Girl, Stolen(44)

After several long minutes, the branch was free of twigs. It wasn’t a dog, and it was barely a cane, but it would have to do. When Cheyenne finally straightened up, her knees had locked. She staggered forward a few steps.

She couldn’t feel her feet or the tops of her ears. Her left hand was in her pocket, but it still felt dead and stiff. And now her right hand was slowly freezing, making it hard to hold the makeshift cane. Cheyenne continued to tap her way forward, turning her head from side to side, alert for the sounds that reflected back to her, trying to sense objects before she ran into them. Sometimes she just missed a tree or bush at the last moment. Sometimes she tripped over stones or roots.

Without the company of Duke, Cheyenne was aware of how alone she was. Every sound made her freeze. Could there be large animals in these woods – coyotes or even mountain lions? But the animals that really scared her were the two-legged ones. A crow exploded out of the bushes ahead of her, and she cried out at the sound of its harsh call, the flap of its wings.

Every creak or rustle behind her was one of her kidnappers. Each time she heard a noise, Cheyenne took a deep breath and forced herself to keep moving forward, trying to make her steps as light as possible. She walked with her head turned to one side, straining to use her left eye as she never had before. Now that it was lighter, she could see just enough to keep from blundering into tree trunks, but not enough to avoid low-hanging branches.

Her chest ached, and every few minutes she found herself coughing. Each time it was harder to stop. She wanted to lie down. If you froze to death, didn’t you just go to sleep and never wake up? That way, it wouldn’t even hurt. The idea seemed appealing.

A tiny cold dot landed on her cheek, then another in her eyelashes. Snow. It fell faster, softly freckling her face. At home, she hated snow. All her familiar markings, the different textures of grass and gravel, asphalt and concrete, were obliterated. If the snow was deep enough to cover the curb, she had to stay home, because she couldn’t tell one block from another.

Here in the forest, the snow presented a different problem. Soon, with every step, Cheyenne would leave a footprint.

And then it would be a simple matter for them to track her down.





COMING CLOSER BY THE SECOND


Cheyenne had been walking by herself for about half an hour when she heard something moving in the woods behind her. Not making any effort to be quiet. And this time there was no doubt as to what it was.

A human. And coming closer by the second.

Panicked, Cheyenne began a blundering search for shelter. She found a clutch of something that still had leaves, some kind of low bush. Pushing aside branches, she scrambled in. She paid no attention to how it scratched her face and neck, or the wetness that soaked through to her knees. And still, when she was in as deep as she could get, she wondered if her silver coat was shining through a thin patch, or if her shoe was sticking out.

The footsteps came closer and stopped. She could hear someone’s harsh breathing. A man’s. She knew it wasn’t a lost hunter. And it certainly wasn’t someone come to rescue her or they would have been calling out for her. That left only three choices. But which of the three men was it? Roy, TJ, or Jimbo? And did it really matter? Or would she be dead no matter who it was? She remembered TJ’s rank breath when he straddled her. Maybe the real horror would be how long she was alive before she was dead.

It was so hard to hold absolutely still while every molecule of her being screamed that she should run away. How much snow was on the ground? Did her footprints lead straight to her, like an arrow? She was barely breathing.

And then Cheyenne felt it. A cough. Forcing its way out of her throat. Her eyes watered. She bit her lip. She couldn’t cough. She couldn’t. A cough would be her death sentence. The coppery taste of blood washed across her tongue as she bit down harder and harder.

Then the cough pushed its way up out of her chest, tore through her throat, and shattered the silence.

And the footsteps charged toward her.

“No!” Cheyenne screamed. “No! No!” Strong arms lifted her off her feet, and a calloused hand went across her mouth. She struggled, kicking and flailing, but all she did was tire herself out. And she was already so tired.

“Cheyenne!” a voice said. “Sh, sh. Calm down.”

Griffin?

She started to cough again. He dropped his arms and stepped back, leaving her standing.

Cheyenne coughed so hard that she staggered sideways. Finally she managed to gasp, “You’re alive!” In a weird way, it was a relief to know she hadn’t killed him.

“No thanks to you.” His voice was matter-of-fact.

The reality of her situation set in. “Oh,” Cheyenne said. “Right. They sent you out after me, didn’t they?” She realized there was no use running anymore, no use fighting. She had done her best. She had done more than she had ever thought possible. But it hadn’t been enough. “Go ahead,” she said. “Do what you have to do.” She took a deep breath and braced herself.