They descended the hillside on a random path. They had a general sense of where they were headed, but the odds of repeating the exact course they had ad-libbed that night were a million-to-one. The only direction of which they were certain was down.

They thrashed through brambles, climbed over moss-covered fallen trees, and hiked along narrow muddy paths. In pain, Jack hobbled badly, not fully recovered from the snakebite.

Three hours later they were exhausted, confused, and discouraged.

His frustration boiled over. "How far do you think we carried him? He was heavy. We couldn't have gone that far."

She shrugged, questioning whether the images she recalled from that night were actual memories and not distorted perceptions or hallucinations. She remembered the sensation of her heart thundering in her chest. Lugging Keenan's body over that rough terrain was backbreaking work. She remembered being scared, frightened that at any moment they might be discovered moving the body, terrified that somebody or something would burst from the shadows.

Jack's chest heaved. "We rolled him down a ridge or a ravine. Where the hell is it?" He wiped the perspiration from his brow with his thick forearm.

Then she noticed him through a narrow clearing of trees. It appeared to be someone standing perfectly still watching them, obscured by the low-hanging mist illuminated by the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the trees.

"Jack," she whispered.

He turned.

"Do you see him?"

He squinted at the suggestion of a person and gave a slight nod.

"Why isn't he moving?" She stepped closer to Jack.

Jack waved. After a brief pause, the figure raised its hand. They stood there, not knowing what to do. Who was this person? Had he been following them? The figure lowered his hand, took two casual steps, and disappeared behind a stand of trees.

"Do you think he heard you?" she asked turning her eyes toward Jack.

"Let's find out." He started across the clearing.

"Wait, Jack." She grabbed his sleeve. "What if he's not alone?" She looked over her shoulder. "What if there are others?"

"Come on." He proceeded through the clearing, Lyla clinging tightly to his arm.

"Let's go back to the car," she urged. "My dad will know I skipped school if I don't get back home soon."

Jack would not be deterred. He tromped through the underbrush determined to find the guy who had been watching them. They reached the far end of the clearing and found no evidence of the figure who they'd seen only moments earlier.

"Look at that." Lyla directed toward the clearing. "You can see our tracks." She turned her eyes to the ground where they stood. "Where are his footprints?"

And then it was as though someone had opened the door of a giant refrigerator. The air temperature dropped dramatically, a damp cold enveloping them, the kind that chills the blood into a thick syrup.

"Let's get out of here," she gulped.

Before he could respond, there came a hoarse whisper. It was a solitary word, but both heard it clearly.

"Lyla."

It sounded as though it came from someone standing directly behind them but there was no one there. Neither felt the need to ask "Did you hear that?" It was a taunt, a warning.

It was time to end the day's scavenger hunt.