know with absolute certainty, she had to see him.

She walked slowly, trying to move with total silence. In spite of her care, each footstep caused a quiet crush of the forest debris. Not much of a sound. But enough for others to hear. Too much. She took longer strides. Though her footsteps were louder, that way, she wouldn’t need as many to reach her goal.

A goal she didn’t want to reach. She wanted only to hide.

But she had to find out.

She kept moving. She knew just where to look. All night, in her mind, she had seen Ben dart into the trees, heard him running, heard his voice. He hadn’t gone far. No farther than the distance, back home, between the front door and the kitchen.

When she saw his legs, she stopped. He was on his back, one leg straight out, the other bent sideways at the knee in a position that looked painful. The rest of Ben was hidden behind a tree.

His pants were all covered with blood.

“Ben? ” she asked. The word came out as quiet as a breath.

But much too loud.

She took a step, and saw more: the lap of his pants, the bloody stomach of his shirt. She inched closer. The tree uncovered more: his chest, his out flung right arm. With another step, she would see his face.

God, she didn’t want to!

Not dead.

Twisted and hideous with Ben’s final horror.

It would serve no purpose. He was obviously dead. She didn’t have to see his face to know that.

God, to look at it…

The face she had kissed, so long and hard, only last night.

She began to cry.

She took a step backward until the tree concealed all but his legs. She stared at them. They were blurred by her tears.

Those shoes.

She’d flung one out the car window at a drive‑ in movie, last week.

“Oh Ben, ” she moaned.

Then she ran. She knew she was making too much noise, but she didn’t care.

Let them get me. Let them!

She ran hard. Away from Ben. Running blindly, tears in her eyes, head thrown back. Better to look at the sky, the blue morning sky, than whatever might be coming to kill her.

She crashed into a thicket. Its limbs gripped her legs, but she churned through, kicking and grunting. It couldn’t hold her back. As she broke free, though, it caught her trailing foot. It tripped her. She plunged forward, shrieked, and twisted wildly to keep from falling onto the naked boy.

The boy who’d attacked her last night.

The one slaughtered only minutes before Ben.

She hit the ground. Got to her hands and knees. Glanced at the body. Saw blood and ants, and the pulpy stump of neck where his head should have been.

Scrambling to her feet, she ran. She knew she was making too much noise.

Now, she cared.

As soon as she was well away from the body, she stopped. She looked around her.

There!

A dense thicket, off to the right.

She rushed to the high cluster of bushes. She circled it, trying to see inside. The closely packed, leafy branches blocked her view.

Perfect!

Dropping onto her belly, she squirmed forward. She pushed her way through the leaves and springy, low‑ hanging tendrils. Deeper and deeper into the thicket.

Finally, she stopped. She looked to each side, and saw no hint of the outside world. She rolled. Directly above, she could see a few tiny patches of sky.

Something tickled her arm. She looked. An ant.

Her fingertip got it. The ant left a tiny skid‑ mark on her skin. “Not yet, ” she muttered.