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The bitter wind cut into Parker Cassata's dry, dehydrated face. He never fell asleep. The hunger and horrid stench of this awful forest stayed with him all night.
When the sun came up, he started walking again. Cassata had no idea where he was going or what he would even do when he finally did get somewhere. His only thought was food.
Pain wrenched his insides. Every twenty to thirty feet, he stopped in his tracks and grabbed his stomach. A thousand tiny needles jammed into his gut. All he wanted to do was eat. If only the bastard let him take the fried baloney, or the stupid Fed gave him those goddamn peanuts, maybe it wouldn't hurt so bad.
Cassata grabbed another handful of snow and started to chew. The watery taste did little to subdue the cravings. It didn't seem to sufficiently quench his thirst either. His mouth stayed dry and his lips stuck together, cracking and splitting every time he opened his mouth.
He thought about grabbing another handful of dirt. Maybe he could find a couple of bugs inside. But the ground was too solid over here, and he didn't take anything from the plane, aside from his will to be free. The digging was more work than he wanted to do right now. Walking was even more work than he could handle, but for some reason he kept putting one foot in front of the other.
"Hello?" an unfamiliar voice called out.
Cassata turned left, then right, trying to see where the unknown sound came from. Nothing.
"Hello?" it called out again.
This time the voice was accompanied by footsteps walking through the brush.
"Maybe they have food?" Cassata asked himself.
Why would you think that? It's probably one of them. The FBI. They want to bring you home. They want to take you away from here.
"That's true," he said to himself. The FBI wanted him back in his cell. Of course, back in Waukesha State Prison, he had three meals a day, and showers; hot showers. Maybe going back—
No! Remember Nightmute? Remember how happy you were? You can have it again. Earn it. Show them you belong.
"Show who?"
No time! They're coming! Parker, you need to hide!
Cassata listened to The Whisper and tucked himself behind a fir tree. He carefully peeked his head from around the trunk and saw a person creeping into his sanctuary. To his surprise, it wasn't one of the FBI agents at all. It was a boy, no more than thirteen or fourteen, with long, dark hair hanging almost to his shoulders. His tan skin stood out in this white wooded wasteland.
"He probably has food!" Cassata said to himself.
Yes, but he's not going to give you any. Why should he? He wants it all for himself.
The Whisper was right, of course it was. This child was a monster, and Cassata shouldn't trust monsters. But if the child had food, what could he do?
Just follow him for a while. He'll take you to the food. Then you can take it from him.
"How?"
You'll know, Parker.
Again, it was right. All he needed to do was stay quiet. Like a whisper.