I have an existing start to this which was in the female - who is the main character, but Joe will be the second character so I'm not totally worried about it starting with him - point of view. Anyway, one of the critters suggested it might be better in Joe's pov as it avoids a clumsy pov split, and it allows me to introduce the family in a more leisurely scene before all-hell-breaks-loose in Chapter Three.
So, I thought rather than torturing my poor writing group, I'd get some opinions here as to whether this works. It's planned to be upper-end YA - 16-18 age group. The pov character is around 18.
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Joe threw another nut down and the squirrel moved carefully forwards until it was practically on the older girl, Charley’s, feet. Her eyes met his, cautiously impressed, and he hid a smile. So many of the older kids wouldn’t come near the Rangers’ Lodge, let alone on a squirrel hunt with their kid brother and sister, and had no idea what they were missing. Plus, she was cute.
The squirrel raised onto its hind legs, not wild at all, its tail a red flag against the green of the forest. The younger girl, Annie, moved in a little closer. Even the little boy was quiet, too busy watching to create the sort of chaos his first ten minutes in the lodge had promised.
“We have quite a few tame ones,” whispered Joe. He scattered a few more nuts on the ground. “Can’t think why.”
Charley grinned. “That’s cheat -- ”
A rumble sounded in the distance – one of the fighter jets on their test flights over the forest. The sound of its engine grew louder, a sharp rend of noise. The plane’s shadow darkened the path for a second as it zipped overhead, and then the noise faded, followed by a last distant boom.
A slapping, screeching mess of a sound came. Birds burst from the forest, somewhere near Valley Ridge, wheeling dark against the clear sky. The squirrel dropped its nut, darted up a tree and away.
Joe was already on his feet. The animals didn’t care about the planes – they were used to them. “Sorry, squirrel hunt’s over.”
He took off at a jog. The forest sounded normal: crackling twigs; people in the holiday village calling to each other. But still the screeching birds circled overhead and he struggled to cast off the feeling that something was wrong, something that had started with the shriek of the plane and the whirring of birds.
He’d go through the forest, taking the short-cuts none of the visitors knew about. It would be quicker than going back to the Rangers’ lodge for one of the jeeps. Still circling, the birds screeched on and on. He’d never known any behaviour like that before, and he sped up. He wasn’t smart, but he knew his forest. Better than any of the older Rangers, better than anyone who hadn’t spent half their childhood finding ways to slip through the perimeter fence. He’d spent days hiding in the deep forest, never being found. No one knew the woods like he did, and there was something wrong.
He jumped a shallow ditch and ran through the trees. He was supposed to be knocking off for the day around now, not haring off on some fool’s mission, but there was no way he could leave until he knew what had happened.
The ground-cover of soft pine needles gave way to the leaf-mold of the traditional forest. Here, the trees were less spaced out and managed, truer to the forest that must have been here before the holiday park. This was the forest he loved; the reason he worked in the park. Any noise from the tourists faded away.
He crossed the small river separating Creek Wood from Valley Ridge. The forest was dark around him, barely any sun coming through the leaf-heavy canopy. He found himself turning towards the perimeter fence. If anything had crashed nearer the village, someone would have already reported it in. He set off for the deepest woods, his feet seeming to carry him without thought. No animals ran from him as he jogged past and that was odd, too - this deep into the forest, wildlife should be scattering, but the forest was still, as if emptied.
The birds had stopped their shrieking.
A chill crept up his spine, and he slowed his steps. It occurred to him that he should have called into the Rangers’ Lodge and told someone where he was going. His hand crept to the radio on his belt, reassuring him, and he moved forwards, nerves alert.
A ridge of bare soil appeared, a scar in the forest, and he frowned. He knew Forest Beck well - the large, secluded lodges, used by families seeking peace over convenience; the beaten track that led to the lake and the centre of the village. There should be no ridge like that. Carefully, he climbed it. His hand tightened, almost unconsciously, on his radio. He crested the hill.
Below, in the centre of a small clearing, lay mangled wreckage. Tendrils of smoke drifted up, becoming lost in the tree canopy. The plane from earlier? There was nothing else it could be.
Jesus. He ran down the side of the ridge. The pilot must still be in the ship. He tried to work out how long it had been since the crash. At least ten minutes.
He jumped something smouldering on the forest floor, not pausing to see what it was, and dashed towards the centre of the clearing. His first aid training came to mind, a jumbled mix of resuscitation and recovery positions. He was used to twisted ankles and wasp stings, not something like this.
He ran into something unseen and hit it hard. He was lifted off his feet and flung backwards. He had time to give one shout before he came down and his head hit something hard. Damn it, I should have called in. Darkness took him.
So, I thought rather than torturing my poor writing group, I'd get some opinions here as to whether this works. It's planned to be upper-end YA - 16-18 age group. The pov character is around 18.
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Joe threw another nut down and the squirrel moved carefully forwards until it was practically on the older girl, Charley’s, feet. Her eyes met his, cautiously impressed, and he hid a smile. So many of the older kids wouldn’t come near the Rangers’ Lodge, let alone on a squirrel hunt with their kid brother and sister, and had no idea what they were missing. Plus, she was cute.
The squirrel raised onto its hind legs, not wild at all, its tail a red flag against the green of the forest. The younger girl, Annie, moved in a little closer. Even the little boy was quiet, too busy watching to create the sort of chaos his first ten minutes in the lodge had promised.
“We have quite a few tame ones,” whispered Joe. He scattered a few more nuts on the ground. “Can’t think why.”
Charley grinned. “That’s cheat -- ”
A rumble sounded in the distance – one of the fighter jets on their test flights over the forest. The sound of its engine grew louder, a sharp rend of noise. The plane’s shadow darkened the path for a second as it zipped overhead, and then the noise faded, followed by a last distant boom.
A slapping, screeching mess of a sound came. Birds burst from the forest, somewhere near Valley Ridge, wheeling dark against the clear sky. The squirrel dropped its nut, darted up a tree and away.
Joe was already on his feet. The animals didn’t care about the planes – they were used to them. “Sorry, squirrel hunt’s over.”
He took off at a jog. The forest sounded normal: crackling twigs; people in the holiday village calling to each other. But still the screeching birds circled overhead and he struggled to cast off the feeling that something was wrong, something that had started with the shriek of the plane and the whirring of birds.
He’d go through the forest, taking the short-cuts none of the visitors knew about. It would be quicker than going back to the Rangers’ lodge for one of the jeeps. Still circling, the birds screeched on and on. He’d never known any behaviour like that before, and he sped up. He wasn’t smart, but he knew his forest. Better than any of the older Rangers, better than anyone who hadn’t spent half their childhood finding ways to slip through the perimeter fence. He’d spent days hiding in the deep forest, never being found. No one knew the woods like he did, and there was something wrong.
He jumped a shallow ditch and ran through the trees. He was supposed to be knocking off for the day around now, not haring off on some fool’s mission, but there was no way he could leave until he knew what had happened.
The ground-cover of soft pine needles gave way to the leaf-mold of the traditional forest. Here, the trees were less spaced out and managed, truer to the forest that must have been here before the holiday park. This was the forest he loved; the reason he worked in the park. Any noise from the tourists faded away.
He crossed the small river separating Creek Wood from Valley Ridge. The forest was dark around him, barely any sun coming through the leaf-heavy canopy. He found himself turning towards the perimeter fence. If anything had crashed nearer the village, someone would have already reported it in. He set off for the deepest woods, his feet seeming to carry him without thought. No animals ran from him as he jogged past and that was odd, too - this deep into the forest, wildlife should be scattering, but the forest was still, as if emptied.
The birds had stopped their shrieking.
A chill crept up his spine, and he slowed his steps. It occurred to him that he should have called into the Rangers’ Lodge and told someone where he was going. His hand crept to the radio on his belt, reassuring him, and he moved forwards, nerves alert.
A ridge of bare soil appeared, a scar in the forest, and he frowned. He knew Forest Beck well - the large, secluded lodges, used by families seeking peace over convenience; the beaten track that led to the lake and the centre of the village. There should be no ridge like that. Carefully, he climbed it. His hand tightened, almost unconsciously, on his radio. He crested the hill.
Below, in the centre of a small clearing, lay mangled wreckage. Tendrils of smoke drifted up, becoming lost in the tree canopy. The plane from earlier? There was nothing else it could be.
Jesus. He ran down the side of the ridge. The pilot must still be in the ship. He tried to work out how long it had been since the crash. At least ten minutes.
He jumped something smouldering on the forest floor, not pausing to see what it was, and dashed towards the centre of the clearing. His first aid training came to mind, a jumbled mix of resuscitation and recovery positions. He was used to twisted ankles and wasp stings, not something like this.
He ran into something unseen and hit it hard. He was lifted off his feet and flung backwards. He had time to give one shout before he came down and his head hit something hard. Damn it, I should have called in. Darkness took him.
