Using the nail file, she sawed another strip from the bottom of the shirt to replace the broken one. It seemed to take forever with her frozen fingers. She replaced the batting over her soles and tied her ‘shoes’ securely back into place. Hands shaking, she was careful to return the file to her purse.
Brook rolled to her hands and knees and her muscles screamed in protest at the movements. She hurt from top to bottom, and her head still ached. Hanging her bag over her shoulder, she slowly stood and then cried out as her feet made contact with the ground. Sinking to the forest floor, she crawled to the stream and drank greedily.
At least she had made it through the night, she told herself. Now she could go back the way she came, locate the road, and find someone to help her. She would soon be home. She would feel Clark's arms around her again. The thought fortified her and she steeled herself against the pain as she again climbed to her feet. She took a few faltering steps, testing her endurance, and then a few more before pausing to rest.
Brook stood and trembled in one spot for a moment until pressure from her bladder demanded her attention. She squatted to urinate, wincing from the pain. Voices broke the silence of the forest and Brook stood quickly, urine running unnoticed down her bare legs.
Is that help? She had begun moving toward the voices when she recognized one of them. Jase. She dropped quickly to the ground and crouched behind a tree to listen, eyes darting in every direction. Panic seized her, turning her insides to mush. How did they find me?
“Get your asses down there and see if the bitch is inside,” Jase demanded. With dawning horror, Brook realized she hadn’t traveled far at all during the night. Shaking her head, she felt disoriented. It made no sense; she was sure she had walked for hours. But, apparently she had not. She was still very near the wrecked car. Too near!
"Hurry the fuck up," Jase bellowed from the road above. "If she's still alive, drag her ass up here."
Sounds of scrambling and exclamations of anger filled the air. Brook could visualize Pete and Benny following Jase’s orders. All too soon, she heard the car door being slowly opened. It groaned in protest.
“The car’s empty,” Benny shouted. “And it’s about ready to go the rest of the way down. Just a little tree holding it up. It's some weird shit in here, dude. The seats are all cut up.”
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Jase ranted. “Gina, you fucking bitch! This is all your fault! I should kick your fucking ass for letting her get away!”
“I didn’t let her get away,” Gina yelled back. “The psycho bitch attacked me. I coulda been killed, for all you care!” She broke into exaggerated sobs.
"It's not too fucking late for that," Jase threatened. "It's still an option, far as I'm concerned."
“Leave her alone,” Pete hollered. “You shouldn’t have left her alone to do your dirty work for you.”
A pregnant silence met this statement. Brook imagined Jase pacing at the side of the road, fuming. “You want to come up here and repeat that, dude?”
Pete didn’t reply.
“That’s what I thought!”
After a few more minutes of silence, Jase spoke again. “Benny, wipe the car clean of prints. There’s no way we can pull it up. Oh, and get the plate off the back. Pete, look around and see if you can find the bitch.”
“If I get in that car, I could dislodge it,” Benny called up to Jase. “I’m telling you, man, it’s just barely hanging on.”
“Then I guess you better be careful,” Jase answered.
Oh, god! They're going to hunt me down! Brook prayed the car would plunge into the ravine taking Benny with it and hopefully Pete too. Whatever happened, she had to get away from here. She fled, clutching her purse, the pain in her feet forgotten as she ran. She couldn’t let them catch her again. Nothing mattered but to put distance between her and her abusers.
"What the hell was that?" Pete's voice carried through the crisp air. "Did you hear that, Benny?" Brook stopped in her tracks. She hadn't thought about the noise she was making.
"I didn't hear nothing. Not one mother-fucking thing.” Benny's answer was muffled. "I'm pissed off right now, don’t even talk to me. You want to make me knock this fucking car loose?"
"Alright, dude. I'm gonna check over that way," Pete announced. "I know I heard something."
Brook couldn't tell how close he was. Fear overriding caution, she took off again. The improvised shoes loosened in flight and flopped against her feet, nearly tripping her. They soon tore away one after the other, but Brook continued to run, heedless of the rocks and sticks that gouged her. Stumbling over a large limb, she fell face-first into a patch of cold, clammy leaves. The wind was knocked from her and she couldn’t utter a sound, which was lucky since Pete moved within sight of her. The limb blocked his view. Trying to restore her breath without making a sound, she peered from under the fallen branch at his jean-clad legs. Mentally she willed him to turn the other direction so he wouldn't spot her makeshift shoes lying in the snow.
Relief flooded her when Pete moved away, calling, “I don't know what I heard, but it wasn't that woman. She ain’t anywhere to be seen. She’s probably dead, and if she ain’t, she will be soon. No one can survive out here naked and barefoot for long.” He added under his breath, "The poor fucking woman."
“Well, get the hell up here and let’s vamoose. If we get out now the snow will cover all our tracks. Nobody will even know we were here.”
A female voice mumbled something intelligible, and Jase snapped, “I said to shut your fucking mouth, Gina. I've taken all the shit I'm gonna take from you. You are this close, bitch. This close!”
Brook drew in long, quiet breaths, gasping for air as quietly as possible. Benny slammed the car door and she hunched her shoulders, expecting the wrecked vehicle to come crashing down the slope. Nothing happened.
Pete had rejoined Benny and they were talking to each other in low tones, but Brook couldn't make out what they were saying. She waited several long minutes and then began crawling away from the voices. Her purse was a hindrance, but she refused to leave it behind. It was the only string attaching her to her old life and she desperately needed that connection. Once she felt certain she couldn't be seen, she stood and hobbled further into the woods.
A tortured scream rent the icy air, trailing away to nothing. Chills ran up and down Brook’s back as the haunting cry sounded again and then faded, echoing off the rock walls that towered above her. Did Jase just kill Gina? Brook didn’t wait around to find out. She ran like a track star, ignoring the consequences to her damaged feet.
Chapter 16
Lance dropped what he was doing and hurried to the house for his bow. The scream had raised the little hairs on the back of his neck. He rushed toward the sound, sliding on the slick ground, grabbing bush and shrub to help him down the slope. His heart was pounding and he feared what he might find. Gilbert and Belinda were nowhere to be seen, and his intuition was tripping like a live wire.
Watching the ground closely for signs, he spotted some scat and noted the prints as he hurried along. The light snow covering would make it easier for him to track the beast, but he worried he would be too late.
Lance hit a particularly slick spot, a leaf-covered slope wet with snow, and slid several yards before stopping himself by grabbing a low-hanging branch. His bow fell from his hand and tumbled to the bottom of the incline. Dangling from the limb, he tried to calm his breathing and use his head. It wouldn’t pay for him to get hurt. Carefully, he released his hold and made his way down, retrieving his bow from where it had fallen. Glancing around, he picked up the cat’s trail again and using a little more caution, he moved alongside the prints.
He saw no hoof-prints in the fresh snow, but that didn’t mean anything. The snowfall had been light but steady all morning and would have covered any signs left by the goats. He tried to remember if he had seen either goat since he’d released them that morning, but he couldn’t recall. He’d been too wrapped up in his fence project
to really pay attention. However, the big cat’s tracks were fresh and he hoped she was just trolling for a mate, not for prey.
As he went deeper into the forest, his hand clenched the bow tighter. How he hoped he would come upon the great cat and bring her down! The trail led around a copse of aspen and through some underbrush, which he skirted. As he cleared the brush, his eyes found the sight he had been dreading. His heart raced as a flush crept up his neck and over his face.
Ah, damn it all to hell! He dashed into the clearing where Belinda’s bloody remains lay lifeless in the snow. He rushed to her side, dropping his bow to the snowy ground. Lifting her mangled body to his chest, he howled like a madman.
Chapter 17
Running full-bent through falling snow, Brook didn’t see the incline until she was on it. Unable to stop, she fell and rolled down the long brushy slope, tumbling to the bottom. She lay flat on her back, gasping, each breath causing a stab of pain in her chest. It took a moment for her to notice she was actually a bit warmer from the exertion, but her body stung with a hundred fresh scratches and scrapes.
“Oh lord! They killed her! They killed Gina. God help me!” Brook sobbed, staring heavenward through the denuded treetops, praying she wouldn’t be next. Flakes of snow drifted down onto her face as she waited for her heart to stop hammering. Gradually, her tears subsided and her pulse stabilized. It wasn't exactly grief she felt for Gina, more like pity. The girl was hateful, immature, and not very smart, but killing her seemed outrageous. She was one of them. How could they just kill one of their own? Brook closed her eyes tightly for a few seconds, but there was no time for rumination. I have to keep moving.
Sitting up, Brook released her grip on her purse and with difficulty undid the catch on one of the straps. She looped the bag around her neck, reattached the strap, and tucked it inside the shirt. Now her hands were free and she felt relieved. Keeping the bag safe had become a necessary burden; now it would be easier to manage.
She couldn't go back to the road, even if she could find her way. For all she knew, Jase might be patrolling the area, just waiting for her to be foolish enough to return to the wrecked car. How long would she have to be out here? How would she survive? Panic rose up and nearly choked her.
Taking slow, even breaths around the jagged pain in her side, she struggled to gain control over her emotions. Think for a minute! Just think! Her brain scrambled to collect everything she knew about survival in the wild, and it wasn't much. She had a niggling concern that eating snow was bad for a person, but becoming dehydrated would also be a problem; she would eat snow if she had to. Food was another matter. However, she reasoned, the worst part of her predicament was the cold. She had no idea how far she had traveled or how she could ever climb back up to where she was before she had fallen. The steep, brush-choked incline continued in both directions as far as she could see. Besides, it would be too risky to go back for her ‘shoes’. She would have to continue on bare feet.
Tears ran down her cheeks at the thought of putting weight on her damaged feet, but she tried to stand anyway. Pain soared up her legs and she slumped back to the ground. A fresh, sharp sting issued from the back of one leg. She turned her leg and found a large gash emitting a steady flow of blood. She wiped her hand on her shirt and turned her eyes back to the slope. Unable to go up, unable to walk, she pulled herself along the ravine, tugging the shirt sleeves down over her hands to protect them.
She had lost the stream and was thirsty again, and the cold had reclaimed her. She took small mouthfuls of snow, but it did nothing to ease the parched feeling in her mouth and throat, and she had started to shiver again. It was another half-hour before she found a shallow rain puddle in the hollow of a large flat rock. She broke through the paper-thin crust of ice over the water, and drank deeply before moving on.
The woods grew denser, and the ground became riddled with knobby roots and half-buried stones. Her progress was slow and painful. After a while, she came to a game path, hard packed dirt with few rocks. Brook thanked God for giving her a way relatively clear of obstacles. She crawled onto the path, brushing stray branches and rocks from the ground as she went, making her way steadily onward, putting more and more distance between herself and the wrecked car. The shirt she wore was now wet and clung to her skin like a layer of frost.
Snow began to accumulate under the wide-spreading branches overhanging the trail. But, so far it was just a light covering, and for this she was grateful.
After a while, she tried to stand again, pulling herself upright with the help of a tree. Pain radiated up her legs, but her feet were numb from the cold and she found she could stumble along at a slow pace. It seemed she had been wandering for hours. Providing she hadn’t been going in circles, she calculated that she should be miles from the car by now. But she could see no help in sight and no foreseeable end to her misery. She had heard that freezing to death was a peaceful way to go. Brook couldn’t imagine how that could possibly be true as she stood quaking in the frigid air. She assumed she would eventually just lie down and close her eyes, and then it would all be over. She would just fall asleep and never wake up. Tears stung her eyes again. She didn’t want to die! Keep moving, said a small voice in her head. Keep moving.
Her feet grew heavy and her limbs ached with exhaustion. Brook realized she was probably traveling further away from any possibility of help, but she had no idea which way to turn. There was nothing but trees in all directions. Trees and more trees. And she was so tired. She focused on the mechanics of taking a step. First lift one foot. Then set it down. Then lift the other. Set it down. Moving very slowly now, she trudged on.
It began to feel as if she were sleepwalking. Shadows darted here and there in the trees at the periphery of her vision, but when she turned her head to look, she saw nothing. Faint music reached her ears, like a radio playing far off. A chorus sang in perfect harmony. Angels, Brook decided with a weary smile. She strained toward the sweet voices, but each time she concentrated on the sound, it faded. I'm dreaming, but I'm awake. With dull surprise, she became aware that she no longer felt the cold. Groggy as she was, she still knew it wasn't a good sign. I won't sleep. I won't sleep. Head hanging, Brook pushed herself forward, one difficult step after another.
She stumbled into a clearing at the same time she heard another nightmarish scream. Unlike the earlier screams, this one was deeper, sounding as if it were wrenched from the throat of a demented being. It jolted her from her daze. Jerking her head up and scanning the area ahead of her, Brook’s gaze fell upon a madman. He stood before her, holding the bloody remains of a body. Long straggly hair hung wild about a bearded face, and streaks of blood smeared his cheeks and clothes. He threw back his head and howled again, as if enraged or locked in the throes of some sick passion.
Shock slammed through Brook. Before she could stop herself, she cried out. The crazy man turned his head. Surprised eyes met hers, and she felt an icy fear slither down her spine. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then her survival instincts kicked in, flooded her system with a healthy dose of adrenaline, and she turned to flee from the killer. Slipping on the snow-slick humus, she scrambled for purchase, found her footing, and ran face first into a tree. There was a sharp thwack as her forehead made contact with the wood. She slumped gracelessly to the forest floor and was still.
Chapter 18
What the hell? A woman? Out here? Lance released Belinda’s bloody form and edged over to where Brook lay. It was a woman! What’s a half-dressed woman doing this far out? How the hell did she get here? Lance gazed in consternation before his thoughts turned practical. By the looks of her, she was in sad shape even before she hit the tree. He shook his shaggy head in amazement. A woman. Clear out here. Her presence on his mountain, so far from any well-traveled road, was baffling.
He knelt next to Brook and rolled her onto her back. Her blonde hair was matted and dirty, and her face battered. One eye was swollen shut and weeping. She looked as if she had been beaten
. A fresh knot was rising on her forehead. There was a bulge inside the front of her shirt that Lance found to be a purse. He quickly probed her arms and legs, and was relieved to find no evidence of broken bones, although she was surely banged up. There was nothing else for it; he’d have to take her with him no matter how unhappy it made him. And it definitely made him unhappy. He shed his heavy coat and wrapped it around her, picked her up, and heaved her over a shoulder before standing. It was a long hike back to his house.
Casting a sad glance back at Belinda’s bloody form, Lance stooped to grab his bow and trudged up the slope toward his cabin. The snow was falling in earnest now.
Questions were swirling through his mind as he carried the woman, jostling her as little as possible. He estimated she was at least one hundred thirty pounds, but she hefted easily in his arms, as if her bones were hollow reeds. Her arms flopped against his back with each step.
When he approached home, he saw Gilbert waiting by the door and nearly went weak with relief.
“Gilbert!” he shouted. “Thank god!” Gilbert trotted toward him and started to give a hug, then seemed to notice the burden her master carried.
“No, sweetie,” Lance said. “Not this time. No hug.” Gilbert nosed the woman’s leg and Lance turned sideways, placing himself between the woman and Gilbert’s inquiring nostrils.
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