Hotbloods (Hotbloods #1)

Lauren laughed. “Heh, yeah that’s true. Just the train tracks.”

My two friends continued their small talk for a bit, before falling quiet, allowing me to relish our surroundings. I listened intently, and discovered that the chirping of crickets was only the surface of the myriad of sounds that ruled the night. A soft, gentle cooing drifted over from the direction of the woods, along with the creaking of tree trunks and the whispering of leaves. I could even make out the tinkling of chimes in the distance—coming from Mr. Doherty’s home.

I let my eyes fall closed as I dug deeper into the layers of serenity, trying to identify each unique sound, each instrument in the night’s chorus. Mr. and Mrs. Churnleys’ snoring soon became a part of it.

And then a loud shout pierced the air.

At least, I thought it was a shout. It was a booming, yet short sound, which had just been too humanlike to be a bark.

I was turning over to look at my friends when I heard it again, but louder and longer this time, drifting over to us from the woodland area.

“You heard that, right?” I asked, staring at Lauren and Angie.

Their eyes were wide, concern etched across their faces. “Yeah,” Angie said. “Someone shout—”

It came again, longer and more urgent than before.

We all stood up and moved over to the window. “It’s coming from that direction, isn’t it,” Lauren murmured, pointing toward the mass of trees.

“Yes,” I replied. “I wonder who—”

When it happened a fourth time, it was closer to a scream than a shout, and there was no doubt in my mind that whoever was making the noise was definitely in pain. The near silence of the night amplified the noise, carrying it to us with unnerving clarity.

“Who else would it be but one of those guys?” Angie said after an anxious pause. “I think we should go and check it out. Make sure they’re okay.”

Lauren and I looked at her, and I swallowed, gauging the distance between our treehouse and the beginning of the fence bordering off their patch of forest. It was really no more than a ten-minute walk, and we had our flashlights out here already.

“Okay,” I said. “I think we should too.”

Lauren bit her lip. “Shouldn’t we let the Churnleys know first?”

We paused again, looking toward the farmhouse.

“Honestly,” Angie replied, “I feel bad about waking them up. If it’s serious, we’ll obviously rush back and figure out how to get help to him, but—let’s just find out what’s wrong with the guy. I mean, for all we know, it could just be a really bad stubbed toe…” She gave us a sheepish smile, and I grinned in spite of myself.

“Okay, I guess that makes sense.” I raised a brow at Lauren, who was still looking dubious. “What do you think, Lauree?”

“I guess I’m just a little nervous about wandering around out there in the dark.”

“Well, you don’t have to come,” Angie said, already rummaging around for our flashlights. “You can leave the initial recon mission to Riley and me.”

“No way,” she replied, frowning. “If you guys are going, I’m not gonna be left behind.”

“Okay, well—let’s get going then,” Angie said, handing Lauren and me our flashlights. Lauren readjusted her dark hair in a tight bun, as if she was preparing to go to war or something, and then grabbed the waist bag Mr. Churnley had brought us and fastened it around her waist. “In case we need water.” She flashed us a knowing look before we piled out of the treehouse and clambered down the ladder.

There was definitely no harm in bringing water, given how sticky the night was, but I didn’t anticipate our being gone for much more than twenty minutes. Especially if we jogged, which I suspected we would, given how intense the shouts were becoming.

As we touched down on the ground and hurried toward the gate, I had to wonder if the noise would end up waking up the Churnleys after all. Then again, they were deep sleepers, so it wouldn’t surprise me if they slept through it.

We pounded down the track leading to the woods, aiming our flashlights ten feet ahead of us, though the moon on its own was almost bright enough we didn’t need the flashlights.

We didn’t say much as we ran, since we were preserving our breath to get there as quickly as possible, but once we reached the beginning of the fence, we paused and looked at each other. The shouting was definitely louder now, meaning that it was, without a doubt, coming from within the fenced enclosure. But, now that we were here, we were faced with the predicament of —

“So, what do we do exactly?” Lauren asked in a hushed tone. “Climb over the fence?”

“No,” Angie replied, eyeing the fence with a slight wariness. “I think we should just yell and hope they hear us.”

And so we began to call out. “HELLO?”

“ARE YOU OKAY?”

“DO YOU NEED HELP?”

But the shouting continued undeterred, as if he couldn’t hear us at all. Even when we yelled at the top of our lungs, it was as if it fell on deaf ears.

Angie huffed, her gaze passing along the top of the fence again, pausing at a few low-hanging branches.

“So maybe we should climb over after all,” she muttered.

Lauren looked nervous, her lips twitching, but she nodded. I didn’t actually think it would be a big deal. Several of the trees looked easy enough to climb, with many low branches. It wouldn’t be any harder than climbing a ladder.

Angie went first, with Lauren and me giving her a boost, and I went second, climbing just high enough so that we could drop our legs over the other side, and leap down. There were other trees on this side that looked easy to climb, too, so I didn’t worry about us getting back out—in case we didn’t end up finding whoever we were here for, or he couldn’t unlock the fence’s opening for some reason.

Once all three of us were safely on the ground, we headed through the trees, guided by the ever-present shouting…which had finally grown a little softer, and now sounded more like groaning.

We hurried, careful to dodge brambles and fallen trunks—as well as a large pit that had been dug in the ground. I wasn’t sure why they’d been digging a hole here, but the sight of it confirmed the shoveling noise we’d heard earlier.

After five minutes of walking, an old wooden house came into view, and my eyes widened. It was much bigger than I’d expected it to be — bigger than the Churnleys’ home, with four stories rather than two, and about twice as wide. As we drew closer, I also realized that all the windows had been boarded up — and it was with new wood, which meant that it had been done only recently, probably in the last day or so. Which confused me somewhat, given what the guys had told us earlier. If they were here to renovate this old house, why had they boarded up the windows?