Page 61 of Blackwood

“Stay awake, okay?”

“Bossy. I like it.”

I tore through my pack and snagged my Superman lunch box.

“We already ate.” His words slurred, and I forced myself to move faster.

“I know.” I unclicked the latch and flipped open the lid. “I keep my kindling in here so it stays dry.” I pulled out a small pack of dried twigs and a lighter. Glancing to the break in the roof, I realized it was a good thing. I’d need the smoke to vent out that way.

Setting the kindling aside, I flipped up my hoodie and headed back outside.

“Don’t!” He gripped my ankle. “It’s not safe.”

I leaned down and kissed him, his cold lips spurring me onward. “I’m going to find a few fallen limbs. They’ll be wet, but the rain only started within the last little while. I’ll cut down to dryer wood and we’ll be all set. Trust me.”

“I’ll come too.” He tried to sit up from the wall, but only made it halfway before falling back. “Fuck.”

“Stay here. I won’t go far. I promise. Two minutes, tops.”

“I don’t like it.” He reached up and pulled me down, our foreheads touching. “Please be safe.”

“I will. I swear.” I dropped another kiss on his lips and hurried out into the rain. I passed behind the shack and peeked out into the forest. The rain created a milky barrier. That meant I couldn’t see the shooter, but he couldn’t see me either. I hurried forward, my eyes trained on the ground. Up ahead, I saw a limb that would work. I snagged it and another and dragged both back to the shack.

“Garrett, I need one more. I’m almost done. Stay awake.”

He mumbled a response.

I walked in the opposite direction and scanned the ground. An oak limb, the leaves long since rotted away, presented the perfect opportunity. I darted up to it and started dragging it along.

Glancing back, I stopped dead. Beneath the limb, the ground was sunken in what appeared to be a six-foot by about three-foot rectangle. An unmarked grave.

A warning sounded in my heart. I needed to dig. But I couldn’t, not until I was certain Garrett was safe and the shooter was gone. I forced myself to turn and keep going. Dropping the limb at the doorway, I walked in and pulled my hatchet from my pack.

“I’ll have a roaring fire in under ten minutes. Want to time me?”

“Merit badge if you make it?”

I ran my hand along his forehead, hating the cold, clammy feel. “No. If I get it done, I get to use a flogger on you when we get home.”

He grunted. “That’s a big reward.”

“Hey, if you can’t handle it—”

“Done.” He coughed. “What do I get if you don’t make it?”

I kissed him again, then steadied myself so I could get to work. “Hypothermia.”

I stared at the narrow door. The night beyond consumed what little light the moon offered, the rays gobbled up by the thick clouds and endless rain. Garrett slept beside me. I’d dressed his wound, stripped him, and covered him in fresh clothes from my pack. I’d dried my clothes by the fire and put them back on. We were both warm, well fed with snacks and water, and as comfortable as possible in the shack. Once I was certain he wouldn’t die from the cold, I let him sleep off the injury.

Still, I worried that the shooter lurked just beyond the door, waiting for his chance. I adjusted so I could rest my gun hand atop my knee. If anyone came through the door, I’d shoot first and ask questions later.

The fire crackled, and I tossed another piece of damp wood on the top. It would keep us warm until morning, though I intended to rouse Garrett and head to the house about two hours before daybreak. We’d be soaked through again, but the dark would keep us safe from the shooter’s scope.

Midnight came and went as I kept watch, my eyes drifting closed and my hand drooping until I forced myself awake. The grave just fifty yards away preyed on my mind. Was it him? Had I finally found my dad’s resting place?

And who was the shooter? If it had been one shot, I could have believed in a stray bullet from a hunter’s gun. But the second shot dispelled that notion. Someone had tried to kill Garrett. Maybe even me. What the hell was going on? Fresh mysteries piled on top of old ones, and my questions kept circling the grave like a drain. I spent the rest of the night like that—in between waking and dreaming, one eye on the door and my thoughts buried along with whoever lay in the shallow grave.

Chapter Twenty-Three

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