Dark Roads

by Chevy Stevens

  I held on to the bandanna around his neck and stepped up our pace, while still searching the woods for movement and noise. Wolf was tight against my legs, a whine leaking from his throat. We were rounding the last bend when I saw it.

  A cougar. Thirty feet in front of us, tawny brown and huge, perched on the moss-covered rocks to the side of the trail. Its yellow eyes focused on me. It lowered its head.

  “Get out of here!” I couldn’t shoot without letting go of Wolf, who was barking and lunging forward. I yelled again, raised the rifle with my free hand, waving it like a stick, and stomped my feet. The cougar didn’t even flinch. I took a few slow steps backward, tugging on Wolf.

  The cougar pushed itself to all fours and eased off the rocks, shoulders bunching and head still low. It was on the trail now and moving closer. I had to shoot.

  “Wolf, stay!”

  But as I let go of him to lift the rifle to my shoulder, he rushed past me, sprinted at the cougar, barking as he stopped in front of it. The cougar swatted the air and snarled, revealing its fangs.

  My mind stalled. I screamed, “Wolf! No. Come!”

  Wolf danced back. The cougar swatted at him again. Hissing. My finger fumbled on the trigger. I focused. Wolf was in my shot. I raised the rifle to the sky and let off a round.

  The cougar backed off a few feet—Wolf was still barking and baiting it. I let off another shot. The cougar took a hard left and leapt through the woods toward the river. Wolf followed.

  “Wolf, stop!”

  They were gone, crashing through the thick ferns and bushes, the tangle of underbrush. Branches closed after them. I raced toward where I’d last seen Wolf, scrambling over rocks and through shrubs that tore at my hair, my clothes, my skin. Panting, I broke out of the woods and found myself standing high above the river. I scanned the trees, trying to hear Wolf over the rushing falls. Where was he? Then I saw a flash of black and spotted him in the distance.

  He was chasing the cougar across an old fir tree hanging over the water. The cougar abruptly stopped and pivoted, swatted at Wolf. He yipped—a high-pitched cry that yanked my insides. I raised the gun, sighted down the long barrel, and pressed the trigger. The bullet struck the wood and sent splinters flying into the air, but it spooked the cougar. It leapt into the pool below. It popped up and swam downstream. Wolf bolted into the woods.

  I hurried along the bank of the river, slipping on moss and struggling over the rocks until I reached the log. I dropped to my knees and crawled across. When I’d made it to the other side, I whistled and called for Wolf. I searched the dirt, grass, and plants. Blood drops, red and glistening. I had to find him. I tracked him through a meadow.

  “Wolf! Come on, boy! Where are you?”

  I stopped and held my breath, straining to hear over the birds and the breeze. A soft whimper. He was close. I followed the sound and found him cowering under a bush. He was panting hard, his eyes wild and panicked. I dropped to my knees and gently stroked his face.

  “You dumbass. Why did you have to be so brave?” I tried to sound calm and soothing, but my throat was tight with tears. The cougar had left two gouges on his front shoulder. They weren’t to the bone, but I needed to clean them. I took my first-aid kit out of my backpack and opened the sterilized pads, then held them against the wounds while I wrapped a Tensor bandage around his quivering body. It was hard not to jostle him and he yelped, his head snapping back to nip at the air, then he licked at my hand, begging for forgiveness. I rubbed his neck.

  “It’s okay. You can bite me if it helps.”

  I pulled him out, slowly, then hefted him over my shoulder. He yelped again, and I couldn’t hold back the tears. What was I going to do? I couldn’t make it back over the log—not with the extra weight. I’d have to circle around and hope the cougar wasn’t hunting us.

  By the time we’d made it downriver, I was out of breath, my shirt and hair soaked with sweat. I crossed over the river where the water was shallow and the rocks close together. I kept watch for the cougar. It could still be near. We were easy prey now.

  I carried Wolf up the trail on the other side, stopping to take breaks. I thought about making a stretcher, but I didn’t have my hacksaw and had no way to strap the wood together. I staggered the rest of the way to the cabin. Wolf had stopped bleeding, but he was in pain, his body trembling. I made him comfortable on the bed and cleaned the cuts and bandaged him. My first-aid kit had a bottle of CBD oil. I wasn’t sure of the dose, but I dropped some into his mouth.

  Wolf didn’t want to eat, so I crawled in beside him, my chest and stomach against his curved back, and his haunches cradled in my lap. I stroked his head, his soft ears, his snout.

  “You’re going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  He twisted his neck and licked at my tears, then dropped his head onto the pillow. I held him in my arms and buried my face in his soft fur.

  * * *

  I stood outside the cabin bundled in my parka, the hood over my head and a scarf wound around my neck. The snow was a few inches deep already and coming down fast. Flurries blinded me. I tugged the scarf away from my mouth, fumbled for the mic button on the VHF radio.

  “Come in, 250H. We need help. Wolf’s injured. We need medicine—antibiotics.” I released the mic button, waited for an answer from Jonny. Please, please, please. But there was only crackling static. I looked at the sky, heavy with snow. Maybe the signal wasn’t getting through.

  Wind whipped the snow into my face, pushed me back into the cabin. I slammed the door. Wolf didn’t look up from his bed in front of the stove. I opened a packet of smoked salmon, clunked over to him in my boots. For two days I’d only managed to dribble broth into his mouth with a syringe so I could keep him hydrated. I waved the salmon under his nose.

  “Try it, just a little, please?” He opened his eyes, blinked at me, and turned his face away. I lifted the bandages for another look, but I already knew what I would see. The wounds were red and puffy. I cleaned them again, applied fresh bandages, and left him by the fire.

  I packed my bag, grabbing at things—food, water, emergency supplies, the radio—and shrugged it onto my back. The Smith & Wesson went into my holster, the rifle strapped to my back. Then I gently wrapped Wolf up in a wool blanket and lifted him into my arms.

  We took the dirt bike until the snow got too deep, the tires spinning, then I had to abandon it on the trail. I took Wolf out of his crate and set him on top of the snow. He was more alert now, confused, and pulled himself to standing. He tried to limp toward me.

  “No. Stay.”

  I slid the dirt bike into the sheltered area under the base of a tree, covered it with garbage bags, then with branches—however many I could hack off the nearby trees. I didn’t know when I would be able to come back. I marked one of the tree limbs with Wolf’s bandanna.

  I trudged through snowdrifts that felt like quicksand, sucking at my boots, holding me in place until I wrenched myself free. I carried Wolf on my shoulders with the blanket over him. His head was tucked into the fur of my hood. Blinding snow blew into my eyes. My fingers grew numb inside my gloves. I breathed hard as I climbed up a hill, sliding down onto my knees, then stumbling back to my feet. Wind pummeled the center of my back, swept through breaks in the forest, and came at me from the side. I wanted to make it to the lower camp, where I could try the radio again, but the trail had disappeared. I stopped and spun around. There had to be something that would help me navigate. I couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of me. The world had turned white.

  I tripped over a buried log, and Wolf slipped from my shoulders, landing in a drift and nearly sinking out of my reach. His fur was clumped with snow. I lifted him into my arms and staggered a few more feet. I couldn’t do it. The snow was coming too fast. We had to hide in a tree well. Once the storm ended, I’d recognize the lay of the land again.

  My eyelashes were clumped with ice. My face stung. I found a pocket of space below a big fir tree, cut down branches,
and placed them around us, weaving them together to form walls and a roof. For a marker, I ripped the bottom off my shirt and tied it to the tree. There were two outdoor emergency blankets in my backpack. I unfolded the thin silver material and used one to line the roof. More branches went underneath to keep our bodies off the cold ground. Near the entrance to our snow cave, I built a fire with tinder and broken branches that I found along the trunk of the tree. I wrapped my second emergency blanket around us.

  We huddled together through the night. I tried the VHF radio over and over, but only got static in return. The fire died and I ran out of dry wood. The wind had not let up. The world grew silent as the snow built up around the shelter and cocooned us. I couldn’t stop shivering.

  I took my journal out of my backpack and tucked it into my inside pocket. If someone found my body, they would know who I was. They would know about Vaughn. It was getting harder to stay awake. My eyelids kept drifting closed. The VHF radio was clutched in my hand.

  Wolf pawed at me and licked my face.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.” I prayed Wolf would survive. My body could keep him warm for a while. He had thick fur, but he was fighting that infection, and he hadn’t eaten in days. He pressed against my chest, his cheek alongside mine, breathing puffs of warmth into my neck. I wasn’t cold anymore. I had no sensation in my feet or hands. Tired. So tired.

  I dreamed of being at the lake with Amber. The scent of her skin. Coconut. Her hair, cherry-red fire, floating across her beautiful lips. We’d had one perfect kiss. I’d had it all in that moment. Long summer days. Swimming with Jonny. My body felt warm now. I was basking in the sun, my face lifting, soaking up the rays. I could hear our dirt bikes whizzing around the track. Louder and louder. Drowning out everything. The hum through my body like electricity.

  We used to go so fast. No one could beat us.

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER 15

  Beth

  SEPTEMBER 2018

  Beth pushed open the door, carefully balancing the cardboard tray of coffees, and cursed as someone bumped into her. The last thing she needed was a stain on her white blouse. She only had two good suits, rotated them religiously, and sponged them clean in her tiny bathroom.

  More office workers jostled her on their way in for their Skinny Vanilla Lattes or Matcha Green Tea Frappuccinos. You couldn’t turn a block in Vancouver without tripping over a coffee shop.

  She let go of the door and smiled apologetically as it swung into a hipster, then she wove in and out of the crowded sidewalk, passing businesspeople, yogis, tourists with cameras. She glanced at her watch. Five minutes to get to the office. She picked up her pace, enjoying the click of her heels on concrete. Some days she still felt like she was playacting at being a grown-up.

  Her cell chirped in her purse. She frowned. She would have to pause to answer it, which would delay her, but what if it was one of the lawyers? Someone with a last-minute craving for a gluten-free muffin. No. They would be too busy prepping for the meeting. She kept walking.

  The phone chirped again. Stopped. Then chirped again. Only one person was that persistent. Beth tucked herself against a building, set the tray of coffees on a ledge, and pulled out her phone. Amber’s photo flashed across the screen. Beth swiped to answer.

  “Hey, what’s going on? I’m working.”

  “I thought you were interning.”

  “Same thing.” She was mostly fetching coffees and sitting in on meetings, but that didn’t sound nearly as impressive. Every morning Beth walked past the lawyers in their big offices and told herself she’d belong there too one day. Okay, a lot more days. Three years and she’d have her undergraduate degree. Then she could apply to law school. She just had to stay the course.

  “Are you going to church Sunday?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “How do you stand it?” Beth knew Amber was talking about the obligatory parental lunch after the service. Neither Amber nor Beth were particularly God-fearing, but even church wasn’t as boring as passing food back and forth over a table while their mom and dad made small talk about the sermon, weather, and how the tomatoes were doing this year. Beth and Amber used to flip coins over who got to have the fake illness or last-minute shift at work.

  “Since you abandoned me, I don’t have a choice.” Beth said the words lightly, but she meant it. She missed her little sister, even if she understood why she left.

  “Sorry.” Amber sighed. “I know I stuck you with it.”

  Beth glanced at her watch. She would have to walk and talk. She picked up the tray, tensing her fingers underneath to hold it level, and moved down the street.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Can you say a prayer for Hailey?”

  “Still no word?”

  “Not yet.” Amber’s voice was vague, the tone she adopted whenever she talked about Hailey now. Beth wanted to say something reassuring, but she also didn’t want to mislead her. She’d texted Amber as soon as she saw on the news that they’d found Hailey’s bicycle and her cell phone. Are you okay? Amber had answered, I think she did it on purpose, to throw people off track. Her uncle is scary. Maybe, but Beth feared the rumors were probably true.

  “Why don’t you come for a visit? You can say a prayer yourself.”

  “My tires are bald. I’m waiting for my next paycheck.”

  “I hate that you are in Cold Creek.” Only Amber would drive to the Yukon to meet friends at a music festival, then stop for gas in the creepiest town and wind up instead getting a waitressing job. For the first couple of months Amber’s Instagram had been full of pictures of her doing yoga poses beside rivers and on rocky cliffs. She hadn’t posted anything since Hailey disappeared.

  “I don’t hitchhike, but yeah, I hate it too.”

  That was new. Maybe Amber wasn’t feeling as hopeful as Beth had thought.

  “Are you moving back to Vancouver?”

  “Not sure. I might still go up to the Yukon.”

  “And do what? Teach yoga to grizzly bears?”

  Amber laughed. She never seemed to get offended by Beth’s sarcasm. Or anyone’s. Kids could never bully her in school because Amber just didn’t care.

  “I might keep waitressing. It’s fun. We can’t all be brilliant lawyers.”

  Beth heard the teasing tone, but she frowned as she walked through the revolving glass doors and headed to the elevators. “You could be a lawyer. You’re too smart to quit school.”

  “You’re too smart to be a lawyer. You just think it will make you happy.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense.” Beth mentally rolled her eyes. Sometimes Amber’s free-spirit hippie thinking irritated the hell out of her. “I have to go. I’m at the elevators.”

  “I’ll be at the lake this weekend—if you can’t reach me. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  After saying goodbye, Beth slid the phone into her purse and hit the up button with her elbow. Amber didn’t know what she was talking about. Being a lawyer was everything.

  * * *

  Beth watched her mom carefully lay the cutlery. She’d played her part in the charade and offered to help, but her mom would never let anyone else set the table, and they both knew it. Same thing if she tried to clean up the dishes or put away the food. It would all be declined.

  Behind closed doors, Amber and Beth would giggle and call their mother “Mad Madeline”—though they never saw her react with more than a huff. They spun tales for each other. Imagined scenarios where their finely tuned mother might explode and flip the table over, sending tomato soup and cheese sandwiches crashing to the polished tile, while their father watched with his mystified expression. The one he used whenever any of them seemed upset.

  Beth’s mom dished out the bowls—tomato again—and sat at the table. She spread the serviette neatly over her lap and nodded. Beth’s dad picked up his spoon. Beth followed.

  “It was a good service today.” Beth’s dad—whom the
sisters nicknamed “Even Steven” because he’d divided everything exactly in half for them their entire lives—said the same thing every Sunday. Beth made a soft hum of agreement, but truth be told, she’d spent most of the service thinking about Amber. Should she have lent her money for new tires? How bad were they? Beth owed a small fortune in student loans and credit cards—looking the part of a successful woman in the city was not cheap. Neither was her apartment, even with three roommates. But she was worried. Beth peeked at her iPhone in her lap. Amber hadn’t answered her morning texts.

  Her mom looked over the table. “Please put away your phone.”

  “Sorry.” Beth slid it to the side of the table, still visible enough to irk her mother. Beth might toe the line, but she wasn’t above giving it a small tug. “I’m waiting to hear from Amber.”

  “You’ve talked to her?” Her dad spoke cautiously, as though feeling out the words, and he flicked a glance at her mom, measuring her reaction.

  “She called Thursday.” Beth considered whether to tell them that her sister needed tires. Amber was proud, though. She’d want her parents to think she could handle herself, and Beth didn’t want to betray that. “She seems okay. She’s talking about going to the Yukon.”

  Her mom’s spoon tinged against her bowl as she slid it through the soup. “I think we’re heading into another heat wave. I can’t imagine what our air-conditioning bill is going be like.”

  Beth stared at her mother. Did she really just change the subject to air-conditioning?

  “If you call Amber, you can ask her to come home.”

  “She doesn’t listen to us.”

  “Scripture isn’t conversation, Mom. Can’t you just tell her that you miss her? She needs to hear it from all of us—and she needs to finish school.” Beth looked from one of her parents to the other. “What if you drove up there and took her out to lunch or something?”