Kelan made his way to the Run and stabbed his snowboard into the snow. He slipped his toque down about his ears. Still no sign of Arnie.
Except there was. He could sense the Pack’s presence; they were near. And somehow, he could sense Arnie’s rage … and his fear.
The oak stood tall. Had it grown with the other trees as well? Its limbs seemed thicker and longer. The tips sprouted small branches that looked like old bony fingers. Claws.
The creek sounded angrier than usual. The rushing water seemed faster. Even the Run looked hungrier. Meaner. Though he knew it to be his imagination, it was almost as if the earth had somehow reshaped itself.
The ground trembled. The park quaked with a raucous growl. Kelan’s heart pounded, and a girlish scream sprouted from his lips.
He stumbled to his knees and slipped to his stomach. The tremors lasted all of ten seconds, fading quickly. Fearful of an aftershock, Kelan raised his head. His mouth fell open in disbelief.
There was no doubt now. The oak had grown. The girth at the base of the trunk had nearly doubled. That ancient sign hanging from it had risen at least ten feet, swaying slightly. The sudden growth had loosened it.
He checked the slope again. It was steeper. Faster.
Somehow, it was true: Monster or not, old man Krieger was right. The Run was alive.
And that’s when he heard them coming.