I continue gathering leaves as Jack sets about building a fire. Noah helps him gather twigs of various sizes including a few big ones. He makes a little circle of rocks and then carefully places the branches inside in some sort of pattern he learned back in the Boy Scouts. I had thought he was going to have to rub two sticks together to make a fire, but thankfully, he brought a lighter. Before too long, we’ve got a decent fire going.
As I smooth out the leaves on the ground to form Michelle’s bed, I hear a sound from off in the distance. I pause, listening. Then I hear it again.
It sounds like a howl.
“What was that?” I say.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Jack says.
Goosebumps pop up on my arms, despite the fire. It’s gotten so cold the last hour. “It sounded like a wolf.”
There was a period when Aiden was really into wolves, when he was writing a paper on them in third grade. He used to randomly spout out facts about wolves. That’s how I know that wolves usually travel in packs. So if there’s a wolf out there, there’s probably more than one.
Jack shakes his head as he pokes at the fire with a stick. “There are no wolves around here.”
“How do you know that?”
He shrugs. “There just aren’t wolves in these parts.”
“Well, maybe they came from another part.” I look over at Michelle, who is sitting against a tree, her bandaged left leg propped up on her monstrous purse to reduce the swelling. “Did you hear it?”
She doesn’t even lift her eyes. “No.”
No surprise there.
“Maybe it was the wind,” Jack suggests.
It wasn’t the wind. It was a wild animal. I know it. I can’t help but think of those claw marks on the tree.
Warner comes into the clearing with a few more branches, which he dumps into the fire. I want to ask him if he heard the sound, but I have a feeling the answer is no. I don’t need another person to make me feel stupid.
“It could have been a coyote,” Jack says. “There are a lot of coyotes around here.”
“What could have been a coyote?” Warner asks.
Michelle rolls her eyes. “Claire heard a sound. It was probably the wind.”
I rub my arms for warmth and try to ignore Michelle. “Are coyotes dangerous?”
“Not usually.” Jack shrugs. “They’re usually afraid of people. Especially ones in the woods. I doubt they would approach us.”
“Unless they’re rabid,” Warner says.
Jack shoots him a look. “There aren’t any rabid coyotes in these woods.”
“Why not?” Warner lifts an eyebrow. “Because you don’t want there to be?”
Jack shakes his head. “There just aren’t. Anyway, it was probably the wind.”
Except I can’t get Warner’s words out of my head. If a rabid coyote bursts into this clearing, we are done for. We don’t have a weapon. That coyote would certainly be able to bite at least one of us before we could overpower it. At least I’m not the sitting duck. If I were Michelle, I’d be terrified right now—the coyote would definitely get her first.
Eventually, we all settle down around the fire. The yellow flames are crackling around the wood Jack gathered, and the warmth radiates around us. Jack has his arm around Michelle, and she’s cuddling up against him. Noah is next to me, but there’s no cuddling. I can’t remember the last time the two of us cuddled. Hell, we barely touch each other anymore.
Warner is sitting across from me. He’s got his legs folded in front of him, and he’s staring at the fire with glassy eyes. I wonder if he’s thinking about Lindsay. Now that she’s not here, his presence seems really out of place. We barely know the guy, and what I know, I don’t like. I wish he could just disappear.
I feel intense itchiness on the left side of my neck, and I smack my hand against it. “I’m getting eaten alive here.”
“Yeah.” Jack swats at something in the air. “The mosquitoes are pretty active here. I might have some bug spray in my bag.”
He rifles through his backpack until he comes up with a spray bottle. He hands it off to me, and I give my arms and legs a generous spritz. I don’t know if it’s going to help, but it smells terrible. I hand off the bottle to Noah, who gives his own arms a spritz. He was smart enough to wear jeans, at least. He tries to give the bottle to Warner, who waves it away.
“Mosquitoes never bite me,” Warner says.
“Lucky,” I mutter. “They always bite me.”