I’m on my knees, ready to make my move when he comes out again. This time he takes the rabbit with him.
The loss of the raw, probably parasite-ridden meat, makes me shiver with mourning. Beside me, a tall sprig of sage grows. I pull off a branch, inhale its sweet herby scent, and start to chew on the leaves. I salivate with the pleasure of the flavor on my tongue.
After an hour or more, my legs are cramped and my mind is screaming to move them, but he’s still there, so close he could hear any move I make. So close, I can’t run away. I can’t get to my friends, and I can’t even take the chance of opening the canteen for a drink of water.
IRELAND
The stink on this guy reminds me of the week I spent protesting a particular logging site. We started out as a group of over a hundred, blocking the road to save the precious spotted owl from losing her habitat. But by day three our numbers were cut in half. And by the time the police came in with the order to evacuate or be arrested, there were five of us.
Skye and me, plus three other graduate students willing to put their spring break to good use for the cause of preserving nature. Not one of us bathed that week. But we didn’t mention the smell, only encouraged each other to stick to the plan.
Skye was the one with such force of conviction. His leadership was strong and noble. I fell for him in an instant, and I was ready to follow him anywhere for any cause. But there was something we didn’t share. He had so many reasons why God didn’t exist. I think convincing me to join him as an atheist was his most passionate cause.
At night, he’d read to me from writers who’d spent their lives searching out ways to prove the nonexistence of God. During the day, he’d give me his explanations for the things I considered miracles. He always had an argument for self over a greater power.
After a while, all I wanted was him. I let God slip away like a fairy tale from my childhood—if my childhood had included stories and books. We shared a cottage, protested, and worked for a better world for those who would come after us.
We’d been together for years when I found out I was pregnant. Skye wasn’t happy. He’d always told me this planet was not equipped to handle more people, and we should do our part by not procreating. This hadn’t been a big deal to me, a girl who feared the idea of becoming her mother far more than tear gas and billy clubs. We wouldn’t be part of the problem, but part of the solution. He suggested I terminate, for the good of the child, but I couldn’t take that step.
For months, he looked at me as if I’d broken a promise. Then the day came, and I delivered our son in the bedroom we shared. Skye fell to his knees, his arms wrapped tight around the one thing I’d done right in my life, and he wept.
I thought his tears were for our son’s hopeless future on a dying planet until he lifted his chin and I saw the first real smile I’d ever seen light his face. He was crying with the depth of his love for our son. My heart was so full I could feel the strain, the stretching of the muscle, the places where it weakened, ready to split.
Jenna’s hand silently wraps around mine as if the grief in my heart could be felt in hers. She is my sister. Jenna, Vicky, and Hope were the only family I’ve ever known aside from my time as a partner and mother.
We’re far enough back into the cave we may be safe until he goes out again, I just hope he makes one of his journeys soon. This is no place to spend the night, especially with our water all carefully hidden outside with Vicky.
We’ve pushed our way deeper in. There doesn’t seem to be an end, but we can’t turn on the flashlight to see what surrounds us.
I run my tongue over my lips, hoping to sooth a bit of the dryness, but it’s hopeless. Water has been what’s sustained me for days, and now even that is inaccessible.
Vicky must be scared to death. I pray that she’s okay out there on her own. As scared as I feel in here, at least I have Jenna beside me. After all the years I’ve spent isolating myself from everyone, there’s a deep hunger that’s fed by having her alongside.
Chapter 21
JENNA
I wonder if our Grizzly Adams started out like us, lost in the woods until he adapted so much to his surroundings that he lost his mind. All day, every day without a single modern convenience. No television or laptop. No Netflix or Hulu. I wonder if he has a mother somewhere who still holds out hope that he’s alive, that he’s safe, that someday she’ll see him again.
Tears don’t come with the emotion. I don’t get to wallow in my self-pity, or even cry for a stranger. The only action I can continue is the one of breathing in and out, over and over again, with the hope that this is not the day I will die. That I don’t leave this life without a body to bury or solid closure for my family.
Hours crawl by, and he seems to do almost nothing. He moves in and out of the cave grumbling and growling as if he’s communicating with a bear. As if he is a bear. I shiver.
His fire crackles, and I wonder if the day is fading. For all I know it could be noon. I’ve grown used to my stomach aching for food, so it no longer is an indicator of time. It’s like when you go to the movies in the middle of the day, then walk out into the sun, somehow expecting that it should be nighttime. My perspective is off.
The scent of meat cooking over an open fire floats through the cave and to my nose. I grab Ireland’s hand to keep from lunging forward and snagging a bite of whatever he’s cooking. I’d eat snake about now, or a dog, or really anything. I believe I’ve developed a deeper sense of compassion for the Donner Party.
He comes in closer to our hiding place now and must be on his pile of furs. I can hear the crunch of burned skin and meat as it’s ground up by his teeth. My mouth waters and my nose stings with the smoky smells. Couldn’t he toss a bit this way? I lean forward. Wouldn’t even this wild man have a touch of mercy if we stepped out and begged for a little nourishment?
Ireland must sense my thoughts. Her hand tightens around my arm. With her other hand, she turns my head toward hers. I sense more than see her shake her head. Then she pulls me closer, and I rest my cheek on her shoulder.
It brings me back to the long-packed memories of my mother. Once, I was a loved daughter. Before I became an abandoned adult. I’ve avoided this area of my life for so many years, the good times only making the ending somehow sharper.
My parents always wanted more children, but after me, no more came. Maybe that’s part of what made me go a bit nuts when I wasn’t able to conceive. I spent my childhood longing for a sibling, thinking all would be perfect if I could just have brothers and sisters. Then, as an adult, I faced the real possibility of not having children at all. It was like the same grief visiting twice.
When I was in the crazy middle school years, my mother was in the even more crazy world of chemo and radiation. My dad never gave up. He prayed over her night and day until the treatment was complete and the doctors gave a happy prognosis.
My senior year of high school, the time that should have been filled with dreams and excitement, was lost in the shadow of cancer coming for another call. This time it swooped in fast and dark. My mom was gone before spring break. Before she could see me off to college. She left me alone before I had the chance to leave her.
What was I thinking, coming out here like this?
I wonder what will happen with Mark after I’m gone. Will he lose his faith like my father? A smile creeps onto my face. No. Even though my dad was a pastor, and Mark is a public school teacher, their faiths are even more different. In some way, my dad’s belief required the Lord giving him what he thought he was owed.
God is not on a leash that we hold. He is the creator of everything. We can’t even begin to understand his timing or is ways.
If this is how God sees fit to end my life, then I have to trust he knows what’s best.
I close my eyes and offer the only worship I can, giving my family, my kids, and my future over to the only one who cares more than I do.
VICKY
I shiver in the icy air that whips
around the cave. If that man would stay inside for more than a few minutes, I could at least retrieve more clothing from the packs. But he insists on constant movement, in and out of the entrance. With the increase of the wind, it’s hard to tell when he’s coming until he’s there again.
Smoke drifts my way with the scent of cooked meat dancing in smoldering flames. He’s made a fire at the mouth of his home, I assume this is his way of keeping animals from joining him in his living room, uninvited. When I haven’t seen or heard him for at least thirty minutes, I sneak around the corner and huddle as close to the fire as I can without being spotted from inside.
A bone flies past me as he uses his entrance as a trash receptacle. In the glow of the fire, I can see the remains of flesh still clinging to its white surface. With a quick motion, I grab for the treasure then sit back against the rock, listening for his footsteps.
Nothing.
I shove that bone into my mouth and suck every scrumptious morsel from the smooth surface. Then, I can’t even help myself, I crunch through the bone and suck the tender marrow. Lobster and steak have nothing on this meager meal. Because this is real. It’s here, and I actually taste its goodness. My life, however short, will never be the same.
I run my tongue over the bone. It wasn’t enough to satisfy, but it’s more than I assume my friends have inside what must be a horrible prison. Maybe I should start to scream. I could run into the woods. He’d surely come after me, and Jenna and Ireland could escape.
But then what?
This new life with no answers weakens me. I’m as broken as the bone I chewed to the core.
This is me, Lord, nothing but me. Am I worth anything to you this way?
I actually don’t expect an answer. I’m exactly how I always feared I’d end up. I’m useless. I have nothing to give. I am only the shell of the woman the world thinks it knows.
Maybe it’s the beginning of my end, but I hear a voice that speaks directly to my heart. A voice that carries my soul on its words. I love you where you are.
There isn’t a fire in this world that could bring the warming comfort that heats me to the depth like those words. All my works have meant nothing. God loves me here, in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but my dying body and mind to offer. To the world, I’m as valuable as that tossed-aside bone, but to my Maker, I am a treasure.
Daniel may not see me that way anymore. But his opinion doesn’t matter out here. Just as it doesn’t matter if my fans turn their backs on me. I wasn’t put on this planet to fear the disapproval of my mother, my husband, my children, or strangers. The beginning of understanding swells in my chest. I believe I was created to love without reservation. And all I’ve had my entire life is control and formality. Now that I’m dying, I want to truly live.
My eyes are heavy. And my soul has found peace.
We didn’t sleep at all last night, and though I know drifting off could mean the end for me, there’s a big part that doesn’t care. I can’t stop my eyes from closing, my body from dropping out of this misery into a dream world. I let go.
A loud noise startles me awake. I whip my head to one side then the next, taking in the scene and trying to make sense of where I am. The night has passed and the morning is greeting me with fresh terror. I swing my gaze around in the early light. Then I hear the scream I’ve been dreading, but I think it’s Ireland who made the sound. He’s got them. This is it.
I lunge back into my hiding place, the rock I used as the warning sign tight in my hands, ready to be my weapon.
JENNA
We must have been sleeping. In fact, I think that’s the deepest I’ve drifted since I left my own bed to head out on what was supposed to be a vacation. It was Ireland’s scream that woke me. My heart still races from the shock.
Above us, Grizzly Adams’s silhouette towers. He doesn’t say a single human word, and I wonder if he’s been out here so long that he’s lost his ability to speak.
He grunts then lifts one arm, smacking his wrist with his other hand then pointing to us.
I hold out an arm. Maybe I should fight, but my muscles don’t have the strength left for the struggle. Even this exertion is exhausting. He ties my wrists together then binds Ireland’s. The sinew is tight. It cuts into my flesh, burning the skin. With some kind of rope that appears to be made from vines, he ties leashes onto our bound hands and tugs.
Pressing my palms into the ground, I get myself upright. My face heats with the effort, and I’m dizzy from thirst.
Ireland’s expression hangs, her eyes dull. Her glasses with the one remaining lens crunch under my foot. She doesn’t seem to notice, only holds her gaze on our captor.
Another grunt and he tugs us forward.
The dawn light is blinding after a night in a cave. I blink, but my eyes still buzz with the adjustment. “What are you going to do with us?”
He looks back, narrows his eyes, as if evaluating me, then yanks on the rope causing my feet to trip forward.
Ireland trudges on without protest. It’s not that we have a choice to move, he’s stronger than the two of us put together, even before a week of very little food. But there’s a sense that Ireland’s given up in a way. I need her to be with me. I need her strength.
“You can’t do this,” I say. “There will be people looking for us. Lots of people.”
His footsteps don’t even hesitate at my words. Our week’s adventure has passed. They must be searching by now.
“If you harm us, you’ll end up spending the rest of your life in a jail. They’ll make you live in a crowded prison with lots of …” I search my mind for what this guy would hate most. “With lots of metal.”
His face turns toward me for a moment, but he keeps moving.
“Yep. That’s right. You’re looking at years of metal all around you. Metal bars. A metal bed. They’ll even make you eat your meals off a metal tray. And there won’t be any of this wild food you’re accustomed to. No. In prison you’ll eat processed chemical food. The kind of stuff that kills you from the inside, rotting your guts.”
I look to Ireland. Her mouth hangs open, and I don’t know if she’s mortified by me or impressed. But I see a flicker of life and that’s enough to keep me fighting.
“Can you just imagine what it will be like locked away? No freedom. No mountains. No fresh air. Oh, the air in prison must be very stale. You’re breathing the same air the guy next to you just had in his lungs. Come on. Let us go. I’ve got your best interests in mind.”
“We won’t tell anyone about you,” Ireland says.
The sound of her voice brings a smile to my face. I’m no longer isolated in my quest to rattle this guy.
But even together, with Ireland and I both pulling hard on the ropes, yelling horrible consequences, Grizzly Adams marches on, and we’re pulled with him. When he slows to climb over a rock, Ireland twists her back to me, and I see the handle of the gun poking out of her waistband.
At the first chance, I’ll get my hands on it. Then we’ll see who’s in charge.
“I take it you don’t much care for company. Well, in prison, you’ll be surrounded by other people, and you won’t be able to tie them up. And there will be television. They’ll turn the volume up and the laugh track will echo off all that metal.”
I think there’s the slightest cringe. Maybe he understands what I’m saying. Maybe he’s already been to prison. Maybe this won’t be his first murder.
Chapter 22
VICKY
By the time I am able to move without the tree blurring into swirls of green and brown, the man has dragged my friends from the cave toward who knows where. I had jumped to my feet at the shock of Ireland’s scream. Too many days with insufficient nutrients and sleep left me weak. I think I passed out for a couple minutes.
Ireland and Jenna’s fading pleas refocus me. Jenna keeps talking, her voice strained, but I can’t comprehend her meaning.
I rush to catch up while staying unseen, a real feat in my bright pink
coat.
A sob catches in my throat. I’ll kill him if he hurts them. The fire in my gut consumes me and takes away my hunger and my pain. Jenna is making so much noise I don’t have to worry about being heard behind them, and I’m sure any wild animal has been scared miles into the mountains. When they get far enough down the trail, I strip off anything of unnatural color and tuck everything into the packs. Then I slip out of my hiding place and begin my trek as close as I can manage without being seen.
After an hour, my back aches and my legs burn. I’m carrying my trusty rock and the weight of all our supplies formerly distributed among the three of us.
I can’t go any farther this way. I step into a clump of trees and drop the bags, dumping everything into a pile. Then, with quick decisions I choose what we must have and tuck it back into Ireland’s muted pack. The rest I shove into the other bags and stash behind a rock. Hopefully we’ll be able to find this location again after I free them.
Throwing the backpack on, I head out again. Somewhere ahead, I can’t see where, Jenna bellows about the food they force you to eat in prison. I chuckle. Our timid little friend has fire in her veins now. Mountain guy doesn’t stand a chance.
Even with the lighter pack my shoulders ache and my legs wobble. It must be mid-morning, but the overcast sky is dark, ominous. An angry cold wind whips up the mountain, cutting through my clothes and burning my skin. My nose has gone numb with the chill, but my back is damp with perspiration.
I scratch my cheek and feel blood drip down my jawline. Wiping it away with the back of my hand, I lean down and grab a leaf, careful not to pick poison oak again, and press it into the cut like a man does with toilet paper after a shaving nick.
If my fans could see me now. Would they abandon me because I’m a mess or applaud my willingness to fight on? It doesn’t matter. This isn’t about how strangers perceive my worth. God didn’t put me on this earth to show others all the things I can do better than they can.
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