Untraceable

Survival Skill #39

Mental preparation is a vital part of the rock-climbing experience.

~

In an instant, the forest transforms from a peaceful refuge into a danger zone. Without hesitating, I bolt toward the ruckus, running over thickets, jumping rotted logs, and protecting my face. Another shot rings out followed by a yelp. I try to figure out which direction they are coming from and maneuver over uneven ground.

Then I spot a dark mound ahead. I inch closer and see Bear lying in the leaves with red patches of clumped fur along his chest.

“Jesus.” I slide in next to him and lay his head on my lap. “It’s okay. I got yah.”

My hand feels warm and when I pull back, I notice it’s covered in blood. I quickly take out my bandana and press it on Bear’s wounds. Within a few seconds, the rag soaks with blood.

Bear stares up at me with brown eyes. His eyebrows twitch. Like he’s asking me what’s going on and I have no answers for him. Then his eyes droop a little and flutter.

I bury his head against the warmth of my body so I can’t see his face and listen to the slowing of his breath, my hand covering his creeping heart. For some reason, I start rocking back and forth, humming a song I can’t remember.

My tears splash along his muzzle as I stroke Bear’s head. I remember all the times he’d curl up and sleep on my bed until Dad got home from work. Memories of Bear come flooding back. Him as a puppy chasing squirrels through our house. Him at Thanksgiving when he stole Mom’s turkey. Him lying in the station’s driveway for days, waiting for my dad to come home after he went missing.

Eventually, his labored breathing is consumed by complete silence.

My hand trembles as I check for a pulse. Any sign of life.

But Bear is dead. My dad’s dog is dead.

Then I feel Bear’s body relax fully and lighten.

In that moment, I realize there’s a glimmer of beauty found in death. When something bigger sweeps in undetected and cradles the dying. In the last breath, the place where pain finally surrenders to complete peace.

After covering his body with leaves, I sit facing the mound and cradle my head with both hands. Tears and sweat dribble down my face.

Soon, my sorrow and confusion shift into rage.

My body tenses and I clamp my jaws together, gritting my teeth.

Why are these men killing innocent animals for fun?

I stroke Bear’s fur at the same time I’m scanning the woods, on full alert. Even though I don’t want to leave Bear behind, I know I need to push on and end this thing, once and for all.

Whoever killed Bear is involved in the disappearance of Dad and probably Mo too.

I unfold Tommy’s map and plan my route to Sidehill. It’s critical I make good time and get as close to the camp as possible before the sun sets.

I will get my dad back, if it’s the last thing I do. At this point, that’s all that matters. I can’t see anything else.

I stand and march away. Leaving behind so much. A friend, a life, a family. But no matter what, I don’t look back. Step by step, I move away from safety.

Toward who knows what.

* * *

Hours pass by, but I push on without stopping for food, water, or rest. My feet ache, and my muscles cramp. Over the long hike, my adrenaline and anger have faded, allowing logic and pain to seep in. If I’m going to stay alert, I need to get rehydrated and reenergized. I gulp down some liquid and pour a stream of water over the back of my neck. The coolness shocks my body, causing me to gasp. For the first time, I notice my stomach is grumbling. I can’t remember the last time I actually ate. While taking note of my coordinates, I slip the emergency pack out of my backpack and eat a stale granola bar.

I’m halfway there.

As I check my path, Tommy’s betrayal resurfaces. I can’t understand how or why he turned his back on me. On Dad. What was he thinking? I should have taken this trip months ago. Tommy’s lies and secrets have held me back from solving this whole thing.

Because of him, I’ve failed Dad.

As the minutes tick by, my body surrenders to exhaustion. I feel heavier, like I’m settling. Becoming a part of this place. Growing roots that will keep me here. Alone. Forever.

The woods have a way of messing with you. Of tearing you down. If you’re not careful, it can break you. The isolation. The darkness. It can sweep through you unexpectedly.

I toss aside the weighted feelings and force myself on my feet. Sidehill is still so far away. The thought of Les struggling up this path actually makes me smile. Maybe there was a reason I never favored him, even though Dad loved him like a brother. I wonder if Dad knew about Les’s involvement with Al and Billy.

I snatch a walking stick for extra support and move up the steep mountainside. A thin path zigzags up the hill as I push through the snaking weeds and tangled vines. Eventually, I come to a rocky wall. Taking a small stick, I clean out the packed dirt and pebbles stuck in the lugs of my boots.

Hoping to make up some time, I scale up the cragged side. As I slither up the ridge, the edges of sharp rocks dig into my palms. I’m reminded of my climb with Mo—how quickly he scaled the wall. After recovering on a few slips, I finally reach the top and peer over the ledge to confirm it’s safe. Then after grabbing hold of a hanging root, I attempt to pull up.

The prickly vine snaps under my weight.

Suddenly, I’m sliding back down the sharp, rocky side. Scraping my hands down the wall, my fingers fumble for a crevice while the tips of my toes search for any foothold. I grab a thin ledge and cling to the wall by my fingertips. My arms burn, and my breath becomes jagged. Panic threatens my sanity as the weight of my bag begins tugging me backward into the mouth of the mountain. Slowly, I maneuver my foot around until it lands on a tiny shelf. My body presses into the uneven rock wall.

When I look down, my breathing speeds up. The sensation of plummeting to my death taunts me. I’m dangling a hundred feet above the ground.

Waiting to be unlodged. Like a pebble on a mountain.

My adrenaline and survival instincts kick in. Crack by crack, I creep back up the rocky face. This time, when I reach the top, I keep a firm grip and hoist myself over the crag. Thankful to be on solid ground, I flip onto my back and stare at the dark sky through the treetops. The grass tickles my neck, and the wet ground seeps through my shirt.

I peer over the cliff and smile. I made it. Sometimes, things don’t appear that hard until after you conquer them. The drop is straight down. I whisper a prayer of thanks to whoever is watching over me on this mountain. The Big Man upstairs deserves a huge bonus for working overtime these last few weeks.

I stand up and turn to leave, tripping over something hard. Seems like I’m on my butt more than my feet these days.

Brushing off my pants, I look back and find two eyes staring right at me.

Billy.