Page 100 of Buried in the Woods Below

As I plunge deeper into the woods, the shriek of the crickets stabs my eardrums. I follow the map of the woods I made in my mind, pushing forward, twigs ripping the soles of my feet, branches clawing at my arms, slicing my face.

Somewhere behind me, Eric crashes through the underbrush. The distance between us shrinks.

I push harder, faster, but my body is already screaming. My lungs burn, my muscles thrumming with exhaustion. My toe catches on a hidden root, sending me stumbling forward. I feel it break. I throw out a hand, catching myself against a tree.

Keep moving. Keep moving.

Then, ahead, something emerges through the downpour.

The carousel.

It stands in the clearing, swaying and screeching in the wind. Raindrops from the trees above clink against the rusted metal, the painted horses frozen in mid-gallop, their eyes peeled wide in expressions of permanent terror like they know what’s coming.

I veer toward it, heart thundering in my chest. Is this a hiding place? Or a mistake? I don’t have time to decide. I slide to the ground behind a row of twisted metal poles, sucking in air that won’t come fast enough. My whole body shakes as I search the trees for help. Where is Olivia?

I listen.

Rain ticks against the metal canopy, soft and steady. Each drop a relentless count of moments slipping away. Time’s up.

I hear footsteps. Slow, methodical. Twigs snapping underfoot. A shadow emerges from between the trees.

Eric walks hunched, his blade dangling loosely at his side. He moves with eerie resolve, scanning the woods, his eyes flicking over every inch of darkness.

A burst of distant lightning illuminates the sky. For a split second, our eyes meet, white as snow.

I freeze. He stops.

A flash of movement. Fast. He’s coming.

I launch forward, scrambling out of my hiding spot. My legs barely obey, my feet slipping in the mud. Pain searing up my foot. I don’t care. I run.

But he’s closer than I realized.

I hear a snort of breath behind me. The rustling of fabric. The whistle of metal slicing the air. Fingers closing around the neckline of my tank top. Yanking.

I lurch backward, my spine snapping tight. My feet skid. My body jerks violently. I lash out, swiping my knife backward. The blade catches something.

Flesh.

He groans. His grip loosens.

I don’t stop to look. I rip free and sprint, half stumbling, toward the old Ferris wheel. The rusted skeleton looms in the distance. Calling me. I hear the scream of the girl who died here. The ghost. And I wonder if I will join her.

Then Eric’s hand snatches my wrist.

I cry out. Fling myself forward.

His grip tightens, jerking me off my feet.

My body slams into the ground, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. My hands scrape against loose rocks, the knife flying from my grasp, sliding in the mud.

Before I can move—before I can even breathe—he’s on me. Straddling my waist. His knee drives into my ribs, pinning me down. One hand clamps around my throat, crushing, choking. The other raises the blade, dripping in the stormlight.

I close my eyes and scream, “Olivia, help!”

Chapter 46

I brace for the blade.