“God’s up there.” Tyrone looked skyward, up at the big orange moon. “He just prefers we work this shit out ourselves.”
“Ain’t no point in having a god, man, if he’s just a slum lord never does nothin’.”
Tyrone turned to Meadow. “How do you know? You ever pray for anything before?”
“Naw.”
“Maybe you should try it once, see if it—”
The scream cut Tyrone off. High-pitched, piercing, coming from right behind him. The scream of someone in absolute, complete agony, so shrill it seemed to burn into Tyrone’s head. Tyrone twisted around, feeling his whole body twitch like he did back in the day when something bad was going down. He automatically reached for his belt, his fingers seeking out a knife, a gun, a bike chain, anything at all to defend himself with. They came up empty. So he stood up and stumbled sideways, bumping into Tom, steadying himself even though his legs were jonesing to run him the hell out of there.
His eyes scanned the tree line, seeing only random shadows flitting across the trunks. Beyond that, a darkness so vast it seemed like the forest was opening its giant mouth to eat them all.
“The fuck was that?”
Meadow was standing next to Tyrone, also slapping his pants in search of a weapon he wasn’t going to find. Tom was on Tyrone’s other shoulder, holding out his weak-ass marshmallow stick like that would protect them.
Tyrone held his breath. Crickets and silence. This island was too damn quiet. Never got this quiet in Motown. Never got this dark, neither. Tyrone could survive on the street for weeks when he had to, but out here in bumblefuck he knew he wouldn’t last a day. Can’t B&E for duckets or pop in a homie’s crib for food when you’re in the middle of the woods. And if something was chasing you, where were you supposed to hide?
“It’s one of the girls, messing with us,” Tom said.
Tyrone felt a stab of concern for Cindy, then dismissed it. This scream came from the opposite direction. Tyrone didn’t know what it was about the girl that he liked, but he just liked her, is all. He never did anything about it. Never even said anything. Both he and Cindy were in the Center to improve themselves. That was a big enough job without adding all that relationship baggage to the mix.
Meadow shook his head. “Didn’t sound like no bullshit scream. Sounded real. And close.”
“Maybe we should go check.”
“You go check, white boy. With your little stick.”
Tyrone shushed them. “Quiet. I hear somethin’.”
He recognized the noise, because they all made the same noise earlier, on the hike to this clearing. It was the sound of people in the woods, trampling over dead leaves and twigs, pushing branches out of the way.
And the sound was moving toward them. Fast.
“Somethin’s comin’,” Meadow whispered.
The trampling was too noisy for one or two people to make. It sounded like at least half a dozen folks, rushing through the forest, getting closer.
The bushes at the treeline shook like a bear was caught in them. Tyrone couldn’t move. He couldn’t even swallow. He knew, knew, that some crazy Civil War cannibals were going to burst out and start chomping him, and he was too scared to do anything about it.
Then, all at once, the bushes stopped moving. The sound of approaching footsteps ceased. All Tyrone could hear was crickets, and the thumping of his own heart.
“Are they still there?” Tyrone had never heard Tom speak so quietly.
“Dunno.” Meadow’s voice was just as soft. “Didn’t hear them leave. Might still be there, staring at us.”
Tyrone’s back became really hot—he was standing too close to the fire. But he didn’t dare move away. He could feel eyes on him. Predator eyes. Something was in those woods, and it wanted to do him serious harm.
“Hey!”
They all turned to the right, Tom bumping into Tyrone, who backed into Meadow. Walking toward them, arms spread open, was Cindy. She smirked, and Tyrone was surprised how relieved he felt to see her.
“You guys look like you just saw a ghost.”
“Were you over there?” Meadow pointed in the direction they’d been facing,
Cindy jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “I came from there. Did you hear Georgia scream?”
Tyrone managed to swallow, find his voice. “Heard someone, that way.”
“Georgia was going to try to scare you guys. But she ditched me. She’s in the trees there?”
Cindy walked past them, heading for the bushes. Tyrone caught her wrist.
“I don’t think that’s Georgia.”
“Why not?”
“It’s more than one person,” Tom said, his voice low.
Cindy stepped backward, next to Tyrone. Her hair smelled like shampoo. He relaxed his grip a bit but still kept hold of her wrist.
“Maybe she found the others. Maybe they’re all trying to scare us.”
“It ain’t them.”
Tom flinched, bumping into Tyrone, pressing against him. It violated all sorts of personal space, and normally would have resulted in a rough shove and a threat, but Tyrone didn’t move because he saw what Tom saw, just beyond the bushes, barely illuminated from the light of the fire.
A person.
Someone was standing in the darkness, watching them. It creeped Tyrone out so bad he finally uprooted his legs, sidestepping the campfire, backpedaling away while tugging Cindy along. Then that fool Tom came up fast, knocking into them, toppling everyone over.
The act of breaking eye contact with whatever was in the woods scared Tyrone even more, as if losing sight of the enemy meant it could suddenly be anywhere. He looked back at the bushes, seeking out the silhouette, barely noticing Cindy’s hand moving into his.
The dark figure was still there, features obscured by night. Tall, thin, silent.
The moment stretched to the breaking point. Even the crickets stopped chirping.
“You want some of me, mutha fucka?” Meadow was frontin’ now, sticking out his chest and slapping it with his palms. “I’ll cold rip you a new one.”
Tyrone watched as Meadow walked toward the figure. He knew he should be backing his boy up. Didn’t matter that they rolled with different crews when they was bangin’. Didn’t matter that Meadow was a pain in the balls sometimes. At the Center, Meadow was his brother. They were tight there, much as they were rivals on the street.
But this wasn’t the Center, and it wasn’t the street neither. This place might as well have been Mars. Throwing down in a gang fight was one thing, and Tyrone wasn’t scared of that. But scrapping in the woods with some crazy cannibal—that was horror movie bullshit.
So Tyrone stayed put, squeezing Cindy’s hand, watching as his friend clenched his fists and stomped toward the darkness.
The light came on, faint and yellow, shining on the bone Sara clenched in her hand. It was long, over eighteen inches, covered on one side with clumps of dirt. The other side, the side Sara stared at, had strips of dried brown flesh clinging to it.
The smell was an assault, so overpowering and fetid that Sara dropped it immediately, violently turning away and retching onto the ground.
“Was that a leg?” Laneesha moved closer to Sara. The girl was clutching the Maglite she’d obviously found.
Sara wiped her mouth with her sleeve, her throat feeling raw, her tongue foul with stomach acid.
“I don’t know.”
“Looked like a dude’s leg.”
“I don’t know.”
“Why is there a dude’s leg on the ground? Where the rest of him?”
Laneesha played the light across the ground. Sara followed the beam as it washed over twigs, dead leaves, chunks of dirt, coming to rest on a single, brown shoe.
“Holy shit! There a foot in that shoe?”