Chapter 7

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With the sun overhead, the forest below was once again as bright as it probably ever got. From what the group could tell, there were no clouds in the sky. So, at least the threat of rain in the near future seemed unlikely. The occasional breeze that found its way between the maze of tree trunks made for another beautiful day—temperature-wise, at least.

There was no way in hell Chris could enjoy the nice weather or the picturesque nature around them. Not until he saw their damned rental car. And, once again, he found his anxiety rising. They'd been walking for too long again. Too long to not have gotten to the parking lot if any of them had been right about that bridge.

A glance at Arlo told him his best friend felt the same. Dean looked like he'd lost at least a half a foot in height from the way he was slouching forward so severely. He really shouldn't have offered to carry that bag for the girls. Carrying their own equipment was often uncomfortable enough for the cameraman when they did excursions like this. Not that they'd ever had a trip go this fucking wrong before.

Arlo glanced at Chris when the movement of his arm caught his eye. He was pretty sure Chris wasn't actually concerned about how he looked anymore. Fixing his hair was probably a self-soothing, nervous habit at this point. And he couldn't blame him in the slightest. He'd been pressing his own fingers together tightly and then releasing the pressure.

"I don't remember walking this far before reaching the bridge," Arlo said, finally breaking the silence that they seemed to have unanimously and wordlessly agreed on at some point a while back.

"Can we not start with that right now?" Dean snapped, "Man, it's probably just–" Dean paused as a metallic chime clinked through the air.

Arlo stopped walking, followed by Dean, and then Chris. It was faint. But it was distinctly there—woven through the whistle of the wind and shifting of the leaves.

"What is that?" Annie wondered, looking at her friend and then at Dean.

"Shhh," Chris hissed, turning around slowly to survey the area. Leaves... trees... bushes... nothing unusual, but he swore that chiming was getting louder, and he couldn't make out exactly where it was coming from.

"Wait. That... doesn't sound like a bell," Arlo said under his breath. "Does it?"

It didn't. But Chris knew it sounded extremely familiar. He just couldn't place it. Movement caught his attention, and he squinted, leaning to try to peer as far down the path as possible.

Steps. He could definitely hear movement now, and within a few more seconds the source of the clinking became immediately recognizable. Tags. It was the clanging of tags hanging from the collar of a chunky, black retriever, happily bounding around in the distance. Even farther away, but still just within view, he could make out a person that the dog peered back at before continuing to sniff around.

"Oh thank fuck," Chris sighed, rubbing his face with his hands.

Arlo wanted to run to the dog—to hug it, hug its person, kiss the freaking ground... He'd never in his life thought he could be so happy to see someone just out walking with their dog, but he supposed this was the best thing Arlo could've hoped to see, just short of finding the parking lot.

"Hey!" Dean called out, raising a hand to wave them down—clearly just as eager to interact, if not more so.

The owner paused right where they were, and even with a distinctly red jacket, they still almost blended into the mess of trees and brush. Their dog, however, lifted it's head to stare directly at them before it came racing over to them, tail wagging and tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth.

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