“Ah, there it is.” Mr Fisher steered the coupé off the dirt trail. “We just finished the road up here.”
Bumping over a patch of purple ferns, they exited on to a stretch of fresh asphalt that meandered along the edge of a ridge overlooking Black Hole Lake – the always steaming, near-perfect circle of deep, murky water at the centre of the Big Crater Valley.
“Tell you what,” said Fisher, accelerating up the smooth roadway. “Why don’t you skip school and hang out here, by the lake? I can have Kaitlyn bring over the jet ski.”
“It’s freezing out,” said Milo. “You’d have to be crazy to go on the water right now.”
That sounds like one of Lucy’s insane ideas. Milo smirked as he remembered the peculiar girl running fearlessly through the woods, violet hair flying, chasing an honest-to-goodness monster. His smile faded as he remembered where she’d ended up that day: on the cold factory floor, his father’s hands around her throat.
“Then tell me,” said Fisher. “What do you plan to do today?” He kicked the car into high gear, leaning into a corner that was perilously close to the ledge.
Milo grimaced. “Just take me home. I’ll watch a movie or something.”
“You’ve been sulking indoors for over a month,” said Fisher. “It’s not healthy.”
“Someone’s throwing a Halloween party in town,” said Milo. “Maybe you could drop me off this evening?”
“I have to work late.” Fisher gripped the wheel. “Your stepmother can take you.”
“I see.” Milo crossed his arms.
Fisher turned to his son. “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy lately, but you have to understand, it’s—”
BAM!
There was a massive bump as the car collided with something big. Milo felt the shock of the impact through his bones. The car lost control and veered towards the cliff, the view from the windscreen rapidly filling up with sky.
“Son of a—” Fisher frantically steered the fishtailing automobile away from the precipice, but he overcorrected and they spun out of control.
Milo screamed as they reeled into the open forest and then, with a horrendous CRUNCH, slammed sideways into a tree, airbags deploying on all sides.
Smoke drifted out from under the hood of the car and the engine was making an unsettling popping sound.
Groaning, Fisher switched off the motor and unbuckled his seat belt. He stretched his neck stiffly from side to side, but appeared largely unharmed.
Milo’s head felt fuzzy, his heart pounding in his ears. The accident had seemed to happen both instantaneously and in slow motion. The air smelled of rubber and his cheek felt as if it had been burned. When he moved, bits of broken glass from the shattered passenger window fell from his lapel like small chunks of ice.
“Are you all right?” asked Fisher.
Good question. Milo fumbled with the vanity mirror. The right side of his face was red from where it hit the airbag, but he didn’t see any blood. “I think I’m okay.” He took a deep breath to slow his pulse. “What happened?”
A look of horror washed over Fisher’s face. “The Aston Martin.” He peeled himself out of the vehicle to assess the damage.
Milo’s door was pinned against the trunk of a surprisingly sturdy tree. Pushing the flabby airbags out of his way, he climbed out the driver’s side door after his father.
Mr Fisher surveyed the scene, his hands buried in his buoyant salt-and-pepper hair. The small automobile had collided with a burly oak. Its right front wheel was propped up on a massive gnarled root that stuck out of the soil like a bony knuckle.
Milo rotated his smarting right shoulder. “Do you think it’s totalled?”
“No.” Fisher’s jaw was set. “Anything can be fixed with enough determination.”
Milo walked round to the front of the car. There was a big dent in the hood. “Dad, what did we hit?”
“Stupid deer,” Fisher muttered. He bent low to check the wheels. “Came from nowhere.”
“You hit a deer?” said Milo, aghast. “Where is it?” He looked back towards the road for the injured animal, but couldn’t see anything. Maybe it fell over the edge? His throat felt tight.
“That dumb animal hit us,” Fisher barked.
“I told you you were driving too fast!” Milo raced down the road and peered over the ridge, scanning the steep slope that ended at the lake’s shore. Where did it go? His breath formed a smoke signal of distress in the cold October air.
At last, he spotted something. There, about fifty metres down, a white stag lay at the foot of a boulder. It didn’t appear to be moving, at first, but then Milo saw it lift its head.
“I see the deer,” he called to his father. “It’s hurt, but alive!”
“Leave it alone,” said Fisher, typing on his mobile. “Injured animals are dangerous. There’s nothing we can do, anyway.”
I thought anything could be fixed with enough determination? “We have to help it,” Milo insisted.
Carefully, he picked his way down the embankment, sending loose veins of dirt crumbling down the slope. When he reached the bottom, he slowed his pace to approach the fallen deer. It was much bigger than it appeared from above, nearly the size of a horse. Milo was struck by its unusual, ghostly beauty.
The animal was breathing heavily and its forelimbs were bent at an odd angle. Its legs could be broken. As he approached, Milo was increasingly aware of the stag’s formidable antlers. They’d need to get the poor thing to a veterinarian, but how?
“I’m not going to hurt you,” said Milo, taking a step nearer.
Abruptly, the stag scrambled to its feet, snorting plumes of hot air into the cold wind.
Milo stumbled backwards and fell on to the gravel. The immense animal took a clumsy step towards him, its knees shaking. For a moment, the boy and the deer watched each other warily.
Then Milo broke into a grin. “You can
