Up, up I climb. My hand slips at one point, but I catch myself on my arm and keep going. I find a place that’s good and high. I cling to a branch, waiting, hoping he doesn’t think it’s me who alerted them.
I peer down through the branches. My vision of the forest floor is mostly obstructed by tree limbs, but I can see stretches here and there. I don’t see Kiro. But I’m thinking he’s made himself invisible, hunting in the shadows.
Kiro. Caring for me. Feeding me. Protecting me. I tell him that’s not how it works, but it’s more than anyone else has done for me for a long time.
He suspects I signalled for them to come, but he protects me anyway. He made a vow.
I wait for forever, thinking about what it must have been like for him, a boy, really and truly alone. Maybe hiding in trees just like this, frightened of what roamed below. Trying to make sense of the world. Always on the outside looking in.
Kind of like me—alone, always watching. Peering in from the outside at other people’s stories, but never a part of them. Living life, really, in service to other people’s stories.
And when you fall apart, nobody is there.
I try to think how anybody could track us so deep into the forest. Kiro thinks the phone is the only way, but…
A sick feeling comes over me. My editor, Murray, sent over that phone.
Fuck.
Did he put something in there? He’d know I’d disable the GPS if I didn’t want to be found, but could there be a tracker? Fuck. Of course. Activated by firing up the battery, I’m guessing. It would have to be, way out here. A small enough one to fit into the phone, anyway.
Fuck!
How could I be so stupid? Murray’s motivated by money. Once I took control of the story, it was less scintillating. Less exploitative. Much less valuable to him. The Albanian mob would pay way better.
Kiro’s right—I alerted them. He knows it was me, and still he tries to keep me safe.
I need to explain, but not now.
I track the shadows of the branches on the forest floor, watching them move. I suppose it would be a way of marking time if I knew anything whatsoever.
The shadows move a good long while before I hear the vehicle. No—two vehicles. Maybe more. ATVs? How did they get them here—choppers? Motorized boats? Motorized vehicles aren’t legal in this wilderness area, but then again, neither is the hunting of humans.
The faint timbre of male voices carries through on the breeze.
I make myself small. Still. The canoe is back at the island—that’s where they’ll look for us. I suppose it gives Kiro the opportunity to observe them.
The breeze shifts, and the talking fades. How many?
Shouts, then nothing.
I wait a while longer. I hear rustles now and then, but that may be animals. Or Kiro.
A voice is raised. They’re calling a name. There’s confusion. Something’s happening. I squeeze my eyes shut.
Kiro. Please be okay.
A sharp blast rips the silence. A gunshot. Another.
Craaack-craaack-craaack.
I smash my palms over my ears, a vice grip that does nothing to muffle the blasts of semiautomatic weaponry. The firing intensifies. I imagine them strafing the woods.
I hold on to my head, like if I cringe hard enough, I’ll keep out the guns, keep Kiro safe.
My legs are looped around the branch so hard, I think I’ll never pry them off. The shooting seems to go on forever.
And then it stops.