CHAPTER 19
I flinch as the shadow swoops toward me. Tell myself to relax when I realize it’s just a bird. But no matter how many times I tell myself there’s nothing to fear, my body remains tied in knots. Because the truth is, there’s plenty to be afraid of.
The world is a dangerous place. I know this more than most. And I know the statistics that back it up. I try not to think of them now as I make my way deeper into the woods.
Before I left the sanctuary, I took the time to feed and water everyone, suspecting I’d be home late.
Though it’s already early afternoon, it stays light until nine this time of year.
I intend to search for those girls every second I can.
If that means walking back in the dark, so be it.
It’s not like I have anything to go home to.
Though I’d called Jake before I left the shelter of my car at the trailhead, he once again failed to answer, sending me to voicemail after two rings. I hung up without leaving a message. He either wants to hear from me or he doesn’t.
Clearly, he doesn’t. There’s no use forcing the issue.
My phone pings, filling me with a jolt of elation, hoping that I had the thought too soon. But when I pull it from my pocket and wake the screen, I find that it’s not a text from Jake, like I’d foolishly hoped. It’s not a text at all.
I hold my breath as I press the notification from the security camera mounted above the front door. The one that boasts human image detected. But it’s not Jake who appears on the screen. It’s Julian.
Groaning, I squint at the image. Pinch the screen and spread my fingers to enlarge it. Though the clip is in black and white, I’m fairly certain that the darkness encircling the man’s right eye isn’t a shadow. It’s a bruise. And I only need one guess as to where he got it.
Cursing, I turn my screen off and tuck the phone back into my pocket. I don’t have time for this drama right now. There are much more important things, two of which might be somewhere on this trail right now in need of help.
Quickening my pace, I scan my surroundings.
Ancient oaks crowd the sides of trail, their heavy boughs, draped with Spanish moss, create a canopy above it.
Saw palmettos and scrub litter the forest floor.
Wild coffee scents the humid air. Narrow paths disappear into the brush, but none are big enough to accommodate a human.
Adjusting my pack, I continue on. Though I’m not quite as far in as I made it last time, when I found the raccoon, my back already aches twice as bad.
The straps dig deep into my shoulders, weighted by the extra supplies I carry.
My sun shirt is drenched with sweat, my hiking pants well on their way to being the same.
This time, my bag is packed so full I could hardly zip it.
The first aid kit I’m carrying is over ten pounds just by itself.
Add in the rope, paracord, knife, water purifying tablets, emergency blankets, fire starters, ready meals, a solar phone charger, glowsticks, flares, a compass, a multitool, and enough bottled water to keep three people alive in this heat for a couple of days and it feels like I’m giving a piggyback ride to an NFL player.
But if there’s one thing Butch taught me, it’s that it’s better to be overprepared than under. An image of his face pops into my mind, his expression equal parts patience and amusement, though I know that my own face, the one that matches this memory, is anything but.
Finally, we come to a stop. Butch wraps a hand around my arm, uses it to spin me around in circles. Then, he lifts the blindfold. I scowl as I look around at my surroundings.
When my grandfather promised me a break from the endless work at the sanctuary before school started, this wasn’t what I had in mind. I thought he was going to take me shopping, or maybe even to a movie.
Instead, while the rest of the girls entering the freshman class with me are probably painting their nails and deciding how to wear their hair, I’m here, somewhere in the middle of the woods, with no trail in sight.
Drenched in sweat, covered in a thick coat of grime that’s probably going to make me break out for the first day of class, and being crushed under the weight of the pack strapped to my back.
I raise an eyebrow as I notice that Butch isn’t carrying any supplies. Apparently, I’ve graduated from granddaughter to pack mule.
“How are you going to find your way back to the car?” he asks me.
“I’m going to follow you.”
He shakes his head. “It’s up to you to get us out of here. How are you going to do it?”
I sigh. Glare up at the sky, where the sun is to my left.
It was early when we set out. The day was still breaking, but when we left the car, the soft light chasing away the fading grey of dawn was to my right. Though we hiked for hours, it still has to be morning.
Pointing at the blinding brightness, I say, “We go that way. East.”
Butch nods his approval. “Good. Now what is the most pressing need you’re going to have to satisfy?”
“Getting this pack off my back, followed by emptying my bladder.”
“Cassidy.”
“Fine. Water.”
“And how are you going to get it?”
“I’m guessing you mean other than grabbing a bottle out of the bag?”
“Yes.”
“What can I use?”
“Anything in your pack other than the bottled water.”
I grumble as I slide the rucksack off and squat beside it.
Rummage around, then pull out the plastic grocery bag I keep in it to carry out any trash I make.
I give Butch a look, aware that he’s going to want a demonstration, so without waiting for instructions, I pick up a small, smooth rock and wipe it clean on my pants.
Placing the rock in the corner of the bag, I spin slowly in a circle until I spot a plant I recognize. Covering a patch of star grass with the bag, I loop one of the handles tightly around the opening. Turning back to Butch, I smirk and say, “Water vapor from plants.”
“Why’d you choose that plant in particular?”
“Because I recognize it and know it’s not toxic.”
“Excellent. What would you do if you didn’t recognize any of the plants?”
“Find some grass to lay the plastic out on.”
That hadn’t been the only time Butch took me out into the woods for survival training.
By the time I graduated from high school, he could drop me off in the middle of nowhere and I could find my way back.
Sometimes, he’d simulate injury situations, a broken femur, a head wound, and have me administer first aid before crafting a way to get the injured party back to safety.
Though at the time it had seemed unnecessary and excessive, I’m grateful for every second he spent training me now.
Because if the missing girls are still out here, something happened to them.
If one or both of them is hurt, they’ve been that way for days.
Being able to administer proper care could mean the difference between life and death.
I remind myself of this each time I think about stashing some of my supplies to lighten the load, though there is one thing I can do to make myself more comfortable. As much as I’ve been fighting it, the time has come to empty my bladder. Apparently, my needs while hiking haven’t changed much.
Slowing my pace, I start looking for a spot, searching for any little alcove off the trail. My hands wrap around the straps of my pack in anticipation of slipping it off, if only for a few minutes. They curl tighter as something catches my attention.
Coming to a stop in the middle of the path, I continue to stare. As I do, a ripple of unease spreads through me. My skin pricks uncomfortably, the hair on the back of my neck bristling as I take a step closer.
There, gathered in a heap, is a collection of branches. It’s not something that could have happened naturally. In fact, as I tear my gaze away to look at the canopy above me, I note that there are none of a similar size overhead. They don’t even belong to the same type of tree.
Someone purposely collected these sticks.
Remembering the arrow I’d been looking for the other day, I pull my phone out and check the time. This is about where I found the raccoon, which means this pile of branches was probably the landmark I was looking for. But someone had already shoved them to the side by the time I arrived.
Who? The girls? Or someone else?
There were no other names on the trail log Monday, but plenty of hikers don’t bother signing in or out. And though there’d been no other vehicles in the lot, that doesn’t mean there wasn’t someone else out here that day. It also doesn’t mean they aren’t still out here now.
Suddenly, it makes sense. How tame the raccoon I rescued is. The bait trap she had stuck on her head despite being miles from civilization. Someone must be living out here in these woods.
A shudder runs through me as I wonder if that’s why the girls never made it home. The sweat coating my skin turns icy as I consider what might have happened to them. My bladder twinges when I realize how silent it’s fallen.
There’s no bird song. No twigs snapping or leaves rustling under the weight of a squirrel. Even the breeze has fallen still. It’s just me and the heavy sound of my breathing. And a sudden crash in the brush to my right.
I turn to face the noise, my movements slow and stilted under the weight of my pack. Realize my mistake a second too late. I spin toward the sound of heavy footsteps approaching from behind, but the impact of something hard against my skull stops me.