Free Running Wild by Joely Skye

was wild, not tame, and Seamus, not an expert rider, should not have climbed on the horse out of some strange attachment.
    He stood up and looked around him.
The horse whickered.
“Yeah, buddy, I’m going to ignore you. I’m a little aggravated, and that’s an
    understatement.” Seamus glared, but it didn’t have much effect on the black beauty. He shook his head, wondering how the hell he was going to make it home before dusk. It was maybe two hours from sunset. Which would surely give him time to find a place whose door he could knock on. He didn’t relish explaining his situation, but that was embarrassment talking, and he could deal with embarrassment.
    When the horse whickered again, insisting he pay it attention, Seamus placed his hands on his hips. “What the hell do you want? Don’t you understand you’re in the doghouse as far as I’m concerned?” Not that Black could understand Seamus’s mild animal humor. He was trying to hang on to his sense of humor, though God knows it wasn’t easy.
The horse turned around and trotted into a denser portion of the woods. “Yeah, you go your way, and I’ll go mine.”
That brought the horse sharply around, as if it knew Seamus might not
follow him, and Black summoned Seamus once more.
    He couldn’t believe it. He was tempted to follow the horse. Did he have to remind himself he was fed up with this creature and needed to get moving?
The horse blew out and stamped one foot, clearly wanting Seamus to come to him.
“What?” Seamus snapped, striding forward, and the horse started trotting. He rolled his eyes at himself and weakly supposed it was as good a direction as any, given he didn’t know where the fuck he was.
“I hope to hell it’s going to be a warm night, or I’m going to freeze in this goddamned T-shirt. It’s not the first time this has happened, if you remember,” he called out to the horse. So what if he was treating it like a sentient creature? There was no one here to observe them. Seamus was trying to beat back memories of the horror-filled night of his teen years.
Weird how Pete’s outburst had brought that memory fully back, made it real. It bothered Seamus that Pete had referred to it out of the blue when he’d never done so before. Then Pete had gone on to talk about safety. It made Seamus feel out of the loop in some way, but out of what loop?
He glanced around, trying to figure out why Black was picking its way through denser woods, when something shiny caught the corner of Seamus’s eye. He whipped up his head to see…a tent of sorts. Newish material, not old canvas. Silver in color. Big but not huge.
Seamus felt his eyes widen. No way he wouldn’t have been heard by whoever was here. If they were here.
He sucked in a quick breath and called out, “Hello? Anyone home?”
Not that his heart wasn’t beating faster for fear he’d stumbled into someone’s cache, someone unfriendly. But he was trying to persuade it otherwise.
There was no answer from the tent, and the horse whickered encouragement.
“Shut up,” Seamus grumbled at Black and edged forward. He supposed this was someone’s abode and he should afford them some privacy, but he was curious and, well, needed help. The place wasn’t exactly locked. Maybe it was a kid’s hideaway, and he wasn’t too far from a house. That made the most sense.
He unzipped the tent and glanced inside.
Tidy. A narrow cot on one side. Some supplies. Some books and… Puzzled by what he saw, Seamus stepped right in and walked over.
He knelt beside a bulletin board propped against a metal chest. On it were photographs from before the days of digital.
Seamus swallowed. One picture caught his eye, and he lifted a hand towards it, stopping himself before he touched the old photo. It contained a younger Zachariah. Hair gray, yes, but his body was stronger, heavier, less frail. On each side of him was a boy. Seamus peered more closely. The boys were maybe young teens, and Zachariah had a hand on