Ship of Souls

Drive with no problem and head for the tree line.
    There are paved paths that wind throughout the park, but I like the sound of dead leaves crunching under my feet. Plus I kind of want to see whether Nyla’s with me or with Keem. So I veer off the path and into the woods, then wait a few minutes to see whether Nyla follows my lead. She doesn’t. A girl in boots like those shouldn’t be afraid of a little mud. But Nyla stays with Keem on the paved path. They don’t even pretend they’re looking for birds—they only have eyes for each other.
    Just as I’m starting to feel sorry for myself, I feel the bird stirring inside my coat and remember I’m not alone. I pull the zipper down a bit to check on her. “You OK in there? You slept a really long time.”
    The bird pokes her head out and looks around. Her alert eyes seem to glow. “Something’s happening,” she says.
    The alarm in her voices pricks at my ears. “What? Where?”
    “I don’t know. Stay here. I’m going to investigate.” And with that she flies up into the branches of a nearby oak tree. I watch as she hops from branch to branch, her head cocked to one side and then the next. Then, without any warning, she flies away.
    “She said ‘something’s happening ,’ not ‘something’s wrong ,’” I whisper to myself. Still, I felt more confident when the bird was sleeping soundly near my heart.
    I glance over my shoulder to see what the two lovebirds are up to. Nyla’s leaning up against a big tree, and Keem’s standing a little too close to her, one hand pressed against the trunk above her head. I’ve seen guys do that with other girls at school. If someone did that to me, I’d feel trapped, but girls seem to dig that crap. I wonder how many girls have stood like that beneath Keem’s arm. I want to believe Nyla’s too smart to fall for that slick jock talk, but I can hear her laughing at his corny jokes. Keem thinks he’s so smooth…
    I’m so busy trying not to get caught staring at Keem and Nyla that I almost walk right into a tree. “Excuse me,” I say and chuckle to myself. I take one step around the tree, and next thing I know, I’m flat on my face.
    I lift my head above the dry brown leaves and look for the root I must have tripped over. Then something pinches my calf and I cry out—mostly in surprise.
    “D—you all right?”
    I hear Nyla’s voice, but before I can even think of an answer, something bites my leg. I roll over and find the weirdest trap I’ve ever seen clamped down on my left calf. It looks like the jawbone of a wild animal or a really big dog, except that along with pointy teeth, the jaw is lined with curved bits of metal and the sharp talons of a large bird. I try to shake my leg free, but the jaw—or trap, or whatever it is—simply slides down my jeans until it reaches my ankle. Then it digs in. And that’s when I scream!
    “D?”
    I can tell by the sound of her voice that Nyla’s moving now, coming toward me. But then I feel a sharp tug, and suddenly I’m being dragged along the ground—slowly at first, like I’m a big, heavy fish that the person reeling me in can’t handle. Then the pull gets stronger, and leaves and twigs start flying as I try to grab hold of anything that will slow me down. I try to call for help, but my head hits a rock, my teeth snap down on my tongue, and blood starts filling up my mouth. I feel like I’m drowning and falling at the same time.
    I spit out a mouthful of blood and cry, “Help!”
    Finally I manage to grab hold of a sapling. I flip over onto my stomach and see Nyla and Keem racing toward me. The jaw digs in deeper, and the sapling starts to bend. Just as my fingers lose their grip on the slender tree, Keem dives at me and grabs hold of my right hand. I reach for him with my other hand, and for a moment we’re stuck in a tug of war. Keem swings his legs around and presses his feet into a big rock. Nyla searches for a heavy branch and holds it behind her head like a baseball bat. Problem is, there’s no one to hit. It’s like I’m being dragged along by a ghost!
    Out of desperation, Nyla just starts beating the ground. Dead leaves fly up, and Nyla cries out, “There’s a chain!” She drops the branch and reaches down to grab it. It’s pulled taut and leads to a massive uprooted tree about twenty feet away. There’s a gaping hole in the ground that’s only partly covered by the snakelike roots of the dead tree. And down that hole is where I’m