Jace huffed, as if he had a dissenting opinion to add, but I only laughed. And when I glanced into the box again, I laughed even harder. “They’re still here!” I called. “Brett’s pop guns and your knife. They’re all still here! Do you want me to bring them down?”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then Jace huffed again, but I couldn’t interpret that one without body language to add nuance, so Marc called up with a translation. “I think he wants you to leave them there. For Brett.”

He must have gotten that right, because Jace didn’t contradict him. So I closed the box and left the abandoned toys as a memorial to Brett, and to the childhood friendship he and Jace had once shared. Then I started back across the floor with the zipper of the plastic bag clutched in my left hand.

I was about a foot from the edge when my jeans caught on something, and my right leg refused to slide forward. I let go of the bag and propped myself on my good hand to twist for a better view. The hem of my jeans was stuck on a nail sticking up from the floor.

“Shit!”

“What’s wrong?” Marc asked immediately as Jace whined louder in question.

“I’m caught on a nail. Hang on. I think I can get it.” I pushed myself slowly backward and shook my foot to dislodge the nail. When that didn’t work, I shifted my weight onto my left hand and reached back toward the nail with my right.

The deer stand creaked, and fear spiked my pulse. My hand broke through the floor. Jagged edges of wood raked the length of my forearm, pushing my sleeve up in the process. I screamed. My face slammed into the floor, and I bit my lip. Blood poured into my mouth.

“Faythe!” Marc shouted. Jace growled, a deep, fierce sound, and Marc’s next words were directed at him. “Let go!” But Jace only growled harder.

“I’m okay,” I said, but it came out as a whisper, with my left cheek still pressed into the wood. Still, the guys heard me.

“I’m coming up!” Marc called, and Jace’s growl grew even fiercer.

“No!” I said, when his meaning finally became clear. “It won’t hold you. I’m okay. Just let me pull myself out of this hole.”

“Let go of me, or I’ll cave your face in,” Marc said, his voice soft and dangerous. Jace growled once more for good measure, then must have let Marc go, because he voiced no further complaint. “Can you get up?” Marc called to me.

“Yeah.” I hope. “Just a minute.” My left arm was useless, hanging beneath the floor from my shoulder on. The lower half of it was on fire, the pain so acute and encompassing that I couldn’t tell exactly where it hurt.

“You’re bleeding. A lot,” Marc said, and twigs crunched beneath his boots as he paced.

“So I noticed. Just give me a minute, please.” When silence followed my request, I exhaled and braced myself for more pain. Just do it quickly. We needed to be out of the woods and out of sight before dawn, and we were running late already.