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FIFTEEN

STANTON FOREST

Hearing voices, Serena froze. A man and woman were heading her way. Relief flooded her for a few seconds before she caught a better look of the woman. She’d seen her calling out to Grandpa before he’d sent her out to collect eggs. There must have been something about the people that concerned him. He’d never told her to wait to make sure they’d left before she returned. On occasion, lost hunters dropped by for directions and she’d thought nothing of it until she’d heard the shot.

She recalled seeing blood on the woman’s face, but now she’d cleaned herself and wore one of Grandpa’s jackets. The woman didn’t look happy. Black bruises covered one cheek and she walked with a limp. As they came closer, panic gripped her and she urged Thunderbolt deeper into the forest. Tree branches caught in her hair and smacked painfully against her cheeks as they moved along a narrow pathway. Thunderbolt seemed to understand her anxiety and had been as quiet as a mouse, his ears twisting this way and that as if listening for danger. She stroked his silken neck and, keeping her voice to a whisper, talked softly to him, urging him on. Hidden in the dense forest, she turned to watch the couple walk by. No one else followed. The men had split up, and now she didn’t know which way to go. They wouldn’t return to the cabin, not now they’d killed Grandpa. She wanted to go back to the cabin and use the CB radio but had gotten turned around so many times she’d never find her way home. Hungry and tired, tears wet her cheeks. Which way do I go?

Heartsore for her grandpa, she lay on the horse’s neck and sobbed. She couldn’t believe those horrible men had killed him for nothing. The sight of him being dragged to the pigpen had stuck in her brain and she couldn’t stop seeing it. The way they’d laughed as if he meant nothing. Someone must be in the forest she could go to for help, but she hadn’t heard gunshots from hunters close by. The forest was unusually quiet, as if the birds knew something was terribly wrong.

In her mind’s eye, she could see Grandpa’s smiling face and hear his gentle voice. He was a good man. He didn’t deserve to die. Remembering the days she’d spent in the forest with him collecting fallen trees and dragging them back to the cabin brought back happy memories. Some of the wood was used to warm the small home, but other pieces, her grandpa would carve into animals and birds to sell or trade at the markets. He’d been the best grandpa a girl could have and she valued the times she’d spent with him. The vision of him using the harness on Thunderbolt to drag the tree along the trail came into her mind. It was as if her grandpa was there right beside her. He’d used the same words every time. Would Thunderbolt take orders from her? Serena, straightened. “Home, boy. Take us home.”

The horse’s head raised and he moved off at a swift trot, taking her by surprise. Hanging on and gripping tight with her knees, Serena urged him into a canter. Soon they came to a wide trail. Thunderbolt snorted and then whinnied. As they turned the bend ahead, four men on horseback came toward them with a dog running alongside. She stared in disbelief. One of the men was wearing a sheriff’s department uniform. Another man had fbi written across the front of his jacket, and two others followed some ways behind. Urging Thunderbolt on, she waved as they got closer. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Help me.”