Misgivings: Day 16

Word Count: 96,089

Summary of Events:

Greyson was returning from having gone to the gym in Grande Prairie again when an SUV came at him, drove in the hayfield flanking the driveway to get around him, and took off down the road; he was then shot at — but thankfully not hit — by Ayers, who had apparently supposed him to be the other SUV returning, which he learned from Mr. Fransbergen, who came to check that his vehicle was unscathed, had been a couple of men trying to convert Mr. Fransbergen, Ayers, and Andy to their religion. The next day Greyson was making lunch when he heard a vehicle pull into the yard, but he couldn't see it. After eating quickly, he went outside, pretending he needed something from his SUV, and determined it was the truck he'd seen twice before, so he snuck around into the bush behind the two houses, where he was able to overhear Mr. Fransbergen and a man he presumed was the truck's driver, whom he'd seen before, discussing payment, particularly of a 'Risk Surcharge' for Greyson's presence on the property…

Excerpt of the Day:

“We’re the ones with our necks most on the line because of him,” Mr. Fransbergen said. “We need this money as a contingency fund.”

“For what purpose?” the muscular man asked.

Pain suddenly shot through Greyson’s hand. He looked down even though he wanted to hear Mr. Fransbergen’s response and swore under his breath. His arm was crawling with ants whose large hill covered with pine needles was immediately to his left. He wasn’t touching it, but apparently they’d deemed him a threat nonetheless and were attacking him.

Standing up, Greyson swiped all of the ants roughly off his arm, but several more got bites in on him before he could get rid of them all. He stepped back from the hill only to have his foot slip on something, causing him to fall onto his stomach.

He laid perfectly still, his ears straining desperately to hear if the people in the house had heard him. He couldn’t hear anything.

Part of him was inclined to remain frozen where he was, while part of him desperately wanted to flee without heed to the noise he might make through the bush.

Eventually he eased to his hands and knees and backed his way down the slope with caution, as well as glancing up to where he’d slipped in hopes of seeing what had caused him to slip, but he couldn’t really tell. He guessed it was just damp soil, as even though it hadn’t rained in nearly a week, if this strip of bush was anything like the bushy areas that he’d wandered in as a kid, it could hang onto moisture for awhile, giving it the musty smell of decomposing plant matter, which was kind of a nice smell, except on a hot day, then it was oppressive because it meant humidity, and humidity made heat feel even worse.

Greyson had eased his way down to the creek bed when he heard the sound of a dog panting. He looked up fearfully and saw only the bull terrier picking his way down the slope somewhat laboriously. Greyson edged back, wary of someone following the bull terrier.

The bull terrier came up to Greyson, who cowered in anticipation of a loud bark, but instead the bull terrier actually walked up to him and licked his face.

“You won’t tell them I’m here, will you buddy?” Greyson whispered, touching his head to the sleek-coated head of the bull terrier.

Seeing as the bull terrier likely couldn’t hear him, and even if he could, didn’t understand English, Greyson wasn’t surprised that the dog didn’t respond, although he looked almost like he was smiling.

“Go back,” Greyson whispered, pointing uphill.

Turning, the bull terrier picked his way back up the slope and Greyson hoped desperately that Mr. Fransbergen and the others would believe that it was nothing. The last thing he wanted was for them to suspect that he was up to anything. He ought not even be up to anything in the first place. It wasn’t any of his business. This was just supposed to be a place to stay until something better opened up. Nothing else.