Page 70 of New Year

Nat would sleep out here all night if it meant surviving. Sooner or later, Zack would come home, find Chase—in whatever state Chase was, and God, he hoped Chase was okay—and call the police. The cameras would show Austin kidnapping him. Eventually, someone would find Chase’s car. They’d send search and rescue. Nat just had to fucking survive until then.

The knife was too awkward to use on the ruined t-shirt, so Nat carefully put the knife on a piece of moss and started attacking the knots with his teeth. They weren’t double-knotted and began to give. His front teeth hurt from all the pulling and ripping, but he got the shirt loose. It still hung around his wrists, but it wasn’t blocking the tape so tightly.

One step at a time. One moment at a time. With his hands free, his survival odds went way up.

He wiped his sweaty fingers on his shorts, dismayed by the blood smears on the left side. But he couldn’t make himself look at his shoulder again. The constant sting-throb would not let him forget the wound.

“Come on, you can do this,” he whispered as he picked up the knife. Positioned it as before, the blade against the underside of the tape. Still a lot of layers, still not much of an angle for pressure, but he began to saw at it anyway. He sawed bit by bit, ignoring the ache in his wrists and the cramps in his fingers. An insect buzzed by his ear, and he barely flinched. He’d rather face a hornet’s nest than allow Austin to touch him ever again.

A millimeter at a time, the layers of tape began to fray and give way. The knife slipped once, piercing Nat’s left palm nearly an inch deep, and he stifled the urgent need to scream. He wiped the blade on his shorts, ignored the blood streaming from his hand, and resumed sawing at the tape.

Austin’s shout got closer.

He sawed faster, slipped and stabbed himself again, wiped the blade, and kept on going. His entire world was that tape. The blood running down his wrist didn’t matter; pain wouldn’t matter if he was killed. When the blade reached halfway, he dropped the knife and began twisting, yanking, twisting. He used his teeth and ripped more. It was giving…

The tape tore in half. Nat’s whole body jerked with joy, and he bumped his head on the fallen tree. Skull pounding, Nat finally freed his hands from the duct tape and his mangled t-shirt. He finished ripping the shirt completely in half and wound it around his left hand to stanch the bleeding from those two gouges. Felt his back where it still hurt from his fall against a rock and felt another wound; his fingers returned with blood on them.

Fuck, he was a mess. An alive mess, though, and that was everything. He’d fight until his last goddamn breath to get home to Zack.

The pocketknife was his only weapon, but it was better than nothing. Not much against Austin and that gun, though. Now that his hands were free, he could try running again. Maybe try circling back south so he could pass Austin and find the creek. If Austin was this deep in the woods, too, then no one was near the car or the road. He couldn’t drive the car without keys, but the road meant possible rescue.

No one was going to find him in the woods tonight—except maybe Austin.

He had a good hiding spot with thick coverage. Everything in him wanted to lay down and sleep for a while, especially his throbbing head. Even if he had to stay out all night with the creepy crawlies, owls, and whatever else lived in the North Carolina mountains, it was safer than wandering out there with the world’s most dangerous predator: a pissed-off human sociopath.

“Nathaniel!”

The proximity of Austin’s voice sent Nat’s head into the log again, and he dropped to the damp earth, clutching his throbbing skull. His entire body coiled up tight when he heard a branch snap way too close for comfort. He peered out through the grass and debris and brush hiding his little Hobbit hole. The view didn’t show much, just a few tree trunks and the underbrush.

A bird screeched high in the trees.

“Nat! Where the fuck are you?”

Nat held his breath. Even his heartbeat sounded too loud against the rush of blood in his ears. Austin was close. Nat wanted to bolt, to get as far away from the man as possible. But maybe this was the time to freeze, to remain hidden and hope. The wrong choice would get him dead.

Please, please, please.

Booted feet and jeans stepped into his line of sight. Ice landed in Nat’s gut. He stared at those boots, willing them to keep walking, to ignore the fallen tree and keep searching far beyond this precious hiding place. Austin dropped to one knee, the hand holding the gun coming into view. Nat’s chest ached with the need to breathe. Adrenaline surged, leaving a metallic taste in his mouth.

The gun hand jerked upward, and it seemed like Austin’s torso twisted in another direction. “The fuck?” he said.

The fuck what?

Austin stood, feet shuffling in the dirt as he turned, facing away from Nat, and Nat couldn’t stop it. He released the breath he was holding, and sweet oxygen filled his lungs. He held that in, though, confused and so far beyond terrified they needed to invent a new word for it.

“Hello?” Austin shouted in a fake, high-pitched voice.

Either Austin was banking on Nat being stupid enough to run toward a friendly-sounding voice, or someone else was in the woods with them. Nat didn’t dare to hope for the latter.

“Help! Hello!” That same fake voice. Nat strained to listen, and he was almost certain he heard an answering shout. But from who? A hiker? Austin darted over to the nearest thick tree trunk and pressed close. Nat had a slightly better view of him that cut off around mid-chest. The gun hand was out of sight, which meant he was holding it up.

Ready to aim?

Some innocent hiker was about to walk into a dangerous trap. Surely, Austin wouldn’t murder a stranger to hide the fact that he was out here with a gun, hunting his ex through the wilderness. He wouldn’t…would he?

Yes. Austin would. He was a dangerous animal, and when cornered, dangerous animals fought back, no matter who was in front of them. Austin proved it by crouching again, using both hands to brace the gun, aiming somewhere beyond Nat’s view. Then Nat heard it. The other person’s voice.

Clearly shouting Nat’s name.

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