Page 34 of Controlled Chaos

“This is a bad idea,” Porter said, pulling a flashlight out of the small backpack. He flicked it on.

“Where did you get that?” I asked.

“They keep an emergency backpack in all the carts that include medical and emergency kits just in case.”

“That’s handy,” I said. The chilly wind off the sea produced goosebumps on my arms.

The farther we went into the tree line, the farther we left the safety of the fence and the beach behind. I knew without a doubt that we’d made a mistake. Maybe it was my gut instinct or the snapping of branches nearby or the eerie feeling that someone was watching us. I couldn’t pinpoint my unease, but it was tugging at my need to flee.

“This feels wrong,” he said, glancing up at the trees as if looking for the source of the eyes on us.

“That means we’re on the right track.” I nudged his arm.

Porter stopped. The color in his face drained, and he visibly swallowed. Sweat was beading on his forehead even with the breeze. He stood stone-still.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

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