Untraceable

by Johannes, S. R.

I park Luci behind some bushes and sneak along the tree line. When I peer inside the shiny truck, a new cowboy hat rests on the shiny leather seat. I scan the area and notice a few shoe prints leading away from the truck. Dad called this a confirmed sign or spoor.

  After taking pictures, I pause at the mouth of the trail leading into the darkening woods. It’s late, and the woods will only allow a couple more hours of light. I hesitate only a fraction of a second before allowing the trees to swallow me whole.

  My plan? Sneak in, get coordinates of their camp, and sneak out. Then I’ll go get Les or tell Carl so they can haul these guys in and arrest them.

  What could go wrong?

  I trek along the overgrown green alleyway, weaving in and out of trees while inspecting the path for prints. Shafts of sunlight break through the lush foliage, creating orange stripes along the forest’s green floor, reminding me of the setting sun. Oaks, pines, and spruces border the trail. I move noiselessly. As if my feet aren’t touching the ground. These guys could be anywhere, so I need to find them way before they notice me.

  After barely escaping a fence of poison ivy and almost stepping on a sleeping timber rattlesnake, I stop to regroup. Fear and anxiety is a tracker’s Achilles’ heel. Dad used to track poachers all the time. So I know I need to pay attention to the whole world around me, not just the trail. Any place where these guys have disturbed the natural grain of the forest. Broken twigs. Crushed weeds. Pebbles pressed into dirt. A good tracker anticipates movement and searches for forced lines that blemish the natural flow of the forest.

  Every nerve switches on and tingles, probing to find something out of place. I trek for a couple miles. Suddenly, a soft whistling and the smell of smoke hitch a ride on the wind. Cupping my hand behind my ear, I zero in on their location. With each step, I breathe and release.

  Step, roll foot, weight transfer, and breathe.

  I inch my way to the border of their campsite and hide. To conceal the whiteness of my eyes and teeth, I squint and close my mouth. It’s surprising how those two things can give you away in an all-green environment. Then, like Dad taught me, I poke my head around the side—not over the top—of a fat shrub to get a better view.

  Al sits next to a blazing fire, methodically scraping his new collector’s knife back and forth along a sharpening stone as he whistles. The campsite seems scant, except for a couple of small iceboxes, a few large duffle bags, and some scattered trash.

  Off to one side, Billy stuffs a few things into a large satchel. “Why do we need all this crap anyways? We got guns.” His lisp is magnified in the still evening air.

  Al stops whistling but keeps a steady rhythm with his knife. “You never know when we might need ’em. Them creatures is unpredictable.”

  “Yeah, but bear spray? Seems like that’s for a buncha sissies.”

  I roll my eyes. It’s hard to take these idiots seriously. Some men drink from the fountain of knowledge.

  Obviously, these guys only gargle.

  Or maybe they’re just plain parched.

  Al chuckles. “Got it off one of those bear-huggin’ sites. Wanted to be sure we were prepared to dance.”

  Billy reads the label aloud. “Bear Smart. Repels bears in a non-toxic, non-lethal manner. This pepper spray will not permanently injure the bear or the outdoorsman. Holster is also available.”

  I smile thinking of how many times people end up hurting themselves by spraying into the wind.

  Al opens one side of his hunting vest, revealing a gun. “I got me a holster right here.”

  I only get a glimpse, but from the shape of the handle and length of the barrel, it appears to be some kind of .44 Magnum. All those hours of watching Dad polish his antique gun collection might finally come in handy.

  Billy loads another bag. “Where we huntin’ this time? Some place new, I hope.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Everything’s under control. We don’t need to be afraid of none of those forest cops this time.”

  Forest cops? Wildlife officers, game wardens, and park rangers are often referred to as forest cops around here. Hard to tell the difference unless you know the uniform or what each person actually does.

  My brain shuts down, and my ears buzz as if a swarm of bees is trapped inside my head. Their voices sound all nasally and distorted, like a McDonald’s drive-in operator. I jerk out of my daze and quickly note the coordinates on my GPS watch. When I spin around to leave, my head is so jumbled, I forget about staying quiet and step into a pile of dead leaves and twigs. A horde of birds explodes from the bushes around me. I stop and look back to see if the two men heard me.

  “What was that?” Billy grabs his rifle. From the size and color, I’d guess it’s probably a Winchester or a Colt.

  Al glances in my direction and slips a hand into his vest. “I dunno. Let’s check it out.”

  Billy’s voice quivers as he stares off into the trees, his gun cocked. “Maybe it’s that friggin’ bear again. Feels like he’s huntin’ us sometimes.”

  Al slides out his pistol and storms in my direction. “I got me a weird feeling about this.”

  Without too quick of a movement, I slowly slink to the ground and press my body against the earth. Keeping my eyes down, I spy on the men, hoping they don’t investigate my location too closely. I bury my face in the leaves. As footsteps pound toward me, I suck in my breath and breathe shallow so they can’t hear the oxygen filling my lungs. The loud crunching of Al’s shoes gets closer and closer. He stops on the other side of the bush and rattles the branches directly above me.

  Billy whispers from further away. “See anything?”

  Al kicks his foot into the roots, stirring up some dirt and leaves. A gritty cloud of dust particles billows around me. My nose twitches as I fight against the urge to sneeze.

  Unfortunately for me, I lose.

  Al’s voice hisses above me as he leans over the line of bushes. “Well, well, well. What we got here?”

  Survival Skill #12

  To fend off a predator, always target the most sensitive spot.

  I lift my eyes and stare at the dirty pair of boots in front of me. My eyes trace up two tan pant legs until they settle in on Al’s pitted face.

  He motions with his gun as if it’s a pointer. “Get up.”

  My mind circles through different reasons on how to explain why I’m lying on the floor several few yards away from their camp. “Sorry, guys. I was just hiking through.”

  Al must sense I’m lying, because his eyes narrow and a smile slithers across this face. “Funny way of hiking. Sure you weren’t spying?”

  My head shakes vigorously. “No, no. Not at all. Just didn’t want to bother you. I’ll just leave you guys alone.” I stand up slowly with my arms out, like a tightrope walker.

  After I turn and take a step in the opposite direction, Al grabs my ponytail. “Wait a minute, missy. You ain’t going nowhere ’til I say so. Move into the light where I can see you. What’s your name?”

  I stall. “Actually, I’d rather not say. I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

  Al frowns. “Smartass.”

  “Actually, it’s standard danger stranger stuff.”

  He pushes me towards his camp. “Shut up and walk.”

  I stumble forward, planning what to do next. Should I play it cool until I can bolt out of here or run for it, hoping they don’t shoot? Self Defense 101 says, Never let an attacker take you to another location.

  I lift my foot to take a step forward but instead kick my heel back into Al’s shin. He collapses onto his knees, and the gun pops out of his hand. My legs start moving before my brain signals to them. Unfortunately, the thick trees slow me down, and I only make it a few yards when a shotgun clicks behind me.

  I stop in mid-stride.

  Billy sings out. “Leaving so soon? But you just got here.”

  I turn to face him with both my hands in the air. “Okay. Okay. Seriously guys, take it easy.”

  Al limps toward me and clutc
hes onto my bicep, squeezing tight. He jerks me beside him. “Not very polite for a guest, are you? This time, I’m not going to be so hospitable.” He half-drags me to their campsite, and Billy flanks me, jamming the gun into my spine.

  Once we reach the fire, Al hammers down on my shoulders with both hands, forcing me to sit on a log. “Take a load off.” He grabs a cola from an ice cooler and holds it out to me. “Soda?”

  I keep my eyes down. “No, thanks. I’m trying to quit.”

  Squinting, he pops open the can and chugs down the liquid.

  Billy pipes up. “Well? What are we gonna do with her?”

  Al rubs his temples. “Shut up for a second.”

  “We can’t keep her here.”

  Al growls. “I said, shut up!” He wings the empty can at Billy’s head, clipping him in the forehead.

  Billy whines and rubs his head. “Man! What’d you do that for?”

  Al glares. “I told ya to be quiet. I’m thinking.”

  I take a shot at him. “Looks like it hurts.”

  Al lifts my chin with his hand, forcing my face up, and checks me out. His face is strained. Veins pop out on his forehead as his brain straddles the line between recognition and confusion. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  My heartbeat thumps like the sound of spinning helicopter propellers. “I doubt it.”

  Al scratches his head. “Why are you here?”

  I do a quick scan of their camp. Beer cans and trash are scattered throughout the site. “Don’t you know it’s against the law to litter?”

  Al laughs but squints at me, obviously agitated. “Billy! We got us a smarty ass.”

  Billy parrots him, which seems to make his lisp worse. “Yeah, a smarty ass.”

  I straighten up and pull my shoulders back. Confidence is everything out here. “By the way, you can’t hunt here, or I’ll have to cite you.”

  “Cite me?” Al chuckles for a second then acts innocent by placing his hands on his inflated chest.

  “Either that or I could make a citizen’s arrest for poaching.”

  “Is that what you think we doin’? Naw, naw, sweetie, we ain’t huntin’. We’re camping.”

  Billy echoes him again. “Yeah, we’s camping.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right, and I’m Mother Nature.” I immediately wish I hadn’t said it. Maybe if I was a little more passive, these guys would back off. In these situations, you never know what is better, to be tough or meek.

  Al snatches my bag and rifles through it until he finds my wallet. He stares at my license. A smile starts in one corner and cuts cross his face. He moves around me like a shark circles chum. Then he snaps his fingers. “Heeeyyyyy, wait a minute. I know who you are. You’re that chick from the fishing store.” Al cackles. “Billy, this is the girl that sold me my new knife. Gave me attitude. Thought I couldn’t afford it or something.”

  Billy and Al break out into laughter.

  Al dumps out my stuff out onto the ground and picks up my fishing tin. He opens the case and stops. I hold my breath as his eyes widen. Al holds up the photo of my dad. “Well, well. You know that ranger guy who’s been missing?”

  How would he know that? These guys don’t seem to be the newspaper-reading types.

  I study my shoes, admitting nothing. Terror slithers through my body as the severity of my situation becomes clear. What was I thinking? After everything Dad’s taught me, I should’ve known better than to come out here alone. He would be so disappointed.

  I soften my voice. “Guys, listen. I’m sorry I stumbled on your site. Seriously, it was an accident. Just let me go, and I’ll leave you alone.”

  Al shakes his head and flicks the photo at me. “We can’t let you go now, sweetie.”

  “Come on. Do you really think I’d be out here alone without telling anyone where I was?”

  Billy and Al glance at each other then back at me. Al shrugs. “So what if you did? They ain’t here now.”

  Amazingly, my voice doesn’t waver. “Because if I don’t show up, they’ll come up here looking for me.”

  Al snorts. “How would they know where to find you?”

  My stomach lurches at his words, but I clench my teeth, not giving him the satisfaction of a quiver. Instead, I improvise and hold up my wrist, displaying my GPS watch, praying they haven’t a clue how it works. “With this. Gives off my location. So if you do anything then they find me, don’t you think I’ll tell them about you?”

  Al leans in until his face is close to mine. I wince at the smell of stale alcohol on his breath. “Maybe they won’t find you alive.”

  At that exact moment, I bolt off into the woods, crashing through the brush. It feels as if my legs are trapped in a vat of goopy molasses. Behind me, footsteps hammer the ground until someone plows into me and slams me on the hard ground. My temple clips a rock, and stars twitter on the edge of my vision.

  Before I can get up, Billy pounces on me, twists both arms behind my back, and yanks me to my feet by my wrists. I yelp at the pain and start begging them to let me go. Repeatedly. All my survival training seeps out the window as fear engulfs me.

  Billy shoves me against a tree. I scream and kick, desperate to escape, but he’s strong and confident especially for a small guy with a speech impediment.

  “Remember this?” Al draws the large knife from its sheath and twirls it in the dimming light, his eyes crazy and wild. “Billy, put a sock in it, or she’s gonna yap all night.”

  Billy tugs on a dirty green rag out of his pocket and secures it over my mouth.

  I gag on the musty cloth, tasting a mixture of sweat and dirt.

  Al sighs dramatically. “Ahhhh. Peace and quiet.” I struggle to breathe through the non-permeable material. Tears cling to the corners of my eyelashes. He gets right in my face. “Awww, you gonna cry now?”

  Billy mimics a baby by rubbing his eyes with his fists. “Boo hoo.”

  My eyes dart between the men and the woods, searching for a way out.

  Al nods once. Billy clutches my hair and yanks my head back, forcing me to stare up at the stars spying on us from the grayish sky above. I scream, but instead of piercing the eerie silence, my voice tumbles out in a muffled wail.

  Al teases my throat with his knife. The razor-sharp blade burns my skin. “Now you’ll see what happens when you stick your cute little nose into our business.” Licking his lips, he snuggles up close to me. “We gonna have us a par-TAY!”

  I take that exact moment to force my knee up and into his groin.

  Al hollers and clutches his crotch. He bends over with his mouth hanging open, yet no sound escapes.

  Billy retracts his lips, showing his teeth like a rabid dog. “You gonna get it now!”

  Before he can make his move, I side-kick him in the chest. Billy stumbles backwards as he gasps for air.

  Somehow in those few seconds, Al’s recovered and snatches my wrists. My arms pulse in pain, threatening to dislocate. He spins me around to face him and backhands me across the face. My head snaps to one side, my cheek stinging as if a million killer bees have attacked all at once. I stumble to the ground.

  As I lie in the dirt below him, Al speaks through grinding teeth. “Bitch, you fight me again, and you’ll die … slowly.”

  For some strange reason, I suddenly wish I had more friends. At this point, I’m pretty sure there are only a few people who care whether I live or die. And even those aren’t a hundred percent guaranteed. My emotions boil over, and I start to cry.

  “Not so tough anymore, huh?” Al snickers at my defeat and waves the knife in front my face. He grabs my hair with one hand and chafes the edge of his blade along my mouth, slicing my bottom lip. I scream through the cotton, eyes wide. The muffled sound of my voice only jazzes him up even more. “Billy, I don’t think she should see this.”

  On cue, Billy ties a cloth over my eyes, forcing me into total darkness.

  Even though I can’t see, I pinch my eyelids together to block out the pending sc
ene, preparing for the worst. My other senses are heightened. I swear, I can hear every little bug skittering through the leaves while Al and Billy whisper behind me.

  Then everything goes quiet.

  The silence is shattered by shuffling and grunting noises followed by a primal wail.

  This time, it’s not mine.

  Billy’s hands slide off my arms as his body crumples at my feet. Someone from behind yanks off the cloth covering my face. The sun blinds me for a second, and I’m afraid to move. Paralyzed by the ribbon of fear weaving through my gut. I’m not sure what happened.

  All I know is my days just got renumbered.

  Survival Skill #13

  Proper preparation means having the right survival items and knowing how to use them.

  Something whimpers.

  I look down and see Billy writhing at my feet in pain. Blood seeps through a wound in his thigh. An acidic taste sloshes around in my mouth, and my gut performs somersaults. I’m not sure if my stomach’s upset because I taste my own blood or because I smell Billy’s.

  Al stands frozen directly in front of me. With bulging eyes, he fixates on something over my shoulder. His voice cracks. “Take it easy, man. We just foolin’ around.”

  Behind me, someone grapples with the bind on my wrists. As soon as I’m free, I yank the sopping cloth out of my mouth and bend over. Fresh mountain air revives my lungs, and the smell of the sweet woods drowns out the stench of the cloth. As my breath returns, I spin around and spot a familiar face.

  The cute guy I saw by the river stands only a few feet away, pointing a gun at my attackers. He does a once-over and frowns. “Bloody hell, are you all right?”

  I nod but can’t help staring at the gun in his hand.

  My rescuer walks over to Billy and yanks a knife out of his leg. Billy screams in pain as the guy wipes both sides of the dirty blade on Billy’s pant leg. “Sorry, mate, but I’m going to need this back. You understand, right?” Still holding the gun, he motions to me. “Hold this while I tie them up?”