I try to channel my inner James Bond. I could sneak into the guards’ quarters, steal one of their uniforms, and infiltrate the group. Yeah, right. Like they’re not going to suspect anything when a puny eighteen-year-old suddenly appears among them.
How about something more direct? I could show up first thing in the morning and tell Avery that I’m a high school student doing my final paper on exotic-hunting reserves. Or not. Even if Avery was stupid enough to buy that, Whit’s hanging out somewhere and would recognize me instantly.
Plan C. I could set a fire or trip an alarm. That would at least provide a temporary distraction. But since I don’t even know where Juneau is or the status of her rescue mission, I might alert the guards at the wrong moment, and interfere with what she’s doing.
My best bet is to wait and watch. And just as I make that decision, high-powered headlights appear far to the south. As they get closer, I can see it’s some kind of enormous all-terrain vehicle—probably what Avery takes his clients hunting in. A toy for rich middle-aged men. At a fork, it turns and takes the road to the mansion. It pulls up into the circular driveway, and two guards climb out of the back.
Someone steps out of the driver’s seat and moves toward the house. At first, he’s too far away to see, but when he walks into the porch light I spot a head of black spiky hair. It’s the devil himself: Whit.
A figure jumps down out of the passenger seat. It’s a girl: She’s about half the size of the guards. Her pixie haircut and the gliding motion of her stride tip me off to her identity. My heart drops. Juneau’s been captured.
Well, it’s too late now for me to infiltrate or talk my way into the house. And since Juneau’s in their clutches, I can forget my plan to provide a distraction to her rescue attempt. She walks proudly up the porch steps and in through the front door. It doesn’t look like she’s handcuffed or bound, and the guards aren’t brandishing weapons. I wonder why she’s going along with them without a fight.
Once Juneau is inside and the door shut behind her, the two guards split off and walk around the mansion to the barracks. I watch as they join a picnic table of cardplayers outside their quarters; they unstrap guns, place them on the ground, and pull bottles out of a beer cooler. Their work is obviously done for the day.
I wonder if there are guards stationed inside the house, because none are visible outside it. Maybe Avery doesn’t plan on any trouble now that he’s gotten what he wants. Plus he practically has an army within yelling distance.
I need to get closer to see what’s going on inside the mansion. To discover exactly what Avery’s doing with Juneau—if he’ll have her locked up or if she’ll be able to escape.
I look down at my clothes: jeans, a black T-shirt, and dark blue tennis shoes. The white lettering and irate red bird on my Cardinals shirt glow in the dim moonlight, so I turn it inside out and put it back on.
Now only my skin stands out. Luckily, from all the action movies I’ve seen, I know how to fix that. I inch my way back to the trees, and once among them I use a stick to dig up some dirt. I pour a little bit of bottled water on it, then stir it around until it’s thick. And then I spread it all over my arms and face. It dries fast—within minutes my arms are caked with dried mud.
I look through the tent bag to see if there’s anything heavy I should leave behind. But, imagining that if I’m successful and somehow manage to spring Juneau, we might need the food and water. I leave everything in and, swinging the bag to my back, get ready to retreat into the forest. I’d rather backtrack and climb down the unexposed side of the hill, than go the direct route down and serve as target practice for bored guards with a few beers in them.
I’m only a few steps into the dark wood when I hear something that makes my blood run cold. A low growl comes from the blackness near me. My hair stands on end as my heart simultaneously leaps into my throat. What the hell was that?
I suddenly remember I am on a wild-animal hunting range. And it dawns on me that those ten-foot-high fences around the mansion and barracks aren’t for intruders. They are meant to keep animals away from humans. Or, more specifically, to keep the animals in the zone between the perimeter fence and the living areas . . . which is exactly where I am right now.
Holy crap, what kind of animals did that gas station guy mention? Zebras and antelopes? I might not know much about animals, but I very much doubt it’s one of them making these menacing deep-in-the-throat growls. This is a predator.
The only predators I’ve ever seen outside a zoo are the coyotes roaming around L.A. People are warned to keep their dogs and kids close by, but they don’t usually attack adults. That is, unless you come near their cubs.
But this doesn’t sound like a coyote. It’s definitely more catlike . . . in a not-so-cute-and-fluffy way.