Shine - Lauren Myracle [41]
“Wally? That fucking rock spider? No way!”
“Yeah, well . . . thanks anyway, bro.”
I wrenched free and took off, ignoring his cries of “Hey! Get back here!”
I pumped so hard my quads burned. Partly for speed, more to flush out my confused emotions. I wanted Christian back. I wanted him to be there for me. But how could I let him in when I couldn’t trust him for fear of being burned?
A few moments later, Christian’s motorcycle roared to life, and I heard the pop of gravel on the road to my right. He was coming after me, but guess what? I could cut though the woods and he couldn’t, not without getting whacked up by branches and scraping the paint on his bike.
It was coming up on six o’clock in the outside world, with the sun just starting to think about setting. In the woods, it was darker, thanks to the thick overhang of branches and leaves. Everything smelled loamy. The approach of twilight, along with the insect sounds that heralded it, made me feel alone in a way of separating me from all things human. Usually, I liked being in the woods for that very reason, but tonight the chorus of crickets was suffocating rather than reassuring. An owl on the hunt hooted. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
I’d never actually been to Wally’s before, but I knew I was close when a pack of dogs started barking, drowning out everything else. They were loud and wild. They triggered a deep-seated clench of fear.
Most likely they were chained up, but I decided to continue on foot so that I didn’t surprise them, or vice versa. I climbed off my bike and leaned it against a tree. Nailed to the trunk was a plank painted with the words POSTED: NO TRESPASSING.
My skin prickled. People who chose to live deep in the woods tended not to be overly social.
I walked in the direction of the barking. My nerves were raw, and I flinched when a twig snapped beneath me. Why had I thought visiting Wally was a good idea? I couldn’t for the life of me remember. He was a meth cooker and a lech, and for all I knew, he may have beamed Patrick in the skull with a baseball bat. On top of that, he had dogs. Big dogs. I still hadn’t thought of what I was going to say to Wally when I saw him, or what he might say to me.
And his dogs—what might they do? Eat me?
I reached a clearing, and further ahead, I made out Wally’s decrepit trailer. In front of it, three Dobermans snarled and strained against their chains. It occurred to me in the pounding of my pulse—which I could hear in my head, it was so strong—that there was brave, and then there was stupid, and God knew I didn’t want to end up bound to a tree trunk, something horrid jammed down my throat.
A loud crack made me jump, and my heart tried to fling itself out of my rib cage. I turned on my heel and was fast-walking to my bike when Christian roared up on his motorcycle and stood on the brakes, spraying up dirt and pine needles.
The dogs fell into a frenzy.
“God, scare the crap out of me next time,” I said, even as my body went slack with relief. I almost wanted to hug him.
Christian was off his bike and at my side before I realized he’d cut the engine. “You don’t belong here,” he said, grabbing my wrist.
No, but now that he was here, I was brave again. I headed again for Wally’s trailer.
“I mean it, Cat,” he said. He scanned our surroundings. “Come on. We need to get out of here.”
“Chill,” I said. I tried to shake him off, but he stayed beside me, radiating a low thrum of energy. His anxiety cranked up my anxiety, and I took shallow breaths. Something had to be going on if Christian was so determined to keep me away.
“Well, heyyyyyy,” a man said. Wally. He cracked the door of his trailer with the business end of a shotgun. A bare lightbulb revealed pocked skin, stubble, and a single eyeball. We were several yards away, but I sensed madness in that eyeball, and I remembered what Aunt Tildy had told me about Wally way back when.
“That man’s got the crazies,” she said. “You stay away from him, you hear?”
Wally used his gun to push the door wider. He nodded at Christian