Alez Kava - One False Move

She no longer had any sense of direction, and she wasn't sure they'd ever find their way out of the field. It seemed endless. And hopeless. It was difficult to determine what was the wind and what was the helicopter. But the thunder-another rumble sent a vibration through her-continued to grow. So did the lightning. The flashes made the rolling black clouds come to life. In between flashes it had become so dark Melanie could barely see Charlie in front of her. They were in a tunnel; a tunnel with whips lashing out and no end in sight.

Suddenly a gust of wind whirled overhead and Melanie found herself falling. Her knees slammed into the dirt. Her flailing arms couldn't protect her jaw and cheek from scraping down the trunk of a cornstalk, the sharp leaves rubbing her skin raw. Jared fell on top of her, smashing her legs underneath his weight.

"Stay down," she heard him whisper and felt his elbow or knee in the small of her back as if he was making sure she did as he said.

Melanie ached. He didn't have to worry about her wanting to go anywhere. She wanted to crawl into a hole and get away from all of this. She hurt all over. Then she realized the whirl of wind above them was the helicopter. She tried to quiet her breathing. With Jared on top of her she had no choice but to stay still. She couldn't move beneath his weight. The side of her face pressed against the ground, the soil actually cooling the sting on her cheek.

She lay perfectly still, waiting, waiting for the spotlight, waiting for the cornstalks to be separated and flattened, waiting for the whipping sound of blades to descend on top of them. She listened to Jared's breathing. She could hear his heart banging against her back. She could smell his sweat mixed with the corn and the dirt. Or was it fear she smelled?

Maybe it would be quick. Maybe they would simply riddle their bodies full of bullets. It didn't matter because any second the banging in her chest would surely explode. It seemed as if the helicopter was directly above them. And yet as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone. No spotlight, only the flickers of lightning. No hail of bullets, only thunder.

They laid there for what must have been minutes, but to Melanie it felt like hours. Her face was smashed into the dirt. Her chest ached. She couldn't breathe. And yet she listened. But there was only the ever-approaching thunder. Even the wind had died down. No gusts, no whirls, only a gentle rustling of the stalks.

"They're gone," Jared whispered, shoving himself off her with such force he pushed her deeper into the dirt.

"The lightning," Charlie said. "I bet they can't fly in this weather." He crawled up beside Melanie. She realized he had grabbed his backpack out of the car and was hugging it to his chest, rocking back and forth on his knees. "Do you think they saw us?"

"They had to have seen the car." Jared was trying to look over the tops of the cornstalks. "It shouldn't be much farther."

"Much farther to where?" Melanie wanted to know. "How do you even know where the hell we are?"

"Trust me. And stay close." Her brother started through the rows again. Melanie and Charlie had to scramble to their feet to catch up with him.

The thunder and lightning took turns now almost in rhythm to Jared's steps. When they finally stumbled out of the field all Melanie could see in the flickering dark were trees and brush so thick she couldn't imagine them finding their way in the pitch-black. The field was separated from the forest line by a barbed-wire fence. She could barely see the five strands of wire, but as soon as she reached out she felt a barb prick her finger.

Once again she couldn't help remembering their mother's superstitions. It occurred to her that she wouldn't be surprised at all if hell were sectioned off by barbed wire.

That's when it started to rain.

7:10 p.m.

Andrew ripped another page from his notebook, crumpled and tossed it at a stack of its comrades in the corner. One had gotten caught in a spiderweb, dangling in the wind. The spider didn't seem to mind. It was still there; hardy creature out here in the woods. It would take more than badly written prose to make it evacuate its home.

Andrew sat back, pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Maybe it was pointless. Here was the perfect setting for a psychological suspense thriller with his very own thunder and lightning. What more did he need to get in the mood to create a masterpiece of murder? Maybe he just couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't even blame it on his injured collarbone. Yeah, it hurt like hell when he gripped a pen, but somehow the pain seemed less annoying than the absence of words.

He stared at the lantern's flame, its light dancing across his page. He had left only a small lamp on in the cabin, not realizing that the storm had brought nightfall much sooner than usual. Actually he had no idea what time it was. But then that was one of the reasons he came here to write. He had always loved the disconnect he felt from the rest of the world.

Below the screened-in porch he could see the lake's surface glittering in the flash of lightning. The storm had swallowed every last shadow, and everything outside the cabin's cozy confines was veiled in darkness. Across the lake a single light at the boat dock glowed yellow.

Andrew knew there had to be a dozen cabins tucked back into the woods around the park's lake. It was just impossible to see any of them at night without their lights on. Up until yesterday they had probably all been occupied, one last getaway. Wasn't that what Labor Day weekend usually signified for everyone? Everyone, it seemed, except Andrew. His getaway began the day after, and he had been counting on the isolation and seclusion. Yet he always forgot how complete and total the darkness could be out here. The storm only seemed to add another thick blanket of dark and quiet.

He loved the quiet when he was writing, but not when the words wouldn't come. Not when he felt as if he had to yank them out one by one. Times like this the quiet, the silence, was too much. It was annoying. It made him hear things that he would never have paid attention to before, like the refrigerator's motor and the gurgle of water in the toilet bowl.

Outside, tree branches creaked and scratched against each other. There had been whippoorwills earlier, calling to each other across the lake, crickets, too, but the steady rumble of thunder had quieted the night creatures. Even the spider stayed put. Andrew realized he couldn't hear the helicopter anymore, either. For a while, it had been a swirling hum in the distance, but now it, too, was gone. He was completely alone. Not such a bad thing. Not at all like Tommy seemed to think.

He had spent plenty of time alone in the past several years since Nora had left. His choice. He had decided to focus on his new career. He told himself he didn't miss feeling obligated and then guilty when he didn't follow through on those obligations. He liked not having to answer to anyone. He needed the freedom to take off and seclude himself for weeks without Nora accusing him of shutting her out. These were the things he told himself.

He had grown up in a house listening to his father and mother argue about anything and everything. He'd shared a bedroom with his older brother, who allowed him two drawers in the dresser they also shared. His younger sister tattled on him whenever she caught him reading in one of his hiding places. He grew up longing for his own space, a piece of privacy.Now he had all he wanted. Why would he ever consider giving that up? And, as much as he missed Nora, he had to admit…God, he hated to admit it but it was true-when she finally left it had been a relief. And he wasn't even sure why.

Who was he kidding? He knew why. He was afraid of commitment, plain and simple. He was afraid of depending on someone other than himself, of counting on someone and then being let down. He had come to believe that maybe he was meant to be alone. And then Erin Cartlan came along, and suddenly he realized what he was missing in his life-what he truly wanted all along-was standing right in front of him. Right in front of him but miles out of his grasp.