With no warning, thunder crashed over my head. I must have jumped three feet into the air. Rain followed on the heels of the thunder, pelting me with hard, cold drops. I glanced back for the comforting sight of my SUV. All I could see were trees and more trees. Without meaning to, I had come far enough to lose sight of my Escape. I would have to depend on the flashlight to guide me back to the dim trail and shelter. Beaming the light onto the ground, I realized that every rain-darkened leaf looked pretty much like the next one. The nerve jangling truth was I was lost.
Lightning sliced through the darkness followed by another peal of thunder. I yelped and scooted under an oak that still had a lot of brown leaves. Maybe it was foolish to be under a tree with all the electricity sizzling through the air, but since the trees were as thick as the fur on my tomcat’s tail, I would be as safe under this one as not.
Who but a foolish and nosy crime reporter would be out in the woods on a day like this? People with any sense were safe at home. Undoubtedly, the only ears that would hear my shouts were of those of forest dwellers. No matter. I yelled at the top of my lungs.
Something rustled in the bushes. I gripped my flashlight, ready to wield it as a weapon. It might not be much force against a panther, but I would die fighting.
Grave Shift, by Blanche Day Manos.
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