Don't Let the Forest In by CG Drews

Author:CG Drews
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends

EIGHTEEN

They didn’t speak. Words had turned to mud in their mouths, and if lips parted, who knew what would come out. All they could focus on was this:

disappear

Andrew dragged his sweater off, and Thomas copied. He wrapped up the hatchet, while Thomas used his bloodied shirt to mop his face and arms. The feral blaze of war faded from his eyes and he started to tremble. He was all unsteady fingers, fumbling movements, his eyes darting to the leafy remains of the monster as if it might rise again.

Neither of them looked at Clemens’s skinless face.

But Andrew did spend a few seconds scuffing about under the vines for his phone and pocketing it. No evidence could be left.

They had to know nothing about this. They had to have not been here.

Andrew slipped downstairs first, the hatchet bundled to his chest so tightly he could feel the bite of the blade against his skin. He deserved that, though. Pain. Punishment.

What … what had he done?

A group of teachers ran past, and the boys ducked into an empty classroom. Somewhere, screaming had reached a crescendo. Thomas jimmied a window and they climbed down into the garden. Rain beat in a steady rhythm, and they’d never been so grateful for the way it washed the blood from Thomas’s bare skin and kissed away evidence of Andrew’s tearstained cheeks.

It was chaos outside. Half the students had dashed through the rain for the sports field like this was a normal fire drill. Others tangled in the garden in confusion while teachers yelled at everyone to go back to their dorms.

“Please calmly make your way to your dormitory!” A professor had snatched a megaphone. “Remain in your room until otherwise instructed!”

Andrew looked for Dove, terror leaving claw marks in his guts until he saw her filing toward the girls’ dorms. She was safe—breathe, Andrew, goddammit.

Thomas sneaked them around the back of the boys’ dorm so they wouldn’t have to explain his lack of shirt or the bundled hatchet. As soon as they’d climbed the trellis and tumbled into their bedroom, Andrew slammed the window shut and Thomas started pacing.

“Shit shit shit, they’re going to blame me. They’re g-g-going to—I’m not a murderer. I’m not—” Thomas jammed fists against his head. “I’m not, I’m not—”

“Shut up.” Andrew snatched towels and clothes, and wrenched their bedroom door open. “We have to get rid of the blood. Shut up, shut up.”

With everyone bottlenecked downstairs, they still had the second floor to themselves. They sprinted for the communal bathroom and locked the door. Thomas peeled off his clothes and left a trail of muddy footprints as he stumbled into a shower stall. Tiny green shoots bloomed from his jeans, soft and delicate. Andrew smashed each with his fist and flushed them down the drain.

The forest had left its teeth marks all over them, and it would never leave them alone.

Carefully, Andrew unbuttoned his shirt and used a towel to scrub out his swollen ear. It pulsed with terrific pain, as if someone had hooked their fingers into his eardrum and twisted, but he could still hear.

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