You Will Never Leave
A psychological suspense thriller
N. L. Hinkens
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Biography
Also by N. L. Hinkens
Books by Norma Hinkens
1
"What’s the nearest campground on the map?" Matt asked, squinting through the windshield of his 2016 Ford F-250. "We can’t keep driving in this rain. It’s getting worse by the minute."
Blair pulled the camper travel guide from the side pocket on the passenger door and flipped it open to the page she’d previously marked with a yellow Post-it note. She’d relied on the downloaded maps on her iPad for most of the trip so far, but without Wi-Fi she had no way to search for an alternative campground to the one they’d planned on. They hadn't intended on making camp for at least another couple of hours, but the weather conditions had been deteriorating over the course of the afternoon, and she could sense Matt’s temper percolating into the red zone.
With a resigned sigh, she traced a fingernail along their route on the map, trying to pinpoint where they were at present. Her husband hadn't been the same since his last deployment and subsequent medical discharge. The injury to his leg nagged at him, but it was the change on the inside that worried Blair the most. Little things set him off—even a sound or a smell could trigger an unwelcome flashback and all the emotions that went along with it. Apparently, war made men’s tempers as volatile as the hand grenades they lobbed at each other. But the rage that had served Matt in battle had no place in their home. Although Blair had only admitted as much to her therapist, she’d actually been afraid of Matt when he’d first returned from Afghanistan—all the unprovoked outbursts, the night terrors. Even when his anger subsided, he’d seemed numb, and unfeeling, a distant relative to the warm and gregarious man she’d married.
Months of intensive therapy had helped stabilize his emotions, especially the guilt and depression over bringing home several buddies from his battalion in caskets. Now, he and Blair were spending the next three months traveling around the States in his father’s travel trailer to allow him some time and peace to heal, away from the jostling crowds that unnerved him, while enjoying some of North America’s finest camping spots and national parks along the way. Matt loved the mountains, and the idea of staying in a new spot every night appealed to him. He got restless easily—another side effect of too many back-to-back adrenaline-filled days with the smell of death all around him.
"There’s a campground up ahead called Bird Creek," Blair said. "About six miles off the main highway. It’s a twisty, mountainous drive in, no hookups or showers—just an outhouse—and it only has eight spots. But it’s near a lake, picturesque, no doubt." She turned the planner sideways to gauge the distance better. "Black Rock, where we were headed, is another sixty miles or so."
Matt flattened his lips as he flicked the windshield wipers up to maximum velocity. "Bird Creek it is. I’ve had enough of this non-stop rain."
The official diagnosis of PTSD had been hard for Matt to accept at first. But Blair had insisted he face it head on and deal with it before they considered starting a family. She wasn’t about to subject any future children to the kind of hair-trigger eruptions she’d witnessed since Matt’s return. In those frightening feral moments, it felt as if anything could happen. In fact, that was the main reason she’d insisted Matt leave his Glock behind on this trip. It was the one thing they’d argued back-and-forth about before they’d set out.
"What are we supposed to do if we encounter a bear, or a cougar, or even a rattler?" Matt complained. "It's foolhardy to head out for a three-month camping trip around the most remote parts of the States without a weapon."
"We’ll take the proper precautions," Blair countered. "I’m bringing bear spray, hiking bells, and a whistle."
Matt cracked his knuckles, looking increasingly exasperated. "Come on, Blair. You really think a grizzly’s gonna turn and run ‘cause you’re whistling at it? And it’s not just the wildlife we need to be concerned about. What if we bump into some crazy mountain man with a rifle in the middle of a remote forest?"
"Now you’re being ridiculous. It would give me more peace of mind not to have to sleep with a loaded gun beneath our pillow for the next ninety days." Blair raised a palm to stop Matt interrupting her. "And before you say anything, I know you’d keep it loaded because you tell me often enough that an empty chamber won’t help in a moment of crisis." She hesitated before adding quietly, "You’re not at war anymore, Matt."
In the end, Blair had enlisted the help of Matt’s therapist to convince him to leave the Glock in the safe at home. The therapist had agreed it would be better to undertake the camping trip without dragging along "a weapon of war," as she’d dubbed it, that might inadvertently trigger traumatic memories. Truth be told, if circumstances had been different, Blair might have opted to bring the gun. Bear spray hadn’t proven very effective for the young couple in the movie, Backcountry, which, against her better judgement, she’d watched on Netflix before leaving on this trip. They weren’t planning to head up to Alaska until the end of June, but she was already nervous about the prospect of hiking in some of North America’s most remote terrain—home to some of its fiercest wildlife.
"I think that’s the road we need to take up ahead," she said, squinting through the rain-mottled windshield. The incessant whirring and slapping of the wipers was grating on her nerves, but doing little to combat the poor visibility.
"Where? Don’t let me drive past it." Matt stepped on the brakes, leaning forward in his seat to peer through the lashing rain.
When they reached the turnoff for the campground, Matt swung wide onto a gravel road and began winding his way along the mountainous route to Bird Creek. After climbing for a mile or two, the road narrowed making the drive even more treacherous.
"Not very scenic," Blair commented. "It looks as if this area was burned recently."
"More important, there's nowhere to pass if we meet a vehicle," Matt muttered. "There better be a turnout or two along the way or we’re screwed. I can’t back up here."
Blair inhaled and exhaled slowly. She wondered if she’d done the right thing in giving her husband the option to abandon their plans to reach Black Rock tonight. She could almost feel the tension radiating off him. Not that she blamed him, given the circumstances. Towing his father’s trailer up a mountainous gravel road in a blinding deluge was not exactly the relaxing getaway he’d signed up for. More akin to the kind of high-octane military operations they were hoping to relegate to his past.
A short time later, they passed a turnout half-filled with a rockslide and several blackened tree trunks that had slid down the mountain. Blair threw Matt a disquieted
look. "Sketchy. I wouldn't want to be parked there when that debris comes tumbling down."
"No kidding!" Matt gritted his teeth. "Hopefully, we won't need to pull over to let anyone pass. I doubt too many campers will venture down this road hauling a trailer. If they’ve any sense, they’ll wait out this storm. That’s if there’s anyone up there to begin with."
"We’re probably not the only ones who decided to bail on driving any farther in this rain. Better plan on company."
Matt shrugged. "We don't have to hang out with them. In this weather, we’ve got a good excuse to stay hunkered down in the trailer."
Blair turned and looked out the side window. She didn’t relish the idea of isolating themselves again. She would have enjoyed getting to know some of the other campers around a fire in the evening—playing cards, or cornhole, and swapping stories. They’d met some interesting people even though they’d only been on the road for three weeks. But Matt rarely wanted to socialize with anyone beyond a perfunctory greeting.
Still, she was determined to make this about her husband’s healing first and foremost. Any socializing they did would be on his schedule and only to the extent that he felt comfortable—his therapist’s advice. Matt had a heightened tendency to sense danger everywhere—a survival tactic from his stint at war—which kept him keyed-up and on edge around strangers. Blair’s main goal for this trip was to return home at the end with a healthy husband, well-adjusted and ready to begin civilian life, set up a business, and start the family they both wanted.
Glancing across at him, she noticed he was gripping the wheel tightly with both hands. It almost unnerved her more than seeing him drive one-handed, with the other elbow casually resting on an armrest or hanging out the window, as he usually did. Her stomach tightened when she caught a glimpse of the view through Matt’s side window. The drop-off on his side of the road into the ravine below was getting steeper all the time. She couldn’t help wondering if this was bringing back unwanted memories of driving an army truck along the precipitous, mountain roads in Afghanistan, fearful that, at any minute, a roadside bomb would take out their convoy. Matt was one of the lucky ones who’d survived such an attack.
Blair let out a sigh of relief when they passed mile marker four—not too much farther to go now. The road itself was in reasonable condition, but it was unnerving to think about meeting another vehicle, or the even more disturbing possibility that a volley of rocks might come tumbling down the side of the mountain.
After a couple more bone-shaking miles, they spotted Bird Creek Campground ahead on the right. Blair rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers, grateful to have made it here without incident. She sensed Matt had had about all he could take for one day. A flat tire or something equally crippling in this weather would have fried his circuit board entirely. Now they could kick back and relax, cook up a stir fry, maybe play some cards, and get a good night’s sleep. There wouldn't be any of the usual setting up camp outside in this kind of weather. Ordinarily, it was a ritual they both enjoyed—gathering wood, getting a fire going, arranging their folding chairs beneath the awning, and watching the flickering flames. Enjoying the healing power of nature along with the relative luxury of not having to sleep on the ground in a tent. For that, Blair was particularly thankful to her father-in-law. Matt had first suggested a backpacking trip until his father had pointed out that it was too early in the year to be assured of decent weather.
"We're not the first ones here," Matt said, a note of disappointment in his voice, as they rumbled down the root-ridden road to the campsites.
"At least the campground was spared the fires," Blair said, keeping her tone upbeat. "It’s pretty here, backing up to the forest."
She counted four other camping parties in total as they trundled along sizing up the open spots. A young couple who’d evidently pulled in just a few minutes before them were still in the process of unhitching their truck from their trailer. Blair waved at them in passing and the woman waved back in a friendly manner. A little farther along, a Tahoe was parked next to a small, stylish, teardrop-shaped travel trailer that Blair instantly fell in love with. A few sites past the outhouse, a nondescript camper van was tucked into a secluded, shady spot. The last remaining occupied site sported a beat-up Toyota Tacoma pickup and a small trailer that looked like it had circumnavigated the globe one time too many.
"Pretty tight spots. You wouldn’t be able to fit a forty-footer in here," Matt said, circling around the loop one more time to assess the remaining open sites. He slowed down and pointed to the site adjoining the beat-up truck and trailer. "This one looks reasonably flat, and it’s not too close to the outhouse. I’ll back in so the slide has more room to open away from those trees. Do you want to jump out and guide me?"
Blair slipped on her raincoat and threw her hood up over her head. After stepping out into the downpour, she took up a position where Matt could spot her in his side mirror. Waving through the rain like an air traffic controller, she directed him left a few inches to line the trailer up and then made a fist when he’d backed it in as far as he could go.
"Nicely done," she said, when he opened the door and joined her. "Got it the first time."
"Helps to have a top-notch assistant," he joked, winking at her as he unhitched the trailer from the truck. "Thank goodness for automatic levelers. I’d hate to be trying to block these tires in this rain."
He flicked the switch to bring down the tongue jack and then activated the levelers. A familiar whirring began, and the trailer trembled as the stabilizers made contact with the ground beneath.
"That’ll do it. Let’s get back inside," Blair said, just as a tall, lean man in bright yellow rain gear came into view. A large German shepherd loped along at his side. Blair eyed it cautiously. She wasn't crazy about dogs to begin with, but big ones in particular scared her. Their deep-throated growling unnerved her. It all went back to being bitten as a child when a stranger’s dog had gotten off the leash at the playground and made a beeline for her. Blair unconsciously traced her forefinger over the scar on the back of her left wrist which had required ten stitches and an ice cream sundae to make right.
Determined to quash her fear in an effort to be neighborly, and encourage Matt to do the same, she nailed a cheery greeting as the man approached. "Hi, I’m Blair Dawson. This is my husband, Matt."
The man nodded to them. "Sam." He gestured to his dog. "And this is Duke."
"We just pulled in and got set up," Blair said, taking in the young man’s chiseled jaw and blue eyes that conveyed a dispirited air at odds with his rugged good looks. "We were hoping to make it to Black Rock but decided to get out of the weather. Where are you from?"
"All over." Sam ran an eye over their trailer. "Nice rig."
"It’s my father-in-law’s," Blair explained.
Sam gestured through the trees to the dilapidated trailer and truck parked in the site next to them. "Me and Duke are next door. Holler if you need anything."
"Thanks," Matt cut in abruptly. "Right now, we need to hunker down and dry off."
Sam threw him a guarded look, before unleashing Duke and striding across to his trailer.
Matt and Blair hurried inside and kicked off their boots. After hanging up their coats in the shower, Blair turned on the gas to boil some water. "This rain calls for a cup of afternoon cocoa."
Matt switched on the generator and flicked the switch to open up the slide that expanded the living area to a comfortable size. "What did you think of that fellah, Sam?" he asked, sinking down on the couch.
Blair spooned hot cocoa mix into two mugs and then reached for the kettle, weighing her answer. She’d become used to Matt’s initial suspicions of everyone and had learned not to react too strongly to his loaded comments. "He seemed okay. I'm not fond of dogs, so that was one strike against him, but Duke was well-trained."
A rut formed on Matt’s brow. "He was evasive—he's hiding something."
Blair tensed, stirring the hot chocolate slowly
. They hadn’t been inside five minutes and he was already exhibiting paranoid behavior, suspecting the first person they met of harboring some deep, dark secret. She allowed a thoughtful pause to pass before answering, "I don't know how you got that impression. We only exchanged a few words with him. He came across as friendly enough to me; told us to holler if we needed anything."
Matt’s voice grew testy. "You asked him a direct question and he deflected. What does all over mean? Nothing, that’s what."
"What does it matter?" Blair said. "Why should we care where he’s from?"
"It might matter. He could be dangerous. Did you notice he never smiled once?"
Blair handed Matt a mug of hot chocolate, resisting the temptation to point out that he hadn’t as much as split his lips in a grin either. "So he wasn’t chatty. He was probably half-frozen, and all he wanted to do was get inside his trailer and dry off."
Matt placed his mug in a cupholder and walked over to the trailer door. He locked it and then jiggled it several times to make sure it was secure. "You haven't been in the kind of situations I've been in, Blair. I know when things don’t add up, and my gut’s telling me there’s something off about that guy."
2
The hot chocolate soon warmed their bellies but did little to dissolve Matt’s tension. He continued to speculate about Sam, his slovenly trailer—which Matt suspected he was living out of—and his menacing German shepherd.
You Will Never Leave: A psychological suspense thriller Page 1