Something of a Kind - By Miranda Wheeler Page 0,65
possible he'd be hung, drawn, and quartered with sold out backwoods-townie spectator tickets – or at least, beaten into seventy shades of purple and grounded for life.
His fingertips brushed her lips, rousing a smile. He exhaled as she pressed against him, burrowing into his embrace. Waiting for her to meet his gaze, Noah grinned as she rested a palm against his cheek. Aly murmured, “Can I take that as a yes?”
Lee is going to kill me. He's going to wax the floors with blood and have my head mounted over table five.
He said, “Always.”
CHAPTER 17 | ALYSON
An alternative rock band flowed from the quiet speakers, the silence in their conversation comfortable. Aly watched the mountains for most of the ride, the visor twisted to cover a toobright sun, peaking over the horizon and darting around bends in the road. It couldn’t rise fast enough. An unseasonable chill crept through the heaters, full-blast as they labored to clear the flog beleaguering the windshield.
With heavy moisture in the air, Aly felt alert the moment she walked outside. Between a scalding shower, spicy cinnamon toothpaste, and the post-rain atmosphere, energy flooded her veins, premature adrenaline egging on her nerves.
She held the camcorder with a death grip, the closed fist resting on her knee while her leg tapped beneath. In her free hand, she held Noah’s. Going after the creature made her anxious, doubts weaseling into every other thought. A streamlined subconscious threatened that they wouldn’t find it, or they wouldn’t get a decent shot, or no one would believe her even if she did.
Her leg throbbed as though the wound intended to remind her where it came from. Aly hadn’t considered Rowley’s halfhearted warning about the hazard until they were halfway to the campsite.
She shushed blaring uncertainties as Noah blew past the entrance of the public hiking trails. With a wooden sign disappearing behind them, it was only a moment before he pulled into a turn-off and over the curb. Easing into a sliver of camouflaging brush, the engine hummed to a stop.
“It’s completely invisible from the road,” he informed, reaching across her to pull fingerless gloves from the dashboard. “Usually, it’s not safe for hikers to hide their vehicles, in case they go missing. It’s the first thing the state troopers look for in an investigation. We haven’t packed for a day-trip though, so we should be okay, since we’re being sneaky.”
“Sneaky as in hiding? We’re already jumping ahead to Bonnie and Clyde,” she laughed. Grabbing his hand, she added emphatically, “Thelma and Louise.”
“Or Romeo and Juliet,” he teased, climbing out of the vehicle.
She paused, recalling Greg’s words and wondering if Noah understood the significance of feuding families. Amused, she followed him, teasing, “Well, we should hope it wouldn’t end the same, then.”
Where Noah stood, the trees were parted, dawn bright in his face. Squinting against the glare, he joked, “What? Star-crossed lovers committing double suicides not as exciting as flying off a cliff hand in hand?”
“It’s sexier than Thelma and Louise, I hereby confess,” Aly smirked. “How psychologically fascinating – addicted love, romanticized death, and all that.”
“Cynical, but justified,” he observed, offering a hand as he led her up a path that connected with a familiar trail.
With both hands wrapped around the camera, mastering the inclines that once came easy was a clumsy endeavor. Every once in a while, Aly would straighten herself, realizing she had hunched over in an attempt to keep up without taking her eyes from the trees. As they made their way towards the site of the first incident, she fought to match his stride. He often slowed for her, always prepared to grab her arm or catch her when she tripped, distracted. After the third or fourth near-fall, he wrapped an arm around her waist and guided any calculated maneuvering.
Upon reaching the campfire, with some debate as to which spot was theirs, she realized how unlikely it was that anything would show up. The tree line that seemed dark and impenetrable the first night was airy, vegetation loosely dispersed. Noah sifted through the pit’s ashes. Finding nothing, he kicked a stone before moving to look for footprints in the grass.
In just moments, his mood went from tangible frustration to silent scrutiny. His expression vague, he gathered the loose threads, everything abruptly internalized.
Unsure how to diffuse his agitation, she probed, “Find anything?”
Noah sighed. “Nah. It’s unimpressive, so far. It looks like the grass bounced back, like it filled in with mud from the rain.”
“Rowl -” Aly paused,