Taron.
Standing maybe fifteen feet inside the zone, frozen like a deer caught in headlights. He’s wearing a bright red rain jacket that looks brand-new, jeans tucked into hiking boots that haven’t seen enough mud yet to break in, and a backpack slung over one shoulder. His hair is a little messy, cheeks pink from the cold… or maybe from the look I’m giving him.
He’s holding a notebook.Open. Pen in hand.
For a second I can’t speak. Just stare.
Then the anger catches up.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” I growl. “I take it you saw the sign?”
The boy flinches. The notebook snaps shut against his chest like a shield.
“I—I heard the chainsaw,” he says, words tumbling fast. “I was walking the trail and I thought… I don’t know, I thought maybe it was someone cutting firewood or something. I didn’t see the signs until I was already…”
“You didn’t see the bright orange tape? The signs that sayDANGERin six-inch letters?”
Taron looks down, then back up. His eyes are wide, guilty, but there’s something else there too—curiosity, maybe. Or defiance.
“I saw them,” he admits. “But I figured… if it was really dangerous, there’d be more. Like big signs or a guy with a clipboard or something. I just wanted to see what was happening. For research.”
“Research?” I grumble, rolling my eyes. “Seriously?”
He nods, quick little jerks. “I’m a writer. I write… stories. And this—” he gestures vaguely at the half-limbed hemlock, at me, at the whole damn scene—“this is perfect. A real lumberjack in the woods, felling a giant tree. It’s like something out of a book. I thought maybe I could watch for a minute. Take notes. I wasn’t going to get close or anything.”
I drag a hand down my face, feeling the grit of sawdust on my stubble.
“You’re inside the drop zone,” I say slowly, like I’m explaining to a child. “That tree’s coming down today. When it does, it’s gonna hit the ground hard enough to bounce. Branches snapoff like shrapnel. If you’re standing where you’re standing when that happens, you’re not walking away.”
His face drains of color. He glances at the tree—really looks at it this time—then back at me.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.Oh.”
Racer pads up beside me, still growling low. I put my hand on his head. He quiets, but my trusty canine friend doesn’t take his eyes off him.
Taron swallows. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I mean, I’m really sorry. I’ll go. Right now.”
He takes a step back.
I should let him. I should watch him scurry back to the trail, back to the B&B, back to whatever city he crawled out of. I should get back to work and forget this ever happened.
But he’s shaking. Not a lot—just a fine tremor in his hands where he’s clutching that notebook. And his eyes keep darting to the tree, then to me, then to Racer, like he’s trying to figure out which one’s going to bite first.
I sigh. Long. Heavy.
“You know how to walk in the woods without stepping on every damn twig?”
He blinks. “I… think so?”
“Doubt it.” I jerk my head toward the hemlock. “Come here. Slowly. Stay behind me. Don’t touch anything. Don’t talk unless I ask you something.”
His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
“You’re… letting me stay?”
“I’m not letting you wander off and get lost or trample my drop zone again. So yeah. You stay where I can see you. You watch. You don’t move unless I say. And when I say we’re done, you leave. Got it?”