“It was for the best anyway. If I’d have ditched, they’d have benched me tonight, and I bet your brother twenty bucks I’d get a hat trick.”

Cassandra smiled. Going to the café with Aidan had helped, and she was glad Andie wasn’t pissed. Afterward, they’d gone back to his house and spent the day curled up together, watching movies. Or not watching movies. It had been too long since they’d done that, kissed until their lips hurt, the heat of his hands making her dizzy. After that there’d been no more visions and no more dreams. Maybe it had been a fluke, an anomaly, or a temporary bad spell, sort of like psychic food poisoning.

“And you didn’t mean what you said Friday night at the party, did you? About us not being friends after high school?”

Andie made a face and flipped her blue Gatorade into the air. “Please. Since when am I serious?” She pulled open the door of the locker room. The sounds of Velcro being stretched and adjusted, sticks rattling, and the excited voices of a dozen girls spilled out to mingle with the cold hum of the arena lights. Andie ducked inside and said, “See you after.” Then she paused. “Hey, are we going to win tonight?”

No.

Cassandra smiled. “I’ll never tell.”

She and Aidan got seats in the bleachers low along the home-side blue line. It was the best spot to watch from, and they didn’t have any trouble getting it; girls’ games weren’t as well attended as the boys’. Most of the people there were parents and older alumni with a few pockets of students in twos and threes peppered throughout.

The opening puck dropped and everyone cheered. Christy passed to Andie and she took control, weaving through defenders and getting off a shot that barely missed, ringing off the post.

“I’m going to get a hot dog.” Aidan stood. “Do you want anything? Red rope licorice?”

“And maybe a hot chocolate?”

He smiled. “Yeah. Maybe.” He edged past her and she watched Andie try to dig the puck out of the corner, apparently by elbowing a girl on the opposing team repeatedly in the face. There were shouts from the crowd, and a bark. Someone must’ve brought a dog to the game.

The ref blew the whistle for a new face-off after another missed shot let the goalie freeze the puck. The crowd quieted, except for the dog. It got louder. The bark was rough and raw.

That’s no dog.

Another bark joined it, and another, until the arena could have been filled with them. The sounds of snarling and growling came from every direction. Cassandra turned her head, hoping ridiculously to see a Labrador retriever or a husky. Maybe a team of them. But there were only people. When they opened their mouths to shout, snarls came instead.

Sweat broke out across Cassandra’s forehead and panic coursed down to her feet.

I should run.

Don’t be stupid. It’s only a vision. Nothing worse than any other.

Only it was. It was like the dream. She sat still as stone, trying to ignore the urge to fly, to jump up and run screaming through the arena, through leaves and steaming jungle.

Leaves and steaming jungle. Something was out there.

They’re already chasing me.

The mad barking took over her ears, changing to something else, losing the dog quality that made a bark familiar. This sound was feral and wild. It came from wet, hungry throats. Across razor teeth. It was a sound you ran from until blood broke into your lungs and your legs failed.

They’ll be on me as soon as I fall. So fast. They could take me any time they want, but they like it better that way. With me broken and degraded. Without the breath to scream. They’ll tear me into ribbons and gulp me down. I’ll see their necks and shoulders jerk while they do it. I’ll hear the shredding of my own skin.

Except it wasn’t her they were chasing. She knew that even as she was terrified, even as the temperature inside the arena spiked, the humidity so stifling and heavy it felt like breathing water. Leaves took over her vision, hanging heavily from branches, enormous and dark green. Strange ferns peppered the ground, curled in like alien fingers. The light was hazy, indirect. Tree trunks stood choked with vines.

It smells like dirt. Rich, black dirt. And something else. Something nauseating and sweet. Rotten.

“Cassandra?” Aidan set the food on the bleacher and knelt by her knees.

“It’s not me.”

“What? Cassandra?”

Had she said it out loud? Sweat beaded on her forehead. The jungle was incredibly animal, alive and sinister. But the sound was the worst. Rustling leaves and roots being crushed underfoot. Branches being pulled and snapped back. The sound of something giving chase.