Edge of Flight by Kate Jaimet

Author:Kate Jaimet
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUV032050, JUV001000, JUV039140
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 2012-11-01T04:00:00+00:00

chapter twelve

Behind me, the bikers’ campfire crackles. Its light flickers, but the men are nothing more than dark shapes among the trees. Their voices mingle with the sound of smashing glass. Are they still trashing the truck, or have they moved on to breaking beer bottles against rocks? I turn away and try to put them out of my mind. We’ve escaped them. Score one for us.

The trail runs along the bare rock of the clifftop. Twilight is fading quickly, but it’s too risky to turn on my headlamp this close to the bikers. There is still enough light to see by.

A motorbike roars on the dirt roadway, and a headlight flashes through the woods. I freeze, but the headlight passes by. Is one of the bikers leaving, or are more arriving? I stumble on rocks and tree roots. There’s no point in twisting an ankle. Slow down, Vanisha. But how long will it take to get to Mount Judea?

The trail veers from the edge of the cliff and leads into the woods. At first, the shapes of the trees remain visible. But after a few minutes of walking, the forest becomes nothing more than a dark blur. The trail is a grayish glow that cuts through the blackness on either side. I can’t see more than a few feet ahead of me. At every step, the world around me grows a little darker. It is like walking in fog.

Another motorcycle roars down the road. I freeze, but the headlight flashes and disappears. The sound of the engine fades, and the forest seems darker than ever. A pinpoint of light startles me. But it is only a firefly. Another firefly glimmers, then another, like the glitter of fairy light in the woods.

I step in what seems to be the direction of the trail, but find myself wading through tall grass and brambles. This can’t be right. I turn on my headlamp. Suddenly, the shapes of the trees jump out—spindly branches and vines snaking around slender, crooked trunks. Something scurries in the underbrush. My chest clenches. Calm down. It’s just some critters, as Jeb would say. Don’t be a-skeered of the critters.

Jeb.

The headlamp’s beam falls on an orange triangle marker on a tree. A few steps through the waist-high weeds take me back to the trail. But as I walk farther, the trail becomes narrower and narrower until it is not much more than a deer track through the woods. I turn off my headlamp. Pitch darkness—I cannot see my hand in front of my face. I fumble to turn it on again. Hopefully, the batteries will last. There is no way I can continue without light.

Crickets chirr. Mosquitoes bite my arms and legs. The sky darkens. The stars come out. I walk and I walk. I walk until I have no idea how long I’ve been walking or how far I’ve gone. Only the orange markers on the trees tell me I’m heading in the right direction. That, and the feeling of going downhill.

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