Ben Dover's Arc

Chapter 27 of 150

The chest sat quiet on the floor. Ben knelt beside it and looked at Sandy in the doorway. She was still watching the trees. Her hands shook inside the hoodie pocket. Whatever she had seen on her run, she had seen it up close. Ben needed to know where the creature had been and where it had gone. Without that, they could not choose a path out. "Sandy," Ben said. "Come sit. We need what you saw." She did not move. Her shoulders were pulled up near her ears. Her eyes were wide and fixed. She looked like a small animal frozen mid-step, waiting for the shape in the fog to decide. Anita crossed the room slow. She did not touch her. She sat on the floor near the door and waited until Sandy looked down. "You saw it," Anita said. "We need to know which way. Left of here, right of here, close, far. Just that." Sandy opened her mouth. A dry click came out. She shook her head hard. Ben felt the minutes going. He looked around the shelter for something, anything, to steady her. On a shelf by the hearth sat a dented metal canister, lid clamped, handle bent. Someone had scratched a face into the tin, wide eyes, small mouth. A joke, maybe, or a child's work. He pulled it down and set it in Sandy's hands. "Hold this," he said. "Squeeze it if you need to. Don't talk yet. Just breathe." She wrapped both hands around the canister. Her knuckles went white. She breathed in, out, in. The shaking dropped a notch. Amber crouched in front of her. "You and me walked the south market once," Amber said. "You remember. You counted the stalls for me. Count for me now. How many times did you see it?" "Three," Sandy said. Her voice cracked but held. "Three times. First at the creek. Then the ridge above. Then the flat rocks where the trees stop." "Which side of us now?" Ben said. Sandy closed her eyes. Her hands squeezed the tin. "North. Above. It went along the ridge, not down. It was casting for sound. It didn't cross the creek." Anita pulled her map out. Ben leaned in. The creek ran east to west below them. The ridge sat north. South was open slope down to a gully with water. "South and low," Anita said. "Along the creek. It stays above us and loses the scent in the water." "How long ago the flat rocks?" Ben said. "Twenty minutes. Maybe less." Ben stood. He shouldered the chest rope. Justin lifted the taped crate. Sandy still held the canister. Ben did not ask for it back. "You come with us," he said. "South. Now." She nodded. They stepped out into the fog with a route.