Untraceable

Survival Skill #30

If you are hiking or camping alone, be sure someone knows the plan in case you do not return.

~

I jerk upright, still shrieking.

Mo crouches next to me, knife in hand. “Cor blimey! What happened?”

For a minute, I remain completely still, too stunned to move. Then I squeeze his face and turn his head toward me. He has no choice but to look me in the eyes. “I killed you.”

He speaks through squished-up cheeks. “It was a dream.”

“A dream?” I rub my forehead. “But it seemed so real.”

He returns his weapon to its sheath and sits next to me as I hug my knees close. “They always do.” He strokes my head. “By the way. Who’s Joe?”

I sift through the details of my dream, trying to remember if I said his name. “My dad.” Mo doesn’t move. Like my words paralyzed him. I lay my head on his chest and listen to his heart thumping. “I thought he was here. That’s all.” He strokes my hair. The steady rhythm calms me. “Mo?”

He buzzes in my ear. “Hm mm?”

I pause before asking the question I’ve wanted to ask since we met. “How long are you staying here?”

He stops combing my hair with his fingers. “As long as I need to. Why do you ask?”

My voice blurts out in a squeaky whisper. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Mo kisses my forehead. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t.”

He spoons me from behind. “Go to sleep. We’ll head out at first light so you can get home.”

A few minutes later, Mo’s breath finds a consistent rhythm. I focus on his soft breaths, in and out, wondering how he sleeps so soundly when I can never seem to catch a wink.

In my dream, his breath was nonexistent, and his death was my fault. What would I do if I were responsible for Mo’s death? Or Dad’s for that matter? I promise myself I won’t let that happen.

Eventually, my mind settles in for the night, and my eyelids close from the weight of the day.

I drift off to sleep with Mo’s arms encircling me in a ring of safety.

* * *

Early the next morning, after making plans to meet up again, I reluctantly leave Mo. When Luci and I approach the house, I see Dad’s truck parked in the driveway. Great. The one time I stay out all night, Mom decides to come home early.

I creep inside, praying she’s asleep. Maybe she doesn’t even know I’m gone. It wouldn’t be the first time she didn’t notice me. After leaning my backpack against the wall, I tiptoe into the kitchen and listen at the doorway.

The house is quiet. No movement.

As soon as I round the corner, the light flips on. I jump out of my skin. “Geez! You scared me.”

Mom stands in the middle of the room with her fists planted on her hips. “Where the hell have you been?” Her voice quivers. “Do you know how worried I’ve been?”

I mumble. “Sorry. I went camping.”

Her face pinches into a scowl and worry lines travel in parallel lines across her forehead. Dark black patches hide under red, puffy eyes, informing me she’s been crying. “Camping? Then, why—in God’s name—didn’t you tell someone?”