Chapter 8
Briana
Last Wednesday
A few fern fronds later, my stomach settles. Thanks to the rain, Mr. Mumble’s treads leave deep grooves in the mud. Do I track where he’s going or where he’s been? As much as I want to turn the tables on my stalker, the man who screamed last night may still be alive.
In stealth mode, I step, listen, step. One careful mile passes after another. The further I go, the harder my heart pounds. I’m about to give up when I slip on a pool of congealed blood. My adrenaline spikes as I reach a mound of freshly disturbed earth.
Holding my breath, I doggy-dig until I uncover a face. “Oh, God. No. No, no…” It can’t be. And yet, it is. Brett, what were you doing on The Long Trail? You hate hiking.
A lump of choked back tears make it hard to swallow as I smooth the dirt back in place. With any luck, I didn’t ruin the crime scene. Enough time has been wasted. I need a lot more forest between me and whoever killed my ex.
Far from the well-marked path, I stop. What if Gollum targets another hiker? Someone less able to defend themselves? As the thought steels my spine, I change directions. Even exhausted, I can lead the killer on a merry chase until people come looking for me.
Unless… What if he pursues the innocent search volunteers? Tugging at future threads, all I see is death. Damn it. There has to be a better outcome.
Hunger clouds my judgment. My jacked-up metabolism has eaten the few calories I ingested. Only calm equals survival. I finish my water, then crane my neck up to the clear, blue sky.
I could risk parasites and go back to the stream. Those can be treated, dying of thirst cannot. Decision made, I hike parallel to the primary trail, heading toward the babbling brook.
Snap. A twig cracks behind me. Heart thudding, I drop flat, and crab-crawl to a fallen tree. Rolling underneath a log, I wedge myself deep.
There I stay motionless until the sun goes down.