Sharon Dunn - Wilderness Secrets

The men had changed course, as well. Eddy had stopped to line up a shot, while Pretty Boy sprinted toward them. He wondered what had become of the third man, the one with the dark, slicked-back hair. Cell phones didn’t work in the high mountains. But what if the men had some other way to communicate to bring in even more men to the hunt?

The special phone Abigail had given him in case he got lost on his way down was in his backpack. Lost forever, or maybe the men had found it and used it.

Abigail drew nearer to the trees.

The percussive bang of the rifle shot leaving the barrel of the gun pummeled his eardrums, but he did not hear the bullet hit, which meant it must have sunk into the mud. Abigail disappeared into the trees with a backward glance at him. His feet felt weighted down by the amount of mud on them. He lifted his legs, pumping fast and hard even as the mud suctioned around his boots. Pretty Boy had closed the distance between them and Eddy had run a dozen yards in order to line up another shot.

The trees were ten yards away. He saw no sign of Abigail—she must have kept running. He sprinted, fixing his gaze on the edge of the forest. The trees grew larger in his field of vision. Another bullet from the rifle traveled through the air. This one split the bark of the tree inches in front of him just as he entered the forest.

His heart beat a little faster, knowing how close he’d come to taking a bullet. A vibrating branch indicated the direction in which Abigail had run. There was no trail to follow in this part of the forest. The ground cover of pine needles, leaves and broken branches was thick. Some of the mud came off his boots, but he still felt like he was running with weights on his feet.

He caught sight of Abigail’s blond braid flying as she ran. He hurried to catch up with her. He could hear the thugs yelling at each other as they entered the forest.

Abigail traveled steadily uphill. She must have had some kind of plan or route in mind that would throw off the pursuers. As the trees thinned, the terrain grew drier, populated with tiny pebbles and then rocks. He caught up with Abigail.

His words came out between gasping breaths. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“Just getting away,” she said, out of breath, as well.

Somehow, he’d hoped she had a better plan than haphazardly running away. He spotted some brush up ahead that was tall enough to hide behind. “Keep going,” he said. “I’ll try to stop them.”

He crouched behind the brush, peering out to see if he could spot the two other men. Pretty Boy was the first to emerge from the trees. Eddy was probably slowed down by having to carry the rifle. Pretty Boy glanced in one direction, darted a few paces in the other and then ran up the mountain. Abigail was in plain sight. But she was too far away for Pretty Boy to get a decent shot with just a handgun.

Jesse waited with his gun drawn. Pretty Boy’s attention was on Abigail as he ran toward her. At best, Jesse would get one shot before Pretty Boy had time to react. He had to make it count. The blond man continued to fix his gaze on Abigail as she made her way up the mountain.

Eddy emerged from the trees and took the same path as Pretty Boy, though he moved slower, bracing the rifle on his shoulder.

Pretty Boy drew closer to the brush where Jesse was hiding. Jesse waited, gripping his gun and listening to his own heartbeat drumming in his ears. Pretty Boy’s footsteps grew louder, more intense. Jesse peered through the brush, which was just starting to leaf out.

He jumped up, located his target and fired off a shot. Knowing that Pretty Boy could just as easily shoot him, he took off running before assessing if he’d hit his target.

He heard a yelp behind him. Either Pretty Boy was injured or angry or both.

Abigail had reached the top of the hill and disappeared over the other side. Jesse willed his legs to move faster. His ears detected another rifle shot just as he edged toward the top of the hill. His heart pounded from the effort of running uphill and from the threat of death that pressed ever closer.

The other side of the hill was a boulder field that led to a river bottom, and beyond that a forest. He caught up with Abigail just as another rifle shot shattered the silence around them. The men had made it to the top of the hill. He grabbed her sleeve and pulled her toward a larger rock.

Both of them gasped for air, taking only a moment to rest before running again. He could hear the men’s footfalls on the rocks as they closed in. Abigail headed toward the river. He couldn’t see a bridge anywhere.

She approached the river’s edge, glanced over her shoulder as the two men gained on them, then turned back and dived into the rushing waters. He watched her as she was carried downstream. That didn’t seem like much of an escape plan.

What choice did he have? He jumped in, as well. The freezing water shocked his system. He drifted downstream, still stunned by the cold that enveloped him. Behind him he could hear rifle shots.

Abigail dived underwater. The tarp he was using as a rain poncho weighed him down and made it hard to maneuver against the current. He dived underwater and slipped out of it but held on to it as the river carried him farther along.

When he resurfaced, the river had taken him around a bend. He could no longer see the pursuers. Only one of the men had been hauling a smaller backpack. Would they jump in after them or try to find another way across the river?

He watched as Abigail swam toward the opposite shore. As the water grew shallower, she stood up and dragged herself onto the bank, flopping down in the grass on her stomach.

The current pulled him farther downstream as he struggled to get to shore. He grabbed hold of a tree limb that hung over the water and strained to pull himself up the steep embankment. He clawed the ground and reached out to grab onto any vegetation that grew close to the shore.

He shivered, and his body seemed to be vibrating from the exertion of the run and plunge into the cold water. He pushed himself to his feet and headed back upriver, where Abigail had come ashore.

As he moved through the forest, the cold seemed to seep down to the marrow of his bones. It was early evening and springtime, but the water in the mountain stream had been freezing.

Jesse heard Abigail before he saw her. It sounded like she was banging sticks together. When he found her in a clearing, she was gathering logs and twigs. Water dripped off her wet clothes. “We need to get a fire started.”

“Was there no other option besides jumping in a freezing river?” His teeth chattered from the cold.

“Yes, there was another option, Jesse—dying from a bullet wound.” She glared at him. “I made the best choice I could in a tough situation.”

It was the first time she’d used his first name. All the way up the mountain before they had encountered the three men, she’d called him Mr. Santorum.

“I would appreciate some help gathering some tinder.” She held up a trembling hand. “I’m freezing, too.”

“They might see the smoke rising up.” He was still concerned about their safety.

“Or they can find our frozen corpses.” Maybe it was just because she was cold and exhausted, but she didn’t seem to like being questioned about her decision. Her voice softened. “We’ll keep the fire small and build it in an area that can’t be seen from far away. A lot of this wood is wet from all the spring rain, but stuff in sheltered areas is likely to be drier.” With the handful of sticks she’d gathered, she moved deeper into the trees.

He searched the area, finding some twigs and a couple of smaller logs that seemed pretty dry. He found her in a clearing where the trees created a sort of canopy that shielded the fire from view.