“How come I never knew about this place?”
Tommy glances around the space and shrugs. “Not many people know about it. If they did, it’d probably end up a tourist site. Small chance of finding it out here in these woods so I just kept it quiet. Your dad knew about it though.”
My heart performs a bellyflop when he mentions Dad. Reminding me of my situation. He and Mo are gone. And it’s all my fault. If I’d gone with Dad that day, he might be here. If I hadn’t followed Al to his campsite, Mo wouldn’t be in this mess either.
Tommy pours some steaming water into a cup and drops in a tea bag. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on? Maybe I can help.”
Everything spills out in a random sequence. I ignore punctuation and don’t even breathe between sentences. Some of what I say, Tommy’s heard, but some of it’s new. The whole time I talk, he doesn’t say a word. Not a doubt. Not a question. He only nods. As if everything makes sense. Which, of course, is impossible. None of this makes any sense. I stop when there’s nothing else left to say. My shoulders slump forward in exhaustion.
Tommy exhales, telling me he’s held his breath this whole time too. He whistles. “Wow. You’re in deep, Elu.”
“I know. What do I do?” To burn off the adrenaline pressing against my chest, I stroll around the open space, studying the Cherokee artifacts that decorate his walls.
He shakes his head. “Maybe I should’ve helped more? Then you wouldn’t be in this position.”
I stop at his desk and eye an old picture frame, hanging on the wall. “It’s not your fault Dad’s missing.”
He mutters behind me. “Maybe.”
I call out over my shoulder. “What do you mean? What does any of this have to do with you?”
Leaning in, I inspect the art surrounded by an old gold frame. The paper is so old, it’s now sporting a yellowish-brownish hue. As I stare at the details, I realize it’s some kind of old map.
Tommy doesn’t answer.
Just as I’m about to try and convince him, something catches my eye. My stomach sinks, and the room begins to tilt.
I spin around and face Tommy in disbelief. “Oh, my God. It was you?”
Survival Skill #38
Having knowledge of proper navigation, the enemy, and the terrain are key to the planning process.
Tommy blinks but doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. His eyes confirm everything.
I point at him. “You were the anonymous caller?”
He breaks eye contact. “I don’t know what you mean.”
The reality settles in and releases my pent-up anger. “You’re the one who called in the tip.” I tap on the old map with my finger. The glass trembles in fear. “And it’s right here. Sidehill.” I want him to deny everything. To tell me I’m wrong.
Tommy’s face doesn’t lie.
Before he can say anything, I erupt again. “This whole time, you’ve known all about it? You’ve known where Sidehill is!” My voice echoes through the small cabin. So loud, I almost want to cover my own ears.
His voice comes out flat. Cold. “Yes.”
I stumble back a few steps as if he kicked me square in the gut. Suddenly, I want to press rewind. Pretend the last few minutes never existed, yet the rawness of my throat reminds me of the truth. Covering my mouth with both hands, I try to trap in my words. “Oh, my God.”
Tommy won’t meet my eyes. “Gaest-ost yuh-wa da-nv-ta.”
I holler at him, mimicking a screech monkey. “No! You don’t get to apologize and pretend it’s all okay. So are you gonna tell me what is really going on?”
He surrenders with his hands. “Calm down, Elu.”
I shake my head. “Calm down? You don’t get to say that to me. You’re part of the reason I’m a total basketcase. You lied to me. Tell me what’s going on ... NOW!”
He jerks back, seemingly surprised at my verbal attack and glass-shattering volume. His voice quakes. “A few days before your dad went missing, I was hiking back to town from an old Indian burial ground, Sidehill, and came across some type of camp.”
The butterflies in my stomach are replaced by a deep, twisted feeling. I place my hand on my belly to settle my spinning nerves. “What kind of camp, Tommy?”
He practically whispers, as if saying the truth quieter makes it hurt less. “I’m not sure.”
“Why did you report it?”
Tommy thinks for a moment. “It smelled funny. I left before I got a good look. Didn’t want them to find the burial or anything.”
“You left?” My voice bounces into a higher octave. “Let me get this straight. You found some type of stinky campsite, weird enough for you to call the police with an anonymous tip, but you left without checking it out? And even after my dad went missing, you kept it from me?”
His sad eyes droop. “I called it in, but I assumed it wasn’t connected.”
“But you didn’t know that.” I lean against the wall for support. Speaking words this fast and loud is sapping my energy. Making me lightheaded.
Tommy repeats himself. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that.” I study Tommy’s face in the flickering light. Suddenly, I realize this isn’t the man I’ve known my entire life. My stand-in grandpa whom I’ve loved so much is gone. He even looks different. Like a complete stranger.
Panic gushes through me. Everyone I care about has betrayed me. Carl’s shut me out, Mom’s abandoned me, Les is a traitor, and now Tommy’s lied to me. I reenter my body and will my lungs to breathe.
Tommy answers me. “Elu, I didn’t mean to keep anything from you. I assumed the police checked it out already and it wasn’t connected.”
I slam my hands down on the table. “But the police probably couldn’t find it, Tommy! It’s not on any modern trail maps!”
Tommy looks horrified. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I wouldn’t lie to you.” In a flash, something clicks. Some pieces move into place. “Al and Billy must be hiding in the woods and killing bears to make a quick buck. Dad must have found out and they had no choice but to take him. Maybe even wanted him to help them track. Sidehill must be where their real camp is. This whole time, you could’ve made a difference.”
“I didn’t want to get involved.”
I plaster on a disgusted look. “Involved? Don’t you care what happens to my dad? Your friend?”
“You know I do. But it was the police’s job. I have my own things to protect.”
I grab my hair and tug in frustration. “What things? What’s so important that it’s worth turning your back on my dad? Lying to me?”
Tommy sighs in defeat. “Every year, a few of the Eastern Cherokees hike up to Sidehill on the anniversary of Tsali’s death.”
I’m confused. “Why?”
“To pray. Sidehill is Tsali’s resting place. One of the only Cherokee burial sites still intact.”
I shake my head as facts stream by. “I thought you said Tsali was buried under Lake Fontana?”
“That story was concocted years ago to throw people off. Thousands of sacred places have been destroyed by tourists, even historians. When someone tampers with a burial ground, they disturb the resting spirits. I didn’t want to call any attention to where it was. Have people tracking in and out up there.”
My mouth gapes open. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You’re the same man who gave up everything to help Ama fight cancer. To keep her alive. Now you’re giving up on the living and are more focused on the dead then ever. So my dad … has to suffer … for a man who died … over a hundred years ago?”
Tommy looks at me with tears in his eyes. “He wasn’t just a man! He is my blood, and he’s a hero. He’s protecting Ama in the afterlife until I join her.”
Tears stream down my face. “He’s dead, Tommy! Dad might still be alive. Besides, Tsali gave up his life for the people he loved. What have you done to honor that? Nothing. You’ve turned your back on me, on Dad, on everything Tsali stood for?”
Tommy stares down at his moccasins. “You wouldn’t understand what’s important to the reservation. Only our ancestors understand.”
I screech. “You mean ghosts!”
He shakes his head. “I told the police. What more could I do? They were the ones who decided it wasn’t important. Not me.”
“No, you just didn’t do anything to make sure.” I rip the framed picture off the wall and smash it on the ground. When I snatch the map from the shattered pile, a piece of glass slices my hand. I’m so numb, I barely feel the cut across my skin. “You know what? I’m not turning my back on Dad the way you have. I’m going to help the people I love. Like Tsali. Unlike you.” I stomp out of the hut and storm off into the darkening woods.
Tommy calls after me. “Elu! Higinelii!”
All I can do is scream goodbye. “You’re no friend of mine! Do-na-da-go-v-i!”
I grab my bag and run from the house without looking back. I can’t bear to see the stranger standing there, making excuses. Tears streak my face as I fight my way through the trees. A thick mist hovers over the forest floor. I don’t even know where I’m going but I know I’m too angry to stop.
Then, a dog barks in the distance. I’d recognize that bark anywhere.
It’s Bear.
Wonder what he’s doing so far out here, so far from the station? I head off in the direction of the sound. About a half a mile later, clapping noises echo through the woods followed by more barking.
I freeze. It takes a second for my brain to process what I just heard.
And this time, I know exactly what they are.
Gunshots.
Survival Skill #39
Mental preparation is a vital part of the rock-climbing experience.
In an instant, the forest transforms from a peaceful refuge into a danger zone. Without hesitating, I bolt toward the ruckus, running over thickets, jumping rotted logs, and protecting my face. Another shot rings out followed by a yelp. I try to figure out which direction they are coming from and maneuver over uneven ground.
Then I spot a dark mound ahead. I inch closer and see Bear lying in the leaves with red patches of clumped fur along his chest.
“Jesus.” I slide in next to him and lay his head on my lap. “It’s okay. I got yah.”
My hand feels warm and when I pull back, I notice it’s covered in blood. I quickly take out my bandana and press it on Bear’s wounds. Within a few seconds, the rag soaks with blood.
Bear stares up at me with brown eyes. His eyebrows twitch. Like he’s asking me what’s going on and I have no answers for him. Then his eyes droop a little and flutter.
I bury his head against the warmth of my body so I can’t see his face and listen to the slowing of his breath, my hand covering his creeping heart. For some reason, I start rocking back and forth, humming some song I can’t remember.
My tears splash along his muzzle as I stroke Bear’s head. I remember all the times he’d curl up and sleep on my bed until Dad got home from work. Memories of Bear come flooding back. Him as a puppy chasing squirrels through our house. Him at Thanksgiving when he stole Mom’s turkey. Him laying in the station’s driveway for days, waiting for my dad to come home after he went missing.
Eventually, his labored breathing is consumed by complete silence.
My hand trembles as I check for a pulse. Any sign of life.
But Bear is dead. My dad’s dog is dead.
Then I feel Bear’s body relax fully and lighten.
In that moment, I realize there’s a glimmer of beauty found in death. When something bigger sweeps in undetected and cradles the dying. In the last breath, the place where pain finally surrenders to complete peace.
After covering his body with leaves, I sit facing the mound and cradle my head with both hands. Tears and sweat dribble down my face.
Soon, my sorrow and confusion shift into rage.
My body tenses and I clamp my jaws together, gritting my teeth.
Why are these men killing innocent animals for fun?
I stroke Bear’s fur at the same time I’m scanning the woods, on full alert. Even though I don’t want to leave Bear behind, I know I need to push on and end this thing, once and for all.
Whoever killed Bear is involved in the disappearance of Dad and probably Mo too.
I unfold Tommy’s map and plan my route to Sidehill. It’s critical I make good time and get as close to the camp as possible before the sun sets.
I will get my dad back, if it’s the last thing I do. At this point, that’s all that matters. I can’t see anything else.
I stand and march away. Leaving behind so much. A friend, a life, a family. But no matter what, I don’t look back. Step by step, I move away from safety.
Towards who knows what.
~~~~
Hours pass by, but I push on without stopping for food, water, or rest. My feet ache, and my muscles cramp. Over the long hike, my adrenaline and anger have faded, allowing logic and pain to seep in. If I’m going to stay alert, I need to get rehydrated and reenergized. I gulp down some liquid and pour a stream of water over the back of my neck. The coolness shocks my body, causing me to gasp. For the first time, I notice my stomach is grumbling. I can’t remember the last time I actually ate. While taking note of my coordinates, I slip the emergency pack out of my backpack and eat a stale granola bar.
I’m halfway there.
As I check my path, Tommy’s betrayal resurfaces. I can’t understand how or why he turned his back on me. On Dad. What was he thinking? I should have taken this trip months ago. Tommy’s lies and secrets have held me back from solving this whole thing.
Because of him, I’ve failed Dad.
As the minutes tick by, my body surrenders to exhaustion. I feel heavier, as if I’m becoming a part of this place and growing roots that keep me here. Alone. Forever.
The woods have a way of messing with you. Of tearing you down. If you’re not careful, it can break you. The isolation. The darkness. It can sweep through you unexpectedly.
I toss aside the weighted feelings and force myself on my feet. Sidehill is still so far away. The thought of Les struggling up this path actually makes me smile. Maybe there was a reason I never favored him, even though Dad loved him like a brother. I wonder if Dad knew about Les’s involvement with Al and Billy.
I snatch a walking stick for extra support and move up the steep mountainside. A thin path zigzags up the hill as I push through the snaking weeds and tangled vines. Eventually, I come to a rocky wall. Taking a small stick, I clean out the packed dirt and pebbles stuck in the lugs of my boots.
Hoping to make up some time, I scale up the cragged side. As I slither up the ridge, the edges of sharp rocks dig into my palms. I’m reminded of my climb with Mo—how quickly he scaled the wall. After recovering on a few slips, I finally reach the top and peer over the ledge to confirm it’s safe. Then after grabbing hold of a hanging root, I attempt to pull up.
The prickly vine snaps under my weight.
Suddenly, I’m sliding back down the sharp, rocky side. Scraping my hands down the wall, my fingers fumble for a crevice while the tips of my toes search for any foothold. I grab a thin ledge and cling to the wall by my fingertips. My arms burn, and my breath becomes jagged. Panic threatens my sanity as the weight of my bag begins tugging me backwards into the mouth of the mountain. Slowly, I manuever my foot around until it lands on a tiny shelf. My body presses into the uneven rock wall.
When I look down, my breathing speeds up as the sensation of plummeting to my death taunts me. I’m dangling a hundred feet above the ground.
Waiting to be unlodged. Like a pebble on a mountain.
My adrenaline and survival instincts kick in. Slowly, crack by crack, I creep back up the rocky face. This time, when I reach the top, I keep a firm grip and hoist myself over the crag. As soon as my body finds solid ground, I flip onto my back and stare at the dark sky through the treetops. The grass tickles my neck, and the wet ground seeps through my shirt
.
I peer over the cliff and smile. I made it. Sometimes, things don’t look as hard as they really are until you conquer them. The drop is straight down. I whisper a prayer of thanks to whoever is watching over me on this mountain. The Big Man upstairs deserves a huge bonus for working overtime these last few weeks.
I stand up and turn to leave, tripping over something hard. Seems like I’m on my butt more than my feet these days.
Brushing off my pants, I look back and find two eyes staring right at me.
Billy.
Survival Skill #40
If stuck in the wilderness at night, be sure to set up your camp and start a fire before nightfall.
Death has such a distinct smell, I don’t know how I didn’t detect it sooner.
A burning sensation slides up the back of my throat. I scramble away from the body and swallow a few times to settle my churning stomach. I’ve never seen a dead body before. Animals, yes, but not humans. The scent is so powerful, I can almost taste the rotting flesh. My stomach clenches, and all of a sudden I’m wretching. Luckily, there’s not much in my gut.
Once I finally stop heaving, I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and cover my nose. Breathing through my mouth, I look at Billy long enough to analyze his mangled body. He has a vacant look on his face and has obviously been dead for a few hours, given the bugs crawling in the cavities of his body. A large bullet hole sits in the center of his forehead. Streams of thick, coagulated blood streak out of his nostrils and ears. His mouth hangs open as if he was singing or yelling when he died. His arm is folded behind his head in an unnatural way.
Immediately, I double over and hurl again. My body convulses and my stomach cramps, but I can’t stop staring at the gray, bloated body.
Billy almost looks fake. Like some kind of strange yoga mannequin.
I glance up and study the palisade. A few broken branches cling to another cliff towering above me. Obviously, someone shot Billy and launched his skinny body over the side. Now what? Should I frisk him? Maybe I would find something. Something useful. The guys on CSI rifle through the pockets of dead people all the time and usually find something useful to their case.
Untraceable (The Nature of Grace Series) Page 22