The footsteps got louder and louder. I was pressed so tight to the ground, I could feel the vibrations right through my body. Closer and closer. God, they were heading straight for us! I could feel myself tensing, my shoulder blades hunching together. What if they noticed something? Was a boot showing? Had I pulled all my hair under the tarp? I held my breath, waiting for the rush of air and light as the tarp was pulled off us—
In the darkness, Cal found my hand with his and squeezed—
Two sets of footsteps...no, three. One of them passing so close I could have reached out and touched him. He was right by my feet, then my legs. He was almost past….
Then his boot came down right on my hand.
50
Bethany
THE PAIN rocketed up my arm: agonizing, nerve-shredding. I wanted to scream, to curse, to twist and buck...but I couldn’t. Because if I so much as twitched, it was all over. So I lay there silently howling, waiting for him to take his next step. Come on! Come on! His foot lifted—
And then settled back down, even heavier than before. I felt bones grind and fresh pain washed over me, so strong I wanted to be sick. He’d stopped. He’d stopped, and he was standing on my hand.
I still had hold of Cal’s hand and I squeezed it so hard it must have been painful. It was the only outlet I had. He took it without flinching and squeezed back. You can do this.
But I wasn’t sure I could. The hunter had started to chat with his friends, who must have stopped too. And he was moving. I’d never realized until then just how much we move, even when we’re standing still. Every tiny little motion he made caused him to shift his weight around, his foot lifting and pressing and rocking from side to side. Stand still, I silently begged. Please stand still!
I heard a lighter flick open and then shut. He was smoking, and chatting with his buddies, twisting this way and that to look at them. The pain was throbbing through me in great waves of purple and black, now. I could feel the sweat rolling down my face and I was sucking in quick, shuddering breaths through my nose.
“I figure we’re almost on ‘em,” said the man. “And when we get ‘em…shit, did you see the tits on that girl?” He let out a long, low whistle and the other men laughed. And then, as they smoked, they talked about what they wanted to do to me, and which of them would be first. I screwed my eyes tight and tried to shut it out. Next to me, I could feel Cal’s body go hard with anger, ready to throw off the tarp and launch himself at them, and I squeezed his hand in panic: don’t. He stayed tense but didn’t move, holding himself back...just.
The man finished his cigarette and moved off. His foot lifted from my hand and there was a brief instant of relief followed by burning, searing pain as all the blood rushed back into the bruised flesh. They were still too close to risk a sound. I let the pain come out as hot, silent tears.
At last, their footsteps receded. Then Cal was moving, flowing effortlessly up from under the tarp and creeping silently forward, following the hunters into the lengthening shadows. Now he was behind them.
And hunting was what Cal did.
51
Cal
TRACKING HIM was easy. He was an amateur, the sort of guy who sits in his Washington office all year, then goes to the woods and sprays a thousand rounds in a day in the hope that he’ll get lucky and hit something and can pose with the body of a deer for a photo. I could smell the stink of his cologne and the cigarette he’d just smoked, and he was making enough noise that I could have followed him with my eyes closed.
The problem was me. This wasn’t like stalking an animal or even like stalking an enemy, in combat. This was personal. My body was shaking with rage and I had to force myself to be calm, to go slow, because what I wanted to do was to run at him and tear him apart. Lying there, hearing what he wanted to do to Bethany, was the hardest thing I’d ever done.
Well, now he’d pay. They all would.
I waited until he lagged behind his buddies by a few steps. Then I clapped a hand over his mouth and with my other arm choked him around the throat until he went limp. I lowered him to the ground without a sound and his friends never even noticed. I picked up his rifle and let out a long, slow sigh of satisfaction. Let’s see you try and take her from me now, you bastards.