Page 59 of River & Rue

Fingers flexing on the water bottle’s cap, I face the direction I last heard the animal. My senses strain as I wait for another sound or movement in the undergrowth. When ten seconds pass in silence, I lower my head to whisper in Rue’s ear.

“Stay quiet for me, okay? If I tell you to run, I need you to sprint as fast as you can. This is really important—don’t look back and don’t stop until you find someone. Can you do that for me?”

She nods against my chest.

Spotting movement to my right, I tense and squint. But once again, I can’t see anything.

A cold sweat breaks out on my body. I try to remember specifics from my dad’s lessons on how to handle animal attacks, but our handful of father-son camping trips were over twenty years ago. All I can recall is that if the animal is bigger than you, you’re supposed to act like you’re bigger than it. And don’t run.

Rue begins to tremble. She makes a small sound, then another. It keeps repeating, gaining in volume, until I finally comprehend what I’m hearing.

Laughter.

“Please, Rue. Please be quiet.”

The unrestrained fear in my voice silences her instantly. Her head lifts from my chest, and I glimpse a guilty expression before I resume scanning the woods.

“I’m so sorry. I completely forgot to warn you.”

She’s not even trying to speak softly.

My hand flies from her shoulder to her mouth. Shocked eyes blink up at me, then narrow.

She licks my palm.

“Stop it,” I hiss.

She does the opposite, doubling her efforts. Her tongue swirls and flicks over my skin, even poking between my fingers. It’s so obnoxious and distracting, I have no choice but to give in to her demand.

She wipes her face roughly on her sleeve. “Bleh. Salty.”

I gape, forgetting the threat in the trees, the fact she’s high, everything.

“You’re the most confusing person I’ve ever known. Wildflowers in one hand, live explosives in the other. I never know which one you’ll throw.”

Clasping her hands beneath her chin, Rue flutters her lashes. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

I shake my head. “Does any part of you understand what’s happening, or are the trees still talking to you?”

She huffs and wriggles free of my arm. “I’m high, not brain-dead. As I was trying to say before your hand assaulted my tongue, we’re not in danger. It’s just Lenny you’re hearing. She walks me home at night.”

I lose any ability to keep my voice down. “Who the fuck is Lenny?”

A low growl comes from the trees, lifting the hairs on the back of my neck. My head whips toward the sound.

“Get behind me.”

Does Rue listen? Of course not. She sidesteps my reaching hand and crouches at the edge of the path. When I lurch toward her, she throws me a blistering glance.

“Stay back. She’s sweet but protective. I’d rather not have to pull her teeth out of your throat.”

The air passing through my tight throat is insufficient, my lungs burning with effort. I’m aware of Rue’s strange affinity with animals, but this… this is a lot.

“I’m terrified of something happening to you. At least tell me what to expect. A wolf? Mountain lion?”

Surprisingly lucid eyes scan mine, and her features soften. “Lenny’s an unwanted stray. Lonely, scarred, and afraid to trust people.” Her voice cracks, and she quickly lowers her gaze.

My stomach drops, my intuition screaming that she’s talking about more than the dog—that she’s describing herself.