CHAPTER SIXTEEN: ECOTONE

tw; animal death/death, blood, gun mention / violence, gratuitous language, panic.

An awful noise filled the air,
I heard a scream in the woods somewhere.

(In the Woods Somewhere, Hozier)

FRIDAY
ALICE

Two shots.

One explodes thirty seconds after the other, like an aftershock.

The sound is far away, but my ears still ring. Everything else fades away. Everything except the ringing and the stomach-clenching knowledge that something is very, abundantly wrong.

Seconds of nothing pass me by.

"Alice? You okay?" Jasper's voice works through the fog that shrouds me. His hands cradle the back of my head, and he turns me to look at him, eyes wide and serious and glossy with fear. "Alice, look at me— are you okay? It takes awhile for me to process his words, but once I do, I struggle to find my voice. All I can do is stare at that awful look on his face, nod, and try hard to make sense of my present reality.

"We have to go," he says.

I'm focused on a thousand possible explanations.

There's a wild animal.

An intruder.

Holy shit - James. What if it's James? What if he stuck around, and found a gun, and -

Jasper moves me off his lap, like I'm a doll, or a corpse, and is out of the water before I find my own feet below me.

I stand there in the water — barely even breathing — until Jasper shouts my name at me again. The bark of his voice startles me into action, and within a second I'm forcing myself onto land with a clawing sort of desperation.

My entire body is shaking. Fingers to toes.

Am I cold?

It's not cold. I'm not cold.

Jasper calls me. I look up just in time to catch my boots, which he throws to me one after the other.

I only catch one.

"C'mon. Get dressed. We gotta go."

I nod my head, and lurch forward to collect the fumbled boot. After that — jeans. Shirt. Socks.

Socks are hard.

I can't find them in the dark.

I get down close to the ground and start to scan, hands furiously patting the grass. I feel ridiculous — and nauseous — crawling around on my hands and knees, but at least down here I don't shake so hard.

My hand lands on something small and soft. Thank God! A sock! Only one, but still — relief pours down my face in sweat. Maybe it's just water. I curl it into my hand and keep searching, squinting against the darkness to find another tiny sock against the messy, uneven landscape.

Why did I do this?

Why did I drag us both into the water?

Why did I take Bella's advice so fucking literally? Jump in with both feet. Ha. I'm so fucking smart, aren't I?

"Alice!" Jasper yelps, spotting me folded up on the ground.

"I can't find my sock!" I whine in reply.

"Leave it — come on."

He's right. This is crazy. I force myself back into a standing position. It's okay. One sock is okay.

I find that Jasper has already slipped back into his jeans. He's already making quick work of his t-shirt — like it's easy, like nothing is wrong. I try hard to follow in his lead, but the adrenaline pounding through my veins has me dropping my stuff back on the ground, each time growing more frantic.

Jasper slips on his last boot. I'm still trying to find the bottom of my shirt.

He straightens out, fully dressed, and turns to walk in the direction we came without any hint of where he's going, or whether he's coming back.

I've been left to fumble in the dark.

Our sanctuary sits undisturbed in front of me — impossible, considering my heart is beating so uncomfortably hard in my chest. The water should be shaking, like me. Rattled. It's not. It is still. Peaceful. Welcoming.

If I went back in — If I just kept my head under the water, I'd be safe. Realistically, they'd never find me. I'd be lost — lost to time, and lost to the never-ending darkness that lies beneath the moonlit surface.

The thought hits me hard in the gut.

Two of a kind, my mother and I.

I breathe through the fear that rattles me. I breathe, and breathe, and breathe, until I'm settled enough to manage my damp and dirty clothes. Then I dress myself.

Shirt. Jeans. One sock. Boots.

Jasper returns with a frightening kind of urgency to his step, and a cellphone glowing in his hands. He brings it to his ear and stops in place, every part of him stilled to wait for an answer. When nothing happens, Jasper calls again. A third call unanswered leaves him frantic.

"Jesus fucking fuck," he says, each word punctuated with deep-rooted frustration. The loudness of it makes me jump, makes me fumble my shirt yet again. "Answer your Goddamn phone!" He shouts, before bringing the thing back to his ear. Seconds pass and no one answers, he pulls the phone back, and I'm surprised to see that Jasper refrains from crushing it in his hand.

I have no idea what's going on, but at least now I'm ready to go wherever he needs. I breathe out a loud, long-held breath and wait for Jasper to tell me what's next. But he doesn't. His face stays buried in his phone, fingers frantically typing out a message.

So I head for him instead — quick, like a moth drawn to a flame — and I ask, "what's going on?"

Jasper's attention is miles away, but the moment I flick onto his radar, all of him focuses back on me. Without speaking a word, Jasper tucks his phone into the pocket of his jeans and stalks in my direction, arms outstretched. "Hey," he says, hands landing on either side of my face. "It's okay." They don't so much as hover there before moving down to my shoulders, then my elbows, then my sides, like he's checking to make sure I'm all in one piece. I step into Jasper's strange, flustered embrace, and my simple acknowledgement brings his hands right back up to my cheeks, where he started. This time, his touch is practiced — gentle, like he's got all the time in the world. "Everything's okay."

I'm not sure who he's trying to convince — I don't believe a word of it. The panic held in his voice only seconds ago is still palpable in the air. Nothing is okay.

I shake my head, and Jasper's grip tightens, just slightly. He tilts my face up, so I'm forced to stare into his wide-open eyes. "You gotta trust me right now, Alice, can you do that?" His voice aims to soothe, but still, the urgency of it all keeps me on edge. "There's nothing to worry about."

My hands fly up to cover his. I nod my head in response, too overwhelmed to come up with much else, but my feeble attempt seems enough.

Jasper leans down towards me, until he's close enough to press his lips to the spot of worry between my eyebrows. "Okay," he whispers, barely audible. "Good." Jasper twists one hand around to hold on to mine, and starts pulling me away from our safe place. "Come with me."

Ginger is waiting patiently for us, just passed a low hanging arch of leaves. The branch she was once attached to has snapped. More importantly, Alonso is gone.

"Jasper — " I say, finding my voice again. When he doesn't stop walking, I give his hand a good, hard tug. Questions start pouring out of me all at once. "What's going on?" I ask, tugging again. "Where's Alonso?" Fear squeezes my throat, leaving my words pathetic and small. "What happened?"

Jasper doesn't stop walking. He parades me towards Ginger, only eyeing me in acknowledgement for one brief second. "I don't know yet," he answers hurriedly, too focused on a million moving parts. Then: "he probably just spooked. I gotta take you over to Charlotte's. She'll know where Peter is, and then I can go —"

His plan clicks into place.

I yank my hand free. "Wait, wait — what?"

"What?" Jasper asks.

"Are you kidding?" I ask, firmly planting myself into the soft dirt.

His patient expression falls into confusion. "No," he flatly says, reaching to take my hand again.

"No!" I answer, tugging my hand back out of his grip. My meek show of protest plants a crease between his brows. "Jasper, no! That's ridiculous."

"Well I'm not going to leave you in the fucking woods," he snaps, getting loud.

"No!" I say again, matching his volume. "No — I mean — no, you shouldn't go out there alone. That was a gunshot! Neither of us should be out in the fucking woods. We should both go somewhere safe and call the police."

The noise Jasper makes is halfway between a grunt and a laugh, and filled with desperation. "Look," He says, his panicked words dripping in condescension. "That's not how shit works here."

I frown at him. Hard.

Jasper sighs in response, and softens, just slightly. "I mean - I just mean that it's probably nothin' — like a critter or some shit, okay? People shoot guns out here for any fuckin' thing. No reason to involve the cops."

"Then let me go with you," I demand.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's still a gun, Alice," he desperately explains. "Because Peter's not answerin' his phone, so I got no idea what we're dealin' with here. I can't bring you into that. That'd be stupid, Alice. It wouldn't be safe. You can't come with me."

He means it. He's going to leave me somewhere out here, without him.

And like I'm six, or seven, or nine, or fourteen all over again, long bedded insecurities surface with a vengeance. Angry tears prick at my eyes. My muscles go tense. Panic rises hot and ugly like vomit in my throat. It spills out of my mouth before I can stop it, before I can dilute my desperation. "You're not leaving me," I whimper.

Jasper's posture shifts straight. His brows furrow deeper. I see him break in real time.

"Please don't," I insist, hands reaching up to grab hold of Jasper's damp shirt. "Just don't—"

"I'm not leaving you alone," he starts.

My panic grows bigger when I realize what he's trying to say. I shake my head furiously. "No. It's not - you can't - just -" I can't find my words.

He sighs, hands coming to curl around my upper arms. " - It's okay." I still don't believe him. This time less than before. "Peter and Charlotte's house is safe, alright? And closer than mine." When I don't calm, Jasper tries harder. "Besides — she's the toughest one out here. Nothin' creepin' out in the dark is gonna dare go up against her."

He doesn't get it.

He's not hearing me.

"I don't care what she is, please. Just — let me stay with you. I want to stay with you. Please."

"Jesus, Alice, I don't have the time for this. I have to go. We have to go."

I shake my head again, and send one quick look in Ginger's direction, before saying, "Only if I can stay with you." I don't feel safe anywhere else. I won't be okay anywhere else.

"Alice," he says my name again, sternly this time, and he drops his hands as if I'd burned him.

I cringe at the trill of anger in his voice, until I realize that it isn't anger. It's fear. He's afraid. For me, for him, for us, I don't know.

"I know," I say miserably.

I feel pathetic. I am pathetic. Why can't I do what I'm supposed to? Why can't I go where I need to go? Jasper's not leaving me. He's not going anywhere — he's not even leaving his own property, far as I know. No matter how thoroughly I work to remind myself of the truth, my panicked brain refuses to listen. I go where he goes. I go where he goes. I go where he goes.

I look up at Jasper, hoping he might've changed his mind in a split second, and only then do I realize how wet my eyes are. I can barely see him.

Jasper sighs out, and raises one hand up to my cheek. He watches me, unblinking, for an uncomfortably long time, and his face fills more completely with sympathy. Jasper's thumb brushes back and forth across my cheek. He puts on a smile — born straight out of uncertainty — and finally breaks eye contact, only to look out into the dark, suspiciously still night. When Jasper looks back at me, there's nothing but concern left. Fear is gone.

He nods his head at me. "Okay," he says softly. "Okay."

I want to melt into his protective grip, but before my forehead can collide with his chest, Jasper stops me. He moves me back until he can stare straight into my face, and says, "I swear on my life, Alice, you gotta listen to me. Okay? Whatever I say from this point on, you do. If we get out there, and I tell you to turn around, you turn around."

I nod my head fervently, wiping away any traces of panic still staining my cheeks.

Jasper nods along with me. "Alright."

One solid second later, his hands are on my waist, and I'm being hoisted up towards Ginger's saddle. I yelp in surprise, despite seeing him coming, and fumble my way up onto the horse. Once I'm up in the saddle and relatively balanced, Jasper leaves my side.

He disappears behind my back, but I can hear him digging through the bag hanging off the saddle. I twist to see what he's doing.

Jasper pulls out something small.

I squint my eyes to see it better.

My breath catches in time with Jasper clicking something into place.

"Whatareyoudoingwiththat?" I ask, the words coming out in a jumbled, nervous tangle.

A gunshot is a lot more theoretical than an actual, real life gun.

"Nothin' yet," he says, before tucking the weapon into his belt.

Ginger springs to life underneath us.

We ride through darkness for what feels like too long. Around us is nothing but ground, and night, and stillness. Even the cicadas have silenced. There is no chaos to be found, no Hell to jump into. We ride and search, and Jasper barely breathes the whole time. Neither do I.

Eventually, I start to recognize our surroundings. We're nearing the same grassy area we crossed hours ago, on our horseback tour of the ranch. We're not too far from the cattle — I know that there's a little road, over off to the right, that'll lead right into the pastures. Jasper doesn't go in that direction. He keeps to the left, up over an incline.

Suddenly, we're racing forward. We tumble too fast down the hill, and I knock into the saddle, and his arms, and his chest, and myself in a desperate attempt to keep from catapulting straight into the ground.

But then I see what he sees — lights. Headlights, beaming strong off a parked truck. We have a destination.

With something to focus on, I find my balance, and settle back into the hard contours of Jasper's chest. It feels so safe right here, tight up against him, but I know that he's riding me straight into danger.

I insisted that he did.

We get close enough that Jasper is forced to slow down, and that's when the scene before us really explodes into life.

There are people there. Two of them. I see that the people are moving. Talking. The truck's engine is rattling. There's a dog barrelling towards us. Another horse is standing still as a statue in the distance. The people are holding something. Guns. Big, long ones. Rifles, or shotguns. I don't know the difference.

That's enough to send me right back into panic.

Jasper slows us to a stop behind the unmanned truck, using it like some kind of shield, I think, to keep me from seeing what's going on right past it. I can't even see the men from here, through both sets of windows.

The dog reaches us before Jasper can ease out of the saddle. Its bark is desperately loud, its tail tucked between its hind legs. It starts running circles around Ginger, and then does the same with Jasper, once he's back on the ground.

Jasper makes a weird kind of noise at the animal, and its bark curls into a heartbreaking whimper. It lies down at his feet — ears back, tail down — and Jasper crouches down to his level, to comfort him. "Hey boy," I hear, " 's okay." Jasper goes to pat the top of his head, but his movements go from soft to stiff instantly. He takes the dog's face in his hands. Drops them fast. "Ah — Jesus fucking Christ."

He must see something I can't, because that's when Jasper gets angry. His head turns too fast, eyes scanning wildly around the field. His hands reach back to check for the gun he's got tucked in his belt.

I lean forward to try and see, holding on to the horn of the saddle for dear life. "What? What is it?"

Jasper stands. "Stay there," he instructs me, voice low. When I open my mouth to complain, he quickly shuts me up. "Remember what I said. If I say go —"

I nod my head, stomach dropping right out of my ass. "I go."

Jasper nods in agreement, and makes sure Ginger's reins are tight in my hands before turning to stalk towards the others. The dog — still struggling to hold in nervous yelps — leads his way.

I scan the area frantically for signs of danger, but it's hard to see much sequestered behind the truck.

If I could just peek around the front of the cab, maybe I'd be able to see what's going on.

Besides, I convince myself, it'd be safer there. I know what Jasper said, but I'm far more skilled in a car than I am on a horse. Licensed or not, I could drive away quick. And the keys are right there, in the ignition.

I hit the ground ungracefully, with the distance from stirrup to ground far taller than I expected. Ginger doesn't so much as chuff in response to my dismount — she doesn't even budge when I start sneaking towards the truck.

Each step draws my heart higher in my chest. Beat after beat, it squeezes up - into my throat, then into my mouth — threatening to spill out onto the ground any second. I get to the side mirror and cling to it for dear life, trying to settle before I choke, or vomit, or both.

I'm nervous to look forward. Downright fucking terrified to leave my perfectly safe, perfectly ignorant spot.

I keep telling myself that everything's fine — that Jasper wouldn't bring me somewhere he truly thought was unsafe — but even my best logic is fallible. Deep down, I know this isn't fine. None of it is. I can feel dread in the air, heavier and more palpable than the fucking humidity, and it fills me with every breath I take, telling me that safe or not, something here is very wrong.

That scared little voice in my head is louder than ever.

Get in the truck, it says. What the fuck are you doing? Get in the truck. Lock the doors. Stay away. Dear fucking God — listen for once. Get in the truck!

Someone laughs out there.

My heart falls back into my chest. I silence the voice long enough to let my curiosity win.

I uncurl from the truck's mirror and take those few final steps forward.

Jasper isn't too far away. Maybe twenty feet. I make him out first - tall, and still, and topped with the same hat he always wears, day or night. The other two men look familiar from behind. After a good hard second of observation, I'm certain one's Peter. This must be his truck, too. The other works here. A blond kid, maybe my age, with blue eyes and childlike features. I recognize him from our group dinner the first night. I think the guys called him something weird. Newt, maybe? He seems the most frantic of them all. He's talking, hands waving about, with his gun slung over his back.

I look just in time to spot Jasper tucking his gun in the back of his belt. He reaches out for the blond and pats his shoulder. Jasper plays nice. He keeps calm. The kid settles down. So do I.

Seconds keep ticking by, and all the men do is stand there and talk, occasionally pointing towards something in the deep darkness. Everyone is calm. Everything is okay, I think.

Whatever happened, we're passed the point of action.

The kid nods his head at Jasper, turns, and goes off to mount the other horse standing nearby.

Peter lights a cigarette. His whole self relaxes, hat to boot, gone from stiff rod back to his limber self. He laughs - again - the same boisterous sound that initially drew me forward.

That's confirmation enough for me. Everything is safe.

I stay put long enough to watch the kid ride off in the direction we came, but watching from a distance is no longer satisfying my curiosity. I need to get closer.

Neither man notices as I approach the action. They stand grumbling at each other, hands motioning towards the ground, then the horizon, then the ground again. I try to be quiet, to catch an honest glimpse into their conversation before I'm noticed.

"I swear, Whit, I was up by the park yesterday and the fence was fine," Peter sighs out.

"Then it must've been the storm last night," Jasper grumbles.

"Fuck, man, it wasn't that bad."

"Well, it must've been." After a pregnant pause, he adds: "I just hope the kid can find Alonso before Seth realizes he's run off."

Peter huffs a sad laugh and nods his head. "Fuck," he says again, nudging something with his boot.

The undeniable, unforgivable, stomach-churning scent of blood and manure and decay — hits me like a fucking brick.

My eyes drift down to the ground.

My stomach sinks.

"Oh, God."

Only after I speak do I think to muffle the sound with a hand over my mouth.

Within a second, Jasper shifts into my line of view. He stomps towards me with a worried scowl on his face. "You're a real shit listener, you know?" Jasper says, hands landing on my shoulders. "You shouldn't be over here."

I try to look past him, morbid curiosity getting the best of me. "What happened?" I ask, craning my head to try and see that mangled pile of something on the ground.

"You got no reason to see this, darlin', come on," Jasper replies, rather urgently. He tries to turn me around, but I slip out from under his heavy hands. He's bigger than me, but I'm faster — more nimble on my feet. I'm halfway to Peter before Jasper registers I'm gone.

"What happened?" I ask, this time my question is directed at Peter.

Peter forces a smile at me, and then his eyes drift to the spot above my head. Jasper must be there, hovering behind me. "Told you she wouldn't stay still," Peter says.

Jasper begins to grumble a reply from his spot playing shadow, but I don't hear it —

I've seen dead animals before.

Roadkill, mostly. Little things.

This is different.

This is a brutal, and ravenous. A perfectly natural kind of death. The kill or be killed kind — the eat or be eaten.

There, decorating the ground, as real as the hands covering my mouth, are the little, unmoving bodies of two lambs. I don't want to look closer, but I do. I need to look — I can't look away — and so their lifeless, mangled, red-stained little bodies burn permanent scars in my memory.

The sight brings unwitting tears to my eyes.

Jasper's hands curl around my shoulders. He squeezes me tight.

"How —?" My voice breaks over the word.

Peter sighs. He sinks into himself, until he seems almost my height. I turn to find him staring at the disturbing scene, wearing a scowl where his smile should be. "We must have a down in the fence somewhere," he tells me. "Newton found a whole pack of coyotes makin' a buffet of our sheep and uh, he did what he had to do. I'm guessin' they came down from the park."

That's when I notice there's something else out there, too. Another body, nestled deep in the grass. The predator, I assume. It's bigger than the lambs, but not by much, and covered in salt-and-pepper fur. Unlike the lambs, the coyote's body is completely in tact. From this distance, it could easily be mistaken for sleeping. But it's not breathing. It's not moving. It's just dead. Curled, I expect, into the spot where a bullet met its defenceless little body.

"We're awful lucky it was only sheep," Peter tells me.

Jasper scoffs at that. "Yeah, but shit's still shit."

Peter hums his approval.

I still can't look away.

The longer I stand there, taking in the brutality of it all, the stench of decay digs deeper into me. It fills me with sadness. It reminds me that drawn blood is drawn blood. Across species, despite necessity, or reason - it's all the same. It's loss. It's death, threatening as ever.

Jasper was right.

I don't want to be here. I don't want to see this.

I want nothing to do with this. I've seen enough death for one lifetime. I know enough pain.

But I'm here. Bombarded by their awful conversation.

"He scared 'em off pretty good, but far as I know they could be 'round the corner. Looked like a pair and their pups. Mox got a good chunk outta one, though — just before it ran off." Peter reaches down and pats the dog. I glance in their direction, hoping for a quick reprieve, but find the dog sitting with its muzzle dripping blood. Nausea rips through me.

And again, like a dripping tap, I think: I don't want to be here.

Ever since I got to this place, I've been pushing, and pushing, and pushing, to do and to be so much more than I'm capable of. I push myself just to prove - to prove nothing, really, other than my own stubbornness.

And for what? A suitcase full of muddy clothes? Pruney hands? For this? To prove I have no idea what I'm doing, once and for all?

"So there's probably another body out there somewhere," Jasper finishes. "Or there will be by mornin'."

"Yeah - 'n Newt said somethin' 'bout a pups, so I'm thinkin' we got another two at least to keep an eye on. Gonna need to put traps along the perimeter, then I'd guess throughout the wooded areas. Get 'em everywhere, really. Least then we can skin the fuckers for what they're worth."

I'm going to be sick.

I need to leave.

I need to go. Now.

I make a hard turn, clipping Jasper's side as I try to run away from the mental image Peter's planted in my head. He says something to me, I think. Maybe to Peter. I don't listen. I keep walking back towards the truck, desperate for fresh air, for ground that isn't drowning in blood.

Only when I'm safe by the truck do I click back into the conversation roaring on behind me.

"I'm sorry, man - I -"

"Take care of it."

"Yeah, of course, I -"

"Fucking take care of it!"

Everything goes quiet. The world spins around me, black sky melting into black ground, until Jasper's big, warm hands land on my shoulders. Then it slows. His thumbs press hard into my shoulder blades. His voice presses hard into the rest of me. "Hey - you okay?"

I nod my head, and force a breath. "Yeah," I say, hands leaving the truck's frame to brush the wet out from under my eyes. "Yeah. Just - that was - "

"Let's go home," he says, and it's exactly what I need to hear. So exact that I struggle to keep from crumpling, right then and there.

A/N: Welcome to the real world, sweet Alice. We take dog eat dog real serious around here.

17 coming at you soon!