Riley Hawkins's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Riley pressed her back to the wet curve of a huge, rain-worn boulder. The boy crouched beside her, breathing too loud. Branches snapped past the ridge. Whatever was coming, it was coming fast, and it was coming straight at them. She couldn't line up a shot with him glued to her side. She grabbed his pack and yanked it open. Inside, wrapped in moss and bark, was a leather pouch heavy with fresh game. Blood had soaked through the seams. "That's why it's tracking you," she whispered. His eyes went wide. "My father's," he said. "He told me to run." Riley dug through her own pack and pulled out a brass bell, heavy and bright. She tied the bloody pouch to its handle with quick fingers. Then she stood, swung once, and hurled the whole thing far across the clearing. It crashed through brush and rang loud against a tree trunk, chiming again and again. The beast turned. She heard its weight shift, heard the low cough of breath, then the hard rush of paws tearing away from them toward the noise. Riley raised her crossbow and waited. A shape blurred past a gap in the pines — four-legged, fast, bigger than she'd guessed. She fired. The bolt struck something solid. The beast screamed and crashed on through the trees, wounded, not dead. The boy sagged against the stone, shaking. "I'm Riley," she said, reloading. "Riley Hawkins." He swallowed. "Eli." She didn't smile. The beast was bleeding now, and angry, and it knew her scent. She pulled Eli to his feet. "We move. It's not finished, and now it wants me."