Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Sure enough, it’s Fenn.
Fenn: Can’t sleep. Miss you too much.
My throat goes tight, tears prickling behind my eyelids. Why can’t he leave me alone? And why can’t I block him? I’ve tried. I’ve clicked BLOCK a dozen times already. Yet I never last more than a few minutes before I hurriedly undo the action.
I’m not ready to let him go, but I also don’t want anything to do with him. My tired heart can’t keep up anymore.
With trembling fingers, I type a response.
Me: You need to leave me alone.
Fenn: My dad and RJ’s mom showed up yesterday to take us to lunch. I got wasted and caused a scene.
Me: I don’t care.
I put the phone on silent and shove it back in my pocket. I whistle toward the trees, but neither Bo nor Penny come racing back to me. Damn it. They’d better not be chasing some poor squirrel that had the misfortune of being awake this late.
I whistle again. When the dogs still don’t return, I curse under my breath and walk toward the woods, jumping when a motion-activated floodlight suddenly flashes on, nearly blinding me. I’m still seeing black dots as I move through the trees, my shoes crunching over dried leaves.
“Guys,” I call in warning. “Come.”
They don’t come.
“Swear to God,” I growl into the dark woods, “if you killed another squirrel, and I have to spend the next hour washing your bloody faces, you’re going to lose your lake privileges for a whole week—”
I stop in my tracks and gasp when I see the cause for their disappearance.
“Bo! Penny!” I say sharply, feeling my face pale as I lunge toward the dogs, who are sniffing at the dead rabbit lying on the path.
For some reason, they’d decided not to eat the thing, and I suspect that’s due to the rustling sound we hear in the bushes, the fast departure of a third creature in the forest. The culprit of the bunny murder, most likely.
“Here,” I command the dogs.
They’re obedient enough that they snap to my side. Still, their ears are perked up, hackles raised as they warily inspect our surroundings.
“Stay,” I warn, then hurry toward the remains of the rabbit.
My stomach sinks once I have a better view because I discover there’s more than one victim. A few feet from the adult rabbit are the bodies of two babies. They must have been only recently born—they’re completely furless, eyes and ears sealed shut. My gaze moves and I notice two more dead babies, or kittens as they’re called. I never understood why rabbit offspring would be called kittens. Dad tried explaining it to me once, but it wasn’t a great explanation so much as a “that’s just what they’re called.”
Bo and Penny must’ve interrupted whatever carnage had gone down here. A fox, I suspect. The foxes in this area sustain themselves mostly on wild rabbits. It was a real boon for this one to come across an entire nest, likely right when the doe was returning to feed her newborns.
My eyes feel hot. Man. She led the predators right to her doorstep. At least my dogs scared Mr. Fox off before he could feast.
In my peripheral, I see Bo creeping closer, and I turn with a severe, “Stay.”
He stops in his tracks but doesn’t look happy that I’m apparently the one to benefit from his impromptu midnight snack.
If it weren’t so late, I would probably run back to the house, grab some rubber gloves and a box, and come back to collect these poor sweet dead bunnies. Give them a proper burial. My father and sister wouldn’t even blink—they’ve participated in many an animal funeral over the years. Usually, though, it’s because I brought home an injured bird or bunny or even squirrel that needed tending, and they ended up dying. The only successful animal rescue I’ve conducted in my life was the bluebird I nursed back to health. I named her Pudding.
But there’s no hope for these bunnies. They’re all—
Squeak.
I freeze. From behind me, Penny rumbles out a low growl from deep in her throat.
“Shh,” I tell her, then look around, straining to hear the sound again. That was definitely a bunny.
A balloon of hope expands in my heart. Did any of the babies survive?
Oh God. Please let them have survived.
While my dogs miserably watch from the spot to which I’ve banished them, I scour the immediate area, reaching into bushes and peering at tree roots to try to locate the hutch. I finally find it in the ground cover at the base of a tree.
Pulse racing, I peek inside and gasp when I see movement. Survivors!
No. Only one, I realize a moment later. Of the four hairless little bodies I find in the nest, only one is alive.
It screams again, that horrible squeaky shriek that makes my heart hurt.