JESS CROSSED THE CLEARING toward the cabins, moving quietly, cautiously. In his arms the kid was silent, except for the incessant rustling of that piece of aluminum foil she was wrapped up in. With a brief word in her ear Jess tugged it loose and dropped it. The space blanket, with the moonlight hitting it, was about as hard to miss as a neon sign and as quiet as a drumroll. Why didn’t they just shout that they were coming and be done with it? An instinct honed and forgotten so long ago that he hadn’t realized he still possessed it warned him to make as little noise as possible. Something about the dark, silent clearing was giving him the willies. Walking a few feet ahead, her slender body practically shapeless in the bulky jacket she wore, Lynn shone the flashlight over the knee-high weeds, lighting their way. The beam had already saved them from a close encounter with a long-abandoned pick. Its once-sharp blade was dark with rust; the wooden handle looked rotten. The uneasy feeling grew stronger with every step he took.
