“Why not? Maybe then he’ll do it better.”
He crosses his arms and gives me an icy stare. “Wait a minute. That’s not fair. Carl’s a good cop. Just because he needs a small thing called evidence doesn’t mean he isn’t doing everything he can to help you. And that goes for me too. I’ve seen him going over and over that case file. Have you ever thought he might be as frustrated as you?”
“No.” I lean into him and wait for him to hug me.
“At least you are honest.” When he says that I feel sick, knowing I haven’t been truthful with him. He kisses the top of my head and rubs my arms. “Why are you shaking?”
“I’m cold.”
“So you are frigid?” He smiles at the joke I totally saw coming.
I shake my head. “This isn’t the time to kid around.”
“Something is upsetting you more than just some old dead bear. You’ve seen a ton of them and in some horrific ways. So, what is it really?”
Wyn knows me so well. I don’t have the strength to hold out on him anymore. Someone has to know what’s going on. “The dead bear I found at Station 19—” I pause to swallow and wait until the threat of tears recedes to a safer level. My voice comes out much softer than I plan. “The bear was Simon.”
Instantly, Wyn pulls me into him. My face presses against his chest. “Ah, man, G.” He strokes my hair. “I’m so sorry. No wonder you’re so upset. Poor Simon.”
I’m engulfed by the scent of his musky cologne, making him smell like some kind of businessman. Maybe I should just let him help me. “Wyn, I think this is all related. That guy in the store did this. I’m sure of it.”
He holds me at arm’s length so he can see my face. “Did they … you know … touch you in any way?”
“It’s not what you think, but they did threaten me.” I stare up at him, our faces only inches apart. “Will you help me? I can’t do this without you.”
He pulls my hair back in a ponytail at the base of my neck. “Man, those big green eyes of yours should be classified as deadly weapons.” He pulls me back into him.
Even though he’s erased the space between us, I try to keep a thin invisible wall between us. I don’t want to lead Wyn on. Now when I’m still confused myself, it might lead him on and that wouldn’t be fair.
He rests his chin on my head. “Tell me the truth. Have you told me everything?”
My confession about Mo rises to the surface, threatening to come out. Instead, I pinch my lips together and hold back. This is not the time to upset Wyn. I force out my answer. “Yes.”
He cups my chin with his hand. “Then I’ll help you.” A long sighs fills the only space left between us. He rubs his thumb along my jawbone as he stares at me. His breath is warm and his touch, soothing. He breaks our gaze and looks off to the right. “So then, let’s go.”
I look around for a second. “Did I miss something? Go where?”
He points to the mountain rimmed in a halo of fog. “Station 19. Show me what’s going on up there. We still have enough time before it gets dark.”
My laugh comes out as a cough. “You? Hiking? It’s almost five miles. You don’t even walk that in a month. Come on, be serious.”
He presses the heel of his palm against my forehead. “Excuse me, but I was the Rooster Run champion two years in a row.”
This time, I laugh in his face. “Hello! That was in second grade!”
“Hey, it’s more than you can say. You didn’t even place.”
“’Cause it was for boys.”
He scoffs. “Since when does that stop you?”
I pinch back a smile. “True.”
Wyn lightly touches the dimple in my chin then the tip of my nose. “Seriously, I’ll go up there with you. I don’t want to lose any evidence if it’s all we got. Beside, you and I both know you’re not gonna wait until morning anyway, and I don’t want you to go alone. You need protection.”
“From who?”
“Yourself mostly. So let’s get a move on then. We’ll hike up together and take some pictures for Carl. Maybe it’ll light a fire under him and Les.”
I chew on my cuticle, feeling guilty for not coming clean about Mo. “You’d do that for me?”
He smiles and ruffles my hair. “That’s the kind of great guy I am.”
“But you hate to hike. You hate the woods.”
Wyn shrugs. “Whatever, I own these woods. Besides, how can I refuse to hike when I live in the mountains?”
“My point exactly.”
“Unless you can think of something better for us to do.” He plasters on a silly sexy face, resembling a soap opera star with one eyebrow arched and lips puckered.
Rolling my eyes, I cover his mouth so he doesn’t speak. “Not now, please.” I laugh and scoot forward on the seat. “Hop on, sucker.”
He straddles the space behind me and grabs hold of my waist. “You know if I wasn’t a total gentleman, I’d take advantage of this position.”
“If you weren’t such a sissy, I’d let you drive.”
He laughs as we take off down the road. His warm breath strokes my ear. Heading up into the mountain, I’m very aware of Wyn’s arms cradling me. How at every turn, they tighten a little. How he leans against me. How his legs rub against the back of mine. Only a thin layer of cotton clothing is preventing us from touching skin, yet a little heat still manages to simmer between us.
Survival Skill #23
Signs of passage include signature footprints, broken limbs, or flattened vegetation.
“Are we there yet?” Wyn calls out from a few yards back as he crashes through the leaves.
I continue sliding through the underbrush without any issue. Daylight is fighting for extra time as darkness invades. The sky has blackened and the rain has already started. Every fifteen feet or so, I stop and wait for Wyn to catch up. “You hike like a girl.”
“How would you know?” Wyn’s breath comes out in spurts. I’m pretty sure he hasn’t had this much exercise since we were five.
I can’t help but stifle a snicker when he gets tangled in a web of branches and begins battling against the menacing vines. My little woodland warrior. “You sure you’re okay?”
He pushes a branch that slaps him back in the face. “No.” A few steps later, he breaks free and trots to catch up. “At the risk of sounding like a total sissy, I should have changed my shoes. These Converses are toast.” He lifts up khaki-colored shoes soaked in mud. How Wyn ended up so neat while living in a small mountain town is one of North Carolina’s greatest mysteries.
“I’m not even going to respond to that.” I break off a crooked stick and hand it to him. “This might help.”
Wyn grabs the thick branch and chuckles. “Three legs are better than one.”
I flick his ear. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”
His face scrunches up as if he’s sucked on a lemon. “If I kissed my mother, you’d have more to worry about than my sick sense of humor and sexual innuendos.”
“Hm. Good point.”
Wyn and I walk for a few more miles, chatting about nothing, ribbing each other, and getting digs in whenever we can. When we reach the top of the trail, it splits into two. We veer right and head up. The deeper we travel into the woods, the darker it gets.
As soon as we reach another mile marker, I check my GPS. “We’re almost there.”
He rests on a boulder and wipes his forehead with his sleeve. “Why does it have to be so hot?”
I take a swig of water and hand him my canteen. “Don’t get too tired, we still gotta hike back.”
He groans as he guzzles my water.
A scratching noise catches my attention. I press my finger against my lips as my heart flips around in my chest like a fish on land. “Did you hear that?” Wyn stops in mid-gulp and shakes his head. Then I hear a noise, like a door is being slammed. Without explaining, I dash off toward the station. Wyn crashes after me. Once I reach the site, I hide in a bush at the edge of the clearin
g. Watching.
Panting, Wyn squats next to me and hits my arm. “Thanks for the warning.”
With one finger to my lips, I poke him. “Sshhh. I heard someone.”
“Well, it can’t be those guys you were talking about. They’re still locked up.”
We both peer over the bushes at the crooked station. Something’s different, but I can’t tell what. I signal Wyn to follow, but he shakes his head in disagreement. He points to the space next to him, telling me to stay put.
Ignoring his protest, I emerge from the bushes and slowly approach the building. Scanning the dusty earth, my eyes hone in on some faint parallel lines, resembling rake marks. I point them out to Wyn, but he only shrugs. Clueless.
Something draws my attention to the fire pit. It’s empty. No old ashes. No charred sticks. Nothing but a circle of small boulders. I motion to Wyn again, trying to hint that something is wrong. Again, he appears clueless. Continuing up the steps, I stop in front of the rickety door.
Wyn bumps into me from behind.
I glare at him and point to a window without saying anything.
He peeks in and blurts out. “There’s no one in there.”
Hissing, I struggle to keep my own voice low. “Sshhhhh! You’d be an awful Indian. Tommy would be very disappointed.”
He waves me off. “Whatever. Why are we sneaking around acting as if we’re behind enemy lines? We’re alone.”
“You can never be too safe. Wait until you see how messed up this place is.” I push open the door with both hands and step inside. Particles of dust bounce around in the streams of sunlight. My breath catches in my throat. The inside is perfectly clean, untouched.
The same parallel lines from outside mark the floors.
No mess. No cans. Nothing. The place is spotless.
Wyn stretches his lower back. “Boy, if this is a mess, what do you call your room? A disaster area?”
I ignore him. “I can’t believe it. Everything’s clean.”
He strolls around the inside, inspecting drawers and cupboards. “Maybe Les did it.”
Shaking my head, I inspect the room for tracks. For a sign telling me who was here. “No. Les told me he hasn’t been up here. Besides, how would he get out here before us? And why would he clean up? His office is a pig sty.” Then Simon pops into my mind. “Oh no!”
Before Wyn can stop me, I bolt out of the station and run in the direction of the dead carcass. Searching the weeds. Please let him be there. It’s the only evidence I have against these guys.
Wyn thunders after me, pounding down the steps like an elephant. “G! Wait!”
Hopefully, whoever was here is long gone because Wyn’s lack of silence is astounding. If we were in a war, he’d have to be sacrificed first or we’d both be dead. I approach the area where I first found Simon. I stomp my foot and yell at the world. “Damn it!” There’s no carcass. Only a slightly mashed area of grass. I hunt around for tufts of hair, blood anything, but the brief rain shower from earlier must have erased anything left behind.
Wyn huffs up next to me and bends over with his hands on his knees, out of breath. “What’s wrong?”
All my stealthness goes out the window. I speak loudly so anyone hiding around me can hear. “Everything that might have gotten Carl to take me seriously is gone.” I sweep the area looking for any signs of heel digs or that something was dragged out of here.
He glances around. “You’re sure it was here?”
I shove him away with both hands. “Do you think I’m mental?”
He pushes my shoulder with one arm. “First of all, I know you’re mental. Second of all, chill out, ya woodland freak. I only meant, are you sure this is the area? What’s gotten into you lately?”
My hands automatically wipe across my cheeks as if erasing any tears before they even fall. I want to scream, wishing I could curl up in the weeds and let them grow over me. “I can’t seem to catch a break, and time is ticking by. Now we don’t have any evidence so Carl’s going to let those guys out.”
He cups my neck and lifts my chin with both of his thumbs. “I don’t know what to say, G. There’s nothing here.”
“You don’t believe me.”
Studying his eyes, it dawns on me how much they resemble stormy skies with a high chance of rain. “I believe you saw something horrible and I’ll try to help you figure this out. No matter what it is. I promise.”
I nod as helplessness fills my body. I can tell Wyn is losing faith in me. I see it in his face. Hear it in his voice. He strokes my face and stares at my lips. For a brief second, I want him to kiss me. To replace the pain in my gut with something sweet and nice. Tell me everything’s going to be all right. That Dad’s going to be okay. That I can go back to being the carefree girl I was before this mess happened.
But the fleeting moment—whatever it was—drifts away. I collapse into Wyn and hide my face in his neck, now sweaty and dirty.
He pecks the top of my head. “It’s getting dark. We need to head back. There’s a long hike ahead of us. One I’m not too thrilled about.”
“Okay.” I hand him my flashlight and trail several steps behind him. A rising half moon provides little light. Without uttering a word, we hike back through the columns of spruce, fir, and beech trees.
There’s nothing to say.
After all the extensive hiking I’ve done today, my feet and legs grow angrier with every step. My exhausted body’s heavy, making it feel as if I’m sleep walking. With each step, I feel heavier and heavier, anchored to the earth by fatique, sadness, and confusion. I think about the ransacked station. Am I really making something out of nothing? Am I just seeing what I want to see?
A rotting oak tree on the side of the path catches my eye. I touch my finger to the long chipped sections of the bark. Something hit it hard. Marked it for life.
Something like a bullet.
I scan the area for shells or human tracks, but only find a few broken limbs and flattened grass. When I part the branches with my hands, a faint signature print reveals itself. The edges of the track cave in when I brush them lightly. Definitely fresh.
A smile touches my lips.
I’m not a total nut job nor a dramatic teen. Someone was here. I take out my camera and take pictures of the boot print. Wyn calls my name from a distance. I quickly smear away the print with my hand, erasing a page in the story of this track. He doesn’t believe me anyway. Why waste my breath? He’ll probably question it like he does everything else.
I stand up just as he walks comes around the bend. “Did you find something?”
Sweat weaves down my back as I wipe my hands on my pants. “Nothing important.”
“Let’s go then. I’m over this place. It’s too spooky.” He stumbles off into the dim light until his shadow blends into the outline of the trees.
Trailing behind, I can’t help but wonder who would clean up so fast and how.
~~~~
On the way home, the wind whips across my face, stinging my eyes. When I pull into Wyn’s driveway, his mom waves at us through the kitchen window.
Wyn dismounts. “You want to come in for dinner? We can call Carl together.”
To avoid mumbling through the shield, I remove my helmet. “Can you just tell him? He won’t yell at you.”
“Sure.”
I gaze over his head at the mountains spiking in the distance. “Thanks.” Wyn nods and unexpectedly leans down. His face is only a few inches from mine. I panic and turn away. If I go down this road, there’s no turning back, and this time I could just lose the only friend I have. “I better get home.”
He pecks my cheek and steps up onto the curb. “See yah later, Little Miss Independent.”
I rebuckle my helmet. “I owe you one.”
“Shoot, you owe me more than that.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and winks. “I’m sure I can think of something.”
“Don’t hurt yourself.” I drive away, smiling. As I round the corner, the spot on my chee
k where Wyn’s lips briefly visited still tingles. I can almost still feel him sitting behind me.
By the time I get home, it’s pitch dark outside and Mom’s still MIA. Shocking. I grab a snack and run upstairs, anxious to Google the names listed on Dad’s citation. Seems like forever since I found them, yet it was only this morning. I wait for my computer, aka Munster, to boot up. Nine minutes and fourteen seconds later, the Google search bar appears. I type in Billy’s name, William Barrett. Chewing my thumbnail, I beg the screen for results. Nothing pops up. Poor Billy. If you can’t be Googled these days, you aren’t anybody important.
My fingers peck the keys for Alfred Smith and wait another two minutes and fourteen seconds for results. This time, a few hits pop up. Skimming through the links and images, I click on a picture taken at a Tennessee hunting club party.
It’s Al.
I stare at the picture, almost seems as if he’s staring right back at me. I quickly close the file and page through the other articles. One in patricular catches my eye.
Tennessee man fined. Hunting privileges suspended.
Townsend, Tenn. A local judge has suspended the hunting privileges of a man who pleaded innocent to a felony charge of bear poaching.
Federal wildlife agents arrested Alfred Smith in December after receiving a tip that he was hunting and killing game out of season while using illegal weapons and forbidden trapping equipment.
He was charged by Game Warden Will Cameron for six counts of poaching and multiple counts of commercialization of wildlife.
Sitting back, I put my feet up. Just as I suspected, Al’s been in trouble before. After he did some time, he must’ve moved to North Carolina and started hunting again. Once an illegal hunter, always one. Dad probably busted him and issued a citation for killing off season. Maybe he ran into Al on that last day. Al knew he’d have serious jail time with a third offense.
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