Untraceable

Survival Skill #5

When meeting a stranger, take note of every detail to create a composite in your mind.

~

The next morning, I hide in bed until my mom leaves for work. Then I ride Luci deep into the Smokies to start another search. The morning air is warm yet crisp, hinting at the beginning of fall. After passing the bent “bear crossing” sign, I skid my motorcycle into a turn and roll down an overgrown path. Hunching over Luci’s handlebars, I dodge the low-hanging branches and go as far as I can before trekking in the rest of the way.

Using the trees as handrails, I slide down the sloped forest, relishing in the details of my lush surroundings. How the bark scratches my palms and how the crisp grass crunches under my feet with every step. The sweet smell of pine teases my nose, reminding me of the dreaded holidays only a few months away. I can’t imagine them without Dad’s spectacular light display, secret stuffing recipe, and our annual Christmas morning fishing excursion.

I try to refocus my attention on how the blooming bushes splatter the green forest with blotches of pale pink. I take in their sweet perfume, letting it replace the holiday scent.

After hiking a couple more miles, the murmur of gurgling water beckons me. I gallop to the tree line and stop to watch the river. Mossy boulders crowd Bear Creek as it glistens in the sunlight. I close my eyes, inviting the sun to stroke my cheeks and warm my soul. I’d give anything to go back to last summer when Dad and I spent every morning fishing and every afternoon patrolling. Everything seemed so easy then. I can actually remember wishing for more adventure in my life. More excitement.

Be careful what you wish for.

Staring out at the river rushing by, I suddenly want so much to fish first, but it’s more important to get in another search before dusk. Eating a vanilla MoonPie, I spread out my gear and highlight a search path on my map. The plan is to fan out in a one-mile radius from the point where I located the Cheetos bag. My breath speeds up with excitement and anticipation. I don’t know if it’s the rush of hope that I’ll spot something more or the fear of finding nothing else.

Pulling on my backpack, I blaze the trail and sweep in an arch, searching for another sign. For hours, I move slowly and deliberately. Careful not to step on anything that could be hard evidence. A small something off to one side sends off an alert in my head. I bend down and inspect the compressed area filled with tiny crushed plants, a random pebble, and a broken stick. To the average person, these are just part of the everyday woods. To me, they’re prints. Signs that prove someone is out here.

I lightly run my hand over the area. The mud is dry. It hasn’t rained for a couple weeks so it’s at least that old. I quickly note the find and move on to find a scuff mark on a dead log. After further inspection, it appears someone climbed over the fallen tree, damaging the bark with a boot. On the other side, I spot a partial track. I lean down and scan the area. Up ahead, I make out a faint trail someone left behind where the leaves bend at funny angles or are flipped over, showing their light underbellies to the sky. I follow the tracks for a few yards before losing the trail.

I continue searching the planned grid. When nothing else shows up, I stop and sit down to note every detail of every find. Chewing on the pencil eraser, I scan the forest. My spirits lift a little.

I was right. Someone is out here.

The question is who and if it’s related?

Even though it’s only four o’clock, the woods are already growing dark as if nature is slowly drawing its shades. The silver on my bracelet gleams in the dimming light. It’s too dark to keep searching. Maybe I have enough time to fish. Reward myself for a search well done. Relax and clear my head before the sun sinks behind the treetops.