Flock by Wendy Delson Read Free Book Online Page A

real landslide, in this case.
    Self-respecting Californians know what the tug of the tide feels like, too. At least with a wave, you know it will break. I sensed with whatever it was at work here that it would be a one-way trip down.
    My hands slipped from Jack’s forearm to his palm, and rocks and dirt sprayed my face and caked my mouth with soot. My legs flailed wildly until finally catching the trunk of the tree I had so recently been standing next to. It was — crazily enough — now at a right angle from where I dangled, clinging to the side of the chasm, and it offered me a momentary support. Because I was no longer a dead weight, Jack was able to readjust his hold on me, grasping me under my arms. He grunted with pain, a cry so visceral I feared for us both, until I was able to swing a most unladylike leg over the side of what had become an abyss.
    We scrambled away from the hole and collapsed in a panting tangle of arms and legs.
    “What the hell was that?” Jack asked, clutching at me like I might again be wrenched away.
    “Did the earth just open up in front of us?” I asked, hacking up dirt and spilling tears.
    Ever the precautionary type, Jack lifted me back farther away from the area. We took many more moments to recover, and he held me as rolls of shock left me shaking uncontrollably.
    When I had recuperated enough to sit up, Jack, on all fours, crawled to where his flashlight lay emitting one forlorn shaft of light. He lifted it and swept it over the area, what was left of it, anyway. Midas returned, whimpering and ducking his head submissively.
    “I think we just witnessed a sinkhole open up,” Jack said, standing.
    “A sinkhole. Is that what it is?” I accepted Jack’s offer of assistance in getting up.
    “It has to be,” Jack said. “We’ve studied them in geology.” Again, he trailed his light over the collapsed area. “But this one looks bigger than the slides we looked at.”
    As his flashlight shone into the caved-in bowl of land, I noticed its edges were sheared off, as if carved away with a sharp instrument, and the depth was staggering. Especially considering how close I had come to plummeting into it. Seeing apple trees toppled like matchsticks upon its floor and others dotting the bowl’s sides like bent nails made me shiver.
    “We should go,” Jack said.
    Before we could start back toward the woods, headlights barreling down the interior road came into sight. Lars swung down from the pickup truck and walked briskly toward us.
    “I heard a crack out here, and that dog’s howl was probably heard clear down to Iowa,” he said. “What’s going on? Are you kids all right?”
    Jack raked his light over the hole. “This is what Midas was fussing about. A sinkhole. He must have sensed some early vibrations and dragged us out here. Crazy dog nearly got us sucked down into that thing. If I hadn’t grabbed Kat at the last moment . . .” He dropped his head, and it was his turn to shudder.
    For many moments Lars walked back and forth, mumbling and shining his own light onto the damage. “Let’s get you two back,” he said finally. “Get you cleaned up, and maybe a hot cup of tea or something to settle your nerves. There’s nothing we can do until morning. In the daylight, we’ll get a better look. And I’ll get a geologist out here for an opinion.” He scratched at his chin. “It’s the darnedest thing,” he said.
    I didn’t stay long enough for a hot cup of anything. Once I’d cleaned up enough not to frighten my mom, I asked Jack to drive me home. Thoughts were spiraling through my head faster than the earth had shifted below my feet, and I needed some alone time to sort a few things out.
    On the ride, Jack apologized for not taking Midas’s warnings seriously. For dragging me out into the dark. I did my best to reassure him that I didn’t hold him responsible and that it was just one of those things. The first part was true, the latter, not quite.
    “I don’t