Addison's Arc

Chapter 2 of 6

Addison ran until her lungs burned. The thicket pressed close around her, twisted trees clawing at her sleeves, shadows thick enough to hide a blade. She could not keep this pace. The hunter did not need to. He only had to follow the broken ferns and crushed grass she left behind, a wide ragged trail any tracker could read. She forced herself to slow and think. Stopping meant death. Running in a straight line meant death a little later. She needed a third option. Off to her left, a narrow track wound between the roots — small hooves had pressed neat prints into the soft earth. Deer moved quiet. Deer moved smart. She stepped onto their path and let it carry her sideways, away from her own torn trail. The deer track bent around a rise, and there she saw it. A low timber frame draped in mottled cloth, tucked against the brush. A hunting blind. His blind. A flask lay on its side inside, still damp. He had waited here for her, maybe yesterday, maybe an hour ago. Her stomach turned cold. He had been ahead of her, not behind. The chase was a funnel, and she was inside it. She backed away on soft feet and kept moving. A huge old tree rose from the slope, its trunk split by a dark knot hole near the base, just wide enough for a body. She squeezed inside and pressed her back to the damp wood. Her breath came shallow. Through the gap she watched the path. Footsteps came. Slow. Patient. They paused at the blind. Then they moved on, past the tree, down the slope, following the false trail the deer had pulled her off of. Addison closed her eyes. She had not won. She had only bought an hour, maybe two, and he would circle back when the deer track ran dry. But she was still breathing, still hidden, still moving toward heaven by inches. She pressed her palm flat against the inside of the tree and made herself a promise. Next time he stopped, she would be the one waiting.