Bright Eyes

13. All These Things We've Learnt to Fear

They darted past trees, one boy armed with a rock in his hand, the other holding a long fallen branch as a makeshift weapon.

    Somewhere else in the dark, another boy slipped on a patch of grass, but the girl held him by the arm before he could fall any further down. The boy quickly got back up, rising from a sort of kneeling position. And they ran on beneath the shadows of the canopies, moonlight slipping through the cracks.

    "Shhh." Jack held up a hand, halting Damien in his tracks. They could hear footsteps coming closer, louder by the second. Jack's hand secured its grip around the rock. Damien held the branch up, ready to strike. They inched forward, two men approaching closer and closer . . .

    Jack held the rock above his head. Now they were close enough for him to see, to make out two figures running in the dark. Then he realized. The rock remained motionless above his head, as Jack called out, "Damien, don't—"

    But the branch came swinging toward them, the targets dodging the blow just in time, someone tall and heavy falling onto the forest floor.

    "Bruh!"

    "Max!"

    "Oops."

    "Dude, why?"

    Jack dropped the rock and lowered himself closer to the ground, kneeling, his eyes on Max lying spreadeagled on the forest floor. Lyn was kneeling down on the other side. Max breathed in and out, once, twice, and winced, and brought himself up to a sitting position.

    "Sorry," said Damien, as Jack stood and reached a hand out to Max. "Thought you were those creeps."

    Max grabbed on, and Jack pulled him up to stand. "It's cool," he replied. "Just don't whack me in the head with some branch next time."

    Lyn rose to her feet, looked around. "Has anyone seen Sander?"

    Jack and Damien exchanged looks. Damien simply shrugged. Jack glanced around the place, then to Max, he said, "Bruh, you—"

    "Haven't seen him since we ran off the trail," said Max, a low-level panic clouding his features. He was quiet for a moment, then, "You don't think they—"

    Jack cursed under his breath, the image of Sander kidnapped—or worse, dead—invading his headspace. The ways he could've died, he didn't want to imagine, pushing them out of mind.

    "Then we've got to move fast," said Damien. "He could still be out there, running from those creeps."

    "Or he could be here," said a voice. "Safe and alive."

    Damien, Jack, Max, and Lyn looked back and up, catching sight of a silhouette of a man walking downhill, toward them. In his arms was a body, moonlight momentarily shining down on a boy and his dark blond hair and his black-rimmed glasses.

    "Sander?" muttered Lyn, trembling at the sight.

    Damien tightened his grip on the branch, holding it up. Jack reached forward, and grabbed the bloodstained rock by the tree nearest to them, and he yelled, "What have you done to him?"

    "Jack, I'm okay, I'm okay," said Sander, raising up a hand to him. He and the man were close enough now, stepping into the light. "I'm—" The sting in his wound peaked up. So suddenly that Sander winced at the pain and drew a deep long breath, blood flowing gladly into the cloth wrapped around his leg.

    "He's injured," said the man, coming to a halt before them. "We need to get him to my house, quick. And there I could tend to his wound. We shouldn't waste any more time." He took his steps past them, making his way further into the trees.