A rustle of leaves. It sounded close. A hush had fallen over our group. I thought I saw movement between the trees. “Come on.” I motioned to the others.
We tried to keep our pace calm and steady, but as we left the clearing, it continued to escalate. Twigs split within earshot. The three of us broke into a jog, twisting our chins over our shoulders to check to see if somebody was following. Then we were running. Our flashlights bobbed in and out of tree trunks. We sprinted back the way we came. Although I knew Adam could outrun me by a mile, he stayed a few inches behind, and I could feel his protective presence envelop me.
“It’s farther to the right,” I huffed.
“Are you sure?” Owen asked, but he followed me.
As we ran, I began to think of how the boys died. My mind jumped to the body in the field with the bear trap snapped around the anklebone, and I aimed my flashlight at the ground, scared at any moment one of us would feel the iron jaws clamp down on our foot. My heart turned into a wrecking ball hell-bent on destroying the inside of my chest.
We clambered through the woods until we couldn’t hear the snapping of branches. The trees thinned. I could see the road. One by one, we arrived at my car. I rested my hands on Bert’s hood and tried to catch my breath. Owen dropped the canvas bag and collapsed with his back to one tire.
“Are you okay, Victoria?” Adam put his hand between my shoulder blades as they rose and fell.
I nodded and looked back into the woods, wondering whether I should feel silly, if we’d let shadows chase us from the forest, or, instead, whether what we’d feared was real.
TWENTY-NINE
Stage 3 of the experiment has been initiated, but we will have to wait for the right set of conditions to apply it to the subject. For now, I’ve continued to monitor the subject through regular tests of his pH levels, blood pressure, platelets, and weight. Adam’s emotional range continues to progress as evidenced by careful observation of romantic behavior with the female variable.
*
The moon punched a hole in a clear sky of navy so dark and fathomless it seemed to go on forever behind the haloed glow of Hollow Pines High’s Friday night lights. I’d spent the last two days keeping an eye on the colorful blobs of green and red and yellow as they expanded and shifted along the Doppler radar images while the fifteen-mile radius around our town remained hopelessly blank. I stared up from my spot on the bleachers. Nothing.
Somewhere across the city line, three lightning generators buzzed with life. I now tracked the weather, charting storm systems in my notebook with the obsessive fervor of a Vegas bookie. Hollow Pines, Texas, could look forward to a weekend of clear skies and crisp fall weather. Lucky it.
Back on earth, the stadium benches wreaked havoc on my tailbone. I couldn’t imagine why anyone did this whole rah-rah school spirit thing for fun. The whole place smelled like artificial cheese and corn dogs, and, only five minutes in, I’d already stepped on an open mustard packet. I kept my knees pinched together and my hands folded in my lap. This seemed to be the safest position to avoid either touching the guy beside me whose face was painted orange or getting caught in one of those crowd waves I’d seen on television.
“Watch out. Coming through. Beep, beep.” I scooted left when I spotted Owen picking his way down the row toward me and balancing an overflowing bag of popcorn and a monster cup of soda. “I come bearing gifts,” he said, spilling a few kernels on my lap when he plopped down beside me.
“Excuse me,” I said, stuffing some of the fallen popcorn into my mouth. “But hell hath frozen over.” I leaned forward to get a view of the orange lettering on his hoodie. “Is that an Oilers sweatshirt?”
“When in Rome, right?”
“Sounds a lot better than here at the moment.” I took a long sip of Coke from the straw and squinted at the scoreboard. “How long do these things take, anyway?”
“Longer than a prostate exam, shorter than open-heart surgery.” He reached into the pouch of his sweatshirt and pulled out a Twix and a bag of Skittles. “Drugs to numb the pain.”
I snatched the Twix bar and unwrapped it, sinking my teeth into the crunchy chocolate and caramel. “I’m going to need, like, five more of these.” I stood up on my tippy-toes and leaned over the bleacher railing to see if I could spot Adam, but the players all looked nearly identical dressed up in tight pants and football pads. I worked to search out his jersey number. The freshly watered grass sparkled emerald green. Just because my Hollow Pines pride happened to be running on empty didn’t mean I couldn’t feel a tiny surge of satisfaction at the thought of my own brainchild on the starting line. To think, it’d taken Adam only some minor persuading to get me to come.
Suddenly, the band began trumpeting a version of “When the Saints Go Marching In,” and the fans rose to their feet, clapping. I looked around, searching for the invisible clue I missed. “It’s starting? How do people know it’s starting?”
I jumped and plugged my ears at the sound of cannon fire.