Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Yes, they’re locked.
There’s nothing inside, either. No purse on the passenger seat or stray camping gear she planned to come back for later.
Nothing to tell me where she intended to go.
A few feet away, there’s a big park board mapping the trail, which snakes on for miles across these woods.
If she took this route, she could be miles away by now.
Hell, she could be anywhere. It would take an army to look for her.
But I know she was here first.
Inhaling the night air, I force back the urge to rush in after her blindly.
That won’t help anything.
Plus, with Colt along, it’s not practical. I don’t have the right equipment—food, water, anything I should’ve brought if I was going to start scouring the woods.
But I want to. I want to follow her like a bloodhound, knowing she’s probably still here somewhere.
“Dad?” Colt asks quietly from behind me. “What are we going to do?”
“First, I’m going to call your uncles and tell them we found her car. Then we’re going back to the visitor’s center and updating the rangers. They’ll have enough cops here to help us soon.”
Like it or not, the police are involved now. I couldn’t care less if it ever makes it back to the assholes in Springfield who helped send Winnie into the wilderness.
He looks at my face, back to being a little kid. It’s the same way he used to look at me when I seemed like the bravest superhero in the world.
“Then what? We should do something.”
“Then we’re going Winnie hunting. We’re just a few hours from morning. The light will make this a lot easier.”
I hope.
“Okay.” He nods, face pale and jaw set. “Just tell me what to do, Dad. I want to help.”
“I know, Son.” I drop a hand on his shoulder. I don’t think it’s possible to be prouder of him than I am right now. “You’ll get to as soon as we’ve got everything ready.”
It’s almost sunrise by the time I pull back up to the visitor’s center where there’s a bustling command center assembled.
Someone pulled in a Search and Rescue unit, swarms of cops from three towns over, and a big, well-dressed man with an entourage buzzing around him. I assume he must be the top dog managing everything, even if he’s not wearing a badge.
“Stay here,” I tell Colt as I get out of the car.
As I approach, the man turns and looks at me with pure derision.
I don’t understand when he sniffs, holding out a cautious hand like he recognizes me. I’ve never seen this guy in my life.
Unless—
“Archer Rory,” he clips, his eyes wary. I look at his hand, but there’s no way I’m about to shake it as I realize who I’m dealing with. “I’m Carroll Emberly, Winnie’s father.”
“I know who you are,” I spit.
His gaze flits across my face, sizing up my expression. He holds up his hands defensively, oozing a heavy sigh.
“Before you punch me in the face, please hear me out…”
25
TO BEE OR NOT TO BEE (WINNIE)
Ithink it’s getting dark again.
I’ve watched the sun moving through the breaks in the leaves. It feels like watching an hourglass running out.
Out here, time means nothing and also everything.
I can barely remember if this is the first or second night.
The only thing I do know—and I really do know it—is my body hurts.
It feels like being plugged into a dull electrical current.
What started as a drumming pain became a steady, deep ache that makes it hard to think. When I blinked my sore eyes open this morning, I was damp and confused and so, so tired from having wandered around all night, totally lost.
And I do mean totally.
If there was ever a path in this part of the woods, there’s no sign of it now, buried under years of thick brush and debris. Every step I take feels like the wrong flipping way.
So yes, now it’s getting dark again.
My legs are wet spaghetti and my stomach gurgles. I really should’ve thought harder about what to pack for food instead of doubling down on dried fruit and instant oatmeal. I only had chili the first night because I thought I’d be settled by now and I didn’t want to lug around tons of cans.
I’m so tired I could pass out cold, face down in the dirt.
I blink, force myself to yawn, trying to figure out which way is up and forward, and press onward. Overhead, the rustling leaves block the last scraps of daylight.
I’m slowly resigning myself to death.
Then my stomach flips over again, threatening to heave up my guts, and I change my mind.
I’m so not ready to die.
There’s nothing I want less than to slowly run out of food and die out here, feeling my life draining away like I’m sinking in the world’s slowest tarpit.
Plus, being eaten alive, one mosquito bite at time.