Page 50 of We Already Dug the Grave

We crossed over the cattle gate too fast, and my head bumped against the metal floor hard enough to chatter my teeth.

I sat up, turning to pound on the glass and demand the driver pull over, ready to throw in some of my most colorful cusses.

Instead, I was shocked into silence.

My sister’s fuzzy blond head was behind the wheel. I froze, my knuckles inches from the glass as she pushed the pedal down, hunched forward in the seat. We took a pothole going full speed, and my face almost smacked the rear window. It was dumb luck that I fell backward onto my butt instead of lurching forward.

I laid down, at war with myself. Stranding me at a party because we were in a fight and she was pissed at me was a jerk move. I wanted to bang on the window and call her on it.

But my gut told me no. That place inside seemed to whisper, wait and see.

A month ago, I wouldn’t believe Frances would do any of this. If someone had told me they’d seen her and Mr. Fortenberry I’d have called them a liar. Depending on who it was, I’d have tried to knock their teeth in. If they told me she’d steal my truck and drive off into the night, I might’ve even laughed at the ridiculousness. But now?

My head bumped and my body slid from one side to the other as Frances rounded turns too fast. She didn’t have her license yet, but Ruth had taught us both to drive at the same time, and she’d been traveling the country roads for years. It didn’t mean she was good at it, and as I braced myself in the back of the Rust Bucket, I couldn’t help but think how, if she crashed, I was toast, the Sight fulfilled.

I stared at the pink and orange sky as we turned first onto the highway and then off the main road and eventually onto another bumpy back road until the tree canopy over me felt familiar. We weren’t far from home.

I waited for us to pass the service station where Ruth worked, thinking I’d be able to see the sign from my hiding spot, but it never came. The familiar canopy thinned, and soon we were turning yet again. Frances slowed to a crawl, and the branches overhead were closer than they should’ve been. Limbs scraped the sides of the truck in a way that was certainly scratching the paint.

We lurched to a stop.

My lips pressed together. Wait and see echoing in my head. The truck door opened.

A slice of light cut through the evening haze and bounced over the tree line.

If Frances had a flashlight, then she’d planned this. Anger clashed with curiosity and concern. What did she think she was doing? Then, no, this can’t be what I think it is.

Leaves crunched underfoot as she passed and I sat up quietly, right in time to see her disappear into the trees. It wasn’t dark yet. The sky burned pink, but it wouldn’t be long before the sun was swallowed up by the horizon.

Somewhere an owl called out. Soon they’d be lighting the bonfire at the party. Casey would think I’d left him without saying goodbye.

I couldn’t worry about that right now. This was about me and my sister.

The faintest beam of light floated through the trees. If I was following her, I needed to move.

I jumped to my feet, flung them over the side of the truck. It wasn’t until I landed on the ground that I noticed the car parked nearby. The vehicle was familiar, though part of me still refused to accept what I was seeing. I turned to race after my sister, then paused.

These woods were dark and deep. Ruth was superstitious, and I grew up hearing her stories of how you don’t ever go into strange forest at night. But not following my sister wasn’t an option. Frances hadn’t seemed afraid.

But still.

No one knew I was here. If I went missing, how long before anyone would look for me?

Doesn’t matter. Not right now.

I wished I always carried a knife like Aunt Ruth but settled for the shovel, grabbing it from the back of the truck—better than nothing—then jogged toward the trees.

It wasn’t long before I lost sight of the flashlight’s glow. The outdoors didn’t scare me, but standing alone in unfamiliar woods at dusk, while the night song sang its opening chorus, was unsettling. Ruth’s stories of the wampus cat with its giant teeth and fearful screech as well as the other creatures that called the deep woods home mingled in my head with very real accounts of girls disappearing from campsites without a trace. I wiped away the pinpricks of sweat on my upper lip.

My eyes adjusted to the dimming light until I could see the forest scrub spread around me. There was a small path winding through the underbrush. Puddle Creek was littered with overgrown old hiking trails. That had to be what this was.

Slowly, I picked my way through, holding the shovel in front of me to help find briars before they could cut, until I stepped into a meadow. Across the field, near the tree line, I could make out the outline of two people silhouetted in gray light.

The beam from the flashlight was gone, but it had to be my sister.

And the tall man, hunched forward with his arms wrapped around her…

Mr. Fortenberry.