Page 32 of When the Living Fall (Song Of The Dead #2)

The woods are darker than I expected, the thick canopy overhead muting the dying rays of sunlight. I follow the girl—because what else can I do?—limping while the pain in my ankle flares with every uneven step.

The quiet out here is unnerving, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of a bird. I keep waiting for one of these dregs to pop out from behind a tree, but nothing happens. From what this girl told me, it’s enough to hope I never cross paths with one.