Page 58
Jake points toward a lone figure hiking back toward the fort. She’s probably a few football fields away, closer to us than the fort. Her eyes are focused at the ground in front of her, the majority of her face shielded by the brim of her baseball cap.
Before I have a chance to answer him, a loud boom cuts me off, followed by a series of at least five others. That wasn’t a firecracker. That was a Roman candle. Smoke billows from the middle of the herd and then all hell breaks loose. Jumpy, agitated animals bump into each other and suddenly the whole herd is in motion. Clods of dirt and clouds of dust rise behind them. At first they head away from the fort. But then the worst thing happens. The stampede suddenly changes direction.
“They’re heading right for Riley,” I say, spurring Chance into a gallop. “Shit.”
CHAPTER 35
Riley
A LOW BOOM echoes across the prairie like thunder. It was overcast when I hoofed it out here, but the clouds weren’t the kind that bring rain or thunderstorms. Still, I’ve read weather can change quickly out here in the Midwest. When I glance up, I see that instead of dark, fast-moving storm clouds, the cloud cover has thinned and there are bits of blue peeking through. Weird.
I pause to grab a sip of water. To the east of the fort, a huge flock of birds takes to the sky in a mini avian-tornado. And then everything goes quiet. It’s like someone reached over and turned down the volume of the world. Eerie.
Slipping the cap back on the bottle, I suppress a shiver and tuck it back into my bag. The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, and I look behind me to see if I can identify what has me so spooked. There’s nothing there.
Then the ground beneath my feet trembles. It reminds me of a Southern California earthquake, but it’s too shallow. It’s not the kind of movement that rolls and makes you semi-seasick. And it’s not the teeth-chattering jolter kind either. It’s more like a giant eighteen-wheeler driving by. Strange, I never thought of Nebraska as being prone to tremors. Not that it matters now, because clearly this isn’t like any earthquake I’ve ever experienced.
The constant drone builds in intensity, slowly, with a subtle rhythm. Low-flying helicopters? A battalion of tanks? I don’t remember seeing any military bases on the map, but it’s so off the grid out here, maybe there’s a secret operation. Area 51’s cousin, Area 52?
And then I see it. A dust cloud rising and blotting out the eastern entrance of Fort Bellows. The billowing cloud grows larger the closer it gets, and with it, the rumbling grows louder. I pause midstep, my gut telling me something’s not quite right, but I can’t get a good look since I’m in a small dip in the land. My calves burn as I jog to the top of a nearby hill. What is it? I blink, and then my heart stops when I take in the giant brown creatures headed straight for me.
Bison stampede!
Spinning around to get a sense of the prairie, I realize there’s no shelter out here. No place to hide. Animals as big as bison should not be able to move as fast as they do, but they seem to hurl themselves at me like a giant freight train arrow and I’m the bull’s-eye. With a yelp, I dart down the hill, the heels of my hiking boots skidding along the grass as I fight for footing. I try to position myself so that I’m moving perpendicular to the animals, hoping that I can make it out of their path before it’s too late.
My hiking boots slip and slide over the ground and my backpack slams into my lower back. I grip the straps to help hold it in place while dodging prairie dog holes, rocks, and uneven ground. I stumble when my foot gets caught up in a tangle of vegetation, and I wrench it free with a grunt.
The thunder of hoofbeats grows even louder until it sounds like the bison are right on top of me. I don’t dare look. I just put every last bit of energy I have into running as fast and as far as I can.
People in near-death situations always say their life flashes before their eyes, but the only things flashing before my eyes are the endless blades of grass and regrets.
I could have been sunning myself on the beach.
I could have been illustrating science placards at the marine center.
I could have spent more time with Colton.
“Riley.”
Adrenaline must be playing tricks on me, because I swear I heard his voice the minute I thought of him. But there’s no way.
I glance to my right and, holy hell, I’m really bad with approximating distances, but the bison are close.
Really close.
Close enough to see the sweat and saliva dripping from their mouths.
Oh my god.
Every slam of my foot into the ground echoes through my bones. The blood rushes through my ears, nearly drowning out the drum of the hoofbeats as they grow louder and louder. It’s almost impossible to keep my balance as the ground shifts beneath me and just as I’m about to topple forward, something rams into my backpack, hooking the top strap and yanking me off my feet. I’m jerked sideways while my feet circle in the air, scrambling for the earth, and I let out a half-choked scream.
This is it.
I’ve been tossed into the air by some massive bison horn and my poor, fragile body will soon be trampled by creatures that weigh at least a ton, maybe two. I can practically feel my bones shattering as I tense, preparing for impact.
But the split second of midair weightlessness is over sooner than I expect. I land hard on my tailbone and yelp, my eyes flying open as a viselike grip settles on my waist to keep me in place.
“Hold on,” Colton calls over his shoulder.
