by C
They continued to walk, Boots stopping from time to time to graze. Minutes or hours passed. She replayed the events of the day over and over in her mind. She had escaped. Right now, had events been different, she might be dead or, at best, a prisoner. But she wasn’t. And in that moment of greatest need, she had done the one thing she had sworn to never do again: pray.
Why? Maybe it was a crutch she turned to out of sheer desperation. Maybe she wanted a little fairy-tale magic to save her. Perhaps it was just an ingrained response from what she’d learned as a child that was never fully rooted out, despite her most concerted efforts.
The light around her grew darker. The sun began to sink, a gold disc giving way to tall, looming shadows. Boots’s body felt warm beside her in contrast to the cool autumn air. She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head. With the small bit of daylight that remained, she ate a meager dinner of a granola bar and raisins. She led Boots over to a group of pine trees, took off the saddle, and secured the reins to a branch so he wouldn’t wander off during the night. The trees were dense, hopefully keeping them from obvious view, and the needles provided some softness.
She opened her book bag, looking for her jacket. Rummaging inside, her fingers brushed against a hard, smooth surface. She yanked her hand out, as though she had been burned. It was Ethan’s laptop. She pulled it out and stared at it, fingering the NCP letters brazenly engraved in gold in the corner. Her dad and Chiara were missing tonight … the work of his political party, the result of his ideology. Hatred burned within her. She placed the stolen property back in the bag, taking some perverse comfort in the fact that she must have inflicted some hurt upon him. But it could never be enough.
Amanda lay down on her back, staring at the tree branches above her. Everything is gone. I have nothing left. My mom is dead. My dad and sister are missing. All of my friends have betrayed me. Morgan has rejected me. I’m used, betrayed, and alone.
And now hunted. The JPD is trying to find me and kill me. I have no money. I have no possessions of worth. The only thing I have of value is ruined.
She brushed the tears from her cheeks and used the cuff of her sweatshirt to wipe her nose. Maybe I prayed today because I needed help and I thought there was Someone who could help me. Maybe it was all just coincidence or good luck or … or maybe Someone did help me. And if so … thank You.
Chapter Seventeen
A Mountaintop Experience
For the slightest moment, lying in the warmth of the early-morning sunshine, the cheerful chatter of birds greeting her, Amanda almost forgot where she was and why.
Then she sprang to her feet, looking this way and that, listening for any strange sounds. The birdsong transformed into a warning siren, and the sun’s rays became a spotlight, pinpointing her. For all she knew, in the time that had passed while she slept, her pursuers had traversed the distance between them, and so at any point, her flight could be put to an unhappy end. She would find no safety here, no matter how pleasant the current surroundings.
She rinsed her face in the icy cold water of the nearby brook, dispelling any lingering lethargy. It was time to move on. To where, she had no idea, but she couldn’t stay here. She untethered Boots, climbed into the saddle, and continued her flight.
The forest was silent, save the occasional crunching of a twig beneath Boots’s hooves or the chirping of a solitary finch. It differed from her empty house, though: that had been the crushing silence of impending doom. Yet here she could be still in the quiet, obscured from danger by an ocean of trees. And in the stillness, she could begin to listen …
Amanda peered upward at the light flickering through the autumn leaves. Are You really here … with me? Because if You are … if You really do exist … and if You really are who You say You are … I need You.
She had relied on her own intuition, reason, and desires for long enough. Now she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt: she was absolutely fallible. “If it’s meant to be, it’s up to me.” And when it was up to her, what life did she create for herself? Her very determination to shape her destiny had brought about this miserable outcome: she was wounded, broken, and abandoned. What a cruel twist of irony that she had spent so many years of her life keeping everyone distant, and now, alone in the wilderness, what she desired most was to be with someone.
She had hit bottom. From the depths of this deep pit, she looked up. She gazed upward—to see above, to something greater, someone more powerful than her own destructive failings and the treachery of those who had let her down.
Maybe she was with Someone.
She had known Him long ago. All those talks about religion with Morgan—he wasn’t speaking a foreign language to her. What she grasped for, in this desperate loneliness and fear, wasn’t something new; it was a relationship, long neglected and frequently shunned, but one that had existed many years ago.
Morgan’s words of faith and acts of charity now persuaded her to seek out this Higher Power. But Ethan’s atheistic outlook compelled her even more. All his scientific, rationalistic arguments were as dust to her in this moment. If Ethan said there was no God, then she would believe there was.
Still, they traveled. One day became two … two became three … night and day took their turns as she and Boots traversed the wooded landscape. She had no other recourse, no other plan. Lacking any map or compass, she had no sense of direction. She tried to buoy her spirits with the pathetic hope that they might emerge from these endless miles of woods and happen upon a town far enough away from home where she could inquire about her dad and Chiara without arousing suspicion.
Thankfully, the matches she had put in her book bag provided fire, which kept her somewhat warm at night. She also had her small supply of food. Even so, she had no phone, no survival kit … just a destroyed painting, some stolen property, and a horse.
On the third evening, she and Boots came upon a large field. Without a canopy of trees overhead, she could survey the landscape. They had apparently been climbing for a while—the slope had been gradual. A dominant, majestic mountain peak loomed in front of them, rising out of the surrounding woods, indigo against the more distant azure peaks that provided a backdrop for the evening. The sun began to set past the western horizon, casting glorious pinks, oranges, and purples across the vast sky, the array of colors reminiscent of her palette of paints. She released the reins, and Boots cantered across the open land. From her current perspective, she saw no sign of civilization, but perhaps from the peak she could orient herself better. So they continued.
Amanda soon regretted that decision. She was by no means a “46er.” Far from hiking all forty-six of the High Peaks of the Adirondacks, she had only ever before reached the summit of Cascade Mountain, one of the most accessible of the group. In her ignorance, she had underestimated the height and difficulty of this unknown mountain. Scaling it quickly became a daunting task. Yet she couldn’t turn back now: they had gone too far.
They stopped frequently to rest, and often she dismounted, relieving Boots of her extra weight. Boots walked ahead of her now, picking his way, trying to find the surest footing. She, meanwhile, scrambled after him using her hands and feet to go up the steep incline. Her sneakers lacked a good tread, and she feared slipping on the uneven, rocky surface.
Weak from hunger, she had just about depleted her meager food supply. Sure, she had matches and could start a fire, but what would she cook? With next to no survival skills, she couldn’t pretend any longer: she would not reach a town or village anytime soon and her food would run out.
She stopped to catch her breath and leaned on one of the large boulders jutting out from the side of the mountain face. She had to take a break, even if for five minutes. Her head pounded, so she rubbed her temples. She saw a small, rocky ledge projecting outward nearby. Edging her way between some birch trees, she made her way there and sat down, grimacing, her whole body sore.
Sitting upon the rock, she was perched like a wounded bird that more and more recognize
s that escape is impossible and death is imminent. Though not at the summit of the mountain yet, they had already reached a high altitude. The woods spread out like a blanket below, and neighboring peaks stood like sentinels guarding the land. Many of the autumn leaves had bidden farewell to their branches, falling dead and unceremoniously to the ground. The sky loomed dark overhead, and the wind shook the empty trees. She shivered inside her corduroy jacket, which she didn’t take off anymore, and rubbed her hands together, trying to keep warm.
Amanda started to stand, but movement far below caught her attention. She held her breath and squinted her eyes, watching. The foliage before her had thinned just enough to allow sight beyond these empty branches. Movement again confirmed her suspicions: she wasn’t imagining things. She could just make out a group of people, weaving in and out of the brush, maybe half a mile away. She scooted back behind the tree trunks, shielding herself, and dug her nails into the bark.
They were coming for her.
She grabbed Boots’s reins, taking the lead now and clambering uphill. What do You want me to do? I’m running out of ideas. I have hardly any food left. The temperature is dropping too low. And now the JPD is trailing me? I can’t keep doing this. Should I turn myself in? Is that what You want?
The wind began to whistle, whipping her hair into her face and fighting her ascent. She tripped and fell on her hands and knees. Boots pulled back, roving his eyes and flicking his ears back and forth.
“Come on! We’ve got to keep going!”
But he gave a shrill whinny and wouldn’t budge.
She threw the reins to the ground. “Fine. If you won’t go with me, I’ll go to the top myself.”
Amanda had to focus completely on climbing now, scrambling with hands and feet to balance and pull herself up. The gathering clouds had become black, and cold drops of rain started to sting her from above.
She scraped and clawed her way, huffing with the exertion. Several times, her sneakers began to slip and only her death-like grip on a small niche of rock above kept her from plummeting.
After struggling for some time, she at last pulled herself up onto the final rock and stood on the summit. Dizzy from the height and her severe hunger, she gazed across the valleys and plateaus of trees stretching out for miles in all directions. No towns, no help, no rescue in sight, nothing except enemies pursuing her. She couldn’t see them in the steady, pouring rain, but they were there, somewhere below.
She raised her eyes to the storm clouds above. I need Your help. I know I doubted You, ran away from You, denied You. I’m sorry … I’m so sorry for all of it. Her tears commingled with the raindrops flowing down her cheeks. Just tell me what I need to do!
She waited, hoping to hear a booming voice or some otherworldly locution. Maybe there would be a lightning strike in reply or, better yet, a burning bush. Could this be her Mount Sinai?
But there was nothing.
Nothing but the deafening, chilling rain, now soaking through her clothes and hair.
Where are You? Can’t You help me? Her legs gave out under the panic, and she crouched on the rocky surface, hugging her knees to her chest. How could she spend the night like this, in the cold and the rain, not knowing when the JPD officers would find their prey?
Then she noticed it.
There, a little lower down on the other side of the mountain opposite from where she had been climbing …
Could that be a crevice, covered by a large slab of rock? She stumbled toward it through the storm, hoping her hunch wouldn’t prove wrong. The descent was similarly treacherous, especially with a wet surface, but in a short time, she stood in front of a small covering—a sheltered space … a rudimentary shelter from the storm.
A nicker came from behind her. Boots approached, flicking his tail: he had found his way to her. She smiled faintly, patting him. Then she walked inside the dark cave, crouching downward as she moved farther in. At the back, she sat down, resting her back against the rock wall. She brushed a cobweb from her face and dusted off her dirty hands. Boots walked into the entrance of the fissure, which was just tall enough for him to stand and stay protected from the rain.
From her bag, she pulled out half of a granola bar, the last of her food. She nibbled it, trying to make it last as long as possible. She shivered inside her wet clothes: no dry wood meant no fire tonight. She sat there, watching the dismal rain pour outside, shivering and teeth chattering. Somehow it reminded her of a moment from her childhood. It had also been a dark night and she had been alone in her bedroom. She had awoken from a nightmare and called out for her mom.
Her mother came into the room, a ghostly specter in her white nightgown, and her loving, familiar face had comforted Amanda at once. She clung to her mom, who cuddled her and stroked her hair.
A few minutes later, Amanda had calmed down enough to explain herself: “I had another nightmare. It was a real bad one this time.”
Her mom pulled the blanket and quilt back over her. “Honey, you don’t need to be afraid.”
“But I was all alone.”
“Look.” Her mom walked to the window adjacent to Amanda’s bed. She pulled back the curtain, revealing a stunning night sky bedecked with stars. “See those stars? They’re looking down at you. The stars are like angels, sparkling and shining above you. They’re always with you; you are never alone.”
“But what about when it’s cloudy? I can’t see the stars then.”
“Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not there. We have faith they still shine, even on the stormiest of nights.”
After that, Amanda had slept with the curtains open every night.
She stared now into the pitch black. There would be no stars visible tonight and no mom to comfort her. I miss you, Mom. I miss you so much. I’m sorry … I’m sorry you died. Amanda buried her face in her hands. But it’s not my fault. It’s not my fault that it was my birthday when you drove to the store. In the silence of her heart, she could feel another message: It’s not God’s fault either.
The night seemed endless. The long hours of darkness, marked by a continuous downpour of rain, dragged by. She slept intermittently, awakened by the cold, soggy chill or by Ethan’s sardonic eyes staring her down in her fitful dreams. As miserable as the night was, she dreaded the morning. If her pursuers didn’t kill her, then starvation would after a few days.
The first light shone, and the rain slowed to a stop. She followed Boots out of the cave into the damp and brisk morning air. Thick clouds of fog lay about the peak of the mountain, obscuring her vision. Perhaps her pursuers had continued their chase through the night, though that seemed unlikely given the massive downpour. If the rain had halted their progress, there was still some distance between them. Yet even that brought her little comfort.
Things looked differently to her in the light of day as hunger pangs commandeered her thinking. In fact, she could barely think of anything else besides her empty stomach. If her destiny on this side of the mountain meant a slow, painful starvation, then maybe the alternative wasn’t so bad. Perhaps if she surrendered herself, she could beg the JPD officers to spare her life. Maybe they didn’t even want her dead. Perhaps they would only take her captive, a fate not so terrible, especially if she shared her captivity with her dad and Chiara. She would rather die with her loved ones in captivity than alone in the wilderness, her passing unknown and unmourned.
So maybe she’d found the solution. Exhaustion, hunger, and a bitter cold that seemed to enter into the marrow of her bones overwhelmed her. Escape was now futile: she could not escape death anymore. She leaned against Boots for support, lacking the energy to hoist herself back into the saddle. She would just wait here … until they found her. And if they didn’t find her, starvation would. She had done all that she could. She had tried her very hardest. If she were to be saved, someone else would have to do it.
Crack!
Her head shot up, and she glanced all around her, her senses on full alert. Where
did that sound come from? It seemed like a twig snapping underfoot, but the question was what—or who—had stepped on it? She stood, still as a statue, waiting for her fate.
CRACK!
Chapter Eighteen
Men without a Country
The pine branches to Amanda’s immediate right moved. She stared, frozen in expectation. A figure emerged.
It was a girl—a very young girl, no older than five. She gasped as soon as she saw Amanda, her brown eyes wide as saucers upon her porcelain white skin. Yet she didn’t run away or scream for help; instead, she tilted her head, thumb in her mouth, and studied Amanda.
Popping the thumb out, the girl waved. “Hi!”
“Hi.” Amanda cleared her throat, trying to remedy her hoarse voice. She must appear frightening: her filthy clothes, tangled curls, unwashed face and body …
“I love your horse! Can I pet him?”
“Um … yeah, sure.”
The child bounded forward until she stood next to Boots. Reaching on her tippy-toes, she brushed her fingertips along the horse’s coat. She giggled. “He’s so soft!”
Amanda nodded. Where had the girl come from? She couldn’t be alone, right?
“I always wanted a horse. What’s his name?”
“Boots.”
“My name is Rachel Judith Stein.” She clasped her hand across her mouth. “Oops! I wasn’t supposed to tell you that!”
Amanda’s simmering questions multiplied. Was it friend or foe who’d commanded the girl to keep quiet? Who here needed rescuing? “I won’t hurt you. My name’s Amanda. Are you here by yourself?”
“Oh … no. There’s lots of us. Mommy brought me here when Daddy went away.” The smile faded from Rachel’s face. Her lips turned downward in a frown. “Do you have a daddy?”