No. I won’t panic.
Someone else is just heading home, that’s all.
I quicken my pace.
The footsteps quicken too.
The chill on my neck ripples down my spine.
I grip my phone in my pocket, but I don’t pull it out.
Not yet.
I don’t want to make it obvious that I’m scared.
“Hey.”
The voice stops me cold. A man’s voice. It’s low and rough and close enough that it scrapes along my nerves.
I keep walking.
“Hey, don’t ignore me.”
The footsteps close in, faster now.
My heart slams against my sternum. I pick up speed, nearly jogging, but before I know it, he’s in front of me.
He’s tall with broad shoulders, a shadow that fills the sidewalk. He blocks my way, hands loose at his sides, but his eyes glint under the streetlight.
“Pretty risky,” he says. “Walking out here alone.”
I freeze. Every instinct screams at me to move, but my body won’t listen.
He steps closer, tilting his head like he’s curious. “Where you headed?”
My mouth goes dry.
The night is now too quiet. No cars. No people.
Just him and me.
And the dark fear gripping my body.
Four
Henry
Sirens.
They slice through the dark, so loud they make my skull rattle. They’re louder than the pounding in my head, louder than the blood rushing past my ears. For a second, I think the barn’s on fire. Then the boots come. Heavy thuds on the planks rushing toward me.
“Head trauma.”
“Get a collar on him.”
“Airway’s open. He’s breathing.”
“BP stable. Let’s move.”
