Vance Holloway's Arc

Chapter 3 of 5

The three of them stood at the edge of the Hollow. Evan Mercer, the camper who escaped him three years ago, kept the girl between himself and Vance. She was his shield. Vance could not reach for a knife without the girl seeing and screaming. One shout would send Evan running into the dark, and the empty slot on Vance's shelf would stay empty. He needed to split them apart. The girl crouched over the tracks again. She wore a wide hat and a red bandana, and she read the ground like she owned it. "A counselor walked in here two nights ago," she said. "Didn't come back. These prints aren't his." She looked up at Vance. "You know what made them." "I've seen it," Vance said. True words cost him nothing. "Tall. Bare feet. Toes come to a point. I shot it twice. It bled black and ran." The girl stood. "Show me where." That was the crack Vance wanted. "The blood runs into the Hollow," he said. He pointed down the dark slope, away from Evan. "Too narrow for three. You track it. I'll cut the far side and drive it back to you." Scout Riverside nodded once. She trusted the plan because it matched how she hunted. She stepped down into the shadow alone. For a moment Evan stood exposed, no girl beside him, ten feet of open dirt between him and Vance. Vance moved. He drew the knife from his belt and closed the gap. Evan turned too late. He got one arm up. The blade opened his forearm, not his throat. Evan screamed and swung his other fist into Vance's ear. They went down in the leaves together. "Scout!" Evan shouted. "He's the one! Run!" Vance drove his knee onto Evan's chest and raised the knife. Then a branch cracked behind him. He looked up. The girl had not gone into the Hollow. She stood six feet off with a rock in her fist. She threw it. The stone struck Vance's temple. His vision went white. He rolled off Evan, and the two of them scrambled up the slope, Evan bleeding, the girl dragging him by his orange sleeve. Vance got to his knees. Blood ran into his eye. By the time he stood, they were gone through the trees, crashing north, away from the Hollow and away from him. He pressed a hand to his temple. His prize had been under his blade. He had felt the knife bite. And he had lost him anyway, because the girl never turned her back. Now both of them knew his face and his knife. They would not wait at his blood trail again. They would go for help, or they would go for a gun. Evan carried a fresh wound Vance had given him, and a name to put beside it. The hunt was open ground now, and Vance was the thing being tracked.