The PriZin of Zin by Loretta Sinclair Read Free Book Online Page A

thought. A Bigfoot that farts. Didn’t think this could get any worse.
    Mikey sat up straight and looked around at his behind. He sniffed the air, winced, and turned back to Hunter. He pointed at Hunter’s stomach. “Eat?”
    Hunter shook his head. Not with this smell .
    “Down,” Mikey said, and turned to descend the tree. Disappearing below the platform, Hunter crawled over to the spot where Mikey had just been. He looked down and another wave of nausea overtook him. He pulled back and took a deep breath. Sitting there on the platform, he tried to decide what he was going to do next.
    “Down,” he heard Mikey command from below.
    Hunter tried again to inch toward the edge of the platform, but the mere thought of looking down again made his stomach somersault. “I can’t,” he called down.
    The branches rustled and jerked to the side, and a large brown head popped back up into view. “Down?” he said again.
    “I can’t,” Hunter said. “It’s too high.”
    Mikey hoisted his great bulk back up onto the platform. Standing, he towered over Hunter. With one hand, he hoisted the young man up, and once again threw him over his shoulder, then scooted down from the tree in less than a minute. Hunter felt as though he were on a water slide as Mikey shifted and twisted to avoid all of the branches and obstacles. Once on solid ground, Hunter was again unceremoniously dropped to the ground hard, his feet jarring and his stomach near revolt. He stood for a moment, holding on to Mikey, the only thing within reaching distance until his nerves and nausea settled. Mikey stood still as long as Hunter was holding him. When Hunter released his grip and stood tall, Mikey started off back through the forest. “We go,” was all he said.
    “Where?” Hunter asked.
    “Friends.”

     
    “What’s that?” Hunter inched closer to the strange object hanging from the tree. He noticed another, and another in the other nearby trees. There were dozens of these strange little objects on the low-hanging branches of nearly all the trees that Hunter could see.
    They were circular in the middle, with woven strings. Some had beading, and some not. Most were colored brightly, and all had feathers hanging down from the bottom.
    “Dream catchers.”
    “Dream catchers?” Hunter walked close to one and reached his hand out.
    “No touch!” Mikey snapped. “Evil there.”
    “Evil?” Hunter inspected the object closely, without touching it. “How can these catch evil?”
    “Friends believe. Must respect.”
    Lingering in the forest to see how these mystical charms worked, Hunter was filled with a foreboding sense of doom. Stepping close to a large and particularly colorful one, Hunter heard a faint sound. He put his ear up next to the catcher. There it was again, as faint as a whisper.
    “Hunter.”
    His heart raced.
    “Hunter, can you hear me?”
    “Dad?”
    “Help me, Hunter.”
    “Where are you, Dad?”
    “Help me. I’m lost.”
    “I’m coming, Dad. Hold on,” Hunter told the tree. “Mikey!” he screamed. “Mikey! Help me!” Hunter spun around in circles, nerves on edge, looking for his helper. “Mikey!”
    “Here,” the voice came from behind.
    “My father. He’s stuck in one of those things. We have to get him out.”
    Bigfoot lowered his head. “Evil has him.”
    “We have to get him out. It was this one—“ Hunter’s hand reached out to grab it, but was batted away by Mikey’s large brown mitt.
    “Not touch,” he warned. “Father not there,” he pointed at the woven piece of string and feathers hanging from the tree. “Father lost with evil. Must rescue.”
    “But I heard him. He’s in there.” Tears perched on the corners of Hunter’s eyelids, threatening to erupt at any second.
    “No.” Mikey stepped in close. “Comm-un-i-ca-tion.” A large hairy finger pointed to the dream-catcher again. “Not there. Lost. Must find.”
    “How?” Hunter cried.
    “Friends,” Mikey said again and turned