Page 39 of Ravens

A snout lifts in the air, scenting, twitching as flaccid lips pull tight to reveal sharp teeth momentarily. It waddles out of the tree line and pauses. Beady dark eyes meet mine.

“Tripoli?”

“Yeah?” I glance at York.

“We’re playing a game.”

“What game?” I look at August, clock the frozen bear again, and then stare at William. “Sorry, I spaced.”

“First name of the first person you slept with,” he winks, “but we guess first.”

“Sure . . .”

“Tyler,” William guesses.

“Had to be a Chris,” Carter says with a laugh.

“Early 2000s, I’d guess . . . late-eighties, early-nineties kid . . . Michael,” August finishes.

I look at York, who’s rubbing the flask between his palms, and my hand twitches on the gun as the bear’s head drops. If Carter turns his head to the right, he’ll see it.

“I don’t fucking know,” York grumbles. “Sean.”

“Sarah.” I smile and point the gun at August, whose eyes widen. “Duck, princess.”

August dives off his log, and I pull the trigger. The bullet thumps the ground in front of the bear, and it rears up.

“Shit,” William growls and grabs his rifle. “Why didn’t you kill it?”

“Chaos,” I mutter and back away.

York fires another warning shot, but it drops back to the ground and lumbers forward, snuffling one of the tents before charging short in warning. Everyone is on their feet, and I’m still moving backward.

Finally, it charges Carter, and William puts a bullet between its eyes. It drops on the spot.

Quietly, I turn toward the trees, intent on slipping into them when York’s irritated voice sounds behind me.

“Sarah?”

My breath catches. “Why not?”

“Liar,” he mumbles and then gazes past me. “Going somewhere?”

“I’ve got to pee . . . or do you need to watch me do that too?”

“Five minutes.” He sets a timer on his watch, and it beeps.

Probably best I didn’t get into the woods. I wasn’t keen on running through them in the dark, let alone with York on my ass. I can’t imagine getting run down out here by him would end well.

***

August is building the fire up larger when I return, and the bear is gone, along with the others. In the dull glow of firelight inside the tent, I unravel the bandages from my wrists. Some spots are hard and crusted over with scabs, while in other areas the skin just feels rough. I set my boots in the corner and strip down to my shirt and underwear before climbing under the sleeping bag.

The glow from the fire has grown by the time York enters the tent. Quietly, he undresses, lying down in just his pants as he rests his hands under the back of his head.

Curled up apart from him, I stare at his profile for a long while as he blinks into the softened darkness. I want him to tell me his plans and let me in. I tell myself that it’s for my ownsafety, because I need to know what the immediate future holds for me, but for some irrational reason, I think I just want him to trust me enough to tell me, to promise me I’m going to survive this and for once feel like I believe him.

Iwantto believe him.