“It’s not me they’re chasing.”
“Tell me what you see.” Aidan’s hands slid over her knees.
“Be still,” she whispered. “Don’t run.”
“Run where?”
No. Not you. Not us.
She fixed her eyes on the sheet of ice that was no longer ice but humid forest. She fixed her eyes on the girl, who was Andie but no longer Andie.
Silvery hair flew out behind her like a flag as she ran, ducking vines. It was stringy with sweat and dirt, but still had a glow, like a pale moon. She wore brown clothes, torn and streaked with dirt. Her feet were bare.
“She’s so fast,” she whispered. “She’s run for miles. She’s almost laughing. But there’s blood. So much blood on the leaves.”
Aidan squeezed her tighter. She saw it, dripping down from the shining green, a trail for the slathering tongues behind her. The dogs that weren’t dogs could smell it. They would taste it as they passed.
“Blood on the leaves,” Cassandra whispered. “And in her silver hair. They’re going to tear her apart.”
“No,” Aidan whispered back. “No.” He pressed against her and buried his face in her hair.
* * *
Cassandra spat on the asphalt of the arena parking lot, where she sat in the seat of Henry’s car, her legs out the open door so she could get air.
“My mouth tastes disgusting.” Like bitter leaves and something organic she couldn’t quite identify but that reminded her of snails.
Leaves. Leaves from a forest I’ve never been. Where a girl is running to her death.
“Here.” Andie rifled through her backpack and handed her a half-eaten Nestle Crunch. Cassandra peeled the foil and took a bite, tasting chocolate, crisp rice, and snails. It coated her mouth, like the scent of carrion and humid rot coated the inside of her nose. After a few chews she twisted and spat it out.
“Thanks anyway.”
Andie nodded. She leaned against the car, back in her street clothes except for the purple bandanna in her hair. Henry and Aidan stood farther off. They looked lost. Aidan looked worse than that. When he’d helped her out of the arena, Cassandra had felt him shaking.
She exhaled a cloud, spat again. The parking lot was shadowed and empty, lit only by three sets of large fluorescent lights. The game was still going inside, but there were a bunch of little kids skating on the outdoor rinks beside the arena. The sound of the ice shearing beneath skates and the kids’ exuberant shouts made their corner of the dark lot all the more somber.
“This is getting old,” said Cassandra.
“What is ‘this’ exactly?” Andie asked. “Tell me you’re not pregnant.”
Cassandra snorted, but Aidan didn’t seem to be listening.
“I’m not. I don’t know what ‘this’ is. I miss the days of coin tosses and weather prediction.”
“Is that gone?”
“No. You’re going to lose in there, by the way.”
“Maybe we should take you to the hospital,” Henry suggested.
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“But maybe we should.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and his shoulders slumped. She felt bad, pulling him away from his friends for the second night in less than a week. But he didn’t look irritated. He looked worried and no more enthusiastic about the hospital than she was.
“Are you dizzy?” Andie asked. She held her phone in her hand, trying to WebMD it before jumping to any conclusions.
“No,” said Aidan. “No doctors. No hospitals. No Internet searches.” He was still apart from them, staring into the pavement. Something was wrong.
“Well, what are we supposed to do then?” Henry asked. “It could be a tumor, you know.”
“It’s not.”
“How do you know? She’s been seeing all this weird shit—that’s what it was again, wasn’t it?” Henry looked at Cassandra. “It was like in the park.”
“Sort of. It wasn’t the same. It was a girl this time, running, in a jungle. She was cut, or hurt, or something. She was being chased.” Cassandra paused. “And she didn’t seem human.”
“What?” Andie asked.
Cassandra blinked. It hadn’t occurred to her until then. The way that the girl ran was so effortless and so blindingly fast. No one bleeding the way she was should be able to run like that.
She shrugged. “What are you listening to me for? It was a hallucination. Maybe I really should see a doctor.”