6. ‘J’
6
‘J’
J hikes a little more than he planned. He reaches a particular stretch of the mountain most hikers tend to avoid because not only does it lack a clear path, it’s also a radio dead zone. An unattractive pairing for those who like a mapped-out route and can’t bear to be without signal for a few hours. To J, it’s quite the opposite. Being unreachable and entirely off grid are the things that appeal most to him; it’s why he came.
Besides, hiking a mile or so into the dead zone means he’ll cover more distance before the rain arrives. His last prediction led him to believe he’d miss the downpour, but the recent swell of cloud overhead is making him reconsider. He changes course, deciding to hike to higher ground before he pitches a tent.
His plans are hijacked however, when a red blur ruptures through the trees, bursting over the edge of a steep ridge before it begins to roll down the canyon.
Binoculars wedged to his face, he identifies the object as a car, one that looks like it came from the abandoned road at the top of the ridge. J watches the vehicle gain speed, hitting every rock and tree limb in its path, until it crashes into a cluster of ferns that somehow stop it from rolling all the way to the bottom of the ravine.
J lowers the binoculars and sighs. It isn’t the first time he’s seen someone dispose of a car this way before. Criminals driving stolen vehicles who needed to abandon them quickly or unruly kids up to no good. He’d been a kid, a rowdy one, he knew what they got up to. There are a hundred reasons why idiots rolled cars off cliffsides in deserted areas like these, the main one being because there’s nobody around to witness it happen.
He aims the binoculars at the top of the cliff.
No one in sight.
Probably not kids then; kids usually hang around to video the whole thing or to admire their handy work, giggling at each other like morons. No, this was probably the work of a calculated, conniving?—
“What the fuck?” J utters in his low gravelly voice when he finally points the binoculars at the car, a red Jeep Wrangler. His eyes snag on the driver’s side where he spots someone—a woman—crushed against the window by her airbag.
She’s unconscious.
“Shit,” he mutters, realizing he’s just witnessed an accident . J grabs his rucksack and begins to move across the rocky terrain toward the wreck.
He pulls out his radio, the only form of communication he carries for events like this, emergencies only.
He flicks on the receiver, even though he knows he’s only going to get static. It’s the dead zone, nothing exists out here. He tries it anyway, for the woman’s sake .
Minutes later, he’s next to the Jeep. It’s completely wrecked, the exterior in ruin, but worse than all that is the way it balances on the edge, rocking like a playground seesaw. Like it could plummet if he makes the wrong move. It might fall anyway if he doesn’t come up with a plan fast enough.
He looks at the woman. She’s young, maybe a little younger than him. It’s hard to tell with her face squashed up and her neck twisted in that unnatural way.
She’s breathing at least, the steamed-up glass next to her crushed-up nostrils confirms it.
The rocks under the front wheels are crumbling every second he doesn’t do something.
She could have a neck injury or spinal damage, and moving her could make it worse, but there’s that crumbling sound again.
Time to act.
J tears open the door. A buzzing creature flies out and zips past his ear while he reaches over to unbuckle her belt. He’s instantly hit with the stench of…what is that? Lemons? No, something much stronger than citrus fruit. It’s like some putrid combination of chemicals and baby powder. He ignores the smell, cradles her neck, and wraps a large arm under the back of her legs.
He carries her several feet from the vehicle, drops to his knees, and gently places her on the smoothest patch of ground he can find.
A second later, the rocks erode to dust beneath the wheels and the entire vehicle begins careening down the cliffside, knocks and bumps pinging and echoing throughout the valley.
The crash at the bottom isn’t nearly as loud as J thought it’d be, but that’s possibly because he’s not really concentrating on the Jeep anymore, his attention squarely on the woman.
Relief pours in when he discovers she isn’t entirely unconscious anymore. Every so often she makes subtle moaning sounds, accompanied by the sporadic twitch of her fingers and toes.
He performs all the necessary checks, wishing he’d brought his phone after all, just to record what he’s doing. Touching a woman without her permission teetered on lawsuit territory, but screw it, these are unique circumstances.
No broken bones, still breathing, probably just concussed. He pulls off his sweater and positions it under her head. He notes the way she’s dressed. Stringy top with matching yoga pants. Small, dangly hoop earrings. Manicured nails, and is that glitter on her eyelids? He shakes his head, eyes flicking to her expensive looking slim watch, several jangly looking bangles, and shoes that aren’t fit for being out here. No, wait. Make that only one shoe . He scratches his head. The other must have come off in the crash. Too bad it’s probably at the bottom of the cliff now.
She begins to stir, moaning a little louder. Her groans are soft and her movements delicate.
That’s when J gets a little uncomfortable.
She’s about to wake up, which means he’ll have to explain what happened. Which means he’ll have to talk to her. Share some of this otherwise peaceful hiking trip with her. God, what if he had to wait with her while help arrived? It would knock him off course…
Or what if…what if the whole thing was a set up…
He could always just leave .
Radio in the incident when he got to higher ground. She’d be rescued within a couple hours. He’d already saved her life once, his favor to her was done.
But then her long, wispy lashes begin to flutter, and before J can move from his spot above her, she’s staring at him with wide hazelnut eyes.