Phoenix: Book One of The Stardust Series by Autumn Reed, Julia Clarke Page B

made it this far, I drew a few breaths to still my beating
heart before briefly closing my eyes to recall a dog-eared map of the area that
I had found in the cabin earlier in the day.
    My goal was to head
east to Highway 89 and then figure out my plans from there. Not wanting to get
too close to the road and risk discovery, I planned to skirt the creek that ran
parallel to the road until I hit the highway. If I was right, it was a little
over three miles to Highway 89. Normally three miles would be no big deal, but
tonight my progress would be slow, hampered by unfamiliar terrain, the dark,
and my injured ankle.
    Away from the immediate
threat of discovery by Ethan or Chase, I noticed for the first time how cold
and dark it was. I was still wearing Ethan’s boxers and T-shirt as well as the
sweatshirt he had given me that morning, but goosebumps raised on my bare legs.
The night was so cool I could almost see my breath.
    Burying my nose and
mouth into the sweatshirt for warmth, the scent of cedar drifted to my nose,
recalling the images of Chase and Ethan. At that moment, I half considered
turning around to go back to the cozy cabin. They said they wanted to help me;
maybe I should have stayed.
    Tempting as the idea
may be, I knew I couldn’t go back; I had no idea who they really were and I
couldn’t take the risk to find out. Instead, I headed further north in the
direction of the creek. Crossing the small, two-lane road, the pavement felt
hard beneath my feet. This far away from town, the houses were few and far
between, and with no cars in sight, the forest was quiet.
    Occasionally the trees
thinned out enough for the moon to filter through, casting long shadows on the
ground. When I heard the movement of water over stones, I knew the creek
couldn’t be far. The air felt more humid and I was calmed by the sound of the
flowing water. Once I was close enough to the creek, I turned right to head
east toward Highway 89.
    Feeling simultaneously
tired and on edge, I was startled when an owl hooted nearby. I rolled my eyes
at my jumpiness; I had been alone outside at night countless times before. Stay
calm, Haley. Telling myself to remain calm and rational was one thing;
doing it was another. This was unfamiliar territory, and I felt more alone and
afraid than I ever had.
    I picked up my pace, my
ankle burning in fiery protest to the movement. My heart was beating faster,
and I struggled with the terrain, encumbered by the small rocks, pine cones,
and fallen branches that littered the ground. My limbs felt rubbery, each step
forced and clumsy.
    Focused on reaching my
destination, I pushed myself to keep moving despite the pain and exhaustion.
Time seemed to drag on, and while I knew I was headed in the right direction, I
wondered why it was taking so long.
    Suddenly I flew
forward, falling to the ground. Surprised and slightly winded, I quickly pushed
myself off the ground, brushing pine needles and dirt from my shins and palms. Don’t
stop, Haley. You can do this, I reminded myself, forcing back tears. But
the words felt hollow. My life was out of control, and I was frustrated by the
situation, by my ankle. Tired and scared, I just wanted to go home to my dad.
    I decided to sit down
on a log to rest. Shivering, I held myself and tried to rub my arms and bare
legs. My mind and body were at war; I knew I had to keep moving, and it would
help me stay warm, but I was so tired.
    A twig snapped and I
practically leapt out of my skin. Clasping my hand over my heart, I took a few
deep breaths. You’re just tired, stop being so jumpy . Straining my ears,
I didn’t hear anything at first other than the sounds of the forest. My eyes
darted around the surrounding area until something caught my attention. Not far
away I could see a small light bouncing around in the dark, and my stomach
dropped.
    The light was too faint
to be a car and too small to be anything but a flashlight. My suspicions were
confirmed when I saw a large figure