Paula Graves: Hitched and Hunted

What would happen to them if Victor ripped it apart with the ugly truth of her real history?

“Could we take a break? Just for a little while?” She looked around them, eyes open for any sign of Victor. But wherever he’d disappeared to, it wasn’t here.

“Sure, we can do that.” He stroked her hair. “We could go back to the truck for a bit. Maybe dig through the stuff we threw in the cooler this morning and put together an early lunch?”

She smiled at the suggestion, reminded that there was little that could go wrong in Jake’s world that couldn’t be solved with a snack. She wondered what it was like to have lived a life so blessedly free of care.

Jake threaded his fingers through hers, tugging gently. She fell into step with him, feeling better as they moved through the busy search-and-rescue area without catching sight of Victor again. They had almost made it back to the staging area on the edge of the makeshift parking lot when a woman came running toward them down a side street that had seemed to escape any of the storm damage.

The woman caught sight of Jake, her eyes fluttering with relief. “Please, my daughter—” She grabbed Jake’s arm. Mariah saw that the woman’s hands were filthy and scraped raw.

The woman looked terrified. Mariah’s stomach knotted in sympathy as she slipped off her own jacket and wrapped it around the shivering, rain-soaked woman’s shoulders. “What happened?”

“My daughter—our dog just had puppies and hid them before the storm. We couldn’t find them before it hit—” The woman moved her hands away from Jake’s arm and grabbed Mariah’s hands instead. “There’s a creek behind the house. She was afraid they could’ve gotten down there—I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Did she fall into the creek?”

The woman was gasping now, from agitation and the exertion of running for help. “All the rain—the bank just gave way—and now she’s just hanging there, and I can’t get her up.” The woman stopped for a hitching breath. “I don’t know how long she can hang on—and the creek’s up!”

“Show us.” Jake was already moving in the direction from which the woman had come. Mariah put her arm around the frightened mother and hurried after him.

The house the woman pointed out was at the end of a cul-de-sac edged with thick, wooded no man’s land beyond the backyard. The woman took the lead, rounding the corner of the house and leading them into a waterlogged backyard that ended sharply at the edge of a steep drop-off.

Mariah started toward the creek when Jake stopped her with a quick, firm hand on her arm. “It’s been raining for three days straight,” he said quietly. “The ground is unstable. You could go down yourself.”

From over the edge of the ravine, a small voice cried out in terror. “Mommy, help!”

“Holly!” the frantic woman cried, rushing toward the edge of the yard. Jake caught her, tugging her back to safer ground. The woman struggled against his hold. “She’s going to fall!”

“I’ll get her, but you need to stay here. We don’t want to have to rescue you, too,” Jake told the woman firmly.

Mariah put her arm around the woman’s shaking shoulders. “We’ll get her,” she promised. She couldn’t blame the woman for her hysteria; the little girl didn’t sound that much older than her own sweet Micah.

What if her son were down there, clinging to God knew what, trying not to fall?

“Stay here,” Jake told Mariah as she started after him.

“I weigh less. I can get closer to the edge. You can hold on to me,” Mariah argued. The little girl was still crying in fear, her voice ringing in Mariah’s head until she thought she’d go mad.

What if it were Micah….

Jake frowned, clearly unhappy with her suggestion, but a moment later, he nodded. “We’ll see what will work. Just go slowly—the ground could go at any minute.”

His warning was unnecessary. The spongy ground beneath her feet grew more and more unstable the closer she got to the edge.

Nearing the precipice, she dropped to her hands and knees, creeping forward until she could see over the edge. The drop-off was sheer and farther down than she expected. The creek that rushed past about ten feet below was swollen and muddy, littered with storm debris that moved at an alarming speed. Five feet below and about three feet to her left, a tiny girl with stringy black curls gazed up at Mariah with wide, terrified brown eyes.

“Help!” Her grubby hands were wrapped around a piece of chain-link fence jutting from the side of the drop-off. It must have been part of an old fence that no longer stood in the backyard. Mariah wondered how securely it was wedged into the muddy bluff face. How much longer could it hold the child?

Jake hunkered down next to her, flat on his belly. His brow creased when he took in the child’s perilous situation.

“We could use a rope,” Mariah murmured.

“I’m not sure she can hold on long enough to go for one,” Jake replied, keeping his voice soft so the child couldn’t hear.

“Can you reach her if I hold on to your legs?” she asked.

“I don’t think so, but maybe we can haul the fencing up high enough that one of us can reach her.”

He slid on his belly until he lay just above the child’s precarious spot. Mariah scooted over beside him.

“Holly, my name is Mariah,” she called. “This is Jake. Can you hold on tight to that fence a little longer?”

“My fingers hurt!” Holly wailed.

“I know, but I need you to hold on real tight, okay? Jake’s going to pull the fence up now.”

“No!” the little girl cried in terror. “I’ll fall!”

“No, you won’t, Holly. Because you’re going to hold on just like you hold on to the monkey bars at school. You like to play on the monkey bars, don’t you?” Mariah said gently.

Holly nodded, then shrieked as the fencing shifted, dropping her down a half a foot.

Mariah’s heart skipped a beat. “Hold still, Holly. Let Jake do it all. You just hold on.”

Behind her, Holly’s mother was nearing hysterical, calling out her daughter’s name in a keening chant.

Jake slid forward until the top part of his torso hung out over the ravine. The dirt at the edge of the drop-off crumbled under his weight, shifting him farther forward than anticipated. He grabbed at the top chain links of the jutting fence to steady himself.

“Jake!” Mariah called, her heart stuttering.

“I’m okay,” he said, regaining his balance. He tugged at the chain-link fencing, as if testing its strength. Without the crossbar that would normally give it stability, it was remarkably fluid, since apparently whatever posts had once been connected to the links had fallen away long ago.

Mariah reached down and caught the top edge of the fencing to give Jake more leverage. “Ready, Holly?”

Holly stared up at them wordlessly.

“Let’s do it,” Jake said.

“Here we go. Hang on tight for me!” Mariah tugged at the piece of fencing, catching her breath as the part of the fence embedded into the earth worked completely loose. The rusty chain links dug into Mariah’s fingers as the child’s full weight hung from the dangling fencing.

Holly started crying softly.

“I’ve got you, Holly,” Jake called, quickly shifting one hand down until he caught a lower section of the fencing and pulled it up, bringing the little girl with it. Hand over hand, Mariah and Jake tugged the fencing upward, inches at a time, while Holly clung like a baby monkey to the metal links.

“Big, brave girl,” Mariah murmured as Jake finally tugged Holly’s small form within reach. Letting go of the fence, she wrapped her fingers tightly around the child’s tiny wrists.