Girl, Stolen(43)

One thing Cheyenne hadn’t thought about when she made her impulsive decision was that Duke wouldn’t “clear” her. Phantom had been taught to watch out for low-hanging branches or other objects that might hit Cheyenne even if they missed him. Duke had no idea. And neither did Cheyenne, at least not until she ended up with a deep scratch on one cheek. After that, she put her right hand up about a foot in front of her face, trying to gain a second’s warning.

Cheyenne had pointed Duke toward the woods, not knowing if he would follow her suggestion, but he had. She had felt him curve around the house and then head into the trees. The ground was crisp with frost, but with a springy softness underneath from decades of pine needles.

Even knowing that daylight would bring far greater danger, Cheyenne found herself missing the little sight she had. Which way was Duke taking her? She could only follow the sway of the dog and listen to what her body told her. Her joints let her know whether she was going uphill or down, turning right or left. When you were sighted, you didn’t pay attention to such messages because you didn’t need to. When you were blind, you discovered your body had been saying these things all along.

Now Cheyenne felt a branch brush the top of her head. But at least it hadn’t gone through her head. Duke had led her around a tree, Cheyenne realized. “Good dog,” she said.

Duke made a noise, low in his throat. It sounded like a question.

“Yes, you are a good dog.” She didn’t know if that was the question, or if he was asking if he could trust her, or whether Duke wanted to know if they should keep moving.

Cheyenne just knew that the answer was yes.


They walked for a long time. It was slow going. Her shoes kept slipping off, until finally she took the remnant of cord still tied around one ankle, cut it in two, and then threaded the pieces through the top holes of her shoes, tying each in a double knot. They went on, pushing their way through undergrowth, her feet catching on roots and downed branches. Sometimes she had to stop because she would start to cough and then not be able to catch her breath. The cold air seared her lungs. Hoping it would warm the air, she wrapped her scarf over her mouth and nose, leaving just her eyes uncovered.

The wind was so cold it felt like it cut right through her, but it also helped her picture the outside world. She could hear the rustling of the trees now. In a way, the wind created the trees. Without the wind it was like there were no trees at all, at least not until their branches scraped her face or arms.

Occasionally Cheyenne felt the face of her watch. By the time it got light, she hoped she might find the road that Griffin had told her about.

Surely the men had returned by now. And they had found Griffin. She tried not to think about what she had done to him. And now they would hunt her down. As long as it was dark, she might have a slight advantage. The problem was that there was no way she and Duke were covering even two miles an hour. Probably much less.

It got a little easier as they went deeper and deeper into the woods. There seemed to be fewer bushes. The bottoms of her pants flapped stiffly, soaked from pushing through undergrowth. So were her shoes.

They kept plodding forward. Her legs were so tired they felt bruised, and her feet were frozen stumps. She tried to wiggle her toes and couldn’t.

Was it starting to get light? All she could see out of her left eye was a hazy grayness. Cheyenne checked her watch. It was a little after 7 A.M. Probably not yet. But soon.

Duke whined.

Cheyenne froze. “What is it, boy?” she whispered. She heard a rustle in the bushes to their left. Oh, crap. This was it. They had found her.

Duke barked. Instinctively, she tried to put her hand over his snout, but he nipped at it. She jerked her hand back, surprised. For a moment, she had forgotten it was Duke she was with, not Phantom.

Then several things happened at once.

Straining forward, Duke unleashed a volley of barks.

Something exploded from the bushes and ran right in front of them. Part of Cheyenne relaxed as she heard the underbrush rattle. Whatever it was, it was small. Definitely not a person. Probably a rabbit or squirrel or maybe even a chipmunk.

Still barking, Duke lunged after it.

The belt jerked in her hand. And then it was gone.

And so was Duke.

“Come back!” Cheyenne shouted, suddenly frantic. “Duke! Duke!”

She could tell from the pitch of his barking that he was running away from her. Fast. He was already at least a hundred feet away. Cheyenne opened her mouth to try calling him again. Then she realized that all she was accomplishing was to advertise her presence. Probably for miles.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Cheyenne told herself that she was on her own now. That was a fact and she couldn’t change it, only deal with it. She touched her watch face. It was 7:33. She was pretty sure that they had been traveling roughly northwest. The grayness she could see with her left eye was just getting lighter. Using the trunk of a tree to orient herself, she slowly turned in a circle until she confirmed that east – where there was more light – was where she thought it was. Crouching, Cheyenne groped until she found several long branches. She picked the longest and sturdiest, and then snapped off the smaller twigs. It was hard work. Her right hand was stiff with cold, and her left hand, the one that had been holding the makeshift leash, refused to move much at all. She brought it up to her cheek. It felt as if a branch was brushing her face. Her cheek could feel her icy fingers, but not the other way around. The bottoms of her pants now had a crackly coating of ice.