Broken Trust

by Jill Williamson

  God had mercy on me and led me right into a raspberry bush, which stabbed my legs a little, but I didn’t care. The bright red berries were perfectly ripe. I sat down beside the bush, took off my gloves, and picked it clean. So good.

  I dozed off beside the now-barren raspberry bush, dreaming of what I would do in the morning. I’d keep on toward the lake and watch for other people. I would look for fireweed along the way in case I needed to make some cordage. I would also look for rocks that I could make into a weapon and pieces of wood that would make a good bow drill.

  The only problem with those plans was that I hadn’t seen any fireweed or rocks so far and all the wood had been spindly branches. Everything was moss and spruce trees with the occasional birch. At least it wasn’t too cold. I probably wouldn’t bother trying to make a shelter.

  Then it started to rain.

  I found a spruce tree with thick branches and a hollow circle around the base. Once I was sitting crosslegged underneath, slouching to keep the lowest branches off my head, it occurred to me that I needed water. I shrugged off my rain jacket, zipped it back up to keep the inside dry, then spread it on the ground. I bunched it up to make a deep indentation and also turned the hood inside out for a second rain-catcher. Once both were catching raindrops, I burrowed back under the tree where it was dry. The low hanging branches scratched my neck now that I didn’t have my hood on, so I pulled on the hood from my sweatshirt. I opened the Ziploc bag, moved my lettuce to a bandana, and wedged the open bag in the moss where it could catch rain too—I figured every little bit would help. Then I took off my boots and the three pair of wet socks and put on the dry ones. I wore a size 15 shoe, so I wasn’t surprised to find the socks a little snug. I hung my wet socks in the branches around me, doubting they’d dry in the amount of time I’d be here. The compression socks hadn’t been as wet as the outer pairs, so perhaps they might dry before I needed to put them on again.

  I dozed off, waiting for my drink, and woke shivering and confused. It was dusky and a little hard to see. My right leg was wet, and I could hear the sound of a plane. I moved to my knees and leaned out to look at the sky.

  The plane looked to be red. It sank below the trees not too far from where I was holed up. Weird. Why would a third plane come in? I hoped no one had gotten hurt and called for help.

  I fingered my lanyard and said a prayer for Grace, then felt bad that I’d singled her out and prayed for everyone on both teams.

  Strangely, the plane didn’t go back up. Maybe there was a public lake outside the compound. Or maybe some bush pilot lived nearby. If that was the case, I must be near the fence, which would give me a better idea of my location.

  I checked my rain catchers. They had completely overflowed. I must have been asleep a while. I carefully picked up my rain coat and drank the water off one end of the stiffly folded reservoir. It was cold and fresh. Best water I’ve ever had.

  I drank my hood water next, then put both the coat and hood back to catch more. The Ziploc was full too, but I left it sit. I wasn’t sure if I should stay here or go investigate the plane. I bet that if I could find the lake, I could find Grace or Drew. Or Arianna. Didn’t really want to find Nick. Considering the downpour, I decided to wait a bit. Whoever had been dropped at the lake was likely holed up someplace dry too.

  I found a stick in my little den and entertained myself by scratching tic-tac-toe patterns into the dirt. The rain eventually stopped. Since I didn’t really feel tired, I decided to try and find the lake. I drank enough water from the Ziploc to be able to seal it, then drank what little new water had collected on my coat and in my hood. Then I reattached the hood and put my raincoat back on. My socks were still wet, so I pulled out the shoelace cord from the hood of my sweatshirt and forced the tip through the top edge of each sock. I grinned. No need to make cordage when one had shoelaces. I pushed the socks toward the center of the lace, then tied the ends together and hung it around my neck with the socks hanging down my back like a cape. That should let them keep drying as I walked.

  I deserted my little burrow and set out. It took me a while to get my bearings. I fixed my eyes on the place I’d seen the plane go down and was careful to keep the swamp on my left. I walked until the sky started to turn blue. Morning, I supposed. I passed a few more raspberry bushes and ate until I was full, then added a bunch more berries to my bandana of lettuce for later. This I strung onto my shoelace line.

  Fully belly, food and water for later—I was in pretty good shape so far.

  A girl’s scream broke my self-congratulating line of thought.

  I couldn’t be positive, but my gut told me I knew that scream.

  That had been Grace.

  REPORT NUMBER: 20

  REPORT TITLE: I Walk Into a Trap

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

  LOCATION: Mission League training compound, Bear Paw Lake Lodge, Alaska, USA

  DATE AND TIME: Saturday, August 4, early morning

  I took off running, bounding over the spongy moss and weaving around trees. Rogue spider webs tickled my face and neck, and witch’s hair from the spruce trees snagged onto my sleeves. I found a trail of sorts—perhaps a game trail. It was nothing more than an indentation in the moss, but it kept me clear of trees and made it easier to run.

  A sharp right and water came into view in the distance. A lake! I poured on the speed. The shoelace holding my socks cut against my throat, and I hooked my finger through it to keep it from choking me.

  I slowed at the lakefront, up to my knees in tall grass and ferns. An abrupt bank sat low enough to the water that some of the branches, grass, and ferns were floating on the surface. The lake was about the size of a football field. Oblong, so it must be Loon Lake, which meant I was northeast of the lodge.

  Directly across the water from where I stood, a squat red plane had parked half-in and half-out of the water on a small section of beach. At first I thought it might have crashed—I couldn’t see the floats. Then I realized this was a flying boat. It didn’t have floats at all, but swam on its belly. I didn’t recall Dusty or Bill mentioning a plane like that.

  I scanned the shore, looking for people. At first I didn’t see anyone, but on my second pass, I caught sight of movement in the woods at the end of the lake on my left. Someone was headed my direction. Someone small wearing blue.

  It was Grace, all right. I thought about yelling her name, then decided the Alpha call would be safer.

  “Heyyy yo! Yo-yo-yo!”

  She stopped, looked my way. I waved, but she just moved on. Didn’t even answer the call. Weird.

  Why wouldn’t she answer?

  Still no movement at the plane, so I started around the bank, hoping to intercept Grace. A couple dozen steps and I lost sight of her. It took me a while, but I eventually found another game trail, which enabled me to move much quicker. I kept my sights on the water’s edge, excited when I spotted Grace again. She was coming my way. Looked uninjured. I wondered why she’d screamed.

  As I drew close, I could see that she was crying. She stumbled along, paying no attention to the branches that slapped her. We met on the game trail, and she hugged me, squeezing hard. She started sobbing.

  Her behavior was freaking me out. I just held her and let her cry, wondering if something had actually happened or if a spider had crawled on her face. I was pretty sure Grace was tougher than that, but with girls, sometimes all bets were off.

  Plus, you know, this was nice, her hugging me like this. I figured I’d just give her the time she needed to calm down.

  “Nick stole my knife.” She gasped in a sharp breath. She was shaking. “He told me to give it to him, and when I said no, he grabbed me and took it.”

  “I can’t believe he’d do that,” I said. “What a—”

  “I chased him and tried to get him to give it back, but then the plane came and he ran off to meet it.” She pulled out of the hug. “I didn’t know what to do, so I came this way. It wasn’t Bill or D
usty, but Nick knew them.”

  “Kimatra?”

  “No. Two men. I didn’t wait around long enough to see what they looked like. We should get away from here, and I don’t think we should make any noise, either.”

  Why would Nick be meeting people way up here? “Let’s find out who they are.”

  Grace grabbed my arm. “Spencer, don’t. I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “There’s a verse about that, right? God doesn’t give us a spirit of fear?” I winked. “I’ll be fine. You can wait here.”

  She scowled and shoved me. “You’re not leaving me behind!”

  “Come on, Grace. We need to find out what’s going on. That’s what being a spy is all about.”

  “No. Being a spy is about following orders. And our orders are to find our team and get back to camp, asap.”

  Girls, anyway. Where was her sense of adventure? “Well, Nick took your knife. And Alpha Team needs it.”

  “Just let it go. Please?”

  “Not a chance.” I stepped past her to head around the lake. I was going to find out what Nick was up to, once and for all.

  ****

  Grace insisted on coming along. And trying to talk me out of it the entire way. It got old fast, so I gave her my bandana of raspberries and lettuce. She hadn’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday, so that shut her up for a while. She drank some of my water too. I took off my shoelace of socks, balled them up, and shoved them in the pocket of my raincoat. Then I slid the sealed Ziploc into my leg pocket, where it would be out of the way.

  When we reached the beach, Grace waited in the trees. I crept toward the plane and peeked in the driver’s side door. Empty. I climbed into the cockpit. Four seats. Tiny. I sat back in the pilot’s chair, didn’t see anything inside to clue me in as to what these guys might be up to.

  I noticed a key in the ignition. It had an ivory pocket knife attached to the keychain. I took the keys, thinking the knife might come in handy if we couldn’t find the one Nick stole. Plus taking the keys ought to keep the plane grounded.

  I got out, spotted footprints and paw prints on the beach, and followed them. I moved slowly, listening. Movement behind me made me look back. Grace was running to catch up. Fine. I just hoped she kept quiet from now on.

  Two steps into the trees and I caught sight of a beige easy-up ten yards ahead. Underneath, a blond guy sat on a folding chair at a card table. He was using a laptop. Nick stood on one side, a Latino man on the other. All three had their backs to Grace and me.

  A dog barked. Another joined in. Then I saw them, tied to one leg of the easy up.

  Wolves. Four of them.

  I shivered. On and off for several years, I’d been dreaming of wolves chasing me. I should probably leave now before—

  Something purple on the table caught my eye. Just behind the laptop. I’d recognize that color anywhere. My Lakers sweatshirt! I knew I’d had it at the cabin. Nick must have taken it.

  I stopped moving. Grace was right. We shouldn’t have come here.

  “Feed those beasts, why don’t you?” Blondie said.

  “I just did,” the Latino man said. He looked like a dark Tim Tebow. “They hear something. Too many kids out here. You have that up yet?”

  “Running the scan now. It’s almost done.”

  A scan for what? I glanced at Grace. She jerked her head back toward the lake. Agreed. Time to go. I took a step back.

  “He’s here,” Blondie said.

  “How close?” This from Tebow.

  “At the lake.”

  “Excellent,” Tebow said. “Zoom in.”

  My heart quaked. I turned and walked away as silently as possible. The wolves went nuts.

  “Shut them up!” Blondie yelled.

  “They’re just doing their job,” Tebow said.

  “He’s between us and the plane,” Blondie said.

  I glanced back. Nick was staring at us, eyes wide. He mouthed the word, “Run.”

  Nick helping me? That was new. But I wasn’t about to ask questions. I took Grace’s hand and ran.

  REPORT NUMBER: 21

  REPORT TITLE: I Get Chased by Wolves and Mystery Men with Guns

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

  LOCATION: Mission League training compound, Bear Paw Lake Lodge, Alaska, USA

  DATE AND TIME: Saturday, August 4, morning

  With Grace clutching my hand, I ran north, thinking we had to be close to the river, and if we reached that, it would be a straight shot back to camp.

  Fragmented thoughts burst in my mind. Nick. Helping people find me. Helping bad guys. Hadn’t recognized either of them. Needed to call for help. No phone.

  That brought to mind my lanyard. I fumbled with it, slowed some and tried to make sense of what I was looking at.

  Grace tugged on my hand. “What are you doing?”

  “We need to call for help. How does this work?”

  “You have to press your fingernail into the crack until it lights up.”

  A sound like a slamming car door made me jump. Reminded me of a trank gun. That fact should have brought relief, but it didn’t. I glanced back. They were coming.

  “Run north.” I pointed straight ahead. “The river should be that way. Once you hit it, follow it back to camp. If you have to, find someplace to hide and activate your lanyard. Wait for help. When you get back, tell Mr. S everything. I’m going to distract them.”

  I didn’t wait to hear her argument. I ran.

  “Spencer!”

  I sprinted into the trees, heading east, I thought. I ran for a good ten minutes. I kept looking for another game trail, but before I found one, I came to the fence.

  Mother pus bucket!

  Without pausing to think or slow down, I scrambled up the chainlink and reached for the top. My eyes caught sight of the coil of barbed wire just in time. I pulled my hand away and twisted sideways. My right shoulder banged against the fence. I slid down, and landed in a crouch.

  Barking in the distance, getting closer.

  How was I going to get over that?

  I shouldn’t. Mr. S said to stay inside the compound.

  But getting out would be the best way to lure those guys away from Grace.

  They didn’t want Grace. They wanted me.

  The loud bang came again, and something pinged off one of the aluminum fence posts. Movement flashed between tress.

  About twenty feet away, a huge wolf stepped into the clearing, watching me. Its back was as high as my waist. I tensed, hot with the knowledge that I’d dreamed this scenario many times before.

  Leaves rustled on my right, and a second wolf appeared. A third animal barked in the forest beyond, and I could hear the sound of men’s voices.

  A bead of sweat rolled into my ear. I glanced down the length of fence and spotted a pair of young cottonwood trees not too far off. I sprinted toward them with everything I had, pulling my gloves from my pocket as I went. I heard the wolves chasing me, panting at my heels, twigs snapping.

  I had my gloves on by the time I reached the trees. Another bang sent a yellow dart into the rubbery bark of the tree on my left. I ducked between the two trees and started to climb. They had no low branches, so I had to move with my hands on the chainlink and one foot on each tree trunk. I walked my way up, somewhat horizontally, until my hands reached the barbed wire. Even with my gloves on, I didn’t dare risk trying to grab that stuff. Been there done that too many times.

  Instead I reached for the tree branches. I was high enough now that I was able to grab on and pull myself up. I was well out of the way by the time the wolves arrived, jumping and snarling beneath me. The trunk was only about eight inches in diameter and swayed with my movement. The higher I went, the worse it got, which gave me an idea.

  “Shoot him down,” I heard Blondie say.

  No. No shooting. Not yet. I carefully moved my feet around to the other side, putting my back to the fence. I could see Blondie, laptop tucked under one ar
m. Tebow holding the gun. I leaned back, forward, and back again.

  “Shoot him!” Blondie yelled.

  “I’m trying.”

  “He’s in a tree. How hard could it be?”

  “He keeps moving.”

  My treetop was swaying pretty good now. I sailed back and thought I was going to fall. I winced at the sound of the gun, but nothing hit me—that I could feel, anyway. I threw all my weight into the forward motion of the swaying treetop. When I came back again and passed over the fence, I grabbed hold of the spindly trunk above my head and jumped.

  My weight carried the treetop over the fence. As it bowed low, I locked my eyes on the ground, waited until the motion of my body paused, then I let go.

  The ground was only about a meter away. I squared my feet as best as I could, died a little at the thought of messing up my knee again, but I stuck the landing. The spindly cottonwood shot back into the air. Branches scraped my neck and face and clothes, and a flutter of dislodged leaves rained down as the tree sprang back to its full height.

  The wolves jumped against the fence, barking and snapping their jaws. My dream come to life. I met Tebow’s eyes. He actually didn’t look all that much like Tim Tebow. He was older and had a shadow of a mustache. He pointed the gun at me.

  Talk about your déjà vu.

  But this wasn’t a cage full of shirts in Moscow. This was the forest in Alaska. I turned and ran, dodging back and forth as much as I could to mess up his aim.

  He fired three times. Something pricked my upper arm. I kept running, reached back and pulled out a dart. Didn’t stop until I’d put several dozen trees between us.

  Then I collapsed.

  No. I couldn’t do that. Had to get up. Up, Spencer. Get up. I managed to push myself to my feet. Staggered a bit.