by G. M. Moore
There was no response.
She pulled back again, her face twisting with anguish as she stared at the blood. Tess patted herself down, pursed her lips tightly, and then frantically repeated the process. She cursed, sat back on her knees, and hesitated a moment. She had to do it—no choice. Tess reluctantly loosened the ties of the poncho hood and untied the yellow scarf beneath. The hood slipped off her helmet as she pulled the scarf from around her neck and gently patted Cain’s face with it, blotting as if she were cleaning up a spill. The blood came away easily, and she soon discovered his injury was nothing more than a small cut above the eyebrow. She could see that the wound was already clotting, so she folded the bloody scarf into a makeshift bandage and looped it around his head. Tess pulled the bandage tight and, as she secured it with a knot, Cain’s eyes opened just a crack. She immediately grabbed the drawstrings of her poncho’s hood, quickly pulling and tying them under her chin, turning the hood into a mock turtleneck.
“Goal,” he croaked, peering at her with cloudy eyes. “Did I make it?”
Tess’s face wrinkled. “Ummmmm, no,” she said. “You wrecked.”
Cain’s eyes opened wider, and, with a pained expression, he turned his head to look at her. “Tess?” His eyes cleared a bit as he stared up at her. “Checked. You checked me?” he asked in a tone of pure astonishment.
Checked him? What the heck is he talking about? she silently wondered. Then it came to her. Hockey. He thinks he is playing hockey. Good lord, how hard did he hit his head?
“No,” she answered, speaking slow and deliberately. “You had an accident. The trail…” she stopped, glancing over to the ground near Cain’s four-wheeler. And there they were. Spikes, just like the ones up ahead, sticking out of the front tires. “The trail was booby trapped,” she finished, turning back to him. Cain now rested on one elbow, pressing the palm of one hand into his scarf-covered forehead. She looked him up and down. “Are you OK?”
Cain nodded.
“You might have a concussion. And there’s a cut on your forehead, but it’s not bad.” He didn’t respond, didn’t look up. She frowned, then spoke to him in a staccato rhythm. “Understand? No hockey. Poachers.”
Cain slowly nodded again, pushing himself up higher. “Whoooaaa,” he moaned, grabbing Tess for support. He sat up, but his head still hung low. “The fawn,” he mumbled into his chest. “Where’s the fawn?”
“Fawn?” Tess questioned sharply, getting up on her knees and looking around. “You have the fawn?” Anxiety crept into her voice.
Cain moved only his eyes as he glanced up at her. “Basket,” he said, pointing a finger to the ATV.
Tess scrambled to her feet, and there on the back of the ATV she saw a snow-white head and quivering pink nose popping up from under a wicker basket lid.
“He looks OK,” she announced, moving quickly to the animal and opening the lid all the way. The fawn’s big ears perked up and twitched back and forth as he stretched his neck upward. Tess gave him a pleased grin as she gently stroked and carefully prodded him. “Yep,” she announced again. “He’s good.” Then the fawn’s ears abruptly stopped twitching, its eyes locked on the path behind them, and every inch of its body froze. Tess mimicked the animal, remaining motionless, listening intently to the woods. The wind carried on it a very faint hum. She turned to Cain who was struggling to his feet. “Can you walk?” she asked, then hurriedly added, “On your own?”
“I think so,” Cain replied swaying into the ATV’s handlebars. “Just give me a minute.”
“We don’t have a minute.” Tess looked apprehensively down the path. That distant hum was getting louder, she was sure of it. “We’ve got to move—now.”
Tess released the bungee cords that held the basket to the back rack and tucked them and the fawn securely into the basket. She closed the lid, grabbed the basket by the handles, and heaved. It was heavy, but not too bad. She could handle it. Tess turned to see Cain staring with a look of dismay at the ATV’s mangled tires. Good, she thought, he’s finally coming around.
“Awwww, man,” he moaned, still holding one hand to his bandaged head.
“I know, but we’ve got to leave it,” Tess said. “Listen.”
She watched as the fuzzy look in Cain’s eyes slowly sharpened. She knew he heard it too.
“Right.” He gave her a slight nod, leaned over the vehicle, and removed a black backpack from one of its side compartments. As she came around the ATV, Cain slung the backpack over his shoulder and reached for the basket. She pulled it back.
“No time for chivalry. You’re staggering around like a zombie. You worry about you. I’ve got this.”
Cain stared at her slack jawed. “A zombie?” he challenged.
As she passed him, a playful grin surfaced on her face. “Yes, you look like the walking dead. Come on. My ATV isn’t too far up the path.”
She could hear his exaggerated stomps coming up behind her, then a steadily building moan. Tess turned back to him, and they met each other’s gaze all smiles.
“Stop messing around,” she scolded, but the smile never left her face. “Seriously. You look like death. We need to get you out of here.”
He shrugged. “I’ve had concussions before. No biggie. I’m more worried about who’s coming.”
“Yeah,” Tess agreed. “That hum. Do you think it’s a motor?”
“That’s what I’m thinking. One guy was at the camp. One guy and one four-wheeler. At least the path is blocked now, so that should hold him up—at least for a little bit.” He smiled reassuringly at her. “We’ve got some time.”
They walked in silence, ears locked on the distant motor hum, until Cain’s face unexpectedly turned cross and he blurted out, “What are you doing here, anyway?”
The question came out of nowhere, and Cain said it so curtly and so pointedly that Tess was taken aback.
“I came to help. Your godfather said…”
“No.” Cain cut in sharply. “He didn’t… He doesn’t…” Cain stammered, then huffed in exasperation. “You shouldn’t be here,” he finally said.
“Well I am here,” she shot back. “And it’s a good thing for you that I am.”
He looked confused for a moment, then slowly held his hands up in surrender, his face showing a mixture of apology, chagrin, and pain. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that…well, my head really, really hurts.” He paused. “But how did you find me? I don’t get it.”
It was Tess’s turn to look chagrined. “I overheard your godfather say where you were going.”
“Ahhhh,” Cain replied. “I’m sure that was done on purpose. But how could he have possibly known you were eavesdropping?” Cain’s eyebrows shot up, then quickly lowered. “Arrrgghhh,” he groaned, pressing his palm into his forehead again.
Tess winced at the sight, then prepared to defend herself. As her mouth opened to speak, Cain grabbed her arm. The wicker basket teetered.
“Listen.”
They stared at each other for a moment.
“Do you hear that? The hum stopped.”
Tess nodded.
“I’m guessing he’s reached my ATV. That was quick. We’ve got to hurry.”
Cain staggered forward faster now. Tess followed right at his heels.
“It can’t be much farther,” she said. “The path will widen…somewhere ahead.” She looked hopefully through the growing fog. “There! There!” she cried, lifting the basket slightly in a mock point. Just ahead she could see the trail arc out. “My ATV’s off to the side.”
They both sprinted forward as best they could—her struggling with the wicker basket, him struggling with a throbbing head—and within minutes they were at the ATV. Tess made a beeline for the front rack and, with a sigh of relief, plopped the basket on top of it. “I’m not sure I could have made it much farther,” she called over her shoulder. Her arms
felt numb, and she shook them hard trying to get the blood circulating through them again. When they finally started to tingle, she lifted the basket lid. The fawn’s head shot up. “It’s OK,” she said, stroking the top of the animal’s head. “Just checking on you.” As Tess lowered the lid, she turned and called out to Cain. “Hey, a little help—oh!” she cried with a start at the sight of him slumped over the ATV’s back wheel. Tess quickly secured the basket to the rack and raced to the boy’s side.
She gently poked him, biting her lower lip as his head rolled to one side, and his eyes opened in narrow slits. He had overdone it, she thought. If he had a concussion, he needed rest, not running.
“You need to help me,” Tess pleaded, shaking him lightly when she got no response. “Cain. Do you hear me?”
“I just want to close my eyes,” he said, slurring his words like a drunk. “Just for a second. OK?”
“No!” Tess shouted. “It’s not OK. You have to get up and get on the ATV. Come on.” She frantically hoisted him higher, and he began to crawl little by little over the back of the seat. “That’s it. That’s it,” she encouraged while pushing and pulling him into place.
Then the hum started again. The sound sent a chill through Tess, and she looked over her shoulder again and again, checking the path and expecting to see a poacher barreling toward them. She gave Cain a final push that sent him sliding off the seat to the opposite side. She grabbed his hoodie and pulled him back. He mumbled something incoherent and dropped to his elbows, resting his head in his hands. This isn’t going to work, she thought, panic rising. He’s too unsteady—he’ll fall off. She stepped back and stared at Cain’s pained figure, then down the path. Tess let the growing hum fill her head for a moment; its steadiness held her almost hypnotized. She wanted to cry—just collapse to the ground and sob right then and there. But she couldn’t, her mind said. She couldn’t. Could she?
Just then a loud pop filled the woods, blocking out the hypnotizing hum. A second pop quickly followed. Like the pop, pop of gunfire, Tess thought. Yeah, gunfire, she concluded. Sounds like gunfire. As the thought crept into her consciousness, the teen’s eyes grew wide with fear. Her stomach heaved violently, and she staggered forward.
Pop! Pop! Pop! More shots rang out. The sound echoed menacingly through the forest, and Tess could hear the flurry of flapping wings as frightened birds took flight. Vomit pushed up in her throat. She swallowed hard, forcing it back down. Her conscious mind went blank then. Thoughts did not come, just action. She staggered to the wicker basket, her body rippling with nerves. She grabbed one of the bungee cords holding the basket in place and, with shaky hands, she tried to unhook it. It took three tries, but she got it free. She wrapped the cord around Cain’s chest, then looped each end over his shoulders. Holding the ends tightly, she climbed on the four-wheeler and hooked them together under her arms. With Cain’s warm breath on her neck, Tess fired up the engine and hit the gas. The four-wheeler shot forward and spun out. Tess fought to keep the vehicle under control, leaning as far left as she could and guiding it with all her strength. With one dirt-flying swerve, she was on the path and speeding away.
Tess saw only a blur of dim foliage as the ATV charged forward. Her mind locked on one thought: escape. The fog grew denser, and the ATV’s headlights blinked on, casting a ghostly glow on the darkness overtaking them. Tess struggled to see the path ahead, but she didn’t dare slow down or stop. Then, without warning, a thicket of bushes appeared through the fog, blocking the path before her. She barely had time to turn the ATV, and it careened sharply to the right in protest. She held her breath as the vehicle teetered on two wheels, threatening to roll as it made the turn. It finally dropped to the ground, and with all four tires back in action, she soon was racing down the path again.
Tess drove on and on, pushing the ATV as fast as she dared, her mind bent on escape and nothing else, until gradually the tension began to leave her and thought returned. She slowed the vehicle and looked back for the first time. Nothing was there but darkness. No headlights. No one was following them. Good, she thought, relief sweeping over her. But then doubt crept in, and she wondered how long had they been driving. It seemed like at least a half an hour, but she wasn’t sure. She didn’t think it could be more than a half an hour because they hadn’t reached the main ATV trail yet.
Or had they?
No, she thought, not possible. She couldn’t have missed it.
Or could she?
With thought came fear, and for the first time that evening the darkness engulfing them frightened her. The vehicle slowed even more. Had she missed the trail? Her mind searched for an answer. The turn! She had made a turn but where and when? She couldn’t remember. She thought back on the ride and tried hard to remember something, anything, to clue her in to where they were. In the darkness she might have crossed a bridge, or maybe a road. Cain moaned quietly behind her. She turned her head and felt his breath on her cheek. They had to stop for his sake if for nothing else. All this bumping and rocking couldn’t be good for him. And she didn’t know where they were. What if she got them lost—or lost even more—and they ran out of gas? Yes, they had to stop—but where?
She drove on a few more yards, lost in thought and growing fear, when a glow of orange in the woods caught her eye. She stopped the ATV, and backed up. A fire. That had to be a fire, she thought. Turning the headlights toward the glow, Tess saw that they were sitting at the mouth of another unmarked path. Fire meant people, but what kind of people—more poachers? Tess bit her lip, watching the orange glow dance in the darkness for a moment. Cain moaned behind her. There was no choice. She’d have to risk it.
Tess hit the gas and drove toward the fire.
Chapter Seven
Robert O’Brien threw his keys on the kitchen counter as he walked into his home on Cranberry Drive. Mail in one hand, he laid his laptop case on the floor and then sorted through the bills and advertisements as he walked. The morning fight with his daughter, Tess, had been on his mind all day. She was a teenager, pushing boundaries was her job. As a parent, his was not to overreact; it was to stay calm. And he had failed today on that front.
“Tess,” he called out, still milling about the kitchen. He saw the blinking message light on the answering machine and pushed play. Out came the chirpy voice of Tess’s friend, Ann, asking her to a fish fry that night. He grunted with disapproval. The phone beeped, and then his voice played back. He cringed at the sound. Grounding was too harsh of a punishment for Tess, he realized that now. She was growing up and had a right to challenge him, but she also had to accept and abide by his decisions. Robert brushed blond hair, just a few shades darker than Tess’s, from his eyes. Those eyes didn’t have the sparkle that Tess’s did, but they were the same green. And now those eyes showed clarity that only a hard and fast decision could bring.
“Tess!” Robert called again. When no answer came, he looked to the ceiling with irritation. She was probably upstairs getting ready to go out. Well, I better put a stop to that, he thought. There would be no fish fry tonight. No grounding, but no fish fry either. That would be her punishment. Robert jogged up the staircase and to his daughter’s room. “Tess?” he called, poking his head in the doorway.
No one was there. In fact, now that he paid attention, the house held the hallow quiet of emptiness.
Tess wasn’t home.
Outside, he thought quickly and jogged downstairs to the back door, the very one Tess had stormed out of that morning. Robert held the screen door open with one hand as he scanned the backyard.
It was empty.
“Tess,” he called to the wind. “Tess.” He paused, listening for an answer that didn’t come.
Robert turned back to the kitchen and glanced at the wall clock. 5:40 p.m., it read. Annoyance came out of him in a heavy snort. She went out, he concluded, shaking his head with disappointment. You blew it Tess. Grounding back on. Robert let the screen d
oor bang shut behind him. He’d deal with that situation when his daughter got home. Right now, he had a presentation for work to tackle.
About two hours later, Robert leaned back from the laptop perched on the kitchen table, pulled off his eyeglasses, and stretched his arms high overhead. His hands dropped to his eyes, and he rubbed them vigorously. He stood and walked to the refrigerator, grabbing a Coke out of the fridge pack on one of the shelves. As he shut the refrigerator door and popped the can’s tab, the kitchen clock caught his eye. He was immediately taken aback. Was it really ten minutes to eight? And still no word from Tess. This wasn’t like her, he thought, brow furrowing. The concerned father combed the kitchen for a note or something—anything—Tess would have left to tell him where she was. When he found nothing, he began pacing the kitchen floor, his concern turning quickly to anger. How could she? he fumed, running fingers through his wavy blond hair again and again. How irresponsible. How careless. He grabbed the keys off the kitchen counter. How…how…stupid. Robert paused at that, looking down at the keys in his hand. Who was being stupid here? he asked himself. With a population under 3,000, Spooner was a small town, and there was really only one place she could be. Tracks, he thought. She’s with her friends at Tracks. The family restaurant on Carlton Road had a very popular Friday night fish fry. With a cunning half smile, he closed a fist around the keys and headed for the garage door.
As Robert reached the car, a voice in the back of his head pushed forward. It was the same voice that had plagued him all day, the one that told him he was overreacting. It was the same voice that urged him repeatedly to let go of the past, to forget about the accident because it was just that, an accident, and to stop worrying so much about Tess. Let her be a teen, it said. But he couldn’t. What his wife and daughters had suffered in that accident still haunted him. He couldn’t let it go, not yet, not after only six years. Still, the man hesitated at the side of the car, listening to that voice and contemplating what he was about to do. Was he really going to storm into Tracks? the voice asked. Then what? Cause a scene? Pull his daughter out by the hair? He shook his head. No, he answered, his anger easing a bit. He wasn’t prepared to do that. And did he really know she was at Tracks? the voice asked. No, he answered again. He had skipped step one of good parenting and went directly to…well, jail. That’s right, the voice said. You just assumed the worst. Step one would be to pick up the phone like a reasonable person and call Ann’s mother.