Untraceable

by Johannes, S. R.

  “Then why didn’t he rescue you?” I press my lips together, creating a barrier to remaining sobs.

  Dad stares at the ceiling, a distant look wipes over his face. “He wanted to, but I wouldn’t let him. What he was doing was more important than me. It was everything Will and I worked on for a year. Until they killed him. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for Mo. He convinced Fields to keep me alive in case they needed leverage. Mo even took that bullet for me.”

  “I guess.”

  “His heart was in the right place. I’m sure he cared about you. Knowing him, I’m pretty damn positive that was real.”

  I press another strip of cloth to his stomach, hoping to stop the flow. “Shhhhh. Get some rest. We can talk later. We’re not out of the woods yet, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “No pun intended.” Dad touches my face. Tears appear in the corners of his eyes as he studies my face. “All I wanted was to see your sweet face again. To tell you how much I love you. I didn’t get to do that when I left.”

  I sob into Dad’s shoulder. “I love you too, Dad. But you gotta stop talking like this. You’re going to make it. I promise.”

  He shakes his head slightly. “We both know that’s not true.”

  My heart aches as I sit helpless in the fading light, awaiting our fate, the adrenaline that once pumped through my veins now replaced by pure exhaustion.

  Dad mumbles in the darkness. “Take care of your mother. Tell her how much I love her.”

  I shake my head no and act strong no matter how I feel inside. “No! You tell her yourself. I’m not doing your dirty work for you.”

  His face drops to one side, and his breathing quickens. Tears trickle out of his eyes, puddling in the dirt. “Tell her … I’m sorry for leaving her.”

  I shake him. “Don’t you dare start saying goodbye. You’re going to be fine.” Horrible thoughts invade my mind. What if he dies right here in my arms? After all this time? After I just found him? That would mean everything I did, everyone that’s died, would all be for nothing.

  I watch his chest rise and fall like an accordian, willing it to continue. Soon, his breath becomes short and erratic.

  “Dad?” I pat his face a little to wake him up. Sobs take over my body. His head flops to one side, and his body goes limp.

  Tears spring to my eyes as I cradle his face with my hands and shake him a little. “Dad, stay with me.” I press my ear to his chest. “No, please no.”

  I lean over him and perform CPR. “Dad, don’t leave me!” While pumping his chest with my hands, I scream out the opening, not caring who hears me. As long as it gives Dad a chance. “Help me! Please!” I perform a few more rounds and check for his pulse again. This is not happening.

  I clasp my hands together and slam down his chest several times. “Don’t you dare leave me! Do you hear me! I’ll never forgive you!”

  Silence fills the cavernous space as I abruptly stop fighting. I hold my breath waiting for him to take another breath. Waiting to see his chest rise and feel his heart beat. Waiting for him to live.

  But it’s too late, he’s gone.

  Survival Skill #51

  When hiking, always mark your trail so you can easily find your way back.

  I have no idea how long or why I sat there holding Dad. Maybe because I was hoping he was asleep and would wake up. That I’d made some bizarre mistake, and he was still alive. That everything I did had amounted to something. That Tommy’s death had a purpose and was not just a big fat waste.

  My sobs reverberate throughout the small space. I clutch onto my dad’s shirt and moan, shaking him slightly. “I’m so sorry. Please, please don’t leave me.” His face is peaceful and relaxed. I take out a cloth and wipe the dirt from his cheeks.

  Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed by all the things I’ll never know about my dad. Things I never thought to ask. What was he like when he was young? How did he feel when he met Mom? And what did he think about the day I was born? What did he want me to be when I grew up? What made him the most happy?

  Now, I’ll never get the chance.

  I bring my head down to touch his forehead for my last goodbye. My mind explodes with total grief for everything I’m going to miss about him. All the moments we’ll never share. All the time I wasted taking things for granted. But mostly, that I couldn’t save him.

  No matter how hard I tried, I failed.

  Sadness is replaced by anger. Why did he have to die, now, right after I found him? How could he leave me after everything we’ve been through? I wish I could rewind the last few months. Go back to that spring morning when Dad left and pause life for just a second. Run after him and beg him not to go. To change the events by changing time. Keep him home. But I can’t. The only thing I can do now is get him back so he can have a proper burial.

  So Mom gets her chance to finally say goodbye.

  “Bye, Dad. I love you.” I start to cry again as I cross his arms over his chest, promising to come back for him.

  Then trying to collect myself, I wipe my face and force myself to stand. I peek out the makeshift door, listening for gunfire.

  All is quiet, as if the woods have completely forgotten the invasion. Oddly, everything out here has already gone back to normal.

  Yet from now on, my normal will never be the same.

  I push the vines back and climb out over the dead logs blocking the entrance. An owl hoots above me. The noise sends my heart into spasms. I strain to spot the large bird soaring through the trees before being swallowed by the leafy forest.

  Native Americans believe owls guide spirits from this world to the next. I wipe my eyes and recall the poem Tommy said at Ama’s funeral.

  I whisper one of the lines to the wind. “There is no death. Just a change of worlds.”

  Cautiously, I walk back towards the camp, hoping I can spot Mo. My shoulder is now throbbing with pain, my arm coated with blood. As I stumble along the path, I feel like a big heavy wet blanket has been draped over me. My body is anchored to the earth, my feet feel sluggish, and my mind is foggy. Like it will take everything I have to make it back. At one point, I just want to collapse to the ground, cry, and let the woods swallow me so I don’t have to face what has happened.

  But I push on. For my mom. She can’t lose two people. It will kill her.

  As I backtrack along the trail, I do my best to tear small strips of material off my t-shirt and tie the small pieces of cloth to various branches, marking the path so we can locate Dad. I have no choice but to head back to camp. It’s the closest place that might have some food or supplies. Seems totally stupid but it’s all I can think of right now. I can’t help but wonder what I’ll find when I get there. Maybe I’ll find Mo.

  I trip and stumble forward through the pain in my heart and arm, wishing Mom was here to tend my wounds and reassure me everything’s going to be okay. I wipe a tear from my face, wondering if I’ll see her again. Hoping we can repair what’s been broken for so long.

  In the distance, pitch black smoke hovers along the forest floor, creating an eerie mist for me to follow. When I finally come to the top of the hill, I squat down and peer over the side. Everything in the camp is either on fire or already charred. A few red splatters blemish the dusty earth, marking the end of life.

  I sigh a breath of relief when I spot some men from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service swarming the space, dressed in green jackets. A couple of agents tend to the bears trapped in cages while another man drags a body down a side path. One agent sits in front of a tent with bloody bandages on his legs, arms, and torsos.

  I make my way down to the center of the camp and come up behind one of the agents.

  He spins around and points a gun directly in my face. “Don’t move!”

  I freeze to the spot. My hands shoot up in the air as I stammer to explain myself. “I’m Grace ... Grace Wells. Joe and Mary’s daughter.”

  The man smiles and lowers his weapon. He comes closer and pats my shoulder. “Miss Wells.
Thank goodness you’re okay. Where have you been?”

  I swallow not sure if I can find the right words. “My dad, Joe Wells, is in a cave about a mile up the path along that ridge. Can you please go get him? He … he’s … he’s dead.” Hearing the words come out of my mouth, in my own voice, makes my stomach churn. Something I’ve avoided saying out loud since dad went missing. And now, it simply rolls off my lips. I give the agent the coordinates of the location and explain how the trail is marked.

  He takes off his baseball camp and looks distraught. “We’ll take good care of Joe. He was one of us. You wait here.” The man unclips the radio off his belt and walks away so I can’t hear what he’s saying. He mumbles and waits until a jumbled voice answers through the static.

  Moments later, a group of men sprint up the hill with a stretcher.

  Just as they disappear into the woods, someone shouts my name. The voices sends a surge of emotion into every nook and cranny. I spin around and search the trees.

  Mom is runnning across the camp with her arms stretched out. “Grace! Grace!”

  I sprint toward her. “Mom!”

  As soon as we reach each other, she wraps her arms around me like a shawl and starts to cry. “Oh, thank God, you’re okay.” I finally allow my body to collapse, and she holds me until I can steady myself. She pushes me away and scans my body for wounds. That’s when I notice her face. Puffy and swollen with black streaks down her cheeks. She’s been crying. About me. “Oh God, you’re hurt.”

  I look at my shoulder. Blood is still dripping along my arm. “I’m fine. Dad saved me.”

  She wipes my tears with her thumbs and steps back a small step. “Dad? What do you mean?”

  I clutch both of her hands and look her in the eyes. “Mom, I found him.” Before her eyes can reveal any hope, I break her heart once again. “He took a bullet for me and … then … then he died.”

  Mom turns white as a ghost. A dazed look washes over her face as I summarize what happened as much as I can. She appears stunned. Then she tips her head to one side as if trying to hear what I’m saying. “You found him, but now he’s dead?”

  Tears stream down my face. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I tried, but I couldn’t save him. He was hurt too bad.” I clutch onto her hands. “This is all my fault. He was alive, and I got him killed.”

  Mom squeezes me hard. Her voice cracks when she talks like a bad radio connection. “No, it’s not. Grace, if you hadn’t found Sidehill, we may never have found your father at all.” She tucks my hair behind my ears. “This is not your fault. You did everything you could. You believed, when no one else did. Now we can at least bring him home.”

  She’s talking through her own tears now as her arms tighten around me. “We’re going to be okay, Grace. I promise. You and me.” I nod and sob with her. Already missing Dad more than I can bear. She whispers hoarsely. “Let’s get you taken care of.” Before I can say anything, Mom waves both hands in the air. “Les! Over here!”

  Les waddles out from behind a van. His arm is hanging in a bloody sling, and his face bruised with one eye swollen shut. My mouth drops open, and my body freezes for a second as I watch him lumber down the path. I assumed Al had killed him.

  Les smiles at me. “Gracie, I’m so glad you are okay.”

  When he walks up, I hug him as hard as I can. This time, I don’t let go. “I thought you were dead.”

  His round cheeks turn a bit pink, and he squeezes me back. “Not yet.”

  Before I can say anything, Mom whispers, “Grace found Joe. He’s dead.”

  Les squeezes my good shoulder and fills his lip with tobacco. He plays with his hat. “I’m so sorry. How?”

  “Dad tried to protect me so Al shot him. Al’s tied up along the path too.”

  Les frowns. “Son of a bitch.” I watch him as he radios a couple men instructing them to find Al if it’s the last thing they do. He studies me. “You’re hurt. Let’s get you fixed up.”

  I clear my throat. “Les? I’m so sorry I doubted you. I didn’t realize you were trying to help me in that cave. I thought you were one of them.”

  He bends over and cups my shoulder. “Water under the bridge, Gracie. No need to speak of it again.”

  I nod. “How’d you find me?”

  Les spits on the ground. “Tommy called. He told me everything. About the bullets you found, about Sidehill. Mentioned you bolted off to find Sidehill. I called a friend of Joe’s at the USFWS.”

  One word sticks out in my mind. I barely manage to choke out. “Tommy?”

  Les lowers his head and fiddles with his cinched belt. “I’m sorry. I told him to let me handle it, but he was so worried about you. Said something about it bein’ his fault.”

  I can’t blink, as if my eyes are super-glued open. My throat feels like sandpaper. “I can’t believe he’s … dead too.”

  Mom butts in and clutches both of my shoulders to get my undivided attention. “No. Grace.” She smiles and strokes my hair. “He’s alive.”

  Les nods. “He’s in pretty bad shape. But alive.”

  My heart explodes with relief. My shoulders straighten and a small weight falls off my shoulder. “What? Where is he?”

  Les points up the hill. “He’s there. We’re getting ready to wheel him up to the North Ridge so a helicopter can take him to the hospital.”

  I rub my hands through my hair. “Unbelievable. Can I see him?”

  Les nods. “Make it quick. He’s stable but needs medical attention.”

  I take off up the hill, yelling at a man in a suit pushing a stretcher. “Wait!”

  Survival Skill #52

  Escaping a survival situation can be life altering.

  The paramedic stops as I run up. Tommy is lying down with tubes in his nose and eyes closed. A sheet soaked with blood is draped over him.

  I swallow and whisper in his ear, not wanting to disturb him. “Tommy? Are you okay?”

  He opens one eye. “Never better.” His voice is hoarse.

  I rest my head on his chest and cry. “Tommy, gaest-ost yuh-wa da-nv-ta.”

  He shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize, Elu.”

  “This is all my fault. Please forgive me.”

  His eyes look wet, tears stuck in the corners as he winces from pain. “How about we make a deal? I’ll forgive you if you forgive yourself.”

  A lump rises in my throat thinking about Dad, not having the heart to tell him.

  Tommy whispers. I lean down to hear him. His breath tickles the little hairs on my ear. “Don’t worry. I already know about Joe.”

  I kiss his forehead and watch a tear roll down his face. “I tried.”

  He sniffs and winces. “I know, Elu. I know.” He grips my hand and stares at his watch. “Think it’s time I got this fixed?”

  I smile. “I thought time was nothing but an illusion.”

  He takes in a raspy breath. “It was until I got more of it.”

  I remove the watch from his wrist. “I’ll take care of it. It’s the least I can do.”

  The paramedic interrupts us. “Miss Wells. We need to go ahead and transport him to the hospital. He’s in pretty bad shape but should recover just fine. Do you need a ride there?”

  Mom walks up and answers for me. “Yes, thank you.” She twists my hair back into a ponytail like she did when I was a little girl.

  I cross my fingers behind my back before asking him a question. “Sir? Do you know if anyone else survived?”

  He nods. “A couple were detained and charged.”

  “So some lived?”

  “I think so.” He motions toward a few gurneys. “Those are the unlucky ones.”

  My heart lifts. “So if someone’s not here, it means they could be alive?”

  The man nods once. “That’s right.” The wheels squeak as he pushes Tommy up the path.

  Mom speaks gently into my ear. “Try not to look, honey.”

  I grip her arm as we head up the pathway. A couple of stretchers line up s
ide by side, carrying bodies covered in black tarps. I spot a hand hanging out from underneath one of the covers.

  Something’s dangling from the wrist.

  My bracelet. The one Dad gave me. The one I gave him.

  My breath sticks in my throat as I move closer. I feel my Mom clutch my arm to hold me back but I pull away.

  If it’s Mo, I have to know for myself.

  I stare at the facial features outlined under the cloth and reach out to clasp the edge of the sheet.

  Just then, the man in a black suit blocks me with both arms straight out. “Trust me. You don’t want to see this.” He spins around and pushes Mo up the hill without another word.

  I slump to my knees in a prayer position and watch the man load the body in a van. I bury my face in my hands and weep. Not just for Mo, but for everyone and everything that’s been murdered today. And I can’t help but feel I’m responsible for the deaths of all these men. I cry for Mo and Dad. I also shed some tears for me.

  For the ray of hope in my heart that was so easily snuffed out.

  For the broken vision of my future.

  And for everything I’ve lost.

  Visions of my time with Mo zoom past. I picture his beautiful smile. The way he called me blossom. Our kisses. Our laughs. Like a movie trailer, a bad montage of our short but very real relationship rolls on until the end.

  I cry and spit and choke and cough. Afraid I’ll never care about anyone in that way again. How can I go back to being without him when he brought out so much in me?

  Mom kneels down and is crying too. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry, sweetie. About everything.” I’m not sure if she even knows what or who Mo was to me. But nevertheless, somehow she understands and is finally here for me.

  And this time, I let her be.

  “I really cared about him.”

  She whispers in my ear. “I know.”

  As I wipe my face and nose on my t-shirt, Mom helps me to my feet. She clasps my hand and pulls me down the path.

  Slowly, step by step, I walk away, leaving behind a piece of myself.