Halfway down the other side, I spot something. I inch my way around the edge, careful not to slip. The thought of falling thirty feet into shallow, icy water makes me dizzy. As I make my way to the other side, I see legs jutting out from under a large oak. I’m overcome with joy and can’t help but shout as I run down the other side.
“Seth! Seth!”
I sit on my butt and carefully maneuver my way down the embankment and slippery rocks to the ledge he’s sitting on. I can’t get there fast enough and jump the last two feet.
“Thank God I found you! I guess we’re even now.” I inch my way over to him, but he’s still obscured from my full view by a large tree. “Who’s the hero now?”
I come around the tree and there sits Seth. Eyes closed, against a tree.
“Seth?” I nudge him with my toe and cover my mouth.
If he weren’t frozen, I swear, he’d look like he was resting along the river shore, simply enjoying the view.
But he’s dead.
I kneel down in the spot where I’m standing, feeling nauseous, and lower my head.
I’m too late.
Again.
Survival Skill #22
Wolf conflicts with humans are rare, but if you encounter a wolf, stop, stand tall, and do not run.
I make my way to the other side of the tree and throw up everything in my stomach.
Then I kneel at the river’s edge and start to cry.
It’s my fault.
I should’ve pushed Agent Sweeney harder last night. I should have never let him stop that search. Though from the looks of it, there’s nothing I could have done to save Seth. He died sometime yesterday or early yesterday evening — maybe quietly in his sleep.
I throw a rock into the river hard. Why is death all around me? If it’s not animals, it’s people. If it’s not people, it’s a whole town. I glance back at Seth. His eyes are closed as if he’s asleep. He’s not gross or disgusting, just a pale blue statue of who he once was. A shell.
I hope he died in peace. But I know firsthand how painful hypothermia can be, and I’ve heard death from it can be even worse. Unless he was lucky enough to just fall asleep before it hit.
I mark the trail and tree with orange tape and log the coordinates. At least Agent Sweeney can do a body recovery. Then I pick up my bag and start the long hike home.
As I trudge along the path, my legs feel like lead. Heavy. Winter birds chirp, breaking up the thoughts racing through my head. How will I tell Ms. Burrows about Seth? I’ve known his family since elementary school. Seth was always a pain, but I think it was just because he wanted attention. His dad was in the military and rarely ever home.
Not having a dad can mess with you. I know.
My chest fills with sorrow for Seth’s mother. He was an only child and all she had. I remember what my mom went through last summer. At this very moment, Ms. Burrows has no idea what is about to happen, no idea her life is about to shatter into tiny pieces. Right now, she’s probably sitting at home, full of hope, and praying Seth will return soon. Like I did for months. With every phone call, she’s wishing. With every news update, she’s hoping. And once again, I’m the one who’s going to crash someone’s already fragile world. What if she blames me for Seth’s death the way Skyler blames me for Carl’s?
Maybe the Smoky Review is right. I’m cursed.
Off to one side, I spot something stuck in the snow. It’s a piece of plastic with a sharp end, like it was part of a syringe. I pick up the foreign piece and study it, wondering if I should take it back. I quickly tuck the trash into my bag just as a foreign noise draws me out of my thoughts.
It’s the shriek of a bird, but something about the sound makes me stop in my tracks. Something familiar. I stop and listen, trying to identify it.
The bird sounds off again. It takes me a millisecond to realize what it is — a Carolina parakeet. I think about Birdee, and then it hits me. It’s the bird’s distress call, the one we played on my computer.
Instinctively, I step behind a tree and scan the woods. Maybe it’s a bear or a wolf. I listen and hear scuffling. Sounds too big to be a wolf and too quiet to be a bear.
The warning call sounds off again, and a little blue and yellow bird zips by me.
I squint and dart my eyes toward every movement. Any branch. Any bush.
Then I see something.
A dark shape that resembles a figure. I can't make out the face, but I can tell he’s camouflaged well. It takes me a second to process who it could be.
Al.
I look around. Where do I go? What do I do? I don’t know if I can outrun him, but I can try. Without hesitating any longer, I bolt off down the path and cut into the thick woods. Heavy footsteps are in pursuit, thumping along the underbrush. My breath comes in sharp rasps as I charge through the woods. The rhythm of my pace takes over in my head as I move. Fast. Arms at my side, I breathe steady — in, out.
Al cannot catch me in these woods again.
Luckily on this higher path, the snow is broken and sparse along the ground. My hiking boots get good traction as I propel myself up the hill. My pack is strapped on well and doesn’t weigh me down, and I know the way out. It’s just a matter of making it to the snowmobile in time.
I hear deep grunts far back behind me, telling me Al’s struggling to catch up. I don’t even want to turn around. I just need to concentrate on getting out of here alive. I was dumb to come back. Naïve in thinking he was gone. His face fills my head. His sneer. His dark eyes. His knife at my throat. The way he attacked Mo, and the way he killed Carl and Dad.
In cold-blood, without blinking an eye.
I can’t let him corner me again. I won’t. Because this time he’ll be sure I don’t make it out alive.
As I run, I crash through anything in my way. Limbs, bushes, logs. Nothing stops me or slows me down. I keep my eyes forward on the path. I don’t have long to go.
My brain races in panic. Is he gaining on me? Is he right behind me?
I veer off the main trail and sprint straight up the hill. The snowmobile is only about a mile away. Thank goodness it took me longer to get in then it does to hike out.
My legs dig into the mountainside as I push my way uphill. My calves burn and my chest grabs at the air, struggling to take in a proper breath. Tears sting my eyes as everything pumps through me. The next ten minutes are the longest of my life. Every minute I keep waiting for a hand to reach out and grab me.
My lungs are screaming and my vision is dotted. My body is not strong enough to keep pushing, but I have no choice if I want to live.
I give it everything I have until I finally make it to the top of the ridge. Without so much as even pausing to catch a breath, I push through the thick tree line. Snow dumps on my head and into my eyes, but I don’t miss a beat.
When I finally reach my snowmobile, I fumble for the key in my pocket. It slips through my fingers and plops into the snow. I reach down and grab it and shove it into the hole. When I turn the key, I pull on the start cord like a lawn mower, but nothing happens.
“Come on!” I shriek.
Behind me, I hear crashing through the woods. Al is still in pursuit. Keeping my eyes forward, I turn the key again. Come on! Please! The worst-case scenario plays out in my head. Al’s going to come charging out of the woods and grab me off my snowmobile. He’s going to throw me to the ground, and I’ll never see my mother again.
Then it dawns on me: I forgot to pop up the kill switch. I jerk the red button and turn the key. This time, I double-check the cord is attached, and I flip the choke button to help. I pull on the cord a couple times and finally the engine sputters to life. I jump on and speed out of the woods with branches slapping me in the face, scratching my cheeks. Snow dumps on my head and shoulders, but I don’t even bother to wipe it away. My only thought is, Get away now!
I don’t breathe or look back until I hit the main path home. Somewhere along the way, I remember I have a gun and a knife, but a hand-to-han
d combat with a man twice my size was probably a good thing to avoid.
I stop about a half mile from my house, where I finally have the nerve to glance back. The trees stare back but no one is following me. I exhale. I did it. I’m safe and I found Seth.
Al has not won.
I race the mobile up the rest of the hill, park it on the side of the house, and run in, slamming the door behind me.
Birdee is waiting with her hands on her hips. “Where the hell did you go?”
I try to answer, but my body is shutting down. I bend over and put my hands on my knees.
She comes over. “Are you okay?”
I nod and take in a few breaths. “Yes. I just went for a ride.”
She narrows her eyes. “For a ride, huh? Maybe I should be more specific. Who did you go with and where?”
“No one.” I look into her eyes and see behind her anger is fear. I force out the words. “I… went… alone.”
Petey squawks and then answers first. “Stupid girl.”
I yell back at him. “Shut up, Petey.”
It’s only after I holler that I realize I’m arguing with a parrot, who’s now bobbing his head and saying, “Petey dance,” as he whistles the "Macarena".
“Alone?” Birdee repeats. She takes her straw hat off and tosses it onto the table. “So Wyn was right.”
“Wyn?”
“He called and said he thought you were up to something. He was worried you would go off alone and try to find Seth. Tell me you didn’t do that.”
I grab a glass and fill it at the sink, cursing Wyn under my breath for worrying Birdee. As I guzzle it down, I stare out the kitchen window at the swaying trees, half-expecting Al to come charging through the woods. I wonder if he knows where I live. With the Internet, I’m sure he can find me.
Birdee speaks to me again. “Grace? Tell me you weren’t that dumb to go looking for Seth.”
“They were looking in the wrong spot. I hiked up to where Big Mike said he was. Just to be sure.” I spin around with tears in my eyes. “I found him.”
Birdee’s face perks up briefly. “Oh my gosh.”
She reaches out to hug me, but I pull away and shake my head.
“No, Birdee. I was too late.”
She cups her mouth with both hands for a second and then gasps out two words. “I’m sorry.”
She wraps her arms around me and pulls me close, and we both cry in the kitchen together for a few minutes. I pull back and wipe my face with a stinky dishtowel.
“I need to call Agent Sweeney with the coordinates before the weather turns worse so they can go get… him.”
She nods as her eyes start to water again. “Poor Sally. She’s going to be devastated. I don’t know how she’ll get through this with Chet still stationed overseas.”
I try not to think of Sally Burrows, or I’m afraid I’ll crumble. I grab the phone to dial Sweeney, but my hand is shaking. Instead, I just stare out the window as if time is standing still for just a second.
Birdee speaks up behind me, pulling me from my daze. “This isn’t your fault, Grace. You know that, right?”
I swallow the doubt. “I guess.”
She walks over and holds my shoulder. “You did all you could.”
“It wasn’t enough.” Just like before with my dad, nothing I did mattered.
“It was more than anyone else did.” She squeezes me and kisses my head. “I need to go see Sally. Someone needs to be with her when she finds out. When I get back, we’ll have some tea and talk.” She kisses me goodbye as I pick up the phone.
My fingers finally cooperate and dial Agent Sweeney, who picks up on the first ring. “Hello?”
I can’t seem to respond, so he answers again. “Hello?”
My voice doesn’t come out how I intended. “I found Seth.”
“What?”
I project more. “I found him.”
For a second, neither of us says anything. Then Agent Sweeney’s voice breaks through the silence. “Is he...”
My voice comes out in a whimper. “He didn’t make it.”
Agent Sweeney lets out a long sigh before he mumbles, “Where is he?”
I give him the coordinates and the details of how I found him. Agent Sweeney listens quietly.
“That was a dumb thing you did up there,” he says.
“I know. But I needed to find him. I knew Big Mike was telling the truth. Porter, on the other hand, I’m not so sure.”
“Thanks, Grace. I’ll take it from here.”
I prod him. “Are you going to arrest Porter?”
“For what?”
“For lying. I think he’s involved.”
Agent Sweeney sighs. “Well, I think a lot of things, but that pesky thing called evidence always gets in the way.”
Since I met Agent Sweeney, he’s always listened to me. I was his key witness, so now that one sentence hits me hard. He sounds just like Carl. The doubt in his voice. The frustration. I try to push it away, but it bothers me that he questions me for the first time since I’ve known him.
“I found a piece of a needle by Seth. What if he was drugged?”
“The less paranoid reason would be that he died of hypothermia.”
I think for a second. “But what if he didn’t? What if Porter killed him.”
Agent Sweeney sits on the other end of the line and doesn’t answer.
I sigh. I can’t help but feel like I did a few months ago when I was trying to convince Carl my dad was still alive. I hold my breath, praying Agent Sweeney believes me, trusts my judgment after everything we’ve been through. I can hear his breath through the phone.
“Okay. I’ll look into it. But you have to keep this to yourself. You hear me?”
I pretend to fasten a button over my bottom lip even though he can’t see me. “I won’t say a word.”
“Fine. I’ll call you. I need to follow up with the family and do a recovery. If you need anything, you know where I am. Until then, watch your back.”
I realize after we hang up I forget to tell him about seeing Al in the woods, but I can’t take any chances staying here.
I pick up the phone and call Katie.
“Grace, are you okay?”
I start to cry. “I don’t really want to be alone. Can I come to your place until Birdee gets back?”
Survival Skill #23
Asking for help in a life-or-death situation is not a sign of weakness.
The ride to Katie’s office is long.
The road is deserted most of the way, and the air is cold. And my heart is heavy. If Agent Sweeney isn’t going to do anything about Porter, I know who will.
I pull into the circular driveway. The building is nondescript — a long, tan structure with brown shutters and very few windows. A state flag clicks against a pole outside. Conservationists have it as bad as rangers. No wonder they hate to stay in their offices.
By the time I make it up the steps, she is already at the door. Her hair is pulled up in a cute ponytail, and she’s dressed in jeans and a long-sleeve fleece. She yanks open the wooden door.
“Grace. Get inside before you freeze.”
Shaking my hair, I walk in and slip off my jacket, hanging it on the old hatrack. “Thanks.”
She motions me down the hall and into her office. “Go sit. I already have some water boiling.”
I can’t help but notice her face is flushed like she’s either been outside or crying. She’s probably upset about Seth, too. I sit in the distressed leather chair with gold buttons. Only a few are missing. The way I can tell it’s her office is by the shooting plaques and pictures of her on the walls.
Katie walks up and hands me a steaming cup filled with hot cocoa and little marshmallows. I smile as she takes a sip.
“What’s so funny?” she asks.
I poke a tiny marshmallow down in the hot liquid. It bobs back up to the surface, not ready to go under. “I didn’t expect you to be a cocoa kinda lady. You seem like you’d be more
of a tea person.”
“Me? No.” She wrinkles her nose. “I guess s'mores are out of the question for a quaint snack?”
“No argument from me.” I smile and take a sip.
Her grin drops as she sits in a comfy leather chair. “Tell me what’s going on.”
I lean over and place my cup on her desk. “You know I found Seth, right?”
She looks at the cup and hands me a coaster, which I slide under the steaming mug. “Yes. Agent Sweeney called me right after he talked to you. What in God’s name happened?”
I tell her about talking to Big Mike, and what he said about Chasteen Creek. “When I found out Agent Sweeney had called off the search for the night, I couldn’t just sit around and wait. After all, Seth saved my life. I owed it to him to find him. I left early this morning as soon as the sun came up.”
“Not very smart, considering.”
I stop mid-sip, a little surprised. “Considering what?”
“Oh, Grace, come on. You’re not the only one who snoops around here. I know all about what happened to you and your dad. The town.”
I drop my head. “Oh.”
I hear her take another sip. “I don’t think it’s smart for you to go up in these woods — especially this time of year — alone.” Before I can protest, she holds up her hand. “Even though I hear you are quite the woods-lady, it’s just not good survival skills. But I’m sure you know that.”
I think of what Dad would say. “Yes. It’s just sometimes…”
She cuts me off and smiles, her piercing blue eyes holding mine. “Sometimes you think you have to get things done, and you don’t care what it costs. Because it’s the right thing to do. And you’ll risk your life for those you care about.”
I stare at her, surprised she knows me so well in such a short time. Finally someone who gets me.
I nod slowly. “Yes. Exactly.”
“I get it. I was like that, too. Well, I still am. I just hide behind the word ‘adult,’ so I can get away with it without a lecture.” She winks.
I grin. “Must be nice.”
Uncontrollable (The Nature of Grace, Book 2) Page 18