Page 41 of Death Valley

“I don’t know. He just stopped.”

Jensen takes Duke’s bridle, speaking to him in low, soothing tones. The horse’s eyes roll, showing white, but he gradually calms under Jensen’s experienced hand.

“Something’s got him scared,” Jensen murmurs, almost to himself. His eyes scan the rocks above us, the narrow trail ahead.

That’s when I see it. A shadow moving among the boulders fifty yards ahead. Not a cloud shadow. Not a bird. Something large.

Something that moves with purpose.

Reminding me too much of a feral horse.

“Jensen,” I whisper, nodding toward it.

He follows my gaze, his body going completely still. For a second, I think he’s going to dismiss it, tell me it’s nothing. Instead, he slowly reaches for the knife at his belt.

“Everyone stay where you are,” he calls, voice steady. “Eli, bring my rifle.”

The shadow shifts again as I try to see it clearer through the sun’s glare, sliding between rocks with unnatural fluidity. A bear? A mountain lion? But it doesn’t move like either. Nor does it move like the horse. There’s something wrong about its motion, something that makes my skin crawl.

Then it’s gone, vanished behind a jutting spur of granite.

Eli appears with Jensen’s rifle, his own face grim. They exchange a look loaded with meaning I can’t decipher.

“What was that?” I ask, my voice sounding thin.

“Probably just a deer,” Jensen says, but he doesn’t lower the rifle. “Trail narrows ahead. We need to go single file, nice and slow. Eli, take point. I’ll bring up the rear.”

The reorganization happens quickly, efficiently, everyone taking their new positions without question.

But as we move forward, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being herded, guided along this ancient path toward something waiting ahead. The thought is irrational, I know, a product of altitude, exhaustion, and Hank’s contagious paranoia.

But rationality does little to quiet the alarm bells ringing in my mind, and the conversation with Jensen earlier about pioneers who “transformed,” coupled with the fact that I was attacked by a rabid horse the other night, doesn’t help.

The sky begins to change as we near the summit, brilliant blue giving way to streaks of high, thin clouds that race across the sun, casting the landscape in alternating light and shadow. The temperature drops noticeably with each passing cloud, the wind growing sharper, more insistent.

“Weather’s turning,” Cole mutters as we pause to let the horses catch their breath. “Wasn’t supposed to storm today.”

“Mountains make their own weather,” Eli replies, his eyes on the darkening western horizon beyond the peaks. “We need to reach the pass before it hits.”

Jensen, who’s been unnervingly quiet since the incident with Duke, nods in agreement. “Another hour, maybe less if we push.”

I’ve given up trying to pretend I’m not affected by the altitude. My head throbs with each heartbeat, and the world has taken on a slightly surreal quality, edges too sharp, colors too vivid. I sip water mechanically, knowing dehydration will only make it worse, and stretch my aching limbs on the ground beside Duke who is munching on some sparse grass.

“How you holding up?” Jensen asks, appearing beside me.

“Fine,” I manage, though the word comes out breathier than I intended.

His eyes narrow, unconvinced. “We’re nearly there. Just a little further. You’re doing good, Blondie.”

That brings a smile from me, along with a swimmy feeling in my stomach. Pretty pathetic, considering he was eating me out this morning. Every time I’m reminded of it, it feels more like a fever dream. Did that really happen between us?

Then Hank calls out, his voice tight with alarm.

“Look!”

We all turn toward where he’s pointing, back down the trail we came up, where it disappears around a bend. At first, I see nothing. Then a shape moves into view, distant but unmistakable. A figure, standing motionless on the path.

“Is that…a person?” Red asks, squinting against the sun.

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