Page 8 of Sawyer

“Seriously?” I scoff at him, my annoyance growing with each moment I spend in his presence. “Did you think gammas don’t head to the healer to get our parts inspected?”

“Why do you have to say it like that?”

“Makes it less clinical.” I slam the door in his face and trudge off toward the tree line. Once upon a time, this road was a logging road. The council shut that down about ten years ago, stating that there wasn’t a need to cut the trees from the Oak Mountains. Instead, they opted to cut trees from the southwest of Terra.

I never understood that decision until speculation arose regarding this mountain range. Some tell me I’m crazy for believing conspiracy theories and that I shouldn’t spread misinformation because I’m a reporter, but my gut says otherwise, and although I’ve been wrong in the past, I know I’m right about this.

Freddy starts the van and peels out in a cloud of dirt. I don’t look back because I’m not surprised, although sometimes, he surprises me and follows me into danger.

It’s better this way. I work best alone, even if there are moments when I hate the sound of my own thoughts and I’d do anything to have someone chase them away.

Pulling out my phone, I bring up my compass app. Freddy dropped me off farther north and up the west side of the mountain range, about two miles from where they found the bodies.

It’s risky being this close, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take. With Freddy leaving, witnesses will spot our van back in the parking lot of Central Daily, so it’s the best I can hope for at this moment.

Shaking off how alone I am in the woods, I glance at the compass and adjust my course to the south. There’s no path—perfect.

I pop my phone back into my pocket and carefully step over logs and twigs, trying to be as quiet as possible. Branches rustle in the wind, and the taste of snow hangs in the air. Although it’s almost spring, some of the best snowstorms happen right before—the ones that dump feet of the beautiful flakes.

We haven’t had nearly enough snow, in my opinion. Sometimes, I wonder if I like it so much because it forces me to stay in one place. I can’t go anywhere or do anything, and sometimes, when the power cuts out, it kills all communication. All I have to do is sit back, relax under a heavy blanket in my favorite sweatpants, and do nothing.

My pocket vibrates with an incoming call. Crouching down, I glance around, hoping no one heard it, as I reach in and press the decline button. I’ll call whoever it is back.

Eventually.

My breath creates a cloud as the temperature drops the closer the afternoon creeps toward evening. I need to hurry unless I want to get caught in these woods past sundown.

That means I will have to request a car to pick me up after this.

I’ve gone perhaps a half mile, slinking through the woods and steadily breathing heavier as I get closer to where the deltas are, when a strange scent hits my nose.

On any other day, I might miss it—rotten cherries. I plug my nose and look around. My eyesight isn’t the best on any given day, and I hate wearing my glasses. I’m not blind by any means, and I’d like to think I’d see a dead body if I found one, so with one hand pinching my nose, I reach for my glasses in my other pocket and flip them open. Black plastic frames rest on the bridge of my nose, sharpening my sight. I look around at the forest floor, seeing mostly frozen leaves that fell from the prior fall and dead branches. Most creatures remain in hibernation, but the smell could be from a dead bear or moose.

My gut says otherwise.

With my free hand, I grab my phone and turn it to record as I move through the eerie forest. It’s as though with that smell alone, everything changed. The leaves are no longer magical in the way they reflect the sunlight, now they hide what could very well be a dead body, and the creaking branches from the wind sound ominous and foreboding.

I’m freaking myself out.

As I scan the forest floor, something catches my eye. The shine of metal reflects the setting sun. Swallowing my trepidation, I move forward.

This is why I do what I do. No doubt, the deltas are doing what they do best and are hiding this from the public, but we need to know what’s going on. We deserve to know.

Unplugging my nose, I take a long inhale. The scent of rotten cherries singes my nose, and I nearly gag on the smell. Fear tries to weasel its way into my veins, but I press forward.

One step, two.

The forest quiets, and the wind pauses.

Breathing through my mouth, I try not to focus on the horrid scent as I search the forest floor.

There.

I take yet another step, and my skin ripples with goose bumps.

My mouth drops open when I see what I am positive is a toe.

Arms wrap around me from behind and tug me against a warm chest as a hand slaps over my mouth, cutting off my scream.

---