Untraceable

Survival Skill #14

During long periods of sheltering, you will need to manage your supplies, including food and water.

~ 

I turn to face him. “Will you answer them this time?” Maybe it can’t hurt to give this guy a chance. Drilling him is much better than being grilled about my encounter. My body tenses as I wait for him to speak.

He plays with his hair in the back. “Abso-bloody-lutely. What do you want to know?”

Immediately, I fire off questions at rocket speed, probably from the nerves and adrenaline raging inside. “How old are you?”

He licks his dry lips. “Seventeen.”

I jerk back, shocked by his answer. “Really? I thought you were like twenty-two or something.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?”

I shrug it off. “You just seem older, that’s all.”

He thinks for a second as a nervous laugh brushes over his lips. “Must be my posh accent.”

I smile a little. “Maybe.” Before he can say anything else, I jump back into my interrogation. “Where are you from?”

Mo seems mesmerized by the firelight. “England, but lived in Australia and France for a stint. Moved to Tennessee a few years ago.” His lips move steadily when he speaks.

I let his sexy voice drown out any recurring visions of Al and Billy threatening to resurface. “How’d you end up here?”

He rests his forearms on his knees and pinches his bottom lip. The t-shirt tightens around his biceps, proving he’s in pretty good shape. “Quite a long story. But to keep it short and sweet, I graduated early and just started a semester in the Geology program at Appalachian State University.”

“So … you study rocks?”

He straightens into a defensive posture. “Not just rocks. I’m working on a study that examines ultramafic bodies in the Southern Appalachian Mountains. Supposedly, these mountains have gneiss rock exposures that date back 480 million years ago. You probably know all this since you live here.”

I almost laugh right in his face. “Me? No way. I can tell you anything you want to know about plants and animals. But I’m not really the rocker type.”

Mo smirks and tugs on the top of his hair again. I wonder if he’s nervous or if it’s just a habit. “Am I boring you?”

“Not at all.” Nevertheless, I’m exhausted and fight hard to suppress a yawn so I don’t appear bored. The day’s events are taking their toll on me as the adrenaline drains from my blood. “So you live out here? In the woods? All the time?”

He nods. “I fancy the outdoors.”

I think about my dad who would rather sleep on a bed of leaves than a mattress. “I get that.” And I do. Nothing is better than being surrounded by nature. I can definitely relate to this guy. But now, as I settle into the warmth, I’m all out of questions.

Mo pulls a brown paper bag out of his rucksack. “Biscuit?”

“Sure.” Careful not to touch his hand, I take one and inspect the treat.

I must look confused, because he explains, “It’s a cookie.”

“Yeah, I guessed that.” When he tends to the fire, I check him out again.

At first glance, his deep-set eyes appear jet-black. But if I zoom in, the dark color resembles Dad’s famous chocolate mousse with little swirls of caramel inside.