The Bodies Left Behind

They paused and looked around, trying to find the source of the commotion.
    Thank goodness, though, just at that moment Amy fell silent.
    The men continued to look around them for a moment and then started walking again. They vanished behind a stone wall.
    Brynn returned to Michelle and Amy. The little girl, though still unhappy, had stopped crying and was clutching her toy once more.
    “How’d you do that?”
    Michelle shrugged, grimacing. Whispered: “Wasn’t such a great idea. I told her we were on our way to see her mommy. Couldn’t think of what else to say.”
    Well, it didn’t matter. The girl would learn the truth sooner or later but for now they sure couldn’t afford the screaming. Brynn whispered, “They’re back there.”
    “What? Hart and his partner?”
    A nod.
    “How?”
    Hart, of course. Brynn said, “ Reverse -reverse psychology. Two hundred yards or so back. We’ve got to move.”
    They headed toward the gorge, the ground being flatter, then north again toward the interstate. They knew the direction, because the river was on their right but, with the landscape more open as they rose higher, they were forced to zigzag—now seeking out brush and trees for cover. It was taking too long, Brynn reflected, feeling Hart’s presence growing closer.
    She led Michelle and Amy back into the thicker woods and they continued north. Suddenly faint light streaked from left to right, a truck or car on the interstate. A half mile, maybe less. Brynn and Michelle shared a smile and started forward again.
    Which is when they heard a snap of a footstep, to their left, somewhere in a thick pine forest. The sound was close. Brynn looked at the little girl, whose gaunt face warned of another outburst.
    Another snap. Closer. Footsteps, definitely.
    Hart and his partner must have moved faster than Brynn had expected, closing the two hundred yards in only fifteen minutes. They’d probably found a smooth trail the women had missed.
    Brynn pointed to the ground. The three of them went prone behind a fallen tree. Amy started to cry again but Michelle pulled her close and worked her magic once more. Brynn picked up handfuls of leaves and, as quietly as she could, spread them on top of the other two. Then she also lay down and camouflaged herself.
    The footsteps grew closer, then were lost in the rustling wind.
    Then Brynn gasped. She believed she heard somebody whispering her name.
    Her imagination, of course. It was just the breeze, which was blowing steadily, swirling leaves and hissing through branches.
    But then she heard it again. Yes, definitely, “Brynn,” in a faint whisper.
    Her jaw quivered in shock. Hart!
    Eerie, as if he had a sixth sense she was nearby.
    Again, though the name was indistinct, lost in the sounds of the forest.
    In her exhaustion and pain she almost thought the voice sounded like Graham’s. But that was impossible, of course. Her husband was home, asleep now.
    Or perhaps not home and asleep.
    “Brynn . . .”
    She touched her finger to her lips. Michelle nodded, reaching into her jacket for the knife.
    The steps began again, very close, it seemed, and heading directly toward the fallen tree they hid beneath.
    Times to fight and times to run.
    Time to hide too.
    Thinking of the men with their loud, loud guns, another memory came back to her again: her first husband, eyes wide in shock and agony, stumbling back under the nearly point-blank impact of the slug, as Brynn’s service weapon clattered to their kitchen floor after the discharge.
    Was some sort of justice at work here, a divine or spiritual payback?
    Would her fate now be similar to Keith’s?
    The footsteps grew closer.
    Silently Brynn sprinkled more leaves over the threesome. And closed her eyes, recalling that when he was younger Joey believed that doing this would make you disappear.

    “BRYNN,” GRAHAM CALLED again, as loud as he dared, but still in a whisper.
    Listening. Nothing.
    As they’d approached this portion of the woods, the screaming had stopped. And they’d seen no one. But as they continued their trek, Graham was convinced he’d heard a woman’s voice, whispering, and some rustling of leaves very close by. He couldn’t tell where, though, and risked saying his wife’s name.
    No response but he heard more rustling and they’d headed for the sound, Munce with his shotgun ready.
    “Brynn?”
    Now the men were next to the trunk of a large fallen oak, looking around in all directions. Graham frowned