Page 86 of Silent Shadows

I’m running through the sound in my mind, holding on to realism. The spacing is wrong for hikers. Too deep for woodpeckers. And too deliberate.

Three knocks. I stop in my tracks, Daisy slamming into me. Pause. Two knocks. So close to where we are.

Daisy is pushed up against me, her breath fanning up at my face.

“What-” I pull her down beside a cluster of fallen logs and crouch low.

“Quiet.” Again, the word comes out rougher than I mean it to.

But she listens this time.

The woods settle around us.

No engines now. No shouting.

Just towering ponderosa pine needles rustling overhead and both of us breathing way too hard in the cold air.

Daisy’s still clutching my hand.

Neither of us notices for a second.

Then she does. Her fingers tighten reflexively instead of pulling away.

And holy shit, this is not the time for me to notice how perfect her soft hand feels in mine.

Another knock. Closer again.

My entire spine locks.

Daisy shifts toward me.

“Is it—?” she whispers.

“I think so.” For once, I fully mean it.

The sound comes from somewhere uphill now. Measured. Intentional.

The forest suddenly feels enormous around us.

Every shadow stretches longer between the trees while dusk bleeds blue-gray through the branches overhead.

And the terrifying thing is, I can’t tell if we’re being watched. But suddenly every instinct I have is screaming that something is aware of us, and we are not in a position to capture footage or protect ourselves.

Daisy moves closer again.

Her shoulder presses against my chest as she crouches beside me behind the fallen log.

I become violently aware of every point of contact all at once. Her breath. Her hair brushing my jaw when she turns her head. The fact that she’s scared and trusting me anyway.

Then another crack sounds deeper in the woods.

Heavy.

Like something large stepping over deadfall.

Daisy grabs my arm.

Not gracefully—instinctively. Full-body instinct.