Stalk the Moon

by Jessica Lynch

  With one hand resting casually on my knife, I pick up one of the blobs by the ribbon and get a better look at it. The dark brown blob turns out to be a piece of hard leather cut out in the basic shape of a right foot. The thin ribbon is strong and sturdy and obviously some kind of strap.

  It’s a sandal.

  Glancing over, I eye his worn boots and compare his huge feet to the dainty cut of the leather sole. They can’t be his. These are women’s sandals.

  Deciding it’s not even worth it to ask where these came from—or who they might’ve belonged to—I twirl the strap between my finger and my thumb.

  My shoulders slump.

  I’m not getting out of running, am I?

  I don’t argue. What’s the point? Out of everything this giant man could have demanded for saving my life and bringing me to his camp for safety, he asks me to run a race. Fine. A quick jog and then I can eat some of the deer meat he’s butchered for me.

  One problem, though. These are the weirdest sandals I’ve ever seen. On closer inspection, I see that the bottoms are made up of thick leather soles with a single loop on the front end that I assume is supposed to go around a toe or two to keep it in place. The ribbon has been threaded through holes punched on each side of the sole. I have no idea how I’m supposed to use them as straps. Do I tie them around my ankles and pray?

  Maybe I’m taking too long because, suddenly, Hunter drops to his knees in front of me. He starts to reach for my foot, stopping himself in time.

  Clearing his throat, he asks, “Do you want me to—”

  “No, no.” After the moment with the silver mesh, I figure it’s smarter if I don’t let him get that close to me again. I shrug off the animal hide so I can reach my feet. “I’ll figure it out. How hard can it be?”

  That answer is hard. Very, very hard. Who invented demon shoes like these?

  It takes me a minute or two to work out how to attach these sandals to my dirty feet. Once I think of them as a ballerina’s pointe shoe, it’s not that much longer before I figure out how to get them on.

  Finally, after I knot the ribbons so tightly there’s a chance I’m never taking these things off again, I hesitantly get to my feet and stomp over to where Hunter’s waiting for me. He’s stretching out one of his super long legs. I roll my eyes.

  He smiles when he sees me, a wide grin that makes a pair of dimples pop. Dimples, too? Seriously?

  “First to the tall oak wins.”

  I don’t waste time telling him that I have no idea which of these trees is the oak he means. Hunter’s already dropping down, his hands on the grass, his knees bent. He looks like an Olympic runner taking his position at the starting block.

  I have a very bad feeling about this.

  And I really wish I had on his boots.

  “Ready?”

  “No.”

  He laughs. I begrudgingly lower myself into a runner’s stance. My palms flat against the pinchy grass, it strikes me that there isn’t much I won’t do to hear this stranger laugh.

  I hope he never figures that out.

  “Set?”

  “Really wishing I took you up on that head start,” I mumble.

  He turns his head to look at me. There’s a sparkle in his light eyes.

  “Go!”

  9

  I lose. Yeah. No surprise there.

  Hunter has too many advantages. His size. His stride. His familiarity with the forest. The fact that he obviously loves to run and I get out of breath climbing down my stairs in the morning.

  But what comes as a huge surprise to me is that I don’t embarrass myself too much. My earlier tear through the forest wasn’t a fluke. Turns out I don’t need a scorpion chasing behind me to haul ass. Having Ryan Hunter call me a coward works just as well.

  Dinner is delicious. I worried it might have burned while I was off humoring Hunter with his race and I’m glad I’m wrong. The thick slabs of venison are a perfect medium well. I eat two skewers, chase it with half of Hunter’s canteen, and finally start to feel a little more human.

  While he eats his share of the dinner, I rest my chin in my hand. Watching the flames rise and fall, waving back and forth in the gentle wind, I think about what has happened to me. And what I’m going to do about it.

  The way I see it, I have two choices. I could sit here and obsess over something I can’t control. Not likely. I’m here now and, while I have no idea how that happened, worrying won’t change my new reality. So I'm thinking I should get some rest, hope for the best, and start looking for a portal in the morning.

  I’m not the sort of girl who cries and mopes. I’m no damsel in distress, waiting around for Prince Charming to save the day. I can figure this out on my own. And, since I’m also not a moron, I’m not going to turn down help from someone who knows a whole lot better than I do what’s going on. Hunter obviously wants to help. I’m too tired not to let him.

  The adrenaline is long gone. Now that I’m not hungry anymore, exhaustion has taken over. The warmth of the fire leaves me toasty, my full belly making me both cozy and sleepy. My head droops until I need both hands to support it. I yawn and close my eyes if only for a moment.

  The flames continue to crackle and pop. I have Hunter’s hide tucked on my lap, the weird smell clinging to my nightgown. My eyelids are as heavy as sandbags and it takes some energy to lift them back up.

  A split second later, I shriek and jump back, almost falling off my stump. I throw my hands out in time to keep me from landing in the dirt where both the animal hide and my knife go flying.

  Hunter is right in front of me. Only a couple of inches separate his nose from mine.

  “Don’t do that!” I tell him, scrambling to sit upright. Now I’m wide awake. My heart feels like it’s leaped into my throat, but I’m awake. Reaching out with a shaking hand, I grab the handle of my knife and move it closer.

  He blinks. “Sorry, darlin’. I was checkin’ if you was sleepin’.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “I can see that.”

  I don’t like his tone. “I wasn’t sleeping,” I say earnestly. “I was just resting my eyes.”

  “I didn’t know you snored when you were awake.”

  “I do not snore!”

  “Mm-hmm.” Hunter stands up. He really is one huge son of a bitch. His shadow swallows me whole. “Just wanted to tell you, when you’re ready to turn in for real, the tent’s all yours.”

  Right. The tent. The small tent. How he keeps pulling stuff out of it, I don’t know. The first time I set eyes on his tent, I decided it was mine. Of course, that was before I started really mooching off of the guy. Between dinner, the animal hide blanket, and the sandals, it feels wrong to take his tent. We can both squeeze inside.

  “I don’t know, maybe you should—”

  Hunter holds up one of his hands, cutting me off. That sucker is as big as a catcher’s mitt. Wow.

  “No arguin’ now. You’re my guest.”

  “But I—”

  He continues as if I didn’t try to interrupt. “I’ve got two pillows, so I’ll take one with me out here. There’s plenty of hide to keep warm. It’s a lovely night, no sign of rain. You take the tent. I don’t mind stayin’ out by the fire.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Honest, Artemis.” At my sudden glare, he clears his throat. “Noelle. I meant Noelle.”

  Sure he did.

  I’m not going to try to change his mind. Besides, I’m not down with sleeping next to a guy who can’t get my name right. It’s Noelle. Not Artemis. Definitely not darling. Noelle. No-elle. Is that so hard? I grit my teeth, my jaw tight. I swallow back my annoyance. I know I can get cranky when I’m tired and little things tend to set me off. Maybe I’m being sensitive.

  Or maybe I should go to sleep before I snap at him again.

  Besides, I’m so so tired, if I don’t head to the tent now, conking out on the stump is a definite possibility. With a mumbled good night, I stumble toward the tent and duck i
nside. And I pray that, despite his promises, his Southern charm, and his supposed sincerity, this stranger doesn’t follow me in once I fall asleep.

  Okay. Call me too trusting. Call me naive. Because the second I crawl into the nest of hides on the furthest side of the tent and lay my head against the pillow, I’m out. I make sure to kick a couple of furs outside before tossing the other pillow after them, but that’s it. After the day I had, I need to sleep.

  I keep my knife tucked under my pillow because I feel safer with it close. I don’t even bother trying to take the sandals off. My last thought before I pass out for the night is how much harder it is to believe Hunter can be a well-meaning gentleman than it is to accept that I’ve fallen through a mirror and landed in a forest where giant scorpions actually exist.

  As exhausted as I was, my sleep was both undisturbed and dreamless, if nowhere near as long as I would’ve liked. I have no idea what time it was when I finally knocked out. The stiffness in my body, the way it aches all the way down to my bones when I find myself waking up, tells me that I only got about four or five hours down.

  Wincing, I stretch out and rub my eyes. My mouth tastes like an old sweat sock and I swallow roughly as I try to figure out why I’m up so damn early for the second day in a row. A moment later, I groan.

  I live in a suburb. The hum of an engine, car radios blaring, children’s voices, and the slam of the dumpster behind Vincenzo’s… that’s what I’m used to. The early morning calls of the wildlife outside of the tent is so alien that it nearly deafens me. Bird calls, chirps and tweets, squirrels scampering—at least, I hope it’s squirrels—and the crunch of leaves. It’s so friggin’ loud. There’s no way I’ll be able to fall back asleep.

  And, damn it, I have to pee again. This time I want to be careful not to get any on my sandals.

  I lift the tent flap with care, trying not to make any noise in case Hunter is still sleeping. Poking my head out, I glance around.

  The fire is burning low. Moisture clings to the air, dewdrops glistening in the bright sun. The trees are tall enough to leave the camp gloomy with only a few stray sunbeams lending light. It’s probably six o’clock in the morning. Too damn early, but I can sleep in tomorrow after I get back home.

  I give up on being quiet when I see Hunter crouched down by the fire, feeding it wood. He’s wrapped up in his cloak again, his hood pulled low, his attention on coaxing the fire back to life. Before I can catch his attention, he pauses, then turns to look over his shoulder at me.

  I wave.

  Hunter turns back to the fire. “That sun only just finished risin’,” he says.

  Funny way to say Good morning. “Hi to you, too.”

  He cocks his head. I decide to take that as a greeting. As he adds another twig to the fire, Hunter asks, “Do you normally wake with the sun?”

  I snort. “That would be a no. But I don’t normally sleep in a tent outdoors, either.”

  “And how did you sleep? Good, I hope.”

  “I actually did. When I was sleeping, I mean. Then I heard the birds and the quiet was so loud—”

  “The quiet? Loud?”

  “It made sense when I woke up,” I tell him, shrugging. Then I cross my legs, almost bouncing in place. “Between the noise and, well… I’m gonna go freshen up a bit. Be right back.”

  Hunter nods. After the shock of discovering I had to find a bush to use last night, I’m still a little uncomfortable with him knowing what I’m going off to do. At least he doesn’t try to follow me like he did before, or warn me not to go too far. I haven’t forgotten about those scorpions. I just need to go far enough that he doesn’t hear me tinkle.

  I finish my business quickly, wiping my hands on the damp grass so that I feel a little clean. If I don’t find a portal and soon, I hope Hunter can show me a river or something to wash up in like he offered to last night.

  Between the scorpion blood, the dirt, and my poor, destroyed nightgown, I know I’m filthy. The stink from the deer hides I used as a blanket is clinging to my knotted hair. At least I don’t have to worry about him trying to take advantage of me. I must look like a monster.

  My stomach growls as I join Hunter back at his campsite. Before I can mention breakfast, Hunter says, “Look at the sun.”

  What is his obsession with the sun? I glance at Hunter. His head tilts back, the hood settling down his back as he stares through a break in the trees. He’s carrying something close to his chest. It looks like a bundle of leather only a shade darker than his cloak.

  I shrug. Look at the sun? Sure. Why not? I squint, and it takes me moving a couple of steps closer to Hunter before I can get a clear shot of the morning sun shining through the trees. It’s tinged with red, almost as if it’s been splattered with blood. Creepy.

  “You mean the ring around it?” I ask.

  “Yup.”

  “It’s pretty weird. Is it supposed to mean something?”

  Hunter nods. Holding up the bundle of leather, he offers it to me. “Storm’s comin’. You’re gonna need this to keep the rain off of you, darlin’.”

  I let that darling go because he’s giving me a gift. With greedy hands, I take the leather and shake it out. And then I gape at it.

  It’s a cloak, but smaller. Like it’s child-sized. Okay. I can’t let it go this time. Happening to have a pair of women’s sandals is one thing. Pulling a miniature cloak out of thin air is another.

  “It’s… nice.” It’s the truth. “But I can’t take this. Someone else must be missing it.”

  Without his hood to hide him, I see the strange, fleeting look of longing that flashes across Hunter’s face. It’s there and gone again, a small, earnest grin replacing it in an instant. He shakes out the cloak. “It’s not what you think. This cloak, it’s yours.”

  “Mine?”

  “Yours,” he confirms. “I made it for you.”

  I look at the cloak again. In his giant hands, it’s so small. Then again, I guess I am, too. Standing on my tiptoes, my head brushes up against his chin.

  “You did?” Part of me knows I should be more grateful. In the morning sun, my nightgown is not only dirty, it’s see-through, and there’s a bite to the air that leaves me with goosebumps running up and down my arms. Still, I can’t keep the hint of suspicion out of my voice as I ask, “Why?”

  “Like I said, you’ll need it. The woods can be nice at times, but the mountains are chilly no matter what. I might not have a spare tunic or boots on hand to offer you. A leather cloak and the sandals should hold you over for the time bein’.”

  Tunic. Boots. Is that what passes for fashion here? No wonder he goes with a sturdy cloak. Pointedly ignoring the way Hunter seems to think I’ll be sticking around, I pounce on what it was he just said.

  “Mountains. Is that where we’re going?”

  He nods. “It’s where I remember comin’ into this world. It’d be a fool’s errand to go back to the scorpion’s nest to search for your portal. I won’t risk you. I’m thinkin’ we might have better luck in findin’ mine.”

  The cloak is still hanging in front of me. I take it, rubbing my fingers against the soft inside. It’s fuzzy and warm. I haven’t noticed this kind of fur lining to Hunter’s cloak. I’m not complaining. It’s perfect.

  Wrapping the cloak around my shoulders, I ask, “Don’t you know?”

  “Let me help you,” Hunter murmurs, hunching over until his chin is an inch away from settling on the top of my head. The cloak is sitting awkwardly on my shoulders. As I’m struggling to fit it right, Hunter reaches out to adjust the cloak and fasten it securely at my throat.

  Like last night around the fire, suddenly he’s too close. I can feel the heat from his body warming me up. His breath picks up, the rush of his exhale causing the flyaway hairs framing my face to flutter.

  God, he smells good.

  My body tenses. I slap at his hands. “I got it. Thanks.”

  “Sure thing, darlin’.”

  “Don’t call me ‘darl
ing’,” I grumble. I pull on the right side of the cloak. There. All better. “And you didn’t answer me.”

  “About what?”

  “Your portal. You make it sound like you’re not sure that it’ll work. Don’t you know? Haven’t you gone looking for it before?”

  Something doesn’t make sense. Hunter told me last night that he’s as much a visitor to this place as I am; he’s originally from Georgia. But, considering everything he has—his campsite, his cloaks, the knives, and his sword—he hasn’t just arrived. And while my first thought was that I was stuck here since I abandoned my way back home, Hunter’s the one who insisted there’s other ways out.

  Then why hasn’t he taken one?

  When he still doesn’t answer, I badger him a bit. “Are you telling me that you’ve never gone back? Ever?” Who would want to live out in the woods when there’s so much civilization has to offer? McDonald’s? Jeans? A toilet? “You actually chose to stay here, Hunter? You wanted to? Really?”

  Hunter doesn’t respond well to my hounding. His jaw clamps shut, his dimples disappearing as his lips thin. He takes two large steps away from me before turning around.

  “Make sure your cloak is secured, Noelle. I’ll go get a start on makin’ breakfast. We’ll leave as soon as I’ve got you fed.”

  Hmm. That has to be the politest “Shut up” I’ve ever heard.

  10

  When Hunter says he’s going to make breakfast, I expect a repeat of his venison dinner. I’m not even close.

  Last night, I was too tired to snoop around the inside of his tent. Now I wish I had. Because when he ducks under the flap and pulls out a medium-sized cardboard box, I can’t help but wonder what else he’s hiding in there. Then I see what’s nestled on a bed of straw inside of the box and I’m even more amazed.

  Eggs. He’s got eggs.

  There’s more than a half dozen in there, round and speckled and each one as big as an apple. I tell myself they’re chicken eggs. Weird chicken eggs, but still. I’m hungry and I need to eat. If I think too hard about how different they look, I might not be able to.