Ben Dover's Arc

Chapter 110 of 150

Ben ran north through the pines with the wolf beside him. Behind him the burned house roared on the ridge, bright enough to throw his shadow ten paces ahead. That was the problem. The two hunters climbing the switchback would top the crest in minutes, and his boots had left a straight line in the ash blown down the slope. He stopped at a wash of pale grit. His tracks showed like ink on paper. He could not sweep them all before the crossbowmen cleared the ridge. He needed the tracks to end at something that was not him. A low shape stood in the trees ahead. A small wooden house, roof steep, door open black. A carved sign above the lintel. He read it by the glow of the burning ridge. One word. It looked like a joke someone had built out here for no one. He went to the door. He did not go in. A girl stood in the doorway already, small, red hair, a yellow coat over a flowered dress. She held a striped sock in one hand like she had been pulling it on when the sky lit up. "Two men on the slope," Ben said. "Crossbows. My tracks come to your door." She looked past him at the ash line. She looked at the wolf. She looked at him. "Come in and they search the house," she said. "Keep going and they shoot you in the trees." "I know." "Third way." She stepped out barefoot onto the grit. She walked his line backward, heel to toe, pressing each print deeper. She reached the door and turned and walked in. She walked out again. She did it twice more. Now four sets of tracks led to her threshold and none led away. "They'll kick the door," Ben said. "Let them." She pointed at a stack of split pine inside the room and a jug beside it. Lamp oil. "House is bait. Not me." "Who are you." "Ima Hogg." She said it the way other people said the weather. "Go left around the woodpile. There's a dry creek. It runs down to the pines you want. Stay in the bed. No prints." He heard boots on scree above. Close. Ima poured the jug across the pine stack and the doorframe. She struck a striker on the sill. Flame caught the oil and ran up the wood. She stepped out and shut the door behind her. "Move," she said. Ben went left around the woodpile with the wolf at his heel. He dropped into the creek bed and ran on stone. Behind him the little house went up like a lamp. He heard a shout, then a second shout, both pulled toward the fire. No bolt came after him. When he crested the far bank he was in the pines. His tracks ended at a burning door two ridges back. The hunters had a house to search and no man inside it.