Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“It wouldn’t have been murder, just survival. The circle of life.”
“Speaking of the circle of life, Chase just realized where pork chops come from,” I say. “He was devastated. He loves his cousin Theo’s pig, Pippa Jane, so much, Mel’s afraid he’s going to make their entire family swear off meat of all kinds.”
Wes makes a sympathetic sound. “Poor kid. I remember figuring that out when I was little. I didn’t connect the dots until I was a lot older than four, though.”
“He’s a genius,” I say, smiling. “And the sweetest little man. I’ve never met a kid that young with so much empathy. He can’t stand to see anything hurting, whether it’s human, animal, or that poor Monstera plant I keep nearly killing in the front of the shop. I just love that kid.”
“Me, too,” Wes says. “I’m a lucky uncle. My niece and nephew are amazing little people. It gives me hope that humanity is getting better. Kinder.”
“Me, too,” I say, wishing again that I could be part of raising the next generation of kinder humans. But I guess…I am. I may not be raising Chase or Sara Beth or any of the McGuire littles, but I’m a part of their lives. I’m a grown-up they can trust to love and look out for them and that’s special.
I’m about to mention that to Wes—how it’s nice to have trusted adults in your life who aren’t your parents—when he grinds to a sudden halt. The path is narrow here, with the cave walls so close that, if I held out my arms, I could touch both sides.
It’s so tight, I can’t see what’s made him stop.
Before I can ask, Wes slips on something underfoot, sending several large rocks rolling into the darkness ahead.
A beat later, the air explodes in a flurry of dark leathery wings.
Chapter 25
WESLEY
I try to shift backward, to ask Tessa if she’s up for crawling under a colony of sleeping bats, or if she’d rather retrace our steps and find another way over the mountain to the other cave systems. But the ground is wet here, and I slip on something slick underfoot, sending loose rocks rolling loudly into the cave ahead, gaining momentum as they barrel downhill.
Before I can tell Tessa to run, the bats burst into startled flight, a dense cloud of strongly-scented fur and wings barreling straight toward us.
“Get down!” I reach for her as I drop into a crouched position, pulling her to the cave floor beside me, but I’m too late.
“Hair! Hair! They’re in my hair,” she screams, her eyes squeezed shut as her hands flap frantically around her head.
I reach out, lifting a heavy section of hair on her right side, setting two small, panicked-looking bats free. Their eyes are round and terrified in the glare of my headlamp before they race to join the rest of the fleeing colony. The rational part of my brain understands that the bats are every bit as terrified as we are and only want to fly away to safety.
The irrational part of me can’t think of anything except how damned creepy they look with their fangs, squashed faces, and horror-movie wings.
“Another one,” Tessa shouts, her voice trembling with terror. “Oh my God, it’s on my neck, Wes. I can feel it!”
I shift forward, hoping to gather her abundant hair in my right hand and shoo any bats still underneath away with my left, but my feet slip again.
I fall flat on my belly with an “oof,” and start sliding, gaining momentum fast on the smooth stones. My hands scrabble on the cave floor, but the slick mess beneath me makes it impossible to find purchase.
Only, it’s not a mess.
It’s shit. Bat shit.
The realization hits and I lift my hands with a gagging sound, but that only speeds my fall. Worse, it turns out to be pointless. My palms are already coated with the stuff, frustrating my attempts to grab onto the cave wall. My fingers slide off one stone, then another and another.
By the time I hit open air and start to fall, I’ve gathered an impressive amount of momentum.
I have a split second to see the roof of the cave illuminated in my headlamp before I hit the ground again—hard—knocking the lamp from my head and plunging me into darkness.
I try to suck in a breath, but the wind has been knocked from my chest. I hear Tessa screaming my name, but I can’t call back to tell her I’m okay. All I can do is writhe on the ground, my bruised body aching as I wait for my lungs to remember how to pull in air.
Finally, I’m able to cough, gasp, and call out, “I’m here! Down here. Be careful, the cave floor is crazy slick.”
“Oh my God, oh my God. Thank God,” I hear Tessa sob from what sounds like a great distance, way farther than I could have fallen in just a few seconds.