When I Am Through with You by Stephanie Kuehn

Author:Stephanie Kuehn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2017-08-01T04:00:00+00:00

25.

I FLEW DOWN the mountain, as fast as the night would let me, cursing Archie and wishing I’d had the nerve to swing at him. Or do anything to break his hold over the others, who were apparently mindless enough to follow him wherever he might go.

I also puked pretty much the whole way, something that was both unfortunate and seriously unpleasant to do while running. But I couldn’t help it, all that sloshing and booze and fear and adrenaline. Although my getting sick was only partly due to being woefully drunk on cheap bourbon. I also understood, somewhere deep inside of me, that if anyone were to get hurt on my watch—seriously hurt—I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. There wasn’t a single part of me, not one, that could bear the thought of once again having someone else’s blood on my hands.

—

It was a seemingly endless scramble down the dirt trail that twisted back and around to the other side of the mountain. My legs pounded and pounded and pounded, but finally I reached the ridge where we’d spied on the naked swimmers. Switching my headlamp off, I crouched low and peered into the black gorge, that remote spring-fed canyon that lingered against the thicketed woods, on the edge of utter desolation.

Other than the burbling stream and the occasional owl hoot, there was nothing but silence. Fog hovered over the water, curling wisps of it, and the air was rich with the scent of wet granite and pine. I could see nothing of interest. The Preacher’s campsite was too far away, set back from the shore, closer to the trees.

I had no choice but to descend into the gorge. Stealth seemed wise, but without the headlamp, I slipped a few times, sending dust and rocks flying down ahead of me. I swore under my breath and tried crab-crawling the last stretch, finally giving up and sliding on my ass the rest of the way and breathing a sigh of relief when I touched solid ground.

Walking upstream, I kept my back to the cliff wall so that my body was in shadow. This felt safer, to have cover behind me, and I was glad for the burbling of the creek that masked my halting steps.

Still I heard and saw nothing. I reached the boulder crossing that would take me to the far side of the stream and stepped from the shadows amid a flutter of nerves. Moving from rock to rock over the dark water, my legs quavered and I held my arms straight out. Balancing in the moonlight like that made me feel obvious. Laid bare.

But I reached the other side. From there it happened swiftly, a clattering downfall, like the clipping of an angel’s wings. First, I heard a noise. It sounded like a grunt. Only I couldn’t tell where it had come from. Or how far away it was.

I stumbled forward, tripping on rocks—that pebbly shore. The tent and the campfire were straight ahead, I knew that, and I followed the scent of burning wood, the pungent smoke.

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