The Time Turner Society { Undergoing Edits! }

Chapter 12:

The guard dogs stop behind me for what seems like ages.

I hold my breath and my gun, and just hope like hell the rain and the mud has covered my scent enough that they will just continue on. The entire world freezes for one second, then two. I hear a dog move closer to my tree, sniffing the air. He starts to growl when a massive boom, so loud it can be heard over the rain, sounds somewhere far to my left. The dogs start barking again, and they rush off in the direction of the noise. I let out a breath of relief. That's when Eryl appears out of the forest to my right, his blue eyes a mix of relief and irritation.

"I told you you couldn't survive out here," he snaps, almost yelling to be heard over the rain. Glad you're okay, Evaline.

"Sexist ass," I snap back. Glad to see you alive, too, Eryl. Thanks for helping me out.

"Arrogant woman," Eryl fires as he helps me to my feet. He peers around the thick tree trunk I'd hid behind. There's a slight smile on his face, though, and that brings me a much welcomed wave of calm.

"And I repeat, sexist ass." Eryl shakes his head.

"Not sexist if it's true," without waiting for my reply, Eryl takes my hand and starts to lead me deeper into the forest.

"Those guys that are supposedly taking you to Blayke. Do you trust them?" he calls over the wind. I chew on my lower lip, contemplating.

"I don't know. I want to, but it all seems so... Unreal." I duck into Eryl's side as the wind whips branches toward my face.

"Evaline!" Quentin and Eros suddenly appear out of the trees. "This storm just came out of nowhere! It'll cover us enough to get to the camp," Quentin nods in what must have been the general direction of the camp, and him and Eryl immediately turn to head in that direction. I wonder exactly what kind of camp could be out here in the forest. I don't even try to ask, because the wind keeps picking up and my throat already feels hoarse.

We walk for almost an hour, my shoulder throbbing, before the rain finally lets up. It's still falling, but only at a drizzle now. The wind is at a manageable level too, for now.

"The camp's just up ahead. It's a ref camp," Quentin calls behind him. My brows draw together in confusion.

"A ref camp?"

"Refugee," Eryl says. "It's for the people who want to run." I nod in understanding. I wonder if Eryl's parents had to stop in one of these camps, or if they had a straight shot to 2075.

"My dad was a turner," Eryl says suddenly, as if he could read my thoughts. "They didn't even really have to run; they just disappeared."

"My dad was a turner, too. It was too late for him to disappear, though."

"Is Blayke a turner?" Eryl's curiosity shouldn't irritate me, but it did. I veer away from him, walking quickly to stay in between him and Quentin and Eros. Our group passes through a particularly thick line of trees and emerges into a clearing. In the center of the clearing is a decent-sized log cabin, with boarded up windows and a broken rocking chair on the front porch. Eros and Quentin put away their guns, as if the clearing somehow makes them invincible. I'm starting to wonder how this is considered a camp; it's completely deserted. Eros squares his shoulder against the door and gives it a good shove. It swings inward, giving us a view of the dilapidated insides of the run-down cabin. Several cots with missing legs, held up by books and large rocks, line the walls, which are covered with mix-match paintings from what looks like several different artists. Holy blankets and uncovered pillows are pushed in every available space. The only part of the small room that looks remotely new is the tiny kitchen, complete with a woodburning stove.