Free Spirit Flight by Jory Strong Page A

without
answering the phone or opening the mail, would barely remember to
eat. It wouldn't take any great leap of imagination to believe
she'd gotten lost.
    Marisa shivered. The sweat chilled
underneath her shirt and jeans.
    They'd still want to find her body. They'd
want to make sure she hadn't overheard them or guessed their plans
and used her art supplies to leave a note.
    The breeze picked up, bringing the scent of
rain. Thunder rumbled, louder, closer, confirmation that a storm
was on its way and would turn the mountain and time into deadly
enemies.
    She wouldn't last the night if her clothing
got wet. She knew it with a certainty that came from being a news
addict, not an experienced camper.
    She would give every penny she had just to
spot smoke curling upward from a cabin somewhere in front of her or
below in the canyon. But there was nothing. No indication anyone
lived in the area despite the No Trespassing signs and the
beautifully crafted totem poles capped with ferocious thunderbirds
that she'd passed earlier.
    Another rumble sounded, not thunder but an
off-road motorcycle. Her heart pounded faster, harder. Adrenaline
and terror dulled the pain in her lungs and sides and thighs.
    They knew she was missing. They knew she was
running.
    There was a grove of pine and cedar ahead
but she wasn't sure she could get to it before being seen. And if
she did, the trees and undergrowth might slow her down and trap her
instead of offering her shelter and protection.
    The rumble of the motorcycle grew louder.
She left the wide dirt path. Everything inside her screamed that
she needed to get out of sight. Now. Now.
    She reached the canyon edge. Her heart
surged into her throat. She swallowed, trying to force its
throbbing beat downward.
    I can do this. I have to do this.
    She went over the edge. Scrambled over rock,
grabbing with her hands and trying to gain purchase with her feet
while pebbles tumbled like the beginning of a rock slide.
    All she needed to do was find a place where
she could cling safely until the bike had passed and then passed
again, returning to camp.
    The bike drew near. Its engine roared,
echoed in the canyon.
    Hurry! Hurry! Just a little bit
further and she'd be out of sight.
    The rock under her hands and feet gave.
    An involuntary scream escaped and sliced
through the canyon.
    She hurtled downward. Clawed at the canyon
side, each wild grab dislodging more rock and earth.
    There was a desperate awareness of speed and
motion, of being momentarily airborne.
    She landed hard on an outcropping. Pain
screamed through her. Legs, ribs, arms. Broken. So many things
broken.
    She turned her head and vomited as debris
struck her face and arms and torso before bouncing and continuing
the journey downward.
    The sound of the slide faded and only the
purr of an engine remained. Fighting to remain conscious, Marisa
saw the motorcycle stop far above her. The rider slid the helmet
off to get a better view—or maybe Kaitlyn needed to reveal herself
to make her victory more satisfying.
    For long moments she looked down at where
Marisa lay, and then with a wave, she put the helmet on and drove
away.
    Tears streamed from Marisa's eyes. There was
nothing left but pain. Emotional. Physical.
    Bleeding, killing wounds inflicted to heart
and soul.
    Breaking, tearing wounds done to bone and
flesh.
    She faded in and out of consciousness. Aware
on some level of the blackening sky, the rapidly approaching storm,
the feel of cold rain pelting her exposed skin. The wetness of her
clothes, their sodden mass a heavy weight on a frame barely able to
sustain life.
    The thunder was directly overhead now, a
violent, crashing symphony.
    Lightning flashed, flickering brilliance
against Marisa's eyelids.
    She forced her eyes open, knowing she was
dying and yet choosing to see the beauty around her. The
magnificence of the storm. Far more powerful and real than anything
she'd ever been able to capture in her art—though sometimes she
came close,