Chapter 2 #3
Hunter reaches for the bandage, his movements methodical. "It's easy to get confused in poor light. And you fell. You were probably in shock."
"I slipped and hurt my ankle. I didn't hit my head.
" I can't keep the edge out of my voice.
"And I wasn't in shock when I saw them. The first one appeared before I fell.
It was on the rocks above me. And then the second one...
" I pause, watching his face. "The second one appeared after I fell.
It positioned itself between me and the first wolf. Like it was protecting me."
Hunter's hands have gone completely still on my ankle. For a long moment, he doesn't say anything, doesn't move. Then he starts wrapping the bandage, his movements careful and precise.
"The light isn't great that deep in the woods," he says finally, his voice neutral. "Shadows can play tricks. And coyotes can get pretty large around here. We have a healthy population?—"
"They weren't coyotes." I lean forward, ignoring the twinge in my ankle. "Hunter, I know what I saw. There were two of them."
He secures the bandage and sits back, finally meeting my eyes.
"This should stabilize it until I can get you to Urgent Care in Parkerville," he says, clearly ending the conversation. "I'm thinking it's nothing more than a bad sprain, but you can't put any weight on it until a doctor looks at it. Better safe than sorry."
"That won't be necessary." I flex my foot experimentally, and I'm surprised to find the pain has already dulled significantly. Whatever he did, it worked. "I feel much better."
"Trust me, it's necessary." His tone brooks no argument. "You might feel better now because of the ibuprofen and the support, but trying to walk on that could turn a simple sprain into something that requires surgery. Let me get you checked out properly."
I want to argue, but he's right, and I know it.
"If you insist," I say, then add, "Thank you. For all of this. For finding me, for the samples, for..." I gesture at my neatly bandaged ankle. "For taking care of me."
Something softens in his expression. "You're welcome. Come on, let's get you to that doctor."
The engine roars to life with a rumble that I feel in my chest, and we pull out into the early evening. For a few minutes, we drive in silence, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional crunch of gravel as we navigate Willow Creek's winding streets.
I watch the houses slide past, each one unique and beautiful in the fading light.
Victorian cottages sit next to Craftsman bungalows, all of them old but immaculately maintained.
There's not a vinyl-sided McMansion in sight, no generic suburban sprawl.
Every building looks like it has a story, like it's been here long enough to become part of the landscape.
"So what brings a researcher all the way out here?" Hunter asks, breaking the silence. "These mountains aren't exactly a hotspot for academic work."
"That's why I'm here," I say, grateful for the neutral topic. "I'm a postdoc in Environmental Science at Clemson. My research focuses on genetic mutations in native plant species. How they evolve in response to environmental pressures."
"Clemson." He glances over at me, something unreadable in his expression. "That's what, a few hours from here?"
"About three and a half, depending on traffic." I shift in my seat, trying to get comfortable with the bulky boot on my foot. "I've been coming up here for the past month, collecting samples from different elevations and water sources."
"And you're seeing something unusual?" There's an edge to his voice now, a tension that wasn't there before.
I nod slowly, trying to read his reaction.
"The mutations I'm documenting are happening too fast to be natural.
Normally, evolutionary changes like this take generations.
But when I compare what's here now to older samples taken in the area, I'm seeing significant genetic shifts within years, sometimes months.
Something is putting extraordinary pressure on these ecosystems."
Hunter's jaw tightens, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. "And you think it's contamination?"
"That's my working hypothesis. Industrial runoff, agricultural chemicals, something that's affecting the water supply and soil composition.
" I watch him carefully. "The changes are most pronounced near water sources, which supports that theory.
But my initial samples came back clean, which is why I was so far out today.
I wanted to collect from the most remote sources I could find. "
He's quiet for a long moment, navigating a curve with more force than seems necessary. "These mutations, are they harmful? To the plants, I mean. Or to animals that might eat them?"
It's an odd question, specific in a way that makes me think he's asking about more than just general wildlife.
"I don't know yet. That's part of what I'm trying to determine.
But any disruption to an ecosystem this significant can have cascading effects.
Plants, insects, the animals that depend on them. It's all interconnected."
"And humans?" His voice is carefully neutral. "Could it affect humans?"
"Potentially. If there's something in the water supply, if it's bioaccumulating in the food chain..." I trail off, disturbed by the direction of my own thoughts. "That's why I need to identify the source. Whatever's causing this, it needs to be stopped."
Hunter is silent for the rest of the drive through Willow Creek, his expression unreadable. I get the sense he's processing what I've told him, weighing it against something he already knows.
We're on the main road to Parkerville when he speaks again. "How long have you been studying this area specifically?"
"A while. I started with preliminary surveys closer to Parkerville, but the most significant changes are deeper in the mountains. In more isolated areas." I pause, then add, "In your territory."
His hands flex on the wheel. "It's not my territory. I just manage it for the community."
"Right. Sorry." But something about the way he said territory earlier felt possessive, proprietary. Like he was talking about something more personal than a job.
"Your research," he says after another stretch of silence. "When you publish it, will you be specific about locations? GPS coordinates, that kind of thing?"
"Usually, yes. That's part of scientific methodology. Other researchers need to be able to replicate the findings." I study his profile, trying to understand his concern. "Why? Are you worried about people coming into the area? Trampling the habitat?"
"Something like that." He pulls into the Urgent Care parking lot and cuts the engine, turning to face me.
"Look, I don't want to tell you how to do your job.
But these mountains—Willow Creek—we've managed to stay relatively isolated for a long time.
That isolation has protected the land, kept it pristine.
If word gets out that there's something unusual happening here, that could change. Fast."
"You think people would come looking for the contamination source?" I ask, though I suspect he means something else entirely.