Читать книгу Love without a Compass - Lindy Zart - Страница 11

3

BEN

Avery looks around, her expression less than cheerful. The sun is slowly lowering in the sky, mocking us with each hour that passes without us making any progress. Her tone is biting when she says, “Shouldn’t we have found the next checkpoint by now? Or, I don’t know, possibly the lodge?”

Or people. Other people would have been nice to see at this point. I’m really surprised we haven’t run into anyone by now. I’m almost concerned. Are we so far spread out that it would be impossible to stumble upon our coworkers? Or have they all already gotten to the lodge? Not the most heartening thought.

“This is where the next flag should be.” Woods stand before us, not a hint of a red flag in sight. I scratch the side of my head, my eyes searching again and again for something that isn’t there.

Avery’s tone is particularly peevish as she demands, “Then why haven’t we found it?”

“I don’t know.” I turn in a circle, taking in the vastness around us. “Why don’t you ask the trees?”

With sweetness coating her tone, Avery says, “Why don’t you kiss my ass?”

I shoot her an irritated look, mostly because I’d probably enjoy it. “Check the map again.”

“You check the map.” A trifold pamphlet flies my way.

I snatch it out of the air, meeting Avery’s grumpy look with a deadly one of my own. It doesn’t seem to faze her. She drops to the ground, crossing her arms and legs before turning her face to the side. This is another side of Avery I haven’t seen. She keeps them all well-hidden. I guess seeing her in such a sour mood wouldn’t look good for her office image. I’d love for Duke to witness Avery right now and know what she’s really like.

Although, being stuck in the mountains even has me in a bad mood, so maybe this is not the best example.

“We aren’t in the right place,” I announce.

“How do you know?” Avery looks at me suspiciously.

“This is near where we started, I’m sure of it.” I study the landscape that looks the same in every direction I turn. “We’re going in circles.”

“How can we go up two hills and end up where we started?”

“I don’t know, but we did,” I retort angrily.

“But how do you know that?”

“I don’t!” I lower my voice and add, “Not for sure.”

Avery jumps to her feet, her eyes like live flames of golden wrath. “Then don’t say you do.”

“Something isn’t right,” I insist.

I swing the backpack off my shoulders and dig through it, pulling out a compass. I study the map, looking from it to the compass, and then I drop my hands and look at nothing, my vision going fuzzy. I don’t know where we are, and looking at the map or compass for guidance is meaningless.

Before the trip, I read a bunch of articles about surviving in the wilderness, but it didn’t prepare me enough for what’s before us. According to where we should be, we need to head north. Only, I don’t know if we are where we’re supposed to be.

“This is such bullshit,” I swipe an arm across my sweaty forehead and take my glasses with it. I lean down and shove them back on my face, the lenses smudged with fingerprints now.

“Give me the map.” Avery motions for me to hand it over.

I think about whipping it at her like she did to me, but somehow show restraint.

“Maybe there are landmarks that will help us figure out where we are.”

I snort, but keep my comments to myself.

A frustrated sigh leaving her, Avery lowers her hand and lifts her golden head. “We should have been tying things to trees.”

“That’s a good idea.” I look at Avery. “Got any rope handy? Ribbon? No?”

“I’ll use my damn shirt,” she announces scathingly, already tearing at the hem of her shirt.

A couple minutes go by with me enthralled by Avery’s antics. She grunts and tugs and jumps around as if she’s practicing some space-themed dance move. When it finally happens, the ripping sound is unusually loud.

Avery lets out a cry of triumph as an uneven tail of pink fabric dangles from her hand. She lifts it with a raised eyebrow, part of her midriff taunting me as she does. I swallow around a dry throat. I tell myself to look away, but I don’t. Avery went from hating everything to do with outside to survivalist instincts. She is one surprise after another.

Eyes riveted to the small expanse of lower back shown as she goes on her toes to tie a dirty pink knot around a low-hanging tree limb, it takes me a moment to realize something. “I have a red flag in the backpack. You could have used that instead of your shirt.”

Avery blinks. “Well, I guess it’s too late for that now.”

Her unfazed expression pulls a short bark of laughter from me. “It is indeed.”

Eyes sparkling, Avery nods toward a clearing to our left and away from the wooded area. “Come on, let’s keep walking in that direction.”

“Sure. Why not? It isn’t like either of us know where we’re going. Let’s make it interesting.”

Avery narrows her eyes. “Was that sarcasm?”

“Maybe.”

BEN

Fifteen minutes later and another hill ascended, the silence is broken. By me. And lamely.

“Are you going to keep tearing parts of your shirt off?” I ask, the question on repeat in my head until it comes out of my mouth before I can stop it.

“Why?” Avery gives me a sidelong look.

Because I want you to, is the unbidden thought that pierces my mind.

I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “You’ll get cold.”

She goes still abruptly, and I almost run into her. Avery glances at me. “Did you see that?”

“See what?”

Avery turns in a slow circle, her head tilted back. “There are birds.”

I frown. “Yeah. There usually are outside. It’s where they—now, don’t be too stunned by this—live.”

Wide eyes lock on me. “I don’t like birds.”

“You don’t like birds?”

Avery tugs at a string on the hem of her torn shirt, her next words a low mumble. “Scared of them, really. Terrified. I have nightmares about them.”

It’s my turn to go motionless. From badass to coward to bat shit crazy, I’m getting whiplash from all Avery’s different personalities, and that’s just today. “Are you serious?”

“I had a bad experience with one once, all right?” Her voice is high.

“Did it happen to flip you…the bird?”

Her eyes trained on something overhead, Avery flinches. “I’m not joking, Ben.”

“I have to ask one thing: did you seriously not realize there were birds out here before now?”

“I tried not to notice.”

I stare at her.

“I hummed. It helped.”

“What’s a little bird going to do to you? If anything, the worst you have to worry about is it pooping on you. You are washable.”

The words come out through lips that don’t move. “It isn’t little—and there’s more than one.”

I frown.

Carefully raising an arm, Avery points up.

I follow the direction of her finger. A massive tree slants down the hill not far from Avery, the limbs crooked and thick. It looks as if millions of black leaves cover the branches, and it isn’t until one caws and takes off that I realize why the branches droop so far down. The tree is filled with crows, not leaves. I readjust my glasses and turn to Avery.

She hasn’t moved; she doesn’t appear to be breathing.

I watch the birds for a moment. They seem to watch me back, one in particular keeping its gaze trained on me. . The sight of Avery’s pale face and shaking form chips away at my resentment until it all but disappears. I sigh, hoping this isn’t all an act. One never knows with Avery.

In a low voice, I meet her gaze and say, “Tell me what to do.”

“Make them disappear?” Her tone is hopeful; her expression says she knows better.

“Sure. I’ll wave my magic wand I keep right here in my back pocket”—I pat the backside of my gray shorts— “and that’ll be the end of the crows.”

“Yes.” Avery nods her head rigorously. “Do that.”

A crow separates itself from the others, twisting its neck to peer from me to Avery. I think it’s the same one that stared at me. I watch it, literally jumping when it turns its head and I’m hit with its eyeless wonder. A jagged scar resides where an eye should.

Awe coats my voice when I say, “Do you see that? That crow is missing an eye.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Avery screeches

I readjust my glasses, but the crow remains the same size. It’s proportionate to a small cat, and with its one eye missing and a jagged white scar in its place, badass for a bird. It caws, and a strange choking sound leaves Avery. I face her, watching as what little color her skin holds drains away. She isn’t joking. She’s afraid. Or she’s playing one of her games again. It’s too bad that I can’t be one hundred percent positive either way.

Releasing a sigh, I take a step closer. In a low voice, I tell her, “It won’t hurt you, I promise. Let’s just keep walking. It will go away.”

She focuses on me. A crease forms between her eyebrows, splitting the smooth skin. Her eyelashes are impossibly long. Damn, she’s got beautiful eyes. “Are you sure?”

Even with knowing I’ll most likely live to regret it, I soften at the fear in her voice. “Positive. We’re probably in their territory. We’ll leave, and everything will be fine. Trust me.”

“Okay,” Avery says softly, nodding. “Okay.”

We take slow, small footsteps, Avery’s eyes finding the crows again and again. She continually knocks into me, bringing her scent and warmth each time. It’s maddening to the baser part of me I try to tramp down in regards to the woman beside me. If only my brain was the lone high-functioning part of my anatomy.

The one-eyed bird squawks and takes off, the high branches shaking upon its departure from the tree. Leaves fall, spiraling to the ground.

I turn to Avery. “See? It’s already leaving. I’m sure the others will follow.” She grabs my biceps and squeezes until I stop walking. “What?”

“It isn’t leaving.”

Sure enough, the crow lands in a tree ahead of us, its profile in view and a single beady eye trained on us. I wonder how it lost the other one. It verbally announces its dislike for us once more. If I had to guess, I’d say its animosity is strictly toward Avery. Birds know. They can’t be fooled by pretty exteriors and sugary words like humans. When the crow moves to a closer tree, I study it. It cocks its head, still and silent as we watch each other.

Okay, this is a little strange.

“Why won’t it go away, Ben?”

I put large doses of confidence in my voice as I say, “It wants to make sure we don’t hang around, that’s all. It can probably sense your fear.”

“What, are you suddenly a bird expert?”

“You asked.”

“We’re going to die,” Avery whispers.

“Oh, come on,” I scoff. “How is a crow going to kill us?”

“It’s going to attack us, and peck out our eyes, and then we won’t be able to see, and we’ll fall off a cliff, and we…will…die.”

I slowly look her way, waiting a moment to reply. “Do you think maybe you’re overreacting a bit?”

Avery glares at me.

“Let’s keep moving.” I take a step and she takes one with me.

As soon as we move, Avery reaches for my arm, clutching it between her hands. We’ve intentionally touched a total of one time in the months of our acquaintance. But then, it only took once for everything to blow up around us.

I pause, glancing at Avery. She stares ahead, her expression resolute.

It is one thing to help her; it’s another to get sucked into her warped reality. I’m not letting that happen. No touching is a good idea. I try to pull away and Avery only digs her nails more firmly into me. I grind my teeth around the sting and resign myself to the situation.

As we make our slow trek through uncivilized terrain, the bird flies from tree to tree, always keeping us within its sight. Its cry is freakishly loud, ominous. I get paranoid the longer it hovers.

It seems to be tracking us.

“It isn’t going away!”

I open my mouth to respond but am unable to produce a sound as all the crows, seemingly offended by Avery’s voice, spiral into the air, blackening the sky in a death cloud. Their shrill cries pierce my eardrums. I gape at the sight, never before seeing so many crows together at once. Even louder, and shriller, is Avery’s scream as she dashes off. Her hair flies behind her like a waving flag of surrender.

I shout at Avery to stop, but she keeps moving, not even looking where she’s going. Eyes trained up instead of ahead, her face is set in a caricature of horror. I grab her arm and swing her around when she almost sprints past me. She about ran right off the side of the mountain. “Avery! Avery, stop!”

Avery blinks and finally focuses on me. I squeeze her shoulders reassuringly, staring into her eyes. She looks terrified. I frown in response. The fight slowly goes out of her. She slackens against me, breathing heavy, smelling of fear. Avery trembles, but doesn’t make any attempt to flee.

“What are you doing?” I ask quietly, gentling my grip on her arms.

“I hate birds,” she whispers.

“I am aware.”

Avery stiffens. “It’s coming back!”

When the crow swoops toward us with evil intent, a curse falls from my lips at the same time Avery screeches directly into my ear. I shake my head to dislodge the ringing sound as a force rams into me and sends me off balance.

And then I’m falling.