Untraceable (The Nature of Grace Series)

by S. R. Johannes

  I restraighten the same rack. “She definitely likes to reach out and touch everyone. Called the whole dang town. So what? Am I going to get the Spanish Inquisition from you too?” I shuffle between the displays, adding some distance between us.

  Tommy follows me into the fishing tackle section. “Who’s doing that? What’s wrong with you?” He can usually sense when something’s off. He calls it his Indian intuition; I call it guessing.

  “Your vibes must be getting a little rusty. I’m fine.”

  “Come on, Elu. You can talk to me.”

  Without thinking, I blurt out, as if the lid’s been blown off a boiling pot, “They found Dad’s shirt. It had blood on it.”

  Tommy appears horrified and opens his arms to hug me. “Gaest-ost yuh-wa da-nv-ta.”

  With my hands up, I back away from him. “Don’t be sorry. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  He looks confused and answers me slowly. “Okaaaay.”

  I toss out some more breaking news. “Wyn kissed me last night.”

  Tommy smiles. “I was wondering when you two would start up again.”

  One more shebang. “But I’m seeing someone else.”

  He stops walking. A slew of emotions slog over his face. Confusion. Disbelief. Annoyance. “Wait, what? Who?”

  “His name’s Mo.”

  Tommy squints. “Where’s he from?”

  I wave him off. “You don’t know him. He’s a freshman at Appalachian State. Studies rocks.”

  “College boy? Isn’t that too old for you?”

  I realize I’m still backing up when my butt bumps the counter. “He’s only 17.”

  “Then how can he already be in college? That’s usually 18, isn’t it?”

  His questions knock me off balance, and my world seems to tilt as I stammer for a response. “He moved here from overseas, so he’s ahead in school.”

  “How’d you meet him?”

  After every answer, I get more and moreout of breath like I’m running from something. “He’s been living in the Appalachians, collecting rock samples for a school study.”

  Tommy frowns. “You met him in the woods?”

  I snap back. “Noooo, not in the woods. On the river. Fishing.”

  His face remains furrowed. “So he flyfishes?”

  “Well, not exactly. He’s a bait fisherman. But he’s learning.”

  Tommy shakes his head as if too much information has jammed inside. “Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. You met a strange foreign boy in the woods who says he’s in college, and he doesn’t flyfish?” He catches my eyes with his. “You hate bait fisherman.”

  “I don’t hate bait fisherman.”

  Tommy touches his palm against my forehead, checking for a fever. “You must be sick.”

  I smack his hand away. “I think I’m old enough to look past his fishing preferences. Besides, he’s the one who saved me from those men.”

  He scratches his head. “You’ve been seeing him since then? This whole time? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I reverse down the aisle as anger pumps through my veins. My armor is cracking. I have to get out of here before I crumble into a heap of pieces. “Geez! What’s up with the thousand and seven questions from everyone? Why can’t anyone be happy for me? I tell you I’m dating someone and am happy for the first time. In a long time. And you grill me?”

  His eyes are wide, and he appears shell shocked. “I’m not grilling—”

  I snap back before he can finish. “Just because he’s not from this crappy town, doesn’t make him a bad guy, okay? Just because he doesn’t flyfish, doesn’t mean he’s dangerous.”

  “Dangerous? Who said anything about—”

  I beeline for the door. My only escape hatch to avoid being trapped into a lengthy interrogation. “Besides, I don’t know if I like Wyn. So why’s everyone pushing him on me?” My voice grows louder with every word.

  “Who’s pushing?”

  I stop retreating and steady my voice. “Look, do you need me here today? ’Cause it looks pretty slow.”

  He checks out the empty store. “Well, no, I guess not but—”

  “Good. I gotta go.” I race out of the store before he can stop me. But not before tripping twice and knocking over a display of sunglasses.

  Tommy calls after me. “Elu? Wait!”

  I duck down the alley and slip into a dark doorway, allowing my pity and anxiety to consume me. It’s official. I’m alone. I’ve messed up every relationship important to me. They’re all disintegrating before my eyes. And there’s not a dang thing I can do about it. Mom, Wyn, Tommy. Evidently, even Mo doesn’t trust me.

  I bury my face in my hands. But before I can break down, muffled voices float through the alleyway. Easing out of the shadow, I slither my way between all the parked cars. Last thing I need is for someone to catch me cowering behind the trash like a scared rat.

  Up ahead, a truck is partially concealed behind a couple stinky dumpsters. Two men appear to be arguing, but I can’t hear them over the idling engine. Waddling like a duck behind the car bumpers, I inch as close as I can without being seen. When I peek around a bumper, my heart cartwheels in my chest.

  Al and Billy are out of jail.

  Survival Skill #36

  When night hiking, make a note of any landmarks and use your five senses.

  Billy’s voice squeaks. “What do we do now? We probably shouldn’t hang around here.”

  Al cracks his knuckles. “I got a plan, don’t worry.”

  “Shouldn’t we run everything by the boss first? We could get in some hot water and don’t need any more trouble.”

  Al growls and grabs Billy’s collar, lifting him off the ground. “You on my side still? Because you don’t want to be on my bad side.”

  Billy looks terrified. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

  Al drops him to the ground. “Then let’s go. I want to find him before it gets too dark.”

  My hands sweat. When were they released? My legs are cramped and start to tingle as they fall asleep. I shift from one leg to the other, and my toe grazes a tin can. It clinks across the asphalt.

  Al snaps his head in my direction. “You hear that?”

  I flatten my body against the pavement and slide under an Oldsmobile. My lungs burn but I refuse to take in air for fear they’ll hear me. I know things won’t go well if these guys catch me snooping again. From my position under the sedan’s oily belly, I can see their ankles.

  Billy pipes up. “What do you think?”

  Al grunts. “Probably just a racoon.” He pulls a green bandana out of his pocket and wipes his brow. “Come on! Boss comes back, he’ll be more than pissed if we’s still hanging around here.”

  After the men leave, I exhale through my nose and shimmy out from under the car. I try to make sense of everything floating around in my clouded head. I squeeze my eyes shut and replay every second of the scene, trying to pick out any additional clues. Who let them out? And what boss are they referring to? Then something clicks as I replay their short conversation. I want to find him before it gets too dark.

  They’re probably going after Mo.

  Energy pumps through me. I need to warn him before Al gets there first. I glance at my watch. He’ll probably be at the river. How can I get there without my bike?

  I sneak out to the main drag and am about to cross the street when my phone rings. I immediately recognize the number and pick up, stepping back behind the corner. I keep my voice somewhat low. “Hey, Mama Sue. Did you find something?”

  As I’m on the phone, Les walks out of the convenience store. He doesn’t see me as he heads toward his truck.

  Mama Sue’s voice crackles through the fuzzy connection. “I sent the photos we copied to a custom boot guy I know in Tennessee. You’ll be happy to know he found a customer order and a name that matched that print by the truck.”

  I slide out the picture I printed off Carl’s computer and smile into the phone. “Let me guess, Alfred
Smith?”

  She pauses. “Well, yes. How’d you know?”

  “Lucky guess.” I watch as Les chucks some stuff into the bed of his truck. “Did you find out any more on the print at Station 19?”

  “No, even if that one was custom made, it’ll be impossible to trace.”

  I prop the phone against my cheek. “Even for you? Why?”

  “The tread’s too light. Barely visible.”

  My eyes follow Les as he trips then bends over to tie his frayed laces. When I focus in on his ancient boots, I almost swallow my tongue. “Let me guess. If the tread’s too light, the boot is old. Right?”

  Mama Sue pauses before she answers. “Ancient.” I eye Les’s boots as he climbs into his truck. My head starts to spin a few more pieces into place.

  It can’t be.

  Mama Sue pipes up. “Grace, there’s more.”

  I lean against the wall when my legs start to shake. How much more can there be? “What is it?”

  “I enlarged the pictures by the truck and found a different print. One you may not have seen.” My head clouds over in confusion. “That print has the same faint tread as the one you saw at the station. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  My voice sounds raw. Almost hoarse. “No.”

  “The person who made the faint print up at Station 19 also left a print by the truck.”

  As soon as I get off the phone, I spy on Les until he pulls down the street and turns out of town. Then I sink down until I’m sitting on the sidewalk. Stunned.

  Both prints belong to Les? That means he was at Station 19 when he said he wasn’t, but that he was close to Al’s campsite. So what, he knows Al? But Les acted as if he didn’t when I mentioned Al and Billy. Did he know I was at that campsite too? My mouth drops open. I suddenly feel as if my head’s being held under water, and I’m flailing to catch a breath.

  Les must be the boss Al and Billy were talking about. What other explanation could there be for his boot prints to be at Al and Billy’s site before I gave him the coordinates? He already knew about them because he was working with him.

  He’s been in on this whole thing!

  I gotta find Mo and fast. Maybe he can help me put the last few pieces of this puzzle together once and for all. After all, his dad is obviously a critical piece. But how? My eyes find the diner and suddenly I’m running. Thunder cracks in the distance as clouds roll in. I race around the back to where Mom parks her truck.

  Luci sits helpless in the bed, begging me to set her free. Dragging over a piece of thin plywood, I build a ramp and rescue my motorcycle from its unjust imprisonment. Quietly, I roll Luci out of the truck and down the street.

  When I’m a safe distance away, I start her up and head off to find Mo.

  Before Al can find him first.

  ~~~~

  Mo is now officially fifty-one minutes late for our meeting. After pacing for nearly an hour, I’ve worn a faint path in the carpet of pebbles and grass. He wouldn’t keep me waiting this long.

  Something’s wrong.

  Without thinking, I sprint in the direction of Mo’s campsite. Maybe he didn’t think we were meeting today or maybe he’s still hanging out at his place. Seems logical since that’s the last place we were together. I travel deeper into the woods, moving in the direction we headed the day before, begging the sagging sun for more time. It grows more shadowy as I head into the belly of the forest. Nothing and everything looks familiar. Luckily, I noted the coordinates of where I found the bullet so Mo’s campsite can’t be far from there.

  The underbrush grows dense and a thin trail wiggles through the trees, twisting and turning. I stop to study my watch again. According to my position, I’m close. Moving on, I attempt to track Mo by searching for tramped grass or other signs of disturbance. The forest’s ceiling turns from green to grey. Maybe it’s smarter to go home and get help.

  No, I can’t give up. I’m determined to warn Mo. If anything happens to him, it will be my fault.

  After a few more yards, I check my position again.

  This should be the place.

  I take out my flashlight and step into a clearing. The area is bare. No sign of anything. Undisturbed. I stumble around, looking for signs of his fire pit. Could this be the wrong place? Maybe along the way, I went off track? Turned around?

  An owl hoots above me, perched in the safety of his wooden nook. His eyes glow in the dim light. My mouth falls open and I sink to my knees, remembering his call from the night before.

  This is Mo’s site.

  But he’s gone.

  The tarp’s vanished along with his man-made shelter. The mound of ashes from his fire pit has disappeared. There’s no trace of him. At least not any I can see in the dim light.

  It’s as if he didn’t exist. How can it be that two important people in my life are seemingly untraceable?

  How could Al possibly get here before me? They didn’t even know where to look. Or did they?

  No, that’s ridiculous.

  I must be the reason Mo’s gone. Maybe I said something wrong or messed up without knowing. Maybe I scared him off. I reanalyze every second of our last night together, searching for a sign. Dissect every word, every kiss, every moment.

  Pacing the campsite, I look for signs, a clue, something. Maybe a trail pointing me in the right direction, showing me which way he went. My light arcs back and forth along the ground. That’s when I notice the faint, parallel lines scrape the dirt in perfect rows. As if someone has raked the ground. It takes a few seconds before I make the connection.

  Someone’s cleared Mo’s campsite. Hiding the evidence.

  Just like they did at Station 19.

  I drop down on all fours and scout around for more clues. Searching under bushes. Around trees. Studying leaves. Checking trunks. I find a few chips in the bark of one. Identical to the ones I found with Wyn. I check the leaves along all the paths leading out of the space and find a shoe print.

  I know without even looking.

  They match Al’s. Perfectly.

  I abandon the trail and follow the tracks. They lead away from the camp until they just disappear. Right when I’m about to give up, something gleams from underneath a thick bush.

  I plunge my hand in and touch something small and cold. I know what it is before I even see it.

  I hold it up in the light to analyze it.

  Another dum dum.

  My world plays on slow motion for a short period. I collapse onto a log. My mouth arid, my throat clogged, and my legs can no longer support the burden of everything that’s been dumped on my shoulders in the last twenty-four hours. It takes a few seconds for logic to override my shock. After being paralyzed for a short time, my gut springs alive.

  Al and Billy were here.

  They must’ve found Mo before I did.

  I have to tell Carl.

  Behind me, I see a beam of light. Sweeping. Searching. My heart does jumping jacks in my chest. I hop to my feet and hide. Hoping it’s Mo.

  Praying it’s not Al or Billy.

  Survival Skill #37

  If you have a map or a compass, you will most likely be able to move toward help.

  From behind a tree, I watch as a shadowy figure hovers under the leafy cover.

  Against my better judgment, I call out to the shape. “Mo? Is that you?” Please let it be you.

  A silouette emerges from the spindly cover.

  I immediately recognize the movement and flick on my flashlight to reveal a friendly face. My heart sinks and a sliver of frustration pops out in my voice. “Tommy! What are you doing here?”

  He shines his light in my face. “I should be asking you that question.”

  I shield my eyes. “How’d you find me?”

  He shrugs. “I tracked you. Have you forgotten I taught your dad everything?”

  “I don’t understand. Why would you do that?”

  He wraps me in a hug. “After you ran out of the shop, your mom came by. Said you stole
Luci after being grounded. She didn’t know where you were.”

  I huff. “I can’t steal something that belongs to me.”

  Tommy places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “She’s worried about you. Wyn is too. He came into the store right after your mom left. When he found out you’d left on your bike, he told me everything that’s been going on. Said you found something on Carl’s computer that upset you.”

  I nod as tears stream down my face.

  Tommy hugs my shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you inside so we can talk this out.”

  “Where?”

  “Let me be the leader for once.” He twitches his eyebrows and offers a strong hand. My mind races as we hike together. All the while, it’s as if my brain’s rebooting. The events of the last few weeks spew out in random order. I scroll through a list of crazy theories about Mo’s disappearance. About Les. About Dad.

  Tommy breaks my concentration. “What do you think?”

  Slightly disoriented, I squint in the moonlight. As my eyes adjust, I slowly make out some kind of hut made from woven saplings, mud, and poplar bark. “What is this place?”

  “My home away from home.” He motions me inside. “Ehiyha.”

  “Thanks.” I push the door open first and stand in a pitch black room. Behind me, a bright lamp flickers to life, instantly brightening up the cozy space. The room is scattered with rustic furniture made from pine logs. Lanterns swing from metal rods, and a stone fireplace frames one wall.

  Tommy slides out a small wooden chair from under the hand-carved table.

  I lower myself into it and relax. “Did you build this?”

  He makes his way around to the other side and places his hands on the back of a chair. “This hut’s been a part of the Qualla Boundary history and in my family for years. Since the Trail of Tears. Ama and I made some changes to make it more livable. Even built the furniture ourselves. It was our special place to get away.” Looking sad, he walks to the fireplace in the corner and hangs an iron kettle in a rod before sitting down next to me.