I Can Barely Breathe Read Free Page A

thick hair and the Zodiac analog wristwatch, still ticking.
Damn, no time of death. And the blood leads into the forest. Arm
looks to have been ripped from the socket, not cut.”
    “You know what this is,” Carver said, as
Kattic stood up.
    Kattic nodded. “I want to be sure. If
there’s a body, we need to find it.”
    “Fine. We’ll check the forest. Who’s going
in?” Carver asked.
    “You are,” Kattic answered.
    “Why me?”
    “Because you can run faster than I can.”
    Carver shook his head. “If you see or hear
anything, you yell to me, he demanded.”
    “Just go in deep enough to find where the
blood trail ends,” Tom said to Carver, shifting his weight off his
bad leg. “It can’t be too far.”
    Carver stepped over some small shrubs and
slowly entered the trees. He pulled at the collar of his suit
jacket, adjusting it nervously. The canopy above was thick, and he
could hear crickets and birds chirping simultaneously. His shoes
snapped some twigs as he ventured in, leaving behind the comfort of
his coworkers.
    He watched the wet red trail and followed it
closely. It covered dirt, leaves, rocks and small dry, dead
branches. Carver felt alone. The woods had an earthy smell to them,
like fresh dirt, a smell he knew all too well. The slight breeze he
had felt before entering was nonexistent.
    As he brushed past a berry bush and
sidestepped some poison oak, he heard a faint rustle of leaves in
the distance. He stopped in his tracks, while his eyes scanned the
woodlands for any movement. The blood trail was thinning out, and,
just as he was about to backtrack, something caught his eye. He
kneeled down near a wild lilac shrub and peered under it.
    “I got a pair of ripped pants,” he yelled
back, as he examined them. He pulled out a metal pen and used it to
lift the pants open a bit. “There’s still some leg meat inside
them.”
    “Bag it!” Tom yelled.
    Carver pulled a large evidence bag from his
suit pocket and carefully wadded the pants into a ball, then
stuffed them in and sealed the top closed, accidentally dropping
the pen to the forest floor. He looked around quickly and saw the
trail ended where he stood. As he bent to pick up his pen, it rose
from the dirt and hovered five feet off the ground. He grabbed it
from the air and slid it into his pocket. “I’m coming out!”
    Shivers traveled up Carver’s spine, as he
turned his back to the forest. He moved quickly to rid himself of
the heebie-jeebies that felt like fingers on his shoulders.
Suddenly a branch broke nearby, and the snap echoed off the other
trees and rang in his ears. “I got movement back here!” he yelled
to his coworkers.
    The guns in every officers’ holster slipped
out and free floated in front of them, spinning slowly. At the same
time, keys yanked at the officer’s belts, wanting to detach and
rise, but jingling, frozen in midpull instead. A soda can near
Carver raised to his full height. It spun fast, spitting drops of
soda over his black polished shoes.
    Tom grabbed his floating sidearm and did his
best to limp his way into the forest, giving his partner some
much-needed backup.
    After all, Carver had no way of defending
himself, should he be attacked. The SSPD didn’t issue side arms to
special investigators, only cops. With this in mind, he reached out
and gripped the soda can, then held it in the ready position over
his right shoulder. Feeling a bit ridiculous, he dropped the can to
the ground. It spun a bit, then shot back into the air.
    Tom met Carver at the trunk of a toppled
dead tree, and he motioned for Carver to go on ahead of him. Tom
scanned the area, as he followed close behind his friend.
    As Carver broke free of the tree line, a
scream from far back in the woods cut through the autumn air, the
hair on everyone’s arms standing tall. The quiet thud of eight
pistols hitting the grass at the same time stole everyone’s
attention, but only for a second. The disturbing yell wasn’t a
sound that could