Rolling onto her stomach, Sarah jerked her head up and looked around wildly in time to see the trees that bisected this end of the meadow envelop … whatever had barreled into her. Something tore through her right shirtsleeve and cut her elbow. Dry soil and twigs abraded her hands as she threw them out to the sides. Feet flying up, she hit the ground hard on her back two or three yards away. Too panicked to even scream, she dropped the wooden handle and raised her arms to protect her face, head, and neck.Ī heavy weight crashed into her left side. Oh crap! Weren’t there bears in North Carolina?īranches and leaves exploded outward as a massive dark form, moving so fast she couldn’t see it clearly, charged toward her. Starting violently, Sarah gripped the wooden handle of the shovel and stared at the heavy undergrowth in front of her with wide, unblinking eyes. Loud snarling, growling sounds abruptly split the air, accompanied by cracks and thumps and the snap of branches. She was going to sleep tonight if it killed her. Screw you, insomnia! The spring semester was over.
A few hours of this and she would definitely collapse into an exhausted slumber. The unseasonable heat she had hoped to avoid by starting early added a glimmer of moisture to her skin as she grappled with the drought-hardened ground. Struggling to shake off her unease, she impaled the soil with a shovel, turned it over, then repeated the process that would ultimately culminate in a vegetable garden. In the nine months North Carolina had been her home, she had heard some creepy animal calls, but that one had sounded downright human.Ĭouldn’t have been.She lived way out in the boonies with no nearby neighbors.
The sky had gone from black to charcoal gray, a harbinger of sunrise that did little to alleviate the gloom. The hair on the back of her neck rising, Sarah Bingham surveyed the meadow around her. A strident screech pierced the predawn quiet.
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