Heartsong (Green Creek 3)

And I—

I

I

I

I am a couple of hours from home in the middle of nowhere, Oregon. The radio is low, some shitty rock music that plays in the garage that I constantly give the guys crap for. But it reminds me of them, reminds me of home, and even though it’s only been a few days, I miss them.

I miss all of them.

My phone vibrates, and I look down briefly. A text from Kelly.

Don’t stop for food. Mom’s cooking for you.

I grin as I send back some hearts.

I look down the lonely stretch of road in front of me. It winds through an old-growth forest, and I haven’t seen another car in either direction in almost twenty minutes. It’s like I’m the only person left in the world.

I think about the Omega I dropped off with her new pack. She seemed nervous, but the smiles on the pack’s faces showed me we made the right decision. They’ll take care of her. They’ll make her part of them. She will have a home and a place in this world. And if she ever needs us, ever needs Ox, we’re only a phone call away. I made sure she knew that before I left.

There’s a sign up ahead, yellow with a black arrow. The curve is sharp, and I ease up on the gas pedal. I’m reaching down to turn up the stereo, the song coming on one of Gordo’s favorites, though he tries to deny it. I’m singing along terribly about being hungry like the wooooolf when I hit the curve. I’ll be home by lunchtime.

There’s a man standing in the middle of the road.

I grunt harshly and spin the wheel. My reflexes are on point, and there’s a second that feels like it stretches out for years and years when I miss him by inches, his head covered in a hood and bowed, hands pressed palms together in front of his chest as if in prayer.

The car hits the steel girder and jerks roughly, metal squealing, sparks flying. The right front tire blows out, and the steering wheel shakes under my hands. I remember what Gordo has taught me, and I fight the urge to slam on the brakes. I wasn’t going fast to begin with, and the car starts to slow, the shredded tire thumping roughly. My backpack, which was sitting on the passenger seat, falls to the floor.

I come to a stop yards down the road, my heart thundering. I take in a deep breath and then another and then another. “Fuck,” I mutter, rubbing my hand over my face. “Jesus Christ.”

I turn off the car as I look in the rearview mirror.

The man is still in the middle of the road, facing away from me.

I’m pissed off.

It could have been worse.

It could have been so much worse.

I could have died.

I open the car door.

And immediately know something is wrong.

The forest around me is silent, but not because there’s nothing there. It’s an absence of sound, like I’m trapped inside some kind of bubble. I frown as I shut the door behind me, immediately on guard. There’s nothing to him. No scent. I can’t tell if he’s a wolf or a human or—

“Hey.” I take a step toward him and

(no no nononono please no please don’t make me please don’t make me see this)

he lifts his head, though I can’t see his face. He’s tall, his hands pale against the black cloak he wears. I’m acutely aware I’m far from home with no one around. I glance back at the car. The engine ticks.

“Hey,” I say again as I look back at the figure. “Are you all right? Man, you can’t be standing in the middle of the road. Someone could get hurt.”

The man doesn’t respond.