Wooden Bones Read Online Free Page A

that your mind itself feels like it’s on fire.
    Run! They’re coming! They’re going to get us!
    Those were the only thoughts going through Pino’s mind. If he’d been paying attention, he never would have chosen to flee into the dark woods—and certainly not the woods that lay to the west, which were the darkest of all. The canopy of trees thickened until nearly all the morning light was squeezed from the world and the way ahead was steeped in shadows. It wasn’t long before the sound of their burning cottage was left far behind, replaced by an eerie silence that was broken only by the snap of twigs from their footsteps or by their own haggard breathing.
    The air cooled, moisture beading on their faces. A wispy fog curled around mossy stumps and pooled in shallow ravines.The trees—they began to look less healthy. Some were bent and stooped like old men. Others looked withered, sporting few leaves.
    They ran still farther, and the trees were not only bent and withered, but blackened and charred as well. A great fire had obviously swept through the woods long ago—one that had burned so deeply that the forest had still not recovered.
    It was a dead and lonely place.
    Finally Geppetto collapsed on a bed of half-rotted ferns, gasping for breath. He pressed a hand against his wound and clenched his teeth. The blood dripped between his fingers and smeared the wet leaves.
    â€œPapa!” Pino cried.
    â€œIt’s—it’s all right, boy,” Geppetto said. His cheeks were so pale that they made Pino think of the whitest elm. “Just—just need to rest . . . a moment . . .”
    â€œBut they’re coming!”
    Geppetto shook his head. “No. Not here. They won’t come in here.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause . . . because we’re in the bad woods, boy. People—people don’t go in here. Not ever.”
    He tried to say more but then lost the words in a fit coughing. Pino glanced behind them. With his heart still pounding in his ears, he wouldn’t have been able to hear people coming even if they were, but he didn’t see anyone. At least not with any certainty. The tapestry of shadows in their wake made it seem as if there were both hundreds of people crouching back there—and no one at all.
    When he looked back at Geppetto, he was alarmed that his papa’s eyes were closed.
    â€œPapa?” he said.
    Geppetto remained motionless. Pino tried to speak again, but his throat tightened and choked off the sound. Could he have lost his papa already? It was not fair, not fair at all. Other boys and girls got to be with their papas for many years. Pino could not lose him. He wouldn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t know how to take care of himself.
    Papa might be gruff and moody at times, but he was a good papa. On the slow days he would often take Pino fishing at the pond. He always made Pino’s tea just the way he liked it, with extra lemon. And during thunderstorms he never complained when Pino crawled into bed with him, not even once. He was a good papa.
    Pino didn’t want to lose him.
    He didn’t want to be alone.
    Cautiously, afraid of what he was going to find, he touched the side of Geppetto’s face. He was afraid the flesh was going to be as cold as a winter stone, but it wasn’t. It was still warm. He held his fingers over Geppetto’s open mouth . . . waiting . . . hoping . . . and felt a breath.
    â€œPapa?” Pino said. “Papa, can you hear me?”
    Geppetto murmured. It was hardly any sound at all, only the slight movement of air through the throat, but it made Pino’s heart leap for joy. He hugged him, not even caring that the blood would seep into his own clothes.
    â€œPapa, Papa!”
    â€œSo very . . . tired . . .”
    â€œYou must wake up, Papa. We can’t stay here.”
    â€œTired . . .”
    It took