Chapter 8: The Rescue

The old man’s shoulders sagged. "I don’t know, son. That’s why I asked you."

I knelt by the stone, hands shaking. "Let me try." I found a broken branch and started scraping at the dirt, sweat stinging my eyes. The ground was looser than I expected. The boulder shifted, then toppled. Suddenly, the chains snapped. I scooped the boy up, heart pounding. Relief flooded me.

"That was easier than I thought," I said, handing the boy to the old man. "I was worried we’d hurt him."

The old man hugged the child, then turned to me. "This tree’s bad news. Will you help me burn it?"

I hesitated, then took out my lighter and set the dry branches aflame. The fire caught quick, sparks flying up into the darkness. The old man’s eyes gleamed with gratitude in the flickering light.

"Thank you, son. It’s late. You’d best hurry home."

"Okay," I mumbled, turning to leave. As I did, a voice cut through the fog: "Carter, wake up, wake up quick—"

I jolted awake, heart racing, sweat slick on my brow, the taste of smoke still on my tongue. Grandpa Joe’s face hovered over me, worry etched deep.