Then it happened. The sole of his shoe caught on a twig hidden beneath dead leaves. It snapped with a sharp crack that seemed to echo to the treetops. The conversation ahead halted abruptly. Flashlights swung around, bright beams lancing through the undergrowth. Wade froze, heart plummeting. A single thought blazed in his mind: It’s over.
One of the hunters strode toward him, flashlight dancing over brush until it pinned Wade in its glare. “Well, now,” the man drawled, that cruel grin spreading across his face. Wade’s chest constricted, his grip tightening around the useless branch in his hand. Another figure appeared, weapon at the ready, voice dripping with contempt. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he spat.