Ahead of me, the branches became twigs and brushed the twigs of the branches of the trees on the other side, like two lovers leaning out from balconies and touching fingertips. The twigs wouldn’t support me. I’d climbed as far as I could. There was only one thing left to do.
I grabbed a branch above me for balance and rose up to a crouch. The branch was slender enough that I had to put one foot in front of the other and even then, only the middle of my boots were in contact with the wood. The branch didn’t like the shift in weight. It creaked and the creak didn’t stop, building and rising. I hesitated for a second. I had to choose: fall to my stomach and shimmy back to safety or—
I glanced down. The canyon was like an open mouth, ready to swallow me.
But she needed me.
I grunted, pushed off hard, and leaped. I flew through the air like the world’s heaviest, least agile monkey. The branch I was aiming for rushed up to meet me—
And then passed me, rushing upwards as I fell. I’d missed it by six inches. I plummeted, crashing through leaves and twigs, frantically reaching for—
My hands found a branch but it was too thin. It bent and then snapped and I tumbled again, swinging off to the side. My hands clawed at the air—
My hip hit something solid and I bounced and then slithered past it, the bark lifting my shirt and drawing blood from my skin. Just as I passed it, I managed to hook an arm around it and—
With a jolt and a creak, I stopped. I was dangling from one arm on the very lowest branch of the tree on the far side. I hauled myself up, got my legs onto the branch, and panted in relief. Then I crawled along it all the way to the trunk and finally I climbed down onto the far bank. As soon as my feet hit the ground, I was running, heading back along the river to where I’d left her. Hold on, I willed her. Hold on, Bethany, I’m coming.
55
Bethany
HE WAS ALMOST ON ME. The problem was that I had to go slow to avoid making noise, but he could just push forward as fast as he liked. He might come from the city but he’d obviously done some hunting before because he was methodical, sweeping his rifle around to check a wide fan in front of him. I was pretty sure that he didn’t know I was there: he was just following a plan, or a hunch, checking this side of the river. But any second, I’d slip up and make a sound, and then he’d have me. Either he’d shoot into the trees and wound or kill me, or he’d hold me at gunpoint and call for the others. And then….
The panic drained my strength and made my muscles weak and shaky. I was prey again, a mouse running for cover, feeling the chill of the hawk’s shadow. It can’t end like this. I was trying to breathe quietly but when I thought about him catching me, about them holding me down while they— My breathing went ragged and I blundered on with tears filling my eyes. This can’t be it. I was meant to have the same rights as them, they shouldn’t be able to do this—
And then the rifle slung on my back bumped against me, reminding me it was there.
I stopped and stood there, frozen. Then I slowly turned around and looked towards the rustling foliage behind me.
No. No, Jesus, I couldn’t.
But if I didn’t, he was going to— And this is why Cal had trained me. He’d known this might happen.
It’s murder. I hadn’t even been able to shoot a deer.
I unslung the rifle and held it in numb fingers. What he was going to do to me, he’d already done to other women. He’d do it again and again. Him and men like him, the club...they’d been doing this for hundreds of years. They’d keep doing it...unless someone stopped them.
I crept over to a tree and got behind it, leaning out just enough to see. I went through the steps Cal had taught me, checking the rifle was loaded, taking the safety off. As if I was shooting at a paper target. It didn’t feel real.
I pushed the stock against my shoulder and squinted down the sights. Found the place where the branches were rustling, glimpsed a shadow beyond them. Another breath and the shadow became a figure. Another breath and the figure was a man, creeping towards me, and suddenly it was real, I was aiming at a living, breathing person and oh God, I couldn’t. The sights wavered as my hands shook, tracing a path between his collarbone and his navel. Drops of sweat were running down my forehead and into my eyes, making them sting. No. No, I can’t do this. I imagined the bullet punching into him, ripping into flesh and bone. My finger flinched away from the trigger. I can’t.