Free Left for Dead: A gripping psychological thriller by Deborah Rogers Page B

of here. Find some berries. Take my chances in the woods.
    But I’m close, I know it, so I shimmy in further. The burrow gets tight and I have to squeeze through, angling my shoulders just right, my hips scraping against the hard dirt walls.
    I hear something. Oh God, a bark. Distant, but a bark nonetheless. I have to hurry.
    I reach out one final time and my hand lands on something sticky. I stretch for it. My little finger hooks around an arch of bone. I sniff my fingertips. Put some to my lips. Grease. Blood. Meat.
    More barks. Closer this time. I’ve got to get out of here. Grabbing the rack of meat, I flatten myself against the ground and move backward. But I’m stuck. I turn my shoulders. It makes no difference, I’m wedged in tight.
    Outside the barking gets louder. My heart races. Hurry. For God’s sake, hurry. I twist my body but the tunnel seems to shrink and it’s so black and I’m getting dizzy and I think of the dirt grave and the wolves and the sound of breaking bones. They are going to find me. They will tear my flesh like cloth.
    I tell myself I’ve got to calm down or I’m going to pass out. I tug and tug and finally my shoulders come free. Snaking backward, dragging the meat across the ground, I emerge from the burrow and continue the rest of the way on my knees. Finally I’m close to the entrance, and there’s enough room to move up to a crouch.
    I turn around.
    There’s the alpha, hackles raised, looking at me. Close behind, the teenagers nod and squeal. They look at the meat in my hands. I edge forward. The alpha snarls, his gums as pink as a radish. To my left there’s a barren leg bone I pulled from the den earlier. I grab it and hold it out.
    “Easy.”
    The sound of my voice stills them but then they start to bark and growl much louder than before. They come closer. I throw the bone at them, then stones, a fistful of dirt.
    “Get away!”
    All I have left is the meat, so I throw that too. It lands by the mother wolf. The others turn to sniff it, leaving enough space for me to get out and run.
    I thrash through the bush and it’s not long before they are on my heels. Apart from the loud, steady thump of their footfall, the wolves are silent, no barking or growling, just a focused, determined energy to bring me down.
    I round the bend at the rear of the cave and veer left, hoping to see something I can climb. Instead I’m faced with a hill. My chest contracts. I’m blocked in. I turn to face the pack.
    A sudden loud clap echoes through the forest. Landslide, I think. Then a second clap rings out and I realize my mistake. Not landslide but gun.

22
    The wolves scatter. I spin around, eyes raking the forest. Rex is back. He’s back and come to take me away. I look and look, my breath locked in my throat. Try to see him in the shadows. Nothing.
    Another shot rings out. I remember, then, how this place plays tricks on you, how sound bounces and skids, makes you believe things are closer than you really think.
    What if it’s a hunter and not Rex at all? What if it’s my big chance to get out of here? I run toward the sound. Pray it’s the right direction.
    “Hey! I’m lost. Help me!”
    Too quickly I’m breathless and forced to bend at the waist and place my hands on my thighs. Then. Voices. Laughter. I cup my hands to my mouth.
    “Hey!” I call. “Help!”
    I stand listening then hurry forward. Soon I breach the tree line into grassland overlooked by a gray rock mountain. Below the mountain, a river, too wide and fast to cross. On the opposite site of the clearing, there’s a Jeep and what looks like an elk tied to the roof rack.
    I wave my arm. “Hey!”
    The Jeep fires into life. Black smoke jets from the exhaust.
    “No! Wait!”
    Gears grind and the Jeep rolls forward. I yell and run.
    “Stop! Wait!”
    But the Jeep just drives away.
    *
    I stand there uselessly in the tall grass as the two red eyes disappear into the woods. My legs shake with rage. How could this happen?