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AROOOOO!
SLIPPING away from the house. Creeping around the sheds. Entering the forest. Moving cautiously, Bill-E leading the way. A bright night. Very few clouds to block out the worryingly full moon. But dark under cover of the trees. Countless spots where a creature could lie in ambush.
“Which way did he go?” I whisper as Bill-E pauses and stoops.
“That way,” Bill-E replies a few seconds later, pointing left.
“How do you know?”
“Footprints,” he says, tapping the ground.
“Who made you Hia-bloody-watha?” I scrunch up my eyes but can't see any prints. “Are you sure?” I ask, wondering if he's deliberately leading me astray.
“Positive,” Bill-E says, then stands and stares at me, troubled. “If he sticks to this course, he's heading for the Vale.”
I stare back silently. Then we both turn without a word and resume the chase — faster, with more urgency.
Running. Ducking low-hanging branches. Leaping bushes.
Bill-E comes to a sudden halt. I run into him. Stifle a cry.
“I see him,” Bill-E says softly. “He's stopped.”
I peer ahead into the darkness — can't see anything. “Where?”
“Over there.” Bill-E points, then crouches. I squat beside him. “We're on the edge of the forest. Carcery Vale's only a minute's jog from here.”
“You think he's going to attack someone in the village?” I ask.
Bill-E
tilts his head uncertainly. “I can't believe it. But I don't see any other reason why he would come here. Maybe —”
He spins away abruptly, covering his mouth with his hands. Lurches through the bushes. Twigs snap. Leaves rustle. He collapses to the ground and throws up over a pile of twigs.
My gaze snaps from Bill-E to the trees ahead. Clutching the handle of my axe so tightly it hurts. Waiting for Dervish to hear the commotion and come investigate.
Half a minute passes. A minute. No movement ahead.
Bill-E shuffles up beside me. Rests in the shadow of a thick bush. Breathing heavily. Chin specked with vomit. “I can't go on,” he groans. His voice cracks as he speaks. His whole body's trembling.
“How bad are you really?” I ask, searching for him in the shadows, only able to make out the dark outline of his face.
“Lousy.” He chuckles drily. “I should have listened to you earlier — gone home to bed. I need a doctor.”
“Your house isn't far from here,” I note. “I could take you there.”
“What about Dervish?”
“Is he still where you said he was?” I ask.
Bill-E parts the bush above him, half-kneels, and stares dead ahead. Silence for a few seconds. Then — “Still there.”
“I'll take you home,” I decide, “then circle back.”
“But you can't track him like I can,” Bill-E demurs. “You need me.”
“I'll get by,” I override him. “The way you are now, you're a liability. It's only pure luck that he didn't hear you a few minutes ago. You're useless like this.”
