Chapter 19

I roll out of the way in the last minute, as the boar charges past.

“Esther!” Cynthia calls. She’s steadied her horse somewhat, several yards down the trail. Sparkle Heart, already upset from earlier, continues to run.

“Go! Keep riding!” I shout to her. “Get help!”

“I can’t just leave you!” Her horse is unhappy with the stillness. It beats at the ground with its hooves. Soon, Cynthia’s hesitation won’t matter. That horse is going to bolt. “Get help, Cynthia! Go!”

“Fuck! Shit!” Cynthia shouts. She grabs at her reins, but it’s the horse leading her now. It hobbles about for only a moment more, before turning and running up the trail away from me. “Esther!”

In a way, I’m relieved. Cynthia and the horses are safe. On the other hand…

Boars are invasive species. There shouldn’t be one in this forest at all. Perhaps that was why it had been overlooked – none of the staff thought to actually look for it.

This boar in front of me is like some kind of boar king, bigger than I even knew they could grow. Are they territorial? They seem territorial, as this one turns to leer dangerously at me.

He lines himself up. Is he coming for another charge?

I don’t wait to find out. Instead, I take off in a wild sprint towards the forest. I duck and weave through the trees, careful to always have one between me and the frothing beast.

Straying off of the trail is dangerous. All riders were given explicit instructions not to veer off-course no matter what. Any movement in the forest could lead the others into thinking that I’m the predator, coming after them for prey.

But the boar is faster than me. In a straight, open space, it would overtake me in a minute. Only by zigzagging through the forest do I stand any chance of survival at all.

My ankle pounds, still not fully healed. Every step sends a shock of pain running up through my legs.

The beast pants as it gives chase. If I were to collapse now, I’d surely be trampled and most likely gored. This boar could kill me. Even if I survive, I might never be the same.

I don’t even have a will.

Thoughts of my daughters drive me forward through the pain. If I die here, I will miss so many milestones: birthdays, graduations, weddings, maybe grandchildren.

I can’t give those things up, so I keep running.

One thing I know, boars can’t climb, so as I dash through the forest, I keep an eye open for a tree with low branches, easy for me to jump onto. I won’t have much time to scurry up with the boar gaining precious inches behind me.

There! Before I can panic, I see a tree that should suit my needs. A few of its roots are curled upwards. I should be able to jump from a root up onto the lowest branch.

I just need to get closer.

To gain more lead, I purposefully veer off course, only to wrap myself entirely around another tree and hide behind it. When the boar rushes past my hiding place, I take off in a mad dash directly toward those upturned roots.

The boar stops quickly, likely realizing its error. Then, it turns, sees my movement, and barrels after me instead.

It’s too late.

By the time it rampages toward me, I jump onto the uplifted root and land on the low branch. Quickly I climb up to the next highest, then hold onto the tree trunk as hard as I can.

The boar makes a horrible angry squeal as it circles my tree sanctuary.

My ankle throbs and my breath quickens. I’m fueled entirely by adrenaline. Every inch of me is shaking.

I wait with baited breath, praying for the boar to give up and go on its way. But it’s frothing at the mouth and stamping up and down like it’s frustrated but not discouraged.

“Oh, God, I don’t want to die.”

I’ve wasted the past ten years of my life with a man who doesn’t – maybe never – loved me. I don’t want to waste another second. If I survive, I want to pursue a life of happiness and love.

Unbidden, my thoughts slip to Miles. Of his mischievous smile. Of the strength in his hands and body as he pulled me to him and carried me with such ease.

It’s a misguided love affair. It would never work, for so many reasons. But here, at the potential end of everything, I wish I had more time with him.

Up in this tree, I should be safe now, but then I hear creaking. Looking around, I quickly realize that the tree I had deemed my best chance at safety might have actually been the worst thing I could have picked.

No leaves grace the branches of this tree, and the bark is slipping off in large batches. Glancing at the trunk, I see that most of it is hollowed out.

In my panic, I didn’t notice.

This tree is dead.

The branch beneath me creaks again, louder, and starts to crack and shift under my weight. I claw at the trunk for dear life, but the bark gives way under my fingers.

With one last crack as loud as a lightning bolt, the branch finally breaks free. It – and me – crash down onto the ground.

A large bush breaks most of my fall. I roll out of it and to the ground with an umph. There, on my back, I look up and into the reddened eyes of the furious boar.

Chuffing, it digs at the ground with its front hoof, readying to charge.

Even if I scramble to stand and make a dash for it, I wouldn’t be able to get enough distance from it before those tusks carve into my legs.

But I don’t want to just give up. I claw around in the dirt and throw whatever I can get my hands on at the beast. Dirt, grass, leaves, and bits of bark. If any of it makes it to the boar at all, it just harmlessly bounces off.

I have no more line of defense. God, this is going to hurt so much. Squeezing my eyes shut, I brace myself for the onslaught of pain.

Then, suddenly, a shot rings out. A bullet whizzes by me and collides into meaty flesh.

The boar elicits a terrible, high-pitched scream and then thuds down onto the ground.

I open my eyes. The beast was strung between the eyes. It’s dead.

Almost in disbelief, I pat myself down for injury. Other than a few scrapes from my fall and my sore ankle, I’m fine.

This doesn’t feel real. Am I dreaming? Have I died? But if I’m dead, why do I still feel pain?

“Esther!”

I turn my head toward the sound of my name.

Miles storms through the brush, his gun in his hand. His hair windswept but his clothes otherwise perfect, he looks like a god descended from on high to deliver a message – or a rescue.

My guardian angel.

Miles rushes to me and drops to his knees at my side. With wild, worried eyes, he searches my body for obvious injury.

I can’t stop staring at him: the perfect line of his jaw, the plump curve of his bottom lip, the swirling ocean of his eyes.

Maybe the adrenaline is dropping. Or maybe I’m in shock.

But warmth and safety suddenly wrap around me like a warm blanket.

Miles is here. He’ll protect me.

“It’s okay,” he says, finally looking up into my face. “You’re okay now.”

I believe him.