Mule

Chapter One: Gone

Winthrop, Washington October 2000

Anabelle Darrow stepped out of the backseat of her father's 98' Dodge Ram and shut the door. The cool October air hit her face, giving a rosy tint to her cheeks, and she closed her eyes, inhaling the forest air. At sun-rise, the sky gave a gorgeous orange and yellow backdrop to the red and green forest. The three-hour trip from Moses Lake had been long but worth it. Especially since today was a special day.

Her father, Gordon, had drilled gun safety into her since she was small, but today would be her first time participating in the hunt. She'd prepared herself all summer, and she shivered with anticipation. She'd received her very own Remington 700 hunting rifle for her sixteenth birthday. And it was pink. Her twin, Connor made fun of her endlessly, but his best friend Mule threatened to clock him if he didn't stop.

"Oooeee," her father said, interlocking his fingers, raising his arms as he popped his joints. "It's good to be back!"

"Maybe this is the year I'll finally catch something," Mule said.

"Not if you're hunting partners with Hell's Bell's you won't," Connor teased. "The deer can spot that eye-sore of a gun a mile away."

Anabelle and Mule both punched Connor on both his arms. Usually, she sided with her twin, being that they shared space in the womb and all, but every now and then Mule and she had to put him in his place. Some would think it strange that Anabelle was dating her brother's best friend but somehow, they made the dynamic work.

"Alright, enough lollygagging," Her dad said as he fastened his utility belt. "We'll follow the main trail about a mile in then we can split off."

"I'll go with you," Connor said. "I ain't going anywhere near that pink foo foo rifle."

Anabelle stuck out her tongue as she tied back her shoulder-length strawberry-blonde hair that matched her twin's. "Fine, I don't want to be anywhere near your heavy breathing."

"Kids," her father warned. "This is supposed to be a fun trip. None of that fussing, you hear? Now tell me the hunting rules." They all sighed. "No, no, I don't want to hear any whining. This is serious business. I trust you kids, and I want to make sure you understand that you're carrying deadly weapons."

Connor went first. "Always mark your trail."

"And?"

"Never point your gun without the intent to shoot," Mule said.

"Keep 'em comin."

"Always treat your gun like it's loaded," Anabelle threw in.

"One more!"

The three teens grew silent. Their father drilled these rules into them every year, but she couldn't remember a fourth rule. Aside from the safety rules she learned from Girl Scouts and her father's rants, she nothing else came to mind more important that the ones they'd listed.

"Come on," he said. "It's to have fun! Out here, we get to unwind, disconnect from the rest of the world. No MP3 Players, no AOL, no television—"

"Dad, stop!" Anabelle said. "You're not hip for knowing three of a million pop culture references. Can we just get our ammo and go? And you still need to explain why you told Derek not to bring his gun."

His eyes lit up. "That reminds me! I have something for you, Mule."

She looked at her boyfriend and he shrugged, showing he was as in the dark as she was. They'd coined the nickname for Derek "Mule" Mueller ever since he was a little. He used to have donkey teeth until his face grew into them, and his last name didn't help. He spent more time with them than he did his own family, which was understandable considering his background.