Read Online Gravediggers by Christopher Krovatin - Free Book Online

of my pocket, and it beeps alive. When the forest appears onscreen, I’m back on top, able to break free of all the fear that’s bubbling up in my head.
    â€œPJ, you should turn that off,” says Kendra. I pan to her disapproving scowl. “We might need it later to help document landmarks on our hike. Keep us from walking in circles. Don’t run down the battery.”
    There’s truth to that, sadly. I hit the Power button, and the screen goes dead. Suddenly, all the agony of being out here comes flooding back into my skull and chest.
    I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to have a panic attack. Not yet.
    We find a flat spot that’s more grass than leaves, and Kendra holds up a hand, telling us to stop. “Let’s try to make a fire here,” she says. “I have some Ramen noodles and a couple of granola bars in my backpack. We should eat.”
    â€œDoes anyone know how to make a fire?” I ask, my voice cracking.
    â€œI do,” say Ian and Kendra at the same time, and then stare at each other dumbly.
    â€œTrust me on this one,” says Ian. “I know how to build a fire.”
    â€œDo you?” she asks. “Who taught you?”
    â€œMy dad. Dads teach their sons these things.”
    â€œIs that what this is about?” says Kendra, almost vibrating with anger. “Girls can’t build fires?”
    Ian finally wins because he just starts gathering stones and twigs without waiting for another argument. Kendra looks flabbergasted without something to do, something to make right. It gets painful to watch her looking so confused and awkward, so I say, “Want me to go get water for the noodles?”
    â€œThat’d be great,” she says, folding her arms. “I’ll study the map some more.” It does the trick—she’s in charge again. Besides, what else am I going to do?
    The creek we stopped at before the wall extends up the mountain a few yards away, so I walk down to the edge with Kendra’s canteen. The water rushing along the smooth stones makes a nice burbling noise that helps calm my nerves a little. Right now, I’m just relieved to not be stuck between those two opposing forces for a minute.
    There’s a tiny pool near me where the creek levels out, and I crouch down and dunk the canteen into the icy water. It lets loose a line of bubbles that stops when it’s full, but I don’t pull it out quite yet. Little fish swim around my fingers, sniffing at the canteen. One or two of them nudge my hand with slippery noses, and without thinking, I take out my camera and film them silently. The day’s worry starts to disappear from my mind. I wonder about the fish. It must be strange, having a newcomer shove some big metal container into your home. What a funny idea, being a fish like these, spending your whole life in one little pool in a long creek. Maybe they change pools every year at some time, jumping upstream or letting the current take them down the mountainside. Maybe they’re content to live in some small puddle—
    Someone’s here.
    My eyes fly up to the forest as my breath gets yanked out of my chest. Gray woods and brown leaves surround me, the same as before only now backlit with the bright gold and reddish brown of oncoming dusk, but I can sense something, a new presence, off in the woods.
    â€œHello?” I call out. Nothing.
    In the movies, the person who thinks they’re being watched is almost always being watched. My mind’s eye pans out into the trees, imagines a close-cropped shot from some bushes—me, kneeling by the creek—with heavy breathing over it. Now I’m eyeing every bush and burrow, wondering where the eyes are, from what angle this new presence is watching me.
    But it’s the curious people, who have to go wandering off to find out what’s spying on them, who take a machete to the face. The people who get back to camp are the ones