Chapter 8
Eight
Gideon led the way in the rain, which had increased to relentless sheets that seeped into the necks of their jackets.
They’d found a ribbon of hiking trail snaking away from the road that would take them roughly in the direction of the bridge, but progress was slow.
The ground was a bloated morass of grass and mud.
As they tried to keep their shoes from sinking into the mire, he reran their heated conversation.
“You sound just like your brother.”
Funny, he’d always admired Aaron’s sunny outlook, the easy way he attracted others like blossoms enticed bees.
Aaron was the jovial one in their friendship, beloved by everyone for his charm and by his peers for his fun-loving nature, by Gideon too.
He’d never had the same charisma. Maybe he was envious of Aaron on some deep psychological level.
Jealous, possibly, of the way Mackenzie admired her brother so deeply.
He tried to swat away the thought along with the gnat that pestered his vision.
He looked from under the dripping brim of his hat at the landscape, everything strange and unfamiliar, shoving branches aside as they plowed onward.
What was happening between him and Mackenzie?
Nothing. They were trying to survive, pure and simple, thrown together in a bizarre twist of fate.
Water snaked between his shoulder blades, and he cinched his collar tighter.
He was moving them in the right direction, toward his Jeep, but there seemed no end to the sprawl of wilderness ahead.
They were depleted, physically and emotionally, inhabiting that dangerous mental space where thinking could get fuzzy.
This was the epitome of an “isolating event” in SERE lingo.
As he routinely taught his classes, “The assigned mission is to return to friendly control without giving aid or comfort to the enemy.”
At least they’d been successful in that part of the mission so far.
Al and Jerry were driving around in the mess too, one of their vehicles disabled and left in the mud, minus a jerky, a visor, and a couple pieces of saltwater taffy.
Better yet, the two lackeys had been thwarted at the bridge and again at the barn, where no one had been shot.
At least, he hoped not. It appeared that Kevin had been fortunate enough to get away, unless of course he and/or Cordelia had been part of the ambush in the first place.
The “friendly control” they were searching for was going to be hard to find in a flooded town where Bullseye seemed to have an incredible reach.
If they did come upon a local who hadn’t evacuated, would they promptly be given up to the drug lord?
The line between friend and enemy could be impossible to recognize, and it was clear they had a price on their heads.
The only way around was through, so he shook the water from his hat and pressed on. He was never sure if cold or heat was harder to bear, but he was beginning to think there was nothing more miserable than an inescapable chill.
The hours passed in a painful blur as the cold seeped deeper into his bones. His shoulder ached to the cellular level. Mackenzie didn’t complain, but she seemed to be developing a limp that worsened as they toiled on along soggy stretches of wooded hillside.
In late afternoon, when their pace slackened to a trudge, they split the beef jerky stick and drank water from their packs. He refilled the bottles they’d emptied earlier from a stream and added purification tablets.
He knew her feet were complaining, blisters forming at the heels from the sodden jogging shoes Kevin had given her.
His feet ached too, though his sturdy boots were the best money could buy.
Never skimp on footwear, that was a lesson he’d learned the hard way.
He’d rather go hungry than wear flimsy shoes.
How much longer?
The desperate question ran silently through him, but he refused to let it take over.
Wilderness survival was his life, his career, and he could go on as long as he needed to.
But Mackenzie was fatigued, and if they couldn’t find shelter soon, he’d need to improvise one.
He could use the tarp and supplies from his pack, but there was no way he could risk building a fire. Thirty more minutes, he told himself.
They arrived at the lip of a valley. The view would have been spectacular in other circumstances, the rocky peak on which they stood dropping from a dizzying height into a wooded canyon where two forks of a great river thundered along.
No doubt there were cabins and homes nestled in scenic locations alongside the water, but the failing light and oppressive fog hid them.
It reminded him that they were two very small people in an enormous wilderness.
“Any homes down there?” Mackenzie asked, voice pitched above the sound of the rain. She was shivering, her hand pressed to her side as if she had a cramp.
“Maybe, but they’d be empty, likely. With the flooding, everyone’s been encouraged to evacuate, and most people with good sense have left,” Gideon called back. He’d let the irritation slip out a bit there, and she’d surely caught it. “I didn’t ask you to come,” she’d say.
Truth. He’d made the choice, eyes wide open. And he wouldn’t change it, in spite of the unending discomfort. Mackenzie did not have a corner on the stubborn market.
Seeing the topography from above reinforced how dire their situation might become. At the upper elevation, the Cotton Flower Dam bottled the neck of the valley, the cement shoulders holding back the mighty crush of water from the town and its offshoots, like this peaceful vista. If it failed . . .
He shook the hair from his face, the water sluicing off, and raised his volume to make himself heard over the downpour.
“Let’s get to higher ground. We’ve got a half hour or so before it’s too dark to travel.
Looks like we’re gonna have to make camp until we get some daylight. Need to find a suitable spot.”
“No camping,” she called back. “We can keep going.”
“Not without busting an ankle.”
She didn’t argue, a clear indication she was approaching exhaustion.
They struggled on as the trail paralleled the valley’s edge. Steep, then steeper. It was necessary to pitch their bodies forward to maintain their progress without tumbling, but their pace slowed anyway as the wind stiffened and their energy waned.
Punishing cold chased them around a slow bend in the trail. Keep going. Keep pushing. But they were both fighting for every step as they made the turn. When they trekked past it, he stopped so fast she bumped into him.
“What?” she said.
He blinked, and it was still there. A new rush of hope infused his spirit. He pointed in the misty gloom, almost afraid he was dreaming.
She scanned around him. “I don’t see anything.”
Because the foundation was tangled in shrubbery and he’d been concentrating on his footing, so he hadn’t noticed it at first either. He tipped her chin up.
At the top of the peak ahead of them, a wooden fire watchtower rose into the clouds. The tall, squat structure perched a solid one hundred twenty feet up.
As they stared, the rain slithered down his cheeks, adding more goose bumps to his skin if that was possible.
“A fire watchtower,” she said, as if she didn’t believe it either.
“Shelter acquired.” He waved a careless hand and fired off a cocky grin. “It’s like I’m not even trying.”
Her laugh was tired and reckless and beautiful as she took in the dizzyingly high ladder they would need to climb. She chafed her palms together.
His hands were just as numb. Would they be able to grip well enough to keep from falling?
But it was still respite from the elements, better than the emergency shelter he could fashion on the sodden ground.
“You game?” he said above the noise. “There’s a bit of climbing required to check into this hotel, but the views will be worth it. ”
Her smile was forced. “Anything to get out of this rain.”
He pulled away some prickly shrubbery and started up the ladder, testing the first few rungs.
Could they really have a dry place to rest, safe from Bullseye’s men?
It was almost too much to ask for. And what condition would the structure be in once they arrived at the top?
As long as it was somewhat dry and enclosed, it had to be an improvement.
“Feels sound enough, but it looks like it’s been out of service for a while.
How about I go up first and check it out? You wait here.”
“I’m coming with you.”
He didn’t have the energy to argue with her.
The last splotches of gray sky gave way to ebony as they hauled themselves rung by rung to the top, then emerged through a hatch onto a wooden platform that wrapped around the entire building.
Calf muscles quivering, he surveyed the structure while she clung to the railing.
The paint had long since chipped away from the exterior, but the silvery boards were intact, the glass windows too, except for a few cracks and one small broken pane.
The wood planking under their feet was solid.
Gideon tried the door. It opened. He kept his cool. Barely. “Unlocked, because who’d arrive uninvited?”
“Except us? No one,” she said through chattering teeth.
They stepped into one large square room that smelled like the interior of his grandma’s old hope chest. Rainwater poured off them, rapidly forming a puddle on the floorboards.
In the center was a small stove, and against one wall a set of narrow bunk beds, bare of bedding.
A circular map underneath a dusty sheet of glass was centered on a table in the middle of the creaking floor, and a telescope was positioned in the corner.
Certainly not high tech, but serviceable.
“All the comforts of home,” he said.
“Except your fancy coffee.”
“We’ll see what we can do.”