Coming Undone: A Novel

by JD Salyers

  Well, the trek to the truck will give him something to do besides worry, at least. If he's lucky, he'll meet the rangers on their way up and they can get started finding his dad. Grabbing a jacket from the tent, he throws it over the baby to shield most of the wind and rain, and starts down the trail.

  Maybe Dad got turned around and he's on this side of the mountain. Maybe James will stumble into him and get him to safety. It's a small hope, but it keeps him alert to any signs of passage while he makes his way down the trail.

  Jakey shivers against him. James pulls the jacket closer and adjusts his face a little so that he's breathing down into the fabric, hoping it'll warm the poor kid.

  Everything about this trip, in hindsight, was a bad idea. Then again, it's fall, so who would have thought the weather would turn so vicious so quickly? James has no idea what the actual temperature is, but he can tell it's dropping fast, and the moisture in the air makes it twice as bad.

  He's so intent on scanning for signs of his dad that he almost slips twice on the way to the truck. By the time they round the last crook in the trail, he's soaked and shivering himself, in spite of the exercise. Maybe he'll turn the truck on and get warm before he heads back to camp.

  That's a great idea, until he remembers that he left the truck keys in his tent. "Damn it," he mutters. Well, at least the truck is unlocked, so he can get Jakey's bottle and he can sit down for a minute. Maybe the rangers will show up while he's here.

  Maybe they won't.

  When he gets to the landing, he walks a little beyond the parking area and looks down the trail, toward the foot of the mountain on that side. He moves the flashlight back and forth, just checking out the area. He can't see much, but if someone was coming, they'd come in that way.

  He's just about to turn away when he spots yellow among the darkness of the trees and earth below. It's moving. Someone is coming.

  It has to be the rangers - no one else would be out here.

  Unless it's Dad. Maybe the rangers found him and picked him up on the way to the camp. The thought is like a physical push, and he starts down the hill as fast as he can go without losing his balance. How his dad could have gotten all the way to this side of the mountain is a mystery, but right now he doesn't care. Hey!" He starts yelling when he's still fifty yards away.

  The figure, looking at the ground and making their way up in a yellow poncho, looks up at the sound of his voice, even though it has to be faint in this wind.

  James gets there, nearly sliding to his knees to get stopped in the slick mud. The figure holds out a hand to steady him and pulls back on the poncho hood a bit.

  James is surprised - it isn't a ranger, and it isn't his dad. It's Arlo Graham, the owner of this part of the mountain. His sharp features look strained in the dim light. "What are you doing out here?" James yells into the wind. "Come on."

  Arlo, looking small and grizzled and unshaven inside the poncho hood, nods and grins. They walk back to the truck and James motions for him to get in, then goes around to the driver’s side to do the same. It'll be good to get out of the rain, and Jakey's weight is about to break his arm. James needs to sit down.

  Inside the truck, they can still barely hear each other because of the rain drumming on the roof, but at least they can get out of the elements for a minute.

  "What are you doing up here?" James asks again. "This weather isn't fit for cats or cows."

  Arlo grins a half-toothless grin, looking for all the world like the homeless guy James met last week outside the home improvement store. Even cold, wet and half scared to death, James can't help but grin back, even as he says, "We've got a problem, Arlo."

  Arlo's smile disappears and his eyes meet James's. Alert. Ready to help. It's one of the reasons Arlo and Landon had always been such good friends - they had the same kind of loyalty and honor, carried the burdens of others voluntarily. James doesn't even want to tell Arlo, because he knows the man will be out scouring the mountain until Landon is found, with no thought to his own health.

  But what else was he going to do? They needed help, and the authorities are taking their time for some reason.

  "Dad's got some mental problems going on," he says, making Arlo frown. "He's also lost on this mountain. We haven't seen him since," he checks his watch, "About three hours ago now."

  Arlo is shaking his head. "Whatcha mean, lost? Landon don't get lost, not up here. He's been running these woods for a long time, son."

  "No. Listen. He's sick, and we didn't know he was sick. He might not be able to find the camp. Now, the rangers are on their way to -."

  Arlo cuts him off with a shake of his head. Water droplets from his shaggy hair hit James's hand. "No way anybody is getting up here, Jimmy-boy. That's why I came up to check on ya. The pass at the foot of the mountain is flooded. Nobody's getting on or off this hillside till the water goes down."

  James stares at him. "Oh." It's all he can think to say as their predicament becomes clear. "But surely they've got boats..."

  "Son, they aren't going to risk ten men to save one, not in a storm like this. Now, I'm here, and I'll gladly help, but don't expect others to come in for ya. It's not gonna happen. Not till morning light, at least. Maybe later. Depends on the water."

  James puts his head down on top of Jakey's and tries to think. What would his dad do in this situation? He doesn't know. Under normal circumstances, he'd be out looking until everyone was safe. James would, too, except that he can't just go traipsing around in the woods, not with Jakey. He's just a baby, and it's not like Janice is here to keep an eye on him.

  "Tell me where he went," Arlo says, interrupting his thoughts. "Tell me who else is lookin', too."

  So James, reluctantly, tells him. He's worried about Arlo being out in the elements, but selfishly, he's more worried about his father. If Landon stumbles into the river, he's gone. If a tree falls on him, he's gone. If he ends up God-knows-where and dies from exposure, he's gone.

  Then again, the same can be said about Arlo, but Arlo isn't his dad. Arlo knows the risks of being out here, and he's willing to help anyway.

  James feels helpless. He feels like he's letting his family down. But he can't leave Jakey alone or take him out in the storm. He's never considered the idea of being torn between his father and son, and the feeling is sickening. He knows what Landon would say now. "Stay with Jakey. He's more important."

  He also knows what Landon would say about his sons out searching. "Stay safe, stay at camp." Now that James has Jakey, he knows he would give up his own life for his son in half a heartbeat. Landon would feel the same way.

  Arlo puts a hand on the truck's door handle. "Come on. Let's get you and the babe back to camp. You make coffee and keep an eye on the storm."

  "How? I barely have signal up here..."

  Arlo grins and pulls a walkie-talkie from his jacket pocket. "Mercy has the other one. Tell her what's going on, have her monitor for you." He pauses and his grin drops away. "I know you'd rather be out looking, and if it was safe I'd take the boy back to Mercy. Have her look after him while we search. It ain't safe, though." He shakes his head and looks outside. "No. It ain't safe at all, and we're going to run out our luck, just sittin' here talking about it."

  Jakey, nearly asleep inside the flap of James's coat, squirms around, and he realizes he's squeezing too tight. He shifts the boy to a more comfortable position and looks at Arlo. "All right," he says, "Let's go."

  The walk back to camp seems to take forever, pushing against the cold wall of rain and so much wind it steals their breath. James even walks backward as much as he can, to block Jakey's body with his own. That makes things worse, and he's exhausted by the time they reach the fire. It's blowing hard but still contained within its circle of stones under the awning shelter.

  Arlo gives him a reproachful look, likely for leaving an unattended fire, and James shrugs and yells, "It's too wet for anything else to burn around here, and we need the heat."

  Arlo nods once and poi
nts toward the trail down the mountain. James reaches out to give his arm a squeeze. "Thanks, Arlo."

  "We'll find him. Take care of that baby."

  21

  Landon marches hard up the slope, trying to keep track of his direction in case he needs to backtrack and try a different track, but the pain is quickly becoming a living thing, trying to drop him to his knees in the pouring rain. With every step, he thinks about how easy it would be to just sit down and rest. How nice it would be to close his eyes for ten minutes.

  Too dangerous. Too cold. He needs to keep moving, or he’ll never move again.

  If he's moving in the right direction - uphill, toward the camp - he thinks his surroundings should start to look familiar. The more he walks, the more the opposite is happening. He doesn't know this place - the dripping, closed-in landscape might as well be a foreign land. The only thing keeping him going right now is anger, and he knows it, so he feeds it. The trees are obstacles, the raindrops are irritants. The entire situation is a conspiracy against him and he will overcome whatever is keeping him down.

  The surge of energy from those thoughts propel him on, even if he isn't sure where 'on' will lead. At least he's moving. Not giving up.

  He's over halfway up the mountain, he thinks, when he hears voices again. Specifically, a voice. Not one he recognizes. It's a sing-song sort of voice, like a man talking to a pet. He stops and listens to it, trying to place it. The surroundings are still strange, and there is a chance he's stumbled near some stranger's campsite. That could be dangerous, he thinks, before deciding in the next moment that, in his situation, everything is dangerous. He needs to at least check it out. Maybe it will jog a memory.

  The hole in his mind is deep and dark, and he can't find anything to haul him out of the pit. Lightning jags across the clouds, lighting them up. He glances at the sky and debates the idea of going to the campsite, whether it's his or not, and asking for help. But no, that's embarrassing, and his mind will be back in a few minutes. It always comes back. This is just a glitch. Isn't it?

  It is. He pushes the doubt from his mind. It has to be a glitch. Something will jog it soon. Something will remind him -.

  Cold fingers of rain river down under his collar, sending him into a shivering fit that threatens to make him drop the flashlight.

  The flashlight. He glances down at it and realizes that if he's in a more dangerous situation than he knows, it's making him a target. He clicks it off and stumbles to a stop, leaning hard on his good leg and trying to figure out where that thought came from, exactly.

  He knows he's obviously in some sort of danger, otherwise he'd be safe at home. Right? That makes sense. But what kind of danger? Is it just the elements, because he's gotten himself lost? Or is it something worse? What if he didn't come down to the river of his own free will? What if he's been left for dead?

  The idea rivets him, because he's pretty sure that, confused or not, he'd have enough sense to stay out of the rain. He wouldn't have come down here for no reason.

  A new thought flashes through his mind. The boys are lost. He tries to picture the boys, tries to see their faces in his mind’s eye, and can’t. Is he out here looking for the boys? He doesn’t know. It feels like the answer is right there, within knowing distance, if he could just turn his mind the right direction for one damned minute. He tries letting all the thoughts go and letting the answer come to him, but something won't allow that. Something in those elusive thoughts tells him that there is danger.

  But is it for himself? Is he in danger? Or someone else? Is Melody lost? Is it one of the boys? Has someone hurt them?

  He doesn't know, but his hand instinctively goes for the gun that still hangs at his side. He's glad to have it, just in case. He wants to believe that all is well, and this is just a mistake, but he can't think of any mistake or misstep that would land him in this place at this time. No, something more is going on. The fear and anger solidify into panic in his gut, and he fights to keep it down. His grip tightens on the butt of the pistol and he wants to pull it, wants to shoot this problem and kill it dead.

  But half the problem, as best he can tell, is in his own mind. How does one kill their own mind? Well there is one way, and for a single razor-sharp moment, he considers it. No more thoughts would mean no more confusion, or frustration, or embarrassment.

  Think, Landon. He's pretty sure he's on Razorback Ridge, because he's in the woods and he's never known himself to frequent many other places like this in his life. If he's here, then most likely Melody and the kids are here, too, somewhere. Maybe back at camp. Hopefully back at camp, playing some game or telling stories, waiting for him to get back. Unless something is going very wrong, that's the way he remembers their times here.

  But what if something is, in fact, very wrong? What if some unthinkable thing has happened to her, or to one of the boys? What if it's one of the boys who is lost, and she's depending on him to find....

  He can't remember his children's names. He knows he has boys, and that he's married. But what are their names? He can't remember. He knows his wife is Melody. He knows he's been having some issues. Is that why they came here? Some of his and Melody's best conversations have happened on this mountain, haven't they? The camp has always provided a sort of release valve, allowing the tension to drain away so that they could say what needed to be said in a safe fashion.

  But Melody might need him. Melody is more important than his own problems. He needs to find her, and she's most likely at the camp.

  The voice is gone. He glances around, back the way he came, and then forward along the trail, but without the flashlight everything seems screwy again. In the woods, under heavy cloud cover, the dark is very dark. The only thing to do is keep going and hope that the voice came from this direction. Friend or foe, he needs civilization. He'll fight when and if he has to fight. As soon as he has more information.

  He's barely a hundred yards along when he stumbles across something and nearly falls. The crutch is slick in his grip and just barely helps him stay upright. A small tear in the wood gouges his hand. It burns, but he ignores it and tries to catch his balance and his breath. His heart feels like it's going to start breaking ribs soon and every drop of water from the sky feels like ice.

  He steadies himself and looks down. Something red. It looks and sounds a lot like a balled-up coat, one of those slick windbreaker type things. When he kicks it, it barely moves, it's so heavy with water. He looks at it for a moment but can't place if he's seen it before or why it might be here. It gives him a bad feeling, though. Leaving it, he tries to move faster.

  He can't be far from the campsite - it's not like the mountain is thirty thousand feet or anything. He should be nearing safety. The wind is picking up, which means he's above most of the valley.

  It takes nearly thirty minutes of agonizing effort to notice that the ground is starting to level out somewhat. He's nearing the top. He fights the urge to sit down again, knowing that if he does, he might not be able to get up.

  His leg is swollen to twice its size and feels like he's dragging a bag of wet cement. It throbs in time to the rain on his head, creating a tempo that beats him down and urges him to give up.

  Keep going. Melody might be in danger.

  Melody... His mind stumbles across the name. Who?

  His wife. He remembers. Come on, man. Get it together.

  He takes a shaky breath and tries to speed up, but it's just not happening. He has one pace - slow. At one point he slips in the thick, muddy vegetation and nearly goes down. He catches himself, but the branch stabs into his cheek, gouging it. He nearly screams when the blinding pain lights up his senses but manages to swallow it down before it can escape his throat. The sound ends up a groaning whisper that's barely audible in the wind.

  He ignores his injuries and refocuses. Get back to camp, save Melody. Save the boys.

  When he finally sees a light, he's so surprised it stops him in his tracks. It's not steady, but it is very bright, thr
owing shadows across the trees around him. Luckily, he's still out of sight. He needs to get his bearings, figure out what exactly is going on. Trying for silence and settling for stealth, he makes his way forward - not directly into the camp, but into the trees just above, where he still has plenty of cover, but he can look down and get a grasp on the situation.

  He doesn't see Melody. Anywhere. He does see a man holding a baby. Both are turned away from him. The man is holding the baby and bouncing a little. Every so often he walks around the campfire, underneath some sort of shelter. When he comes around the second time, Landon stares hard and tries to place his features, but the man looks like a stranger to him.

  Then why would he be on their property? Landon can't think of any reason at all, any way to logically answer that question.

  When the man turns again, he shifts the baby on his shoulder. A small blanket falls away, and Landon's throat closes. The baby - it looks just like his oldest. His mind searches and finally, finally finds a name. James.

  The baby is little James, his and Melody's firstborn. He feels stupid for forgetting his own child's name, but he can't worry about that now. Who is the stranger holding his child, and where is Melody?

  The questions stab at him like ice. What the hell happened here? Where is his wife?

  Was it her he was looking for? Is she missing? No - that can't be right. She's the most motherly woman he's ever known - she wouldn't wander off and leave the baby. Especially with a stranger. If she's away from little James, it's almost definitely against her will.

  The man bounces James and makes the circle again. Landon watches, his hand tight in the makeshift crutch. He ignores the pain of his almost definitely bleeding hand and tries to dredge up some chain of events that isn't a threat. It's not working. Melody would never leave the baby, and Landon would never be out in the weather for no reason, leaving his wife and infant son at camp alone in the middle of the night. Something terrible has happened, and he's almost positive that the man holding James has something to do with it. It's the only thing that makes sense.