Twelve-year-old Evan Mercer had wandered through these woods a hundred times before—during summer picnics, late-autumn leaf hunts, even winter snow adventures—but never alone, and certainly never with the weight of the world pressing against his chest.
Beside him trotted Rusty, his loyal golden retriever whose red-gold fur was now tangled with leaves and damp from the evening fog. Rusty kept glancing up at the boy as if trying to read the fear hiding behind Evan's trembling breath.
They had been walking for hours.
It had happened so quickly—too quickly for Evan to understand. One moment, he was riding in the back seat of the car while his parents argued in the front, voices sharp and breaking. The next, a sharp swerve, a deafening crash, metal shrieking like an injured animal. When Evan crawled out of the wreckage, dazed and bruised, his parents were unconscious, and the road was empty. No cars. No lights. No help.
He had grabbed Rusty, who had flown from the back seat but survived, and staggered into the woods, driven only by panic and instinct. He didn't know why. Maybe he thought he'd find help. Maybe he just couldn't bear to wait alone by the wreck.
Now, the sun had set.