Page 60 of Cruel Cravings

I make all the noise I can to draw attention to myself, jogging at a lighter pace than earlier.

And then I hear it—the crunch of gravel and dirt coming from somewhere behind me.

He’s here.

He’s still tracking me.

I test my theory and pick up my pace. More rocks and dirt crunch in the distance.

I run until another thicket of trees emerges and then I veer toward them. Slipping behind the fattest tree so I can hide myself, I quickly slip off my boots and place them at the base. They stick out just enough to make it look like I’m standing there. I really have taken it up as a hiding spot.

But it’s only a fake out. Instead, I crouch behind the bushes nearby, cradling the pistol in my hand, finger hovering over the trigger.

My heart pounds for every second I’m left to wait.

The moment he appears, I strike. I squeeze the trigger and shoot like I had earlier with Sheriff McGrath.

The footsteps I heard earlier continue. They close in, growing louder.

I grip the pistol tighter and mentally prepare myself to do what I have to.

Brontë is so large, he’s an easy target.

I rear back, ready to jump to my feet. The massive figure that’s been tracking me emerges from between the trees. I freeze, confusion washing over me.

A black bear lumbers into view, its thick fur shinning in the natural light. Its snout twitches as it sniffs the air and its dark eyes scan the forest. The bear’s sheer size is overwhelming, its presence almost as terrifying as Brontë’s.

But it’s not tracking me. It’s looking for food.

He heads toward a berry bush and rips off entire woody canes of them. He eats until few berries are left on the bush and then he turns in a different direction and wanders off. His massive paws crush the dirt and gravel as he goes.

The same sound I’d heard all along.

I let out the breath I’ve been holding in.

So much for that plan.

Is it possible that Brontë really has retreated and is no longer following me?

He must’ve been exhausted after days of captivity. While he was still powerful and intimidating, he was weaker than usual. Starved and dehydrated and likely sleep-deprived (if a beast like him slept in the first place).

It’s possible that he could’ve gone back to the cabin and decided to rest before he resumes his hunt.

“I could make it back and sneak into the wagon,” I whisper to myself. “Speed off before he even has a chance to follow.”

The keys to the station wagon are still tucked safely in my jean pocket. It’s my only real chance at escape, considering I’m stuck in the woods and the only way out I know is using the main road. Returning to the cabin will lead me toward the road that I can take to the highway.

I’ll be back on track and can finally do what I meant to all along—finish searching for my sister.

With a glance up at the pale blue sky, I start again in the direction that should lead me back.

Dusk has arrived by the time I’m closing in on the cabin. The horizon glows in the distance as the trees thin out and clear, the evening breeze brisker and cooler. I’m aching all over, practically limping after being on my feet for hours.

It’s taken me that long just to figure out how to make it back.

After running for miles in the first direction I could, I hadn’t realized how far I’d lost my way.

I push myself despite the twinge of protests that my muscles give.

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