Untraceable

Survival Skill #29

The silence and isolation of the wilderness can play tricks on the mind.

~

I vault to my feet and hold my discovery up to the lantern for a better look. “It’s a bullet.”

“What do you mean?” Mo appears next to me and grabs the tiny brass cylinder. “Where’d you find this?”

I snatch it back and twirl the casing between my fingers. “In the woods on the way here. Whoever it belongs to must be close by.”

Mo shakes his head. “Must be old. If some blokes were shooting around out here, I would have heard it.”

“Do you know what kind it is?”

Mo studies the find. “Not a clue.” He throws a rock into the fire.

“What’s wrong? Did I say something to upset you?”

He stares at the sky as if he’s collecting words from the heavens. “Blossom, I don’t want you getting involved in whatever it is you’re getting involved in.” He faces me with his face stern. “This sounds dangerous, and I think you should stay out of it.”

I turn away from him and cross my arms in front of me. “No way. If this has something to do with my dad’s death…” My arms drop to my side, hanging like broken limbs. My breath jams in my throat, reminding me of the time when I was little and ate a whole jar of creamy peanut butter with nothing to wash it down.

Mo comes behind me and rubs my shoulders. He whispers in my ear. “What is it?”

His hand’s rhythmic motion relaxes my stiff muscles. The moon plays hide and seek behind the dark trees. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to hide too. My eyelids flicker open and shut. I clear my throat, trying to make room for words and air. My voice pours out in spurts. “That was … the first time … I said my dad was … is … dead.”

Mo hugs me, erasing any space between us. “Grace, it’s all right to let go. You can’t be strong forever.”

For the first time, I feel like someone actually understands me. An army of tears presses against the back of my eyes, determined to break the long-standing barrier. I spin around and lean into him. “I have to find out what happened to him. No matter what, I can’t—no, I won’t—stop until I do.”

Mo twists my hair into little curls around his fingers. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

My lower lip quivers as I fiddle with my bracelet, wishing it would do as it says. Help me fly out of here. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve tried everything and nothing seems to be working. What would you do?”

He hugs me close. “Listen, Blossom, it’s late. Why don’t you get some sleep? You’re not going to figure it out tonight.”

Pressing into him, I stare at the forest’s green awning. An owl hoots above me. Oddly close. In the fire’s dying light, I scan the limbs fanning out above us, the bird’s eyes glow in the dimming light. Soon, he spreads his huge wings and glides away for his nightly mission. I think about Tommy’s owl carving.

The owl gives us the power to extract secrets and know the truth.

Haven’t I uncovered enough? How many more secrets can there be? I fight back a barrage of mixed emotions, curl into the crook of Mo’s arm, and blanket myself with the smoky aroma of his jacket. For a short period, we share the same small space of air.

His face relaxes and his lips part slightly with every breath. Soon, our rhythms are the same. His exhale becomes my inhale and vice versa.

Just as I am about to drift off, a crack echoes in the trees.

I sit up.

Someone hisses my name. “Grace. Help me.”

I stand and walk the edge of the small campsite, tracking the sound. “Dad?” Further ahead, a figure moves through the fog. I take off after it. But the crowded underbrush roots my feet to the earth. I cry out after the shadow. “Dad? Joe? It’s me. Grace!”

Behind me, footsteps pound the ground. They’re closing in fast, growing louder and louder. A deep voice calls out again, sounding desperate yet sad. “Grace!”

“Dad!” I force my way through a drape of vines, but the sticky strands hold me back, pinning me like a fly in a web. Flailing around, I rip one hand from a leafy shackle and grip the knife Tommy gave me, slashing at the vines surrounding my wrists.

A man walks out of the shadows as I try to break free. I can tell by the way the silhouette moves, it’s not Dad. The figure grabs me just I thrust the knife into his chest. A deep scream travels through the forest. Everything goes quiet and then, suddenly, my hands drop free. I scramble to get up and trip over a body crumbled in the center of the path. Blood flows out of a deep wound and pools along the dusty ground. The man doesn’t move.

My adrenaline surges as I inch around to see who it is.

It’s Mo.