Claire Summers's Arc

Chapter 1 of 7

Claire stepped off the trail to check her map, and that was the mistake. One wrong turn on day two. Now the sun was setting on day forty, and her ripped shirt clung to her ribs. She kept walking. Someone was still out there looking. She had to believe that. Her pack felt lighter than it should. She had eaten the last berries that morning. Two had been the wrong kind, twice now, and somehow she was still breathing. Dark luck, she thought. The kind you don't get to spend twice in a row. She stopped at a dry stone well half-swallowed by weeds. She lowered her canteen anyway. Nothing came back up. Claire laughed once, sharp and tired, and sat down on the cracked rim. That was when she saw it. A scrap of pink fabric flapping on a thin pole, planted in the dirt just past the well. A marker. Faded, beaten by wind, but placed. By a person. For her. Claire's hands shook as she pulled her belt free and wrapped it around a fallen stick. She drove the stick into the ground beside the flag. A sign back. I was here. I am here. Find me. She stood and followed the direction the flag pointed. Someone was still looking. She had proof now. And she would walk toward them until they met in the middle.