THE WILD SEASON

Chapter 12

My watch reads 10:00 pm, and here's the answer to my earlier question: In the middle of the forest, it becomes blacker than nightmares at exactly 8:15 pm. When Colt gets back, I'll probably drown him in the stream. Granted, it'll take a Herculean effort on my part since he's built like an oxe, but right at this moment, I think I've got it in me.

I spent the first hour arranging our supplies. Now there's an area for food and drinks, an area for tools, an orderly stack of wood, and even a place for my sleeping equipment. Just looking at everything so neatly laid out helps me to breathe easier.

After that, I devoured the first half of Survive the Woods, which was written by an army ranger named Clarita J. Ortiz, and speaking of kidnappings, if I were ever going to be kidnapped, I hope it's by that woman. At least I know I'd be well cared for until she decided to waterboard me, or whatever.

"Two or three hours my butt," I mumble, glancing at the horizon for any sign of Colt. But what did it matter? I had everything I needed right here, and if Colt never returned—if this was some giant prank on his part—then I'd get the last laugh in the form of a carefree summer before I returned to the damage I'd done to my future.

I walk over to the tent and kick it, just to see if it will somehow get the thing to put itself together. But no, it just lies there like I imagine Colt does every day after school.

Unzipping the tent bag tells me there are more than a few steps to erecting this thing, but I am smarter than vinyl and plastic rods, right?

Wrong.

My watch reads who-freaking-knows when I throw the tent rods five feet through the blinding night and scream. My voice echoes across the woods, and I imagine nearby hikers hear me. Maybe they'll come check on me, and I won't be opposed to the s'mores and conversation they'll offer. But actually, Colt said we wouldn't be anywhere near official campsites, so that's not happening.

I really am alone.

In the woods.

In the dark.

I turn in a slow circle and realize I can't see farther than ten feet, and I have no idea what lies outside the clearing. If there is someone, or something, watching me, I'd never know until it was too late.

My mind clicks through the possibilities, and swiftly sticks on wolves. Have wolves every killed someone? Do they live in the forest? I think they do.

I hear a sound.

A voice?

A voice!

I drop my water bottle mid-sip and jog toward the sound. When I get close to the clearing's perimeter, where the trees bow toward me, I pause.

"Colt?"

The sound comes again. A groan. Because he's hauling Sloth's carrier, I remember.

"Over here," I call out, plunging into the dense brush. "Colt?"

I hear Colt rustling through the thigh-high bushes, and hustle toward him.

And then I stop, a chill slipping down my spine. How can I be sure it's Colt?

The thing I heard moves quickly, too quickly.

I turn and race toward the clearing, panic shooting through my arms and legs, my fingers and toes. The thing behind me picks up its pace too. I see the clearing in the distance, but at the last possible moment, I cut to the left and run faster. If something is chasing me, the last thing I want to do is leave myself out in the open.

My mind buzzes with terror as I rocket past tree limbs and leap over large rocks and dive around large shrubs. I don't know whether the thing is still moving. All I can hear is the sound of me blazing across the forest, the sounds of the wild breaking away as I bulldoze a path.

My skin is electric.

My breath comes in panicked bursts.

I run for several minutes and then, when I see a low-lying rock jutting out from the raised earth, I dive underneath. Backing against the damp wall, I shove a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound of my breathing.

Tears blind me to my surroundings, and I don't dare speak a single word. I don't know how long I stay that way, my body curving to fit the inside of the shallow cavern, but when something crawls across my hand I fire out into the night.

"No!" I say, pointing a finger at the cavern like it understands me. "No way." My entire body shivers in disgust, but then I remember the thing I heard earlier, and I freeze. I listen, but there's nothing there.

Unless it's silently tracking me.

I narrow my gaze and look in all directions, wondering how far I am from the clearing. Thinking I never should have left. Thinking I need to buck up and do what I came here to do—survive and thrive.

I pull myself up to my full five-foot-five height, and remember what I read about navigation in Survive the Woods. There was something about following stars, and the sun. But she also said if all else failed, stay put, which sounds much simpler.

I find the base of a tree and squat down. Hug my knees to my chest and tell myself I only need the sun to rise. When it does, I'll make my way back. I'll put the tent together, boil water, and have an oatmeal chocolate-chip granola bar or three. And then I'll begin plans for my long-term shelter.

I have my human brain. I have my human body. I am more than capable of handling one night in the dark, and all the peaceful summer nights afterward.

These thoughts soothe me, and I began to feel idiotic for running from an animal that was most likely running from me. I'm comforted, until I feel the first insignificant droplets of rain splash on my head, and my bare knees, and my custom-fit hiking boots. Until the clouds roar with thunder, the sky splinters and cracks open, and the world is washed in sheets of blinding rain.