Hunted (Dark Secrets Book 1)

by Mousseau, Allie Juliette

Good, it wasn't standing still anymore. That meant we had escaped its direct path—for now.

  "It's moving left!" I shouted. "We go right!"

  We booked it.

  I tripped over a tree root jutting sneakily out of the dirt and landed hard enough to knock the wind out of me. Theron scooped me up and helped me keep moving. The tornado was unearthing huge rocks and catapulting them through the air. Massive branches and tree trunks were gouged from the ground and sent flying across the ravine.

  "GET DOWN!" I wailed in Theron's ear. He brought me down to the ground at the bottom of the dry gully and threw his body on top of mine to shield me.

  The tornado's violent rage continued away from us to the left—its imminent threat had passed.

  "Are you hurt?" Theron asked as he climbed off of my back and helped lift me to my feet.

  I quickly assessed my damage. I had some rising welts due to the rock storm and I was pretty sure my face was bleeding a bit from a nasty branch that had snapped back on me while we were running. "Fine," I answered. "You?" I looked up at him.

  He stared at me, contemplating whether or not I told him the truth. Slowly, he raised his hand to my face and gently touched the edge of my cut with his fingertip.

  "That thing was wicked!" he said with awe.

  "Yes it was," I agreed and smiled.

  Theron let his hand drop and smiled back.

  Out of my throat bubbled a hysterical laugh. Near death experiences tend to have that effect on me. Soon we were both laughing.

  A moment later, in the tornado's wake, came hail that pelted us mercilessly with near golf ball-sized chunks of ice.

  "Let's see if there's anything left of the tent!" I said. We half-ran and half-hiked back up the ravine. Getting back up the hill was tough because the hail pinged off of our exposed bodies painfully. After we made it halfway back the hail turned into a torrential downpour, instantly drenching our clothes. The sky became so dark it was like night.

  "We need to grab the Ursack for food if it's still there," I told him. It was, and we quickly took it down from the tree and went for the tent.

  "It's still up!" Theron pointed to our safe haven, which was miraculously standing.

  However, the camouflaging branches and twigs were tossed all over the place as if a giant toddler had had a massive fit. We gratefully climbed into the warm, dry sanctuary, unscathed —a little bruised up and disheveled, but alive.

  I wedged a dry tarp underneath us to trap the water from our clothes. "We need to get out of these wet clothes fast or we're going to soak everything."

  We turned back-to-back and quickly stripped down to our underwear. Of course, turning back-to-back was sort of silly considering we were still going to see each other when we turned back around to get our dry clothes.

  I'm wearing my exercise bra and underwear—It's like a bathing suit, I told myself. Just like a bathing suit.

  "Oh, for goodness sake, just turn around and give me your wet things!" I tried to act nonchalant.

  "Are you sure?" Theron asked doubtfully.

  "Just give me your clothes," I said. I had already dropped mine into the tarp and wanted his so I could wrap them up and throw them out of the dry space. With this rain, things could be wet for a long while.

  He turned, but tried to keep his eyes averted as he put his dripping, balled-up clothes into my hands. I got down on my knees, wrapped his clothes together with mine in the tarp and set it all outside the tent flap.

  I felt a shy and awkward moment pass as we both dug through our packs for dry clothes. I couldn't help but peek just a little. I remembered what he had looked like when he was lying unconscious in the lean-to and I had stitched him up. Now, though, he was squatting down over his pack, clothed only in gray soaked-to-his-skin boxers. Lightly balanced on the balls of his bare feet, the muscles of his body—legs, abs, back and arms—were pronounced and flexed as he moved. I couldn't look away. I didn't snap out of it until he started to stand and turn toward me. I pivoted almost manically so he wouldn't catch me and dropped softly to both knees to get dry clothes from my own pack.

  Shyly, I tilted my head back to look at him. He was watching me and hadn't been as quick as I had to turn away. I stood up with dry clothes in hand. "Back-to-back?" I suggested.

  "Okay," he said.

  And I didn't look! I dropped all things wet and changed into dry sweatpants and a T-shirt.

  "Are you done?" I asked tentatively.

  "Done," he said. "You?"

  "Yes."

  We turned to face each other. His damp hair draped in glistening dark waves to his shoulders. "Wow," I exclaimed, trying to distract myself. "That was an adventure!"

  "Yeah," he breathed. "I hope we don't see another one of those."

  "Me too."

  "Well, what do we do now?"

  "We wait it out."

  I turned on my LED lantern. The glow illuminated the tent as we listened to the rain dance over the canvas.

  "I have just the thing for these kinds of situations—and you're going to love it!" I said, reaching into my pack and pulling out a small rectangular gadget. I switched it on, and my Kindle came to life.

  "What is that?" Theron asked in its glow.

  "It's a book reader. It stores hundreds of books in this lightweight, easy to carry gadget—perfect for a girl like me," I laughed. "Before these were invented, I could only carry one book a time. I'd usually buy one at a thrift store then donate it to a different one. It worked alright, but it was hard to find the books I really wanted and I couldn't keep my favorites. Now, I get to have them all."

  "What kinds of books?" The curiosity in his eyes was contagious.

  "Another big decision. Which book first?" I said, feeling something akin to responsibility. This wasn't just a form of entertainment, this was someone's first book. I thought out loud, "I have classics from authors like Jane Austen and George Eliot, Hemingway, Frost and Whitman… I also have some YA novels from contemporary authors." I looked to him for help. "I even have some of my favorite books that my mom read to me when I was little. They're children's books and I know you're not a child but they're so nostalgic. It's a good place to start."

  I chose Where the Wild Things Are and Green Eggs and Ham.

  "These are great," Theron laughed.

  I picked out a few comic books—The Avengers, Spiderman and Xmen—and made us something to snack on from the bag. We snacked and read through the rest of the rainy day and into the night.

  "How about something with some more meat to it," I said as I scanned the titles in my reader. "I think you'd like The Giver. Want to try it?"

  "Sure."

  "Remember, if you don't like something, all we have to do is pick a different one."

  We sat next to each other, leaning on our packs which we had made comfortable by covering them with my blanket. When the evening turned chilly, Theron unzipped his sleeping bag and laid it over our legs.

  We took turns reading the novel late into the night, the hard rain as our background music. Soon, I began to nod off to sleep to the sound of Theron's deep voice. My head kept landing on his shoulder and I kept snapping it back up.

  "It's okay, you can rest your head on me," he said softly.

  I did, and a moment later I was asleep.

  I stirred just a little when I felt Theron scoop his arm around me so my head nestled onto his chest and he aligned himself to get a little more comfortable. Then he pulled his blanket up over the both of us.

  ~

  When I woke up in the morning I felt amazingly well rested. Then I startled when I realized Theron and I had slept in each other's arms the whole night through. I felt my face shade pink and was thankful he was still sleeping. I had never kissed a boy before, and I certainly hadn't ever slept with one! Our legs were all tangled up together. I closed my eyes for a moment, laid my cheek on his chest again and took in his warmth.

  I thought about how I must have been starved for human contact. For connection. Touch. I
had never allowed myself to be so vulnerable. I breathed through the terror that threatened to crush me and let myself feel it. I thought about Theron's past—if I was starved for human contact, he had to be famished.

  All of a sudden he stirred. I froze. Theron stretched and yawned then smiled sleepily down at me. "Good morning," he said, his voice husky.

  "Hey," I breathed.

  "It's still raining," he stated more than asked.

  "Yeah." I could feel his heartbeat speed up under his T-shirt.

  "Will we keep reading?"

  "Would you like that?" I smiled.

  "Yes. Very much." He smiled back.

  Okay, someone will have to move sooner or later, I thought. I got up first. "I'll fetch some breakfast."

  We ate a light meal of venison and berries, then we curled up together under the blanket and stayed that way for most of the day.

  I had seen movies and read books about romance, but nothing prepared me for the real sensation of being cuddled up with the warm body of a boy I felt so strongly about.

  We finished Lowry's The Giver then moved onto Bradbury's novel Fahrenheit 451. We discussed all the characters and plots, the villains and the heroes, the utopian and dystopian societies.

  For four days it poured, and for four days we sat huddled close, reading and talking.

  "Do you arm wrestle?" Theron asked out of the blue after lunch on the fourth day.

  "Not often, but I'm game."

  We lay sprawled out on our stomachs, facing each other, our fingers laced, palms together. It was a ruse. Neither of us was winning because neither of us was trying. I had a feeling he just wanted to hold my hand—arm wrestling was his idea. But I wasn't complaining. The touch of his hand in mine made my entire body feel electrified.

  "What's your favorite color?" he asked, putting a little pressure on my arm for the sake of the charade.

  "It's a toss up," I answered.

  "Between what?"

  "Depends on what mood I'm in mostly. But if I had to answer, I'd say that my favorites are violet and yellow—the colors of the first spring wildflowers that come up in the fields of green grass. They grow in every part of the country, so no matter where I am in the spring, it feels like home. What about you? What's your favorite color?"

  "Greenish-brown."

  "Like the trees?" I asked, puzzled.

  "Like your eyes."

  Blood rose into my cheeks. "What's your favorite food so far?" I asked quickly.

  "The wild turkey you roasted with the berries, fiddleheads and cattail roots."

  "Yes, that is good," I agreed. I noticed his eyes hadn't strayed from mine—not once.

  "What's your favorite food?" he asked back.

  "Easy! Angel hair Alfredo with grilled chicken and portabella mushrooms. We'll have to get a plate of it for you to try." Here I was making "us" plans again. "My mom used to make it every year for my birthday," I added.

  "When is your birthday?"

  "December nineteenth. Yours?"

  "July tenth. How old are you?"

  "I turned seventeen four-and-a-half months ago."

  Theron grinned widely. "We're the same age," he said matter-of-factly.

  "Yes we are. But technically you're five months older."

  "Favorite car?" he fired off.

  "Jeeps with a wide wheel base. Those things can go anywhere," I mused.

  "Yours?"

  "Dodge Chargers."

  "What's your favorite song?"

  "I couldn't choose—they're all so incredible," he replied. "What kind of career do you want?"

  "I want to be a writer—a documentary journalist," I explained. "But that might be an unreachable dream if I can't find my mother."

  I instinctively started to snatch back my hand, but he was quick. He didn't let it go. Instead he turned it over and simply held it—as if he had wanted to all along.

  I continued, "If the Takers keep coming or their activities increase, we could have a real war on U.S. soil, which hasn't happened since the Civil War almost one hundred and fifty years ago. Not many of us will have much of a future if that happens. But chances are it won't. America is pretty tough. I can't see us letting the Takers take us down. What do you want to do—for a career?"

  "I don't know yet. I was raised and trained to be a soldier, but… " He shook his head then shrugged with a small smile. "I don't know."

  I smiled with him and then noticed something. "Listen." Everything was quiet. "The rain stopped!" I said.

  The rain had dwindled, but the drops from the saturated branches and boughs above us continued to wring themselves out.

  "Do you want to go for a walk and see what the storm did?" I asked.

  "Sounds like a plan. Do I have to let go of your hand?"

  I nodded. "Yes. But you can hold it again while we're walking."

  He liked that. He bounced up, unzipped the front tent flap and held it open so that I could pass through first.

  The forest was a glistening, wet wonderland. New streams had developed. Several areas were flooded and we were forced to forge new paths. The tornado had carved a huge divot in through the trees that went on for who knew how far. So many trees had been ripped violently from their roots and flung as if they had been weightless.

  The river and lake had overfilled, escaping their boundaries. Canadian geese, swans and ducks took advantage of this watery refuge, bobbing lightly on newly formed ponds.

  "Those are one of my favorite types of birds," I said.

  "Which ones?"

  "The Canadian Geese. I don't understand how hunters can shoot them," I said sadly.

  "You wouldn't hunt Canadian geese?"

  "They mate for life," I answered simply.

  As I stared at the geese, their regal forms skimming the surface of the water and sending out ripples behind them, a serious thought occurred to me. "We're going to have to leave," I said. The tornado had forced our hand.

  "Why? How soon?" Theron looked concerned.

  "Rangers and work crews will be coming out to assess the tornado's damage and to clean up the debris." I shook my head mournfully. "They could start coming around as early as tomorrow morning."

  I guess Theron caught the weight of my glance because he put his arm around me and pulled me in close to his side.

  "Everything's going to be okay, Freya," he comforted me. "We'll get to New Orleans and we'll find your mother—whatever it takes."

  He sounded so sure that I believed him.

  The next morning we packed rather quietly. I put my iPod in the docking station so we could listen to music. I had a feeling we were both disappointed to be leaving so soon. When everything was ready to go, we sat down on our bench logs and ate a hardy breakfast.

  The iPod had started playing "Iris."

  "Dance with me?" Theron asked, offering me his hand. "It is our song, you know."

  Our song? We had a song? I wondered.

  "It was the first song we ever danced to." Theron answered my inner thoughts.

  "You're right," I said out loud, but inwardly my mind was still rather happily stuck on our song.

  Theron's hands lay on my hips while my hands lingered on his wide shoulders. Then he leaned in closer to me. His right cheek hovered over mine almost touching it, like two puzzle pieces, and he breathed into my ear, singing the lyrics to the chorus.

  He pulled back to look directly into my eyes. He wasn't just singing along with the chorus. He was singing the words to me.

  "'I just want you to know who I am,'" he breathed.

  Our bodies stood still. His hands left my hips and came up to either side of my face. He drew me in closer to him as he moved toward me. I could feel the air from his mouth play over my skin. It was intoxicating. I closed my eyes so that I could experience him even more as his warm, soft lips pressed fully against mine.

  Tentative and cautious at first, the small kiss became several small kisses. Then they grew into something stronger, hungrier.

  Ele
ctricity coursed through my entire being in unabated bolts. Theron's hands slipped behind my head and his fingers tangled into my hair, anchoring me to his mouth.

  Full of feelings I didn't understand, I brought my arms up tighter—cradling the back of his neck in the gentle inside bend of my elbow.

  I was on fire.

  Chapter 11 Special

  We hitched a ride out of Homochitto with a logging truck headed to the Port of New Orleans. In less than three hours we were walking in Louisiana.

  New Orleans was a cornucopia of sights, sounds, smells and colors. Jazz music and the blues filtered through the air as tangibly as the aroma of Creole food and jambalaya, while the exotic syntax of the French language with a touch of Caribbean spice wafted to our ears like soul food. I loved this place—the raw energy in the streets, the architecture of its neighborhoods, the unique style and beauty of its citizens.

  As Theron and I made our way through the French Quarter, a slender woman in her mid-thirties with light chocolate skin beautifully accented by her orange sundress smiled brightly as we walked past.

  "Bonjour," she sang. "Beaux jeunes amoureux."

  "Bonjour," I said back.

  Theron flashed me a smile. "What was that?"

  "Français, Monsieur," I cooed.

  "What did she say?"

  "Never mind."

  On our way to Iberville Street we walked through an outdoor carnival. Jazz notes bent and held in the sultry air. Performers paraded through the streets in colorful and elaborate costumes. White painted mimes cast their shadows on the pavement while dancing girls dressed in strategically-arranged plumage pranced by. Bright-colored vendor tents lined both sides of the street, displaying their goods.

  We started past a booth with a banner overhead that read, "Earthen Hippie." Under the canvas, gorgeous silk dresses were displayed on hangers—the sunlight streaming in danced along the fabric. One especially caught my eye. It had been so long since I had even worn a dress. My fingertips played against the soft blue, gold and olive silk.

  "Try it on," I heard Theron's voice urge.

  "What?" I responded. "No way. I have no use for it." Truthfully, I couldn't remember the last pretty dress I had owned—they weren't very practical for my rugged lifestyle.