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Run, Intense Book 2

By Glenn Haggerty

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Tyler Higgins yanked a thorn branch off his jeans and
glanced back at his eleven‐year‐old brother.
“Ow, dude.” Dylan scowled at him, then bent over and
carefully pulled that same branch off his bare shins, leaving a
pattern of blood‐red dots.
A twang of guilt pricked Tyler. He’d been too afraid to explore
this creepy forest alone, but he’d had no one else to ask except his
little brother, and now he’d gotten lost—the second time in two
days. He couldn’t tell Dylan. Not yet. But he hadn’t meant to hurt
him either. “Sorry.” He pushed through the narrowing path, if it
was a path, hoping to glimpse something fort‐like—or anything
familiar. Tripping, he nearly fell over a fallen log. “Dang. Lost the
trail again,” Tyler muttered.
“What’d you say?” Little Bro’s flushed face puckered into a
frown, and sweat dampened the sandy‐colored hair on his
forehead.
“Nothing.” Tyler craned his neck. Ahead the brushwood
seemed to thin out even as the leaves overhead grew denser. He
quickened his pace.
Somehow, he kept messing up. The first two cool kids he’d
met here yesterday decided they needed a laugh and ditched him
in these woods. He tightened his jaw. Everything had been
unfamiliar and weird and he’d barely found his way home . . .
But today he’d find their stupid fort—and prove himself.
Breaking into the shaded clearing, he glanced around and
stopped.
The brushwood had definitely lessened, but the large, gnarly
trees had multiplied. He locked his hands on his hips and turned
half circle, scanning the narrow trails fanning out between the tree
trunks.
They all looked the same.
“Are we lost?” Dylan’s voice squeaked.
Tyler licked salty sweat off his upper lip. “Not sure.”
Dylan groaned, and anger glinted in his green eyes. Little Bro
was still mostly a pain.
Tyler grabbed a twig from a shrub and snapped it. Should’ve
paid better attention. He shook off the anxiety creeping into his
brain and sucked in a deep breath. Scents of earth and moldy
leaves tickled his nose, along with the pungent odor of
evergreens. He blew out his breath. Better.
But with a turn of the wind, the sweltering air changed.
Hair prickled the back of his neck. Mid‐afternoon was too
early to cool down. Lifting his nose, he sniffed the air. “Smells like
rain.” He tilted his head higher and scanned, but the foliage
screened the sky. “We’d better get home.”
“Yeah. But which way?” Little Bro kicked a broken branch and
muttered to himself.
Tyler ignored the complaints and crossed the clearing. An oak
tree stood about twenty yards down a side trail. Its broad, angular
leaves hung limp—one of a million trees and yet . . . He narrowed
his eyes at the blackened slash that scored the trunk where a
mainline branch should have been. He’d seen that tree before.
“Come on.” He pushed forward.
From the distance, a rumbling rolled over the Appalachian
foothills.
Thunder—mountaintop—lightning storm. Despite the heat, an
icy shiver raced up his spine, and he lengthened his stride.
“Hurry. Gonna storm.” He glanced behind him. Dylan stayed
close, fear filling his eyes.
The sky darkened, and wind rushed in with a roar and tore at
the trees. Sheets of rain pelted the leaves and trickled down on his
face. Ahead, the trail faded into the gloom. How would he follow
the right path home? He pulled up.
“What now?” Dylan’s voice quivered. He stood hugging
himself, shivering as rain dribbled on his face.
Flash‐boom!
A bolt of lightning exploded a nearby tree showering sparks
high and knocking Tyler to the ground. His scalp tingled as he
pushed himself up to a sitting position.
Dylan! Where was he?
Blinding flashes seared the air, and thunder boomed like
cannon fire from a war movie. The ground shook as though some
evil force sought to suck him into hell. He wanted to curl into a
ball, hide beneath a rock—anything to escape the deafening roars.
But he glimpsed a figure running back the way they’d come.
Dylan.
Tyler leapt to his feet. “Stop, dude.” Steep slopes and rockstrewn
gorges cut into the foothills. “Don’t run up here.”
But the howling wind and rain drowned out his voice, and his
brother’s image faded into the mist. He might trip and fall and . . .
Digging the toes of his sneakers in the mud, Tyler took off
after him. Squinting against the rain spattering his face, he jumped
fallen logs, dodged underbrush and splashed through the puddles
forming in the open areas. But Dylan kept slipping into the
shadows of the winding trail. Finally closing the distance, Tyler
stretched out his arm, grabbed his brother’s shoulder and yanked
him to a halt.
“Idiot! What are you thinking?” He spun Dylan around.
Little Bro stared back, eyes wide and chest heaving. He looked
crazy.
Tyler shook him. “You might run off a cliff.”
Another blinding flash ripped through the air.
Dylan bolted.
Tyler gritted his teeth and sped after him.
“Aaaaaaaaah.” Little Bro dropped out of sight, his scream
sounding far away.
Tyler skidded, tried to stop, but the ground fell away, and his
legs churned empty air. He hit the slope and bounced, crashing
through the underbrush. Covering his head, he struggled to roll
sideways.
Stones and branches tore at his arms and legs.
He groped for a root, a handhold, anything to slow his fall.
Nothing.
Down, down, down. Half blinded by the rain and the dirt, he
stretched out to grab at a sapling that flashed into view. A blaze of
stars exploded in his head.
Then everything went black.
Tyler awoke with a pounding headache, the taste of blood
and dirt in his mouth and the slap of cold rain on his face.
Stunned, he lay on his back in a puddle of muddy water, but a
pointy stone poking into his back and the pelting raindrops
revived him.
With a push, he sat up, and an electric jolt of pain shot up his
arm. His head throbbed as he drew in a sharp breath. His ribs hurt
too.
Lightning flickered.
He must have fallen into a gully at the bottom of a ravine
while chasing his brother.
“Dylan! Where are you?” Tyler’s voice was a hoarse screech
nearly smothered by the storm.
Was that whimpering? He cupped his ear and squinted. Dylan
sat cross‐legged on the ground holding his ankle. Whew. At least
Little Bro was still alive. Tyler glanced up, but through the sheets
of rain he couldn’t even see the mountaintop. He flexed his leg
muscles—no pain. He ran his fingers over his right wrist. It didn’t
seem to be broken.
He’d been lucky.
Gritting his teeth, he hoisted himself to his hands and knees
and crawled. He eased to a seat next to his brother, and cold water
soaked his backside.
“You okay?” he shouted over the wind.
“Twisted my ankle.” Dylan grimaced, rocking back and forth.
“This was such a stupid idea. I didn’t even want to scout for some
stupid fort.” His green eyes sparked. “But you had to have your
way.”
“Huh? You’re the one who ran like an idiot on top of
mountains we don’t even know.”
“Hello. That lightning nearly fried us back there.” Dylan
touched the top of his head. “I think it singed my hair.” Dylan’s
voice was louder—a good thing—and his sandy colored hair only
looked wet.
Tyler touched his head, and his probing fingers found a lump
on the back of it. “Ouch. Whacked my head on something.” The
water in the gully rose to his ankles, and the thunder rumbled a
warning. “We’ve got to move,” he hollered. “Could flash‐flood.”
He stood, swayed and hoisted Dylan to his feet. He scrambled
out of the gully, then reached back and pulled Dylan up the low
bank. Sheets of rain pounded his back and cut down his vision;
they seemed to be on a level clearing.
Curving his hands into a cone, he yelled into Dylan’s ear. “We
gotta find shelter.”
He staggered ahead, one arm around Dylan to ease weight
from his brother’s ankle.
A wall materialized out of the gloom. Tyler lifted his hand to
shield his eyes against the rain. A weathered old house stood
before them. Tugging Dylan by the arm, he circled the structure.
Boards barricaded the windows, and the roof sagged. After
rounding the first corner, he spotted a porch, but broken stairs
and a caved‐in floor blocked the front door.
“I’m not going in there.” Dylan’s teeth chattered. “Looks
haunted.”
Tyler shook his head and winced with pain. “It’s just an old
house. We’re going in if we find a way.”
With Dylan in tow, he looped around to the back door. He
yanked on the handle, but it didn’t budge. Lifting his sore head,
he squinted against the pelting rain. They had to get inside, rest,
and figure this out.
“Come on.” Tightening his grip on Dylan’s shirt, he continued
circling the structure. In the murky light, he tripped over the
storm door to the cellar. He caught himself on the plywood
boards but came nose to nose with a thick steel handle. He backed
off and pulled on the handle with all his strength, but the heavy
looking horizontal doors seemed nailed shut. He frowned. “Aw,
stink.”
“Like, what now?” Dylan looked pathetic with his pinched
face and wet‐darkened hair plastered against his head.
“Gotta be a way in.” Tyler guided Little Bro to one of the
windows. “Wait here.” He jumped and grabbed the sill. His head
ached but he hoisted himself anyway. Using the heel of his hand,
he punched in one of the wider boards and wiggled halfway
through the opening. Still holding the windowsill, he pulled his
legs through, rolled in and landed on his feet.
The dark interior muffled the wind and rain but stank of dust
and mold.
He wrinkled his nose. At least it was dry. He poked his head
out the window. “Give me your hand.”
Dylan scrambled up and in, and they stood dripping inside
the abandoned house.
Tyler blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
Shapes in the dim light suggested an open doorway and maybe
cabinets. “Looks like the kitchen.” He whispered but his voice
sounded loud after the roaring wind.
“I don’t like it.” Dylan’s voice trembled. “Feels funny.”
“At least we’re out of the rain.” Tyler wiped the wet off his
forearms.
“What now?”
“Wait here until the storm is over.” He eased Dylan to the
floor and slid down beside him. Huddling close, he tried to relieve
his brother’s shivering. He wished he wasn’t here, and he
wouldn’t be if his parents hadn’t moved them. It was better in
Florida . . . Well, maybe not. His former friends back home hated
him. But the kids here hated him too. The guy, Matt, had taken
him fishing and hiking and then ditched him—
Somewhere below a board creaked.
He caught his breath.
Rasping came from the darkest corner on the far wall.
His heart banged against his ribcage like it wanted to escape.
Straining his eyes across the room, he recognized the outline of a
door that might lead to the basement. He struggled to gulp air
without panting. What if someone or something—something
nasty—lived in the cellar?
“What is it?” Dylan clawed at Tyler’s shirt.
“Shhh!”
Another board creaked, louder this time. Probably basement
stairs.
They were not alone.
“Someone’s coming.” His dry mouth dragged his voice as he
whispered into Dylan’s ear. Trembling, he stood and searched the
room for somewhere to hide.
A closet with its door unhinged loomed in the opposite corner.
“Over here.” Grabbing his brother’s arm, Tyler shuffled to the
tiny space, gave Dylan a shove and squeezed in behind him just as
the cellar door creaked open.
The tread of heavy boots followed, and the blinding glare of a
flashlight probed the opposite side of the room. The light circled
closer and closer.
He held his breath and pressed himself against the wall,
wishing he could fly away from this nightmare or disappear like a
mouse through a crack in the woodwork. What would happen if
the man—it had to be a man—found them?
Facing outward to shield his brother, he balled his hand into a
fist.
Another footstep, and the beam lit the edge of the closet.
He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out.
A screech sounded from across the house.
The flashlight flicked away.
“Well, what’d you find, Frank?” A powerful voice boomed
from the basement.
“Garn, that blasted raccoon,” a whiny‐voiced man answered.
“I heard talk,” the first man said.
“Nah, just the storm and that stinking raccoon again. We
should set a trap.”
The voice from the basement cursed and muttered something
about popping heads. “Forget it,” he finally yelled. “Come back
and close the door. I’m trying to sleep here.”
The basement door slammed shut, and the heavy tread
receded.
Tyler stayed put a long time. He didn’t like the part about
popping heads, but the voice had also talked about sleeping. He
had to make sure. When his brother fidgeted, he placed a firm
hand on Dylan’s arm and waited.
The storm seemed to be fading. They should leave under
cover of the wind and rain. Gathering his courage, he grabbed
Dylan’s hand, slinked to the window and poked his head outside.
The thunderstorm was definitely dwindling. He crawled out, but
lost his grip as his hips cleared the windowsill. He dropped the
last foot and hit the ground with a thud, and a blast of white
sparks detonated inside his head. Somehow, he staggered to his
feet and grabbed Dylan’s legs.
“Careful.” He eased Dylan to the ground.
Dylan stumbled and straightened, his eyes resembling two
ping‐pong balls.
Swaying on his feet, Tyler squinted and found a weed‐choked
driveway. “Come on.” He tried to walk fast, but dizziness and
nausea descended, and everything grayed. Holding on to Dylan,
he staggered like he’d just jumped off a merry‐go‐round.
“We’ve got to get out of here.” His words came out mumbled,
and blinding pain hammered inside his head.
Soon the driveway intersected with a gravel road. He turned
and shambled along in a fog. The first dirt road crossed another
and then another. He had a vague sense of stumbling downhill.
Time seemed to slow as they kept moving. He stopped. Had it
been minutes or hours? Squinting, he could just see the river
through the gray curtain of mist. He tilted his head heavenward
and breathed a thank you.
“You know where we are?” Dylan’s voice sounded hopeful.
He gazed at Dylan, forcing himself to focus. “Don’t know
how, but this must be Riverside Drive—again.” His mouth
twitched. “I think we’re gonna make it.”
His head still thumped. A light drizzle fell, but the wind
gusted, slapping his face and clearing his mind. He stole a
sideways glance at Dylan. His brother looked like a drowned cat.
No. A drowned cat with a gimpy leg.
“How much farther?” Dylan must have sensed his glance.
“Long way.”
Dylan groaned.
“Don’t worry. This road leads right to our house.” How had
they wandered down the foothills and onto Riverside Drive? He
frowned. Since his fall, everything was a dizzying blur. He felt
totally weird. One thing he did know for sure, he’d nearly jumped
out of his skin in that creepy old house.
Just get yourself home and Dylan safe. Tyler lengthened his
stride.
“Slow down,” Dylan whined.
“Sorry.” He stopped and waited.
Dylan hobbled head down, sucking in hissing breaths through
his teeth. Mom and Dad would definitely notice when they got
home—and ask questions.
Like sewer rats after fresh meat, images of his first trek up the
foothills yesterday gnawed into his mind. His leg muscles still
ached from scrambling up the slope trying to keep up with the
two older boys. Ryan had taunted him, whacked him with bent
branches and called him “city boy.” But the much bigger Matt,
with playful blue eyes and a friendly round face, had put him at
ease—making the betrayal when they ditched him all the more
painful.
“Be back in a few minutes,” Matt had said with a smile.
Idiot. I was such an idiot. Even now the memory flamed his
cheeks. But Matt was cool. Tyler liked him regardless of the
prank, and finding their fort would still prove he wasn’t lame.
He pressed his lips together. “You know, Dylan, we can’t tell
Mom and Dad about that house, okay?”
Dylan stopped, his brow furrowed. “Why not?”
“They’ll ban us from the woods. They’ll say it’s too
dangerous.”
Dylan snorted. “Are you crazy? It is too dangerous. I nearly
wet my pants back there.” He looked down at his soaked jean
shorts. “Maybe I did.” He lifted a dripping face and shook his
head. “No way I’m going back. No way.”
“Totally. Just don’t tell Mom and Dad about those creeps.
They’ll freak.”
“You asking me to lie?”
“No. Tell them you fell, which you did. Just don’t mention the
house or the goons.” Tyler hated lying.
Dylan limped a few more steps. “Okay, I guess. But I’m not
going back. Ever.” He gave him a hard look. “You shouldn’t
either.”
“I still want to find Matt’s fort.”
“What? You’re crazy.” Dylan shook his head. “Who were
those guys anyway?”
Like a laser, Tyler’s thoughts sped back to Florida and the
terrorist he met that hot summer day. But they were foreigners—
mostly, and all either dead or in jail. Terrorists here in the
heartland? No way. He rolled his shoulders. ʺProbably some
bums,ʺ he said.
Dylan’s face twisted into a grimace. “Or murderers.”

Read the rest of Glenn Haggerty’s exciting
adventure, Run. Now available at Amazon and other
fine bookstores.
Copyright © 2015 by Glenn Haggerty
All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or
by any means, electronic, mechanical, magnetic, photographic including photocopying,
recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written
permission of the publisher. No patent liability is assumed with respect to the use of the
information contained herein. Although every precaution has been taken in the
preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or
omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the
information contained herein.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and
incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious
manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely
coincidental.
Scripture quotations are taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW LIVING TRANSLATION*
(NLT). Copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by
permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights
reserved.
ISBN 978‐1‐940727‐17‐2 (print)
ISBN 978‐1‐940727‐18‐9 (e‐book)
Visit Glenn’s Web site at www.glennhaggerty.com
Publisher’s Cataloging‐in‐Publication data
Haggerty, Glenn.
Run / Glenn Haggerty.
pages cm.
Series : Intense.
ISBN 978‐1‐940727‐17‐2 (pbk.)
ISBN 978‐1‐940727‐18‐9 (ebook)
[1.Moving.Household ‐‐Fiction. 2. Friendship ‐‐Fiction. 3. Family life ‐‐Fiction.
4. Pennsylvania ‐‐Fiction. 5. Christian fiction.] I. Series. II. Title.
PZ7.H12428 Ru 2015
[Fic] –dc23 2015948788
__________________________________________________________
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Printed in the United States of America

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