Ben Dover's Arc

Chapter 138 of 150

Ben moved deeper into the trees with the fox boxed and quiet. The horn still called from the road, closer than he liked. The beads pulled at the fox, and the fox pulled at the sold piece somewhere ahead. But Ben could not follow the trail and outrun the scout at once. If he stopped to read the pull, the horn would find him first. He had to choose. Reach the piece, or lose the scout. He crouched by a stump and cracked the box a finger's width. The fox hummed low. Ben felt the pull tug north, past the road, past the scout's path. To follow it he would cross open ground the scout still watched. He shut the lid. The hum died. His choice was made for him. Chase the piece now, and the horn would corner him against the road before he touched it. A boy stepped out from the ferns. He looked no older than ten, brown hair falling over warm eyes, a soft blue hoodie loose on his shoulders. He smiled like he had known Ben for years. "You're going the wrong way," the boy said. "The road bends around. The scout can't see the low ditch." Ben gripped his sack. "Who told you I want a ditch?" "Nobody. You keep looking north and flinching at the horn." The boy shrugged. "I watch. It's what I do out here." He pointed past a leaning birch. "There's a cut in the ground. It runs under the road. You come out on the far side, and the scout stays behind you." Ben studied the boy's face. No fear in it. No cunning either. Just a plain, open trust that unsettled him more than a threat would. "And what do you want?" "Company for a bit," the boy said. "It gets quiet." The horn blew again, almost on top of them. Ben had no time to weigh it. He followed the boy to the birch. Under a fold of roots lay the mouth of a dry cut, just wide enough to crawl. Ben pushed the sack ahead and dropped in. The boy slid behind him. They crawled in the dark under the road. Above, boots crossed the packed dirt. The horn sounded once, right overhead, then moved off. Ben held the box tight against his chest so it could not knock and hum. Dirt showered his neck. He kept crawling until gray light showed ahead. He came out on the far side of the road, in a stand of alder. The horn faded behind him now, back the way he'd come. The scout searched the wrong side. Ben opened the box a crack. The fox hummed strong, and the pull ran clear ahead, no road between him and the piece. Ben looked back for the boy. The cut was empty. "You still there?" No answer came. Ben shut the box and rose. The scout was behind him. The piece was ahead. For the first time in days, the path was open.