Free A Grave Tree by Jennifer Ellis

a whole lot of belief—not to mention stupidity and desperation—to get in this scow. But apparently she had all three. She gave the boat a final hard shove, then leapt over the edge of the stern and into the bottom of the rickety wooden craft. Ian lunged into the front, and the boat picked up speed, careening down the chute at an alarming pace.
    The bow of the boat was thrown into the air when they hit the water, and Abbey was thrown backward, her spine hitting the seat hard, her fingers burning from gripping the gunwales. It seemed as though they might capsize, but then the bow dropped back into the water, and they were off down the wild foaming river like a shot, catapulting from side to side and up and down in the current.
    The last thing Abbey saw as she glanced back up at the cliff was Sylvain and Russell standing on either side of Mark, with Jake behind them. Sylvain had his hands in the air and appeared to be yelling something. But it was too late.
     
    *****
     
    Sometimes seeing the bad man was not a bad thing, Mark decided. And sometimes seeing the beret man seemed to bring a lot of difficulty and discomfort. He watched Abbey and Ian sail off down the river in the bucking and writhing rowboat, while the bad man yelled, “Stop!” and “Stop immediately!” (both of which were rather pointless commands as far as Mark was concerned).
    Hands were placed under his elbows and he was yanked to his feet—not roughly, but not gently either. The bad man’s craggy face and silver hair appeared directly in Mark’s line of vision (a little too close, in Mark’s opinion) and the gold tooth in his mouth flashed wildly. “Where’s Caleb? What happened to your head?”
    “Caleb fell in the river with one of the bad dogs. Selena hit me in the head with a rock. They were by the tree. But we closed our eyes and they went away.”
    “What?” the bad man sputtered. “What are you talking about? How is that possible?”
    Mark shook his head. He considered mentioning the teleporting that the beret man had talked about, but decided not to. It might unhinge the bad man even more, and right now, Mark just wanted to get back to the cabin, and Ocean, although he did feel a bit worried about Abbey and Caleb.
    The bad man had sprung away from him anyway and now stood at the very edge of the cliff, craning his neck in the direction that Abbey and the beret man had gone. He lifted his hands to his head and clutched it on either side (much like Mark himself did when he was upset). “They’re going to be killed. They’re going to be smashed to bits. This is terrible.”
    The bad man darted a squinty-eyed look over his shoulder at Russell, then started running along the edge of the cliff, staring over the edge as if intent on pursuing the rowboat to its certain destruction, his twiggy legs and dark trench coat flying. Mark wondered if he might not leap off the sheer wall and take flight like an elongated bat. Russell followed the bad man at a rapid clip.
    Jake, dressed in his normal red and black Coventry Cats warm-up suit, raised an eyebrow at Mark. “We’d better go with them. I hope Ian has some witchcraft up his sleeve to keep that boat safe.” Then he turned and also started running along the top of the canyon.
    Mark followed, his own legs rubbery. He was not getting left behind, and he smarted from the hint of accusation in Jake’s voice that Abbey’s departure in the boat was somehow his fault, as if he had been the adult present, as if he could have done anything to stop her, as if he controlled, or even influenced, these people.
    Despite his expectation of being quickly and easily outrun, he found that with some exertion (which made his chest feel a bit tight), he could keep up with the other runners. The rain had stopped, and although a mist remained in the sky, he could feel the warmth of the sun burning through the cloud cover.
    They ran for twelve minutes (according to Mark’s Garmin Forerunner) before Sylvain came