Chapter 4
Briana
Monday Afternoon
I should feel guilty about leaving Andrea, but I’m done. It’s time to reevaluate everything—especially my so-called friends.
A drop of rain plunks on my nose as I pack. Smiling, I unroll my jacket’s hood, then tie it under my chin. Once I head out, the sky's weeping freely. Mud, moss, bark—my heart bursts at the rich scents and subtle sounds. Most of the birds have gone quiet, save for one lone chickadee-dee-dee-deeeee.
Finding my stride, I check for cell service. If I had bars, I’d call Herman. Doesn’t matter. After a year of therapy, I can emulate his AI speech like a pro.
Playing both parts might not count as mental health, but progress is progress. “Morning, Herman.”
Picturing a modern Freud-like guy, I jump into the other role. “Hello, Bree. How can I help you today?”
“Don't know if you heard—Brett cheated on me with Andrea while we were still together.”
“Surprised?”
“About the cheating? Not so much. With her? Yeah.”
“So her betrayal appears more significant than his. Why do you think so?”
“She was my BFF.” Thinking of her betrayal, I sigh. “Probably for the best. It’s not like Brett and I were going anywhere. We were simply biding our time until someone better came along.”
“Perhaps you stayed with him to justify your expectations.”
We argue back and forth until a twig cracks behind me.
Shit. As the hair on the back of my neck rises, Herman warns, “Always listen to your inner voice.”
Frozen in place, I mouth, “Don’t I always?”
Someone’s watching. And if I’m right, they’ve been keeping pace—far enough back to stay hidden.
Pistol in my pack, I grip the canister of bear spray clipped to my belt. While effective, it can’t block a bullet.
Eventually, I move on, hyper-aware of every branch snap or rustle in the leaves.
Even though the out-of-place noises still, my skin crawls. For the first time in my life, I wish I had a hiking companion—or a couple bars of 5G.
When twilight falls, despite the rain, I skip the fire. If someone is out there, I’m not about to send up a flare announcing my location.
Perhaps I should’ve veered off the trail earlier. Walked a parallel path.
Remember your paranoid tendencies.
“Thanks, Herman.” The worst part of acting patient and shrink? I can’t shut him up.
Well, in case I’m right and he’s wrong, I pitch my tent beside a four-foot boulder, unzipping the back flap for a quick exit. Boots on, fully dressed. I lie on the ground, sliding my sleeping bag over me instead of crawling inside the cocoon.
Critters stir. Crickets chirp. Peepers croak a lullaby. Tuned into every sound, I sleep the way I did while deployed—in short stretches, one eye always open.
A sudden silence snaps me to attention, rushing adrenaline through my veins. Someone’s out there.
Confirming my suspicions, a dim flashlight beam skates across my tent wall. Shadow men. Two of them. I scoot out the back, pressing deep into the darkness behind the rock.
Dammit. My pistol’s back there.
As I weigh the risk of going back, a tenor voice sing-songs, “I know you’re in there. Come out, come out, wherever you are. All-ee-all-ee-in-free.”
Close by, a gunshot cracks the air.
Ears ringing, I jump.
The high, creepy voice screeches, “Don’t kill her! It’s not time.”
While they argue, I stretch out my hands, plunging into the pitch-black nothingness. No moonlight, no trail markers, branches claw at my sleeves. My only hope is to find the path before they find me.
The ghosts stalk me, silent except for an occasional muttered threat. “That’s right, honey. Run. Hide.”
The next shot explodes, sending bark flying from a tree. Thankfully, the miss is far to my left.
When thunder growls in the distance, I glance up, dread rising. If lightning strikes, they’ll pick me off like those ducks at the fair.
Scrambling up a trunk, jackknife open, I steady my breath. Should it come to it, I’ll go for the jugular—fast—deep, no hesitation.
All night, I strain to detect any human sounds, but if they’re out there, the storm and wind mask them well.
Finally, the gray dawn light bleeds through the clouds. I hop out of my tree in the unrelenting downpour. Following last night’s muddy footsteps, I circle back to recover my gear.
No way.
It’s all gone.
Everything.
Shit, I'm so fucked.