The Gathering

TWENTY-TWO

THE CLIFF WAS ONLY a ten-minute walk from the house. There was no easy way up, so Kenjii had to stay at the bottom. She was used to that and just staked out her customary spot. I left my jacket with her. Rafe did, too.

This was tougher than the wall—natural cliffs don’t come with conveniently spaced holds and holes. I’d done it hundreds of times, though, so I knew the easiest path and showed Rafe.

It didn’t matter that this wasn’t a race. When we started climbing, it was like the first time—a heart-pounding, palms-sweating, adrenaline-pumping dizzy runner’s high.

I didn’t deliberately check my speed, but when we neared the top, Rafe was still beside me. I slowed and he was right there, his face inches from mine. He grinned, that blazing grin now, hair plastered to his face, eyes glittering.

I leaned over and kissed him. He hesitated for about a nanosecond, like he really hadn’t expected that, and I laughed. Then he kissed me back, a light kiss, almost teasing, making me shiver.

“Probably not the safest place to make out,” I murmured, pulling back to glance at the ground, fifty feet below.

“I don’t care if you don’t,” he said.

We kissed until he tried to shift closer and nearly lost his foothold. I pulled away and scrambled up the last few feet. When he reached the top, I was standing there. He grinned and stepped toward me. I stepped back. His grin widened. I glanced over my shoulder. The cliff topped out on a hill, with forest stretching behind us, the mountains a distant backdrop.

“Uh-uh,” Rafe said. “If you run, I’ll chase. You know how much I like that part.”

“All the more reason to do it.”

His breath hitched and the look in his eyes made me want to run. I didn’t care how silly or childish it was, I wanted to run so badly I could imagine it, the smell of the forest, the wind rushing past, the pounding of his feet right behind me.

Suddenly he was right there, his mouth on mine, my arms around his neck. Then he stopped. He caught my arms and backed up, studying my face.

“Has anyone had access to your drinks recently?” he said. “Any strange allergic reactions? Bug bites?”

“Shut up.”

He ducked out of the way as I took a mock swing at him. Then he realized we were closer to the edge of the cliff than he thought, veered fast, and stumbled, toppling into the brush.

“Sorry,” I said, hurrying over to him. “Are you—?”

As I bent, he tried to snag my leg and yank me down, but I danced back out of reach.

“Did you really think I’d fall for that?” I said.

“Hoping.”

I laughed. He got to his feet. I backed up and glanced over my shoulder.

“I’m warning you,” he said. “You don’t want to run.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m faster than you.”

“Think so?”

“Know so, and when I catch you—”

I took off. I ran across the open field atop the cliff, and quickly realized that was a mistake. He might not be faster than me, but he was fast enough that I could hear him right on my heels. I swerved into the woods.

Normally, that’s where my advantage lies. Runners are accustomed to open ground. I actually prefer the forest, and I can dodge and dart around trees with barely a hitch in my pace. That’s why hurdles are my best event.

Rafe fell back a little, but then gained on me when I slowed to skirt thick brush.

As we ran, bits of my dream slid back, and everything seemed to get sharper, more vivid. The bright greens of the conifers and the yellows and reds of the rare deciduous trees became a blur of color. Our pounding footfalls muted into the rhythmic thump-thump, thump-thump of a heartbeat.

I could hear him right behind me. More than that, I swore I could feel his breath on my neck, and it made me run faster, the air slicing past me, that thump-thump filling my head, pulse racing, knowing that when he caught me—

A yowl stopped me short. Rafe’s sneakers crunched dry needles as he slid to a halt behind me.

“Maya?” Rafe said. “Look up.”

There, crouched on a branch ten feet above us, was Marv. Something lay at his feet. Something bloody.

Marv picked up his kill. Then he leaped. I stumbled back. Rafe yanked me against him, his arms around me, both of us still facing the cougar.

The cat looked at Rafe, yellow eyes narrowing. His lips curled. He dropped his meal and snarled.

“Step back,” I whispered.

Marv paced to one side, gaze locked on Rafe, still growling.

“Step back,” I said again.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. Rafe hesitated and I could tell he didn’t want to, but after a moment he said, “Okay,” and carefully moved away.

The cougar stopped snarling and grunted, as if satisfied. Then he picked up what looked like a chewed and bloody deer haunch. As he walked toward me, Rafe whispered, “I’ve got you covered.”

It wasn’t easy to stand still as a huge cougar came toward me. To do anything else, though, would be stupid. His body language was casual, no sign of impending attack, and I had to trust that. Maybe he thought he’d rescued me from Rafe. I only know that I didn’t sense a threat.

When Marv got within a few feet, he tossed the deer haunch into the long grass at my feet. Then, with a final snarl and glare at Rafe, he turned and ambled into the forest.

I looked down at the haunch, mostly hidden in the long grass. I managed a laugh. “I guess this is like a house cat bringing its owner a dead mouse?”

Rafe didn’t laugh back. As I turned, I saw he wasn’t even smiling, just staring after Marv.

“We should get back to the house,” I said.

I expected him to make a joke about the cougar spoiling the mood, but he just nodded as he stared into the forest.

“Hey,” I said, stepping toward him. “You still with me?”

“Sorry.” He swung his gaze back toward me. “That’s just … not good.”

“He’s too bold, I know. My dad’s going to need to deal with—”

I stopped. He was staring again—this time at the ground behind me. I turned to see what had caught his attention.

“Don’t—” he began.

Too late. Having stepped away from whatever Marv had dropped, I could now see it more clearly through the long grass. Or see part of it. Fingers.

I stood there, thoughts stuttering. I had to be wrong. Of course I was wrong. I’d seen a deer foreleg—a hairless …

Oh God.

I stepped forward. Rafe didn’t try to stop me, and we both crouched for a better look. There, in the grass, lay a human forearm. Only two fingers were still attached. The rest—and most of the arm itself—had been—

My gorge rose. I swallowed hard and closed my eyes. Rafe’s fingers touched my elbow.

“Give me your phone,” he said. “I’ll—”

“I’ve got it.”

I straightened and took a deep breath. Then I took out my cell phone, opened it, and swore, the words coming out shaky.

“No signal,” I said. “We need to get back down the cliff.” I glanced at the arm. “We can’t leave that, though. A scavenger will get it. We need something to carry it in.”

Rafe plucked the hem of his shirt, like he was ready to pull it off. He stopped, though, and said, “We can grab my jacket.”

His shirt would have been easier, but it was white, and I guess he was thinking he couldn’t afford a new one if it got stained. Yet our jackets were also at the bottom of the cliff, which didn’t solve the problem. Finally, we agreed to have him stand watch over the arm while I zipped down the cliff, made the call, and came back.

That was the plan anyway. Only I couldn’t get reception at the bottom either. So I tied our jackets around my waist and went up.

I should have only brought my jacket. If it was stained, my parents would buy me a new one. Rafe, however, insisted on using his. He did let me help get the arm on it, which consisted of one person holding the jacket and the other rolling the forearm with a stick, and, yes, it was as bad as it sounds. The only thing that made it bearable was that, if I didn’t look at the fingers, it was chewed too badly to tell it was an arm.

On second thought, no, that didn’t make it better. My nightmares would definitely have fresh fodder now. But I managed to help Rafe without puking, and he didn’t suggest I let him handle it by himself. I appreciated that.

He carried it, though, which was fine by me. I took guard duty—armed with a stick and scanning the forest for any flash of fur.

It was a quiet walk. We knew we were carrying the remains of a person killed by a cougar. Someone was dead and we had no idea who it was. For now, it was easier to think this was an anonymous corpse from some other town, scavenged by the cougar.

We’d almost reached the top of the cliff when Rafe turned, his face lifting slightly, catching the wind.

“Do you smell that?” he asked.

I could smell the arm, that was for sure. That was another thing I was trying not to think about. When I turned, though, I caught the same stink of decomposition on the breeze.

“We should take a look,” I said.

The stink got stronger with each step. Finally, in the trees ahead, I saw a cougar cache—a kill covered with branches. I noticed something blue dangling from a branch. A torn piece of denim.

“It’s … the rest,” Rafe said, his voice low, respectful. When I stepped forward, his fingers closed around my arm. “That’s close enough, Maya. Chief Carling can take it from here.”

“If the cat comes back and smells us this close, he’ll move the body. I need to get a look. See if I—” I swallowed. “Recognize the victim. I know everyone around here.”

His fingers slid down to my hand, squeezing it, then he walked beside me as I approached the cache. I could see dark hair at one end, so I veered that way. It looked like a woman, but pine needles blocked the face.

I bent and pulled a branch back and I saw the face then, dark eyes open, staring into nothing.

It was Mina Lee.