Page 28 of Roaring Heat
The ground beneath us vibrates with a deep, unsettling hum that rises through our boots and into our spines. All three of usgo still, alert and tense. A wrench tumbles from the workbench, hitting the concrete with a metallic clang that echoes like a warning. Overhead, the fluorescent lights flicker once, then pulse with a low buzz, as if the entire building is reacting to something unseen and dangerous.
"Tell me that was a trick," Eli mutters.
Another pulse slams through the ground, stronger this time—deep and resonant, like the mountain itself is groaning awake. The vibration punches up through the soles of my boots, rattling my knees and echoing in my chest. I meet Sawyer’s eyes and see the same realization settle like lead behind his stare. Something old has stirred. And it’s not going back to sleep.
"You wish," I say.
"Creek," says Sawyer,
We take off running, our boots hammering the forest floor as branches lash against our arms and the thundering sound of water grows louder ahead. My breath burns in my lungs, but I don’t slow down. The earth trembles beneath our feet, pulsing with energy that feels older than anything I’ve ever known.
The trail behind the garage cuts through dense woods, a narrow path barely wide enough for us to run three abreast. Low-hanging branches snag at my jacket as we push forward, feet pounding uneven earth.The rustle of disturbed foliage and the rhythmic slap of boots on soil fill the space between our breaths.
I can feel every vibration in the ground, each one sharper than the last, as though the forest itself is bracing for something we can’t see yet. Twigs snap against our sleeves, stinging through fabric as we tear through the underbrush, and the ground tilts beneath our boots, unstable and trembling. A hawk cries again overhead. The air thickens, charged with something primal.
"Left," Sawyer shouts. We veer as the ground drops, roots snagging our steps.
The pressure builds as we reach the clearing. The creek should be calm here, its flow typically smooth and unbroken. Today it churns with a disjointed rhythm, like a broken metronome. The sound cracks through the air in jagged bursts, water slapping against stone with erratic force. Each splash jars the nerves, it's as if nature’s pulse has lost its beat.
A sharp unease threads through me, tightening with every step until it feels like a taut wire stretched through my core. My muscles tense, each footfall heavier than the last, driven by instinct more than thought. The feeling isn’t just anxiety; it’s the sense of something shifting beneath the surface, waiting to be seen.
When the trees part, the scene ahead slams into view. A jagged rupture tears through the heart of the creek bed, its edges glowing with an eerie, pale light that pulses like a slow heartbeat.
The creek's current, once smooth and melodic, is now torn from its path, diverted violently into the fracture. Water gushes down with a hiss as it meets the hot stone below.
A thick cloud of steam billows upward, veiling the crack in a ghostly shroud. The air vibrates with a quiet, unnatural hum that brushes against the inside of my skull, crawling down my spine. I take another step, and the heat from the steam kisses my face. Something is wrong. Not just dangerous, but deliberate.
"Damn," Eli breathes.
Sawyer crouches, keeping clear of the edge. "This isn’t a line reaction. It’s a rupture."
"And it started last night," I say.
He doesn’t look away from the glow. "Then it’s too late to undo it. She’s already part of this. And so are you."
The fracture hums beneath us, a steady thrum that crawls up through the soles of my boots and settles in my bones. The lowvibration is constant, like the pulse of something ancient just beneath the surface, alert and aware of our presence. The land feels alive, aware. Watching.
This isn’t just about her anymore. It’s about all of us. And whatever’s coming next.
CHAPTER 14
ANABETH
Ishouldn’t be out here. Not after what the ley lines did to the ground—and to me. Still, the moment I open the cottage door, the air shifts. That pull is subtle but relentless, tugging at my chest with the same eerie hum I’ve charted on every surge report since I arrived. The same beat that makes my heart stumble, sudden and jarring, like a skipped breath I can’t explain.
I follow it, drawn like a needle to magnetic north, my recorder clutched tight in one hand. The red light blinks steadily in the mist, catching each snap of twig, each low groan of shifting earth. It isn’t just about data anymore; the recorder has become my anchor, something solid in the middle of forces I don’t understand. My thumb strokes the worn edge of the plastic casing the way I might trace the curve of a pulse beneath skin, grounding myself with touch as much as sound.
I whisper into the mic, half scientist, half something more vulnerable. “Document everything,” I murmur, my voice low, shaky but steady enough to mark the record. “Whatever this is, it’s happening now.”
The words feel intimate, like a confession whispered into velvet shadows. The forest listens, or maybe it’s only my ownbreath catching on the quiet, the stillness wrapping around me like a held touch. I strain to hear something more—a hush, a heartbeat, anything that feels like it understands I’m here.
The trailhead looms before me, but I’m not alone. Beau and his brothers, Eli and Sawyer, are already there, tension radiating from their stances as they pace the edge of the trail and scan the ground with keen, practiced eyes. As I step onto the trail, Beau turns.
He doesn’t say anything. He just stares, eyes wide with shock and something else, maybe worry or frustration, mixed with a heat that flickers in the depths of his gaze. A look that grabs me low and tight, making my breath catch and my skin flush. It’s not just concern. It’s possession. Hunger. But he doesn’t stop me.
The moment I step into the clearing, the energy clamps down like a vise. It presses against my skin, hot and fevered, threading along my spine like liquid static. The hum isn’t sound; it’s a presence, a heavy, bone-deep tremor that vibrates through my ribs and teeth. I see faint tendrils of a shimmer curling above the ground, like heat haze from asphalt, only denser, more deliberate. The same pulse I’ve felt before now howls through me, no longer subtle but primal and consuming.
Beau waits as I catch up, his jaw locked and shoulders tense. His brothers are already advancing toward the glowing fracture, their flashlights cutting through the haze like restless fireflies. I follow, but each step grows heavier, as if the air thickens with resistance. The forest seems to close around me, branches leaning in, ground rising uneven beneath my boots. It’s not just a test. It feels like a dare, issued by the woods themselves, daring me to keep moving forward and cross a line I may never return from.
