Ben Dover's Arc

Chapter 26 of 150

The courier animal ran east through low brush. Ben followed at a jog, one hand on the chest rope, the other on the taped crate Justin carried behind him. Anita kept pace on his left. Amber came last, watching the trees. They had gone maybe a quarter mile when Ben heard it. A hum. Three humms, layered, coming from the chest at his hip. The felt was still inside. It should have held. He stopped and put his ear to the wood. The sound was clear. "They shifted," Anita said. She lifted the lid a finger's width. The three carved boxes sat crooked. The rough handling at the inn had knocked them out of the felt lining. "The felt's bunched under them. They're bare on top." Ben's throat tightened. The blue-scaled creature tracked sound. It had found them before from six seconds of hum. This was minutes already, and growing. He looked back the way they came. Nothing yet. But nothing yet only meant not yet. "We reset the felt," Ben said. "Now. Off the trail." They pushed into the brush and found a low stone shelter set into the slope. Wood and stone patched together. A carved face over the door, wide-eyed, mouth pulled down. The inside was dim and close. It smelled of old smoke. A girl was already inside. Small, dark hair, gray hoodie, hands jammed in the pocket. She pressed against the back wall when they came through the door. Her eyes went to the humming chest, then to Ben's face. "Something's out there," she said. "Tall. In the fog. It's been behind me since morning." "Sandy?" Amber said. She knew her from somewhere. She did not explain. "How long in here?" "An hour. Maybe less. I heard you coming and thought it was the thing." Ben set the chest down. "We need quiet for two minutes. Can you watch the door?" Sandy nodded once. She stepped to the doorway and put her back to the frame, eyes on the trees. Ben opened the chest. Anita pulled the felt free and shook it flat. Justin lifted each carved box out. The hum rose in the small room, sharp enough to feel in the teeth. Ben laid the felt in thick, folded it up the sides, then set the boxes back in one at a time. He packed felt between each. He closed the lid. The hum cut off. He held his breath and listened. The wind. Sandy's shallow breathing. No blue scrape of scale on stone. "Clear," Sandy said. "Nothing moved." Ben exhaled. He looked at Sandy in the doorway, small and shaking, watching the fog for a shape that had followed her here. He thought of the courier animal still running east without them. "We lost the courier," Anita said. Ben closed his eyes. The chest was quiet. The trail east was gone.