Page 59 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
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We circle just close enough to town for Dalton to be confident letting me continue on my own, and if I feel a bit like a child whose parent lets them “walk the rest of the way” once they can see the school … well, I don’t say anything. He’s always struggled against an overprotective streak, and I suspect my “condition” is going to make that a losing battle. I’ll allow it up to the point where he insists on carrying my gun for me, so I don’t lift anything heavy.
I’m at the edge of town when footfalls have me reaching for that gun. I don’t grab it. I just let my hand fall in that direction. Then I see it’s Gunnar, and I don’t exactly relax, but I do let my jacket close over my weapon.
“Hey, you wanted me to keep an eye on Dana?” he says.
We’d asked Anders to assign someone to that role, and I’m surprised he picked Gunnar but … maybe not so surprised. Gunnar’s perch makes him our best town spy, especially since everyone expects to see him there anyway. If Anders trusted him on this, then I trust Anders.
“Something’s up?” I say.
“I’m not sure. She was at home until after Carson left. He’s with Mathias again today. She stayed in for about ten minutes after that and then snuck out.”
“Snuck?”
“Yeah. I saw the curtains move, like she was peeking to see who was around. Then she came out slowly, looking around, and ducked behind the building. She seemed to be heading for one of the storage sheds. I couldn’t see her over there, so I climbed down. I thought I had eyes on her. I didn’t. She wasn’t at the shed or anywhere in sight. I think she went into the forest.”
“Goddamn it.”
“Yeah, I was going to tell Will or Kendra or Yolanda, but then I saw you heading back.”
I pick up my pace. “Which storage shed?”
He’s telling me just as I spot my sister cutting along the edge of town.
“Go back to your perch,” I say. “I’ll handle this.”
I pick up speed and call my sister’s name, but she’s moving fast. She disappears from sight behind one of the residences. I follow, but by the time I get there, she’s gone.
I curse under my breath and look around. I should take someone with me to go search for Dana, but all I see are residents.
I peer toward the forest. I won’t go far. I’d literally just been mentally joking about Dalton getting overprotective, but he really will be. I know him well enough to judge that, and I’ve already seen how worried he is about my pregnancy. He’s going to be on edge, and I need to respect that.
Even under normal circumstances, I’d think twice about venturing into the forest alone while we might have a mentally ill person out there, in the form of our “wild man.”
I’ll get a look around the storage shed. See whether I find any proof that Dana went into the forest, and if so, then I’ll get backup.
I look around again, still seeing only residents, and few of those. It’s past nine, and most people are at their jobs. I consider taking out my gun, but there are too many people around for that. I settle for opening my jacket as I circle around the building.
The storage sheds are on the edge of town. This one backs right onto the forest, with the lake just beyond a thick stand of trees. I might not be Dalton, but I should be able to see signs of anyone walking through that treed barrier.
I move along the back of the building, my gaze fixed on the undergrowth. I’m looking for broken twigs, footprints, crushed plants, anything to tell me that—
My gaze swings to the wooden wall. The shed is raised off the ground, like most of our buildings. Permafrost means that cold that will seep through a floor as well as unsettle it. This building, though, has a skirt, like many others, providing cold storage. Hatches on all sides allow easy access. The hatch door for this one is ajar.
I bend at the hatch. We don’t lock this one—it’s not food storage, and nothing else is going to tempt residents to sneak around back and pilfer. Still, it has a bearproof latch, which means it didn’t just pop open.
Did someone leave it open? I can’t even remember what we’re storing in here. Nothing, I think. We’ve maximized our storage potential to allow for growth, but a lot of that is unused, and I’m pretty sure we don’t have anything in here. Which means no one came to fetch goods and forgot to fasten the latch.
I open the hatch. Inside, it’s pitch-dark. I pull out my flashlight and before I can push it past the opening, I spot a folded piece of paper, a few feet inside.
A stone weighs down the paper, meaning it hasn’t somehow blown in or fallen out of a pocket. Flashlight in hand, I creep into the crawlspace. When I realize I can’t reach the paper while holding open the hatch, I stretch awkwardly to keep one foot braced against the hatch door while I reach as far as I can, my fingers grazing the paper—
At a sound beside me, I roll fast, the hatch swinging shut as a figure lunges. It hits me in the side, and I punch hard. A sharp intake of breath. My flashlight is on the ground, beam pointing away, and all I can see is a dark shape.
I rise onto my knees, head still ducked to clear the floor above. The figure comes at me again, and I strike, but sharp pain slices through my hand. I let out a hiss, and the figure kicks. I feel that kick in my side, dangerously close to my midriff, and something inside me panics, one hand flying to instinctively shield my abdomen even as an inner voice screams that it’s too soon to worry about that.
I roll, and another kick lands, this one on my back. My hand is hot and slick with blood, and I’m about to scramble up when a knife pokes into the back of my neck.
