Ben Dover's Arc

Chapter 122 of 150

By dawn Ben's arms burned and the chest was humming again. The sound came through the wood in a low buzz that carried further than his footsteps. The straw packing had dried out. The little fox creature on his shoulder flicked its ears and pressed its paws to the lid, but the hum still leaked through. Any patrol within fifty paces would hear it. He needed a fresh dampener before he moved another mile. Damp cloth, moss, anything soft and wet. He set the chest down and scanned the trees. The ground was dry pine needle and root. No stream close. No cottage smoke. Nothing to work with. The creature stiffened. Its ears cut hard to the left. Ben crouched and drew his knife. A girl stepped out from behind a leaning pine. She had a canvas jacket, muddy sneakers, and a leather journal open in one hand. She saw the knife and stopped. She did not run. "You're the one they're looking for," she said. "Two hunters passed this line at first light. Forty minutes ago. They went east." Ben kept the knife up. "Who are you." "Annette. I'm looking for someone who went into these woods and didn't come out. I'm not with the hunters." She closed the journal. "Your box is loud." "I know." "It'll bring them back." She tilted her head. "There's a cabin. Ten minutes north-northwest. Empty three days. I checked yesterday at four in the afternoon. There's a jar of pickled brine on the shelf and a wool blanket in the loft." Ben lowered the knife an inch. Brine cloth. Wet wool. Both would kill the hum long enough to move. "Why tell me." "You went past the guard at the stream. My friend went in the same direction eight days ago. I want to know what's on the other side." She held up the journal. "I write down what I see. If you make it through, I'll know the route works." He watched her face. She did not blink much. She was not lying for the fun of it. "Walk in front," Ben said. She walked. The creature's ears stayed up the whole way. Ten minutes on, a small log cabin sat in a clearing, door ajar, roof mossed over. Ben went in fast. The jar was on the shelf. The blanket was in the loft. He soaked the blanket in the brine, wrung it, and packed it around the boxes inside the chest. He closed the lid and set his ear to it. Silence. Annette wrote something in her journal. "Nine minutes past six. Chest went quiet." Ben shouldered it. The weight was worse now, wet. But he could pass a patrol at ten paces and not be heard. "East is bad," she said. "They'll circle back by noon." "Then I go north before noon." He stepped out of the cabin with the fox on his shoulder and the wet chest against his hip.