Chapter 13 #2
The valley is greedy for air, allowing only the slightest coolness to creep up from the nearby creek. My eyelids are heavy as I follow Jack, mindful not to trip on anything in the dark. But as soon as we enter our little campsite, I come to an abrupt stop, plowing face-first into Jack’s backpack.
“Ow! Why the sudden brakes?” I wince as I pull away, tenderly prodding my aching cheek.
Jack swings around, blinding me with his headlamp, his hand cupping my face to inspect my wound. “Dammit, sorry.” He slides the light off his head, holding it so it’s not pointed directly at me. “You okay?” He frowns, a tinge of anger hiding behind his question.
“What’s going on?”
A heavy breath puffs out of his chest. “We have a problem.”
The smile slides off my face as Jack steps out of the way, letting me see the mess behind him.
I gasp, taking in the angry slash ripped down one side of each of our tents.
With jerky movements, I rush forward, moving the torn flap of my tent aside, only to discover Marigold has suffered the same fate as the tents.
Her contents are spilled across my sleeping mat, gutted as if someone went through everything in a rush.
“What the fudge?” my voice squeaks, high-pitched and laced with rage.
“Look at this,” I lift my arm, motioning up and down with my hand like I’m opening a zipper.
“Slashing a knife is the same movement. They couldn’t take one second to grip the zipper and pull it down?
” I repeat the motion, outraged at the rudeness of whatever jerk did this.
“And Marigold! She has a huge rip in her!”
Jack turns his lantern on, hanging it on the critter pole.
Soft amber light illuminates our campsite, the gentleness contrasting with the anger simmering in my limbs.
Jack takes measured steps toward me while I continue my sweeping arm gestures, lamenting over the audacity of the perpetrator.
Only when his large palms land gently on my shoulders do I finally stop, breathing heavily and meeting his soothing eyes.
“It’ll be okay. I’ve camped without a tent many times.”
“But Marigold!”
He chuckles, nearly giving me a heart attack.
“Looks like you can’t be trusted with a backpack.
” His hands slide away, and he sets his pack down and walks to my tent, pulling Marigold out.
That beautiful frown is present as he inspects her rip.
“At least we still have the spearhead. And I have a needle and thread. We can fix this.”
“You sew?”
“One of my many talents.” His cheek lifts a fraction, like his face is considering the suggestion of a smile, but he’s already used up his yearly quota.
“Come on, we’ll use the restroom and refill our water canteens, then I’ll clean that cut on your cheek so we can get settled for the night. Grab whatever toiletries you need.”
I do as he says, meeting him at the entrance of our campsite. He keeps his broad back toward me, arms crossed while he inspects the surrounding campsites.
“The words I’m going to have for the D-bag who did this when we catch them,” I grumble, following him.
I try to focus on that wronged feeling so my mind won’t fixate on the increasing level of violence we’re seeing from the people behind all this.
The escalating evidence of their desperation is enough to make my blood run cold.
But I keep telling myself everything is okay, and I don’t need to build an S.O.S.
fire to signal for help and an emergency evac out of here.
That would be quitting in a very dramatic way.
I can do this. I can finish this hike.
So there’s a target on my back? I’ll be smart. And Jack knows what he’s doing.
He makes me lock the door to the entire building when I go into the restroom, insisting I promise to open only when he announces himself outside. I roll my eyes but oblige, because I’m basically sleepwalking at this point and fighting him would only delay my rest.
Minutes later, when we’ve each pulled our sleeping mats and bags out of our ruined tents, Jack tells me to sit on the picnic table beside his hanging lantern. It creates a sleepy glow, while he gets out his first aid kit.
My shoes have assumed a new color, no longer the fresh teal from before. Darkness cloaks the sky, hiding the scuffs in forgiving midnight blues.
“How’s it looking?” I ask, enjoying the way the shadows play on Jack’s jaw and cheekbones when he steps near, completely focused on the cut on my cheek. He could be a model in a training manual for men who want to live alone and chop wood.
The tightness in his face slowly melts away as he replaces the butterfly strips on my cheek, his fingers only making the most necessary contact, but his gaze is a caress on my face that says his hands are itching to test his self-imposed boundaries.
He finishes but doesn’t move away, so I remain still, enamored by the wild and beautiful creature before me. I hold my breath, too afraid that if I breathe, I’ll ruin this delicious moment.
“All good.” He nods, his voice restrained and piercing the bubble.
The air sizzles with tension, and I think he’s close to admitting something to himself. I only hope it’s a revelation in my favor.
He steps away, insisting I sit while he deposits the contents of Marigold into his bag and hangs it on the pole. He pulls out the box with the spearhead, tucking it in the waistband of his pants at his back.
I unroll my sleeping bag, answering its call to crawl inside while Jack moves around, dismantling our tents. He’s a mesmerizing force of restrained power, finally settling beside me with Marigold and a small sewing kit. My eyelids have weights on them as I fight to stay awake.
“I’m glad I met you, Jack Steel,” I murmur, feeling myself drifting.
He snorts out a rough laugh and I barely hear him reply, “I’m glad I met you, too.”