Feral

by Teagan Kade

  “Here I thought it was all parties and loose women, or is that just what you wanted social media to think?”

  “Well, there was that too,” I answer honestly.

  “Ow!” Ava exclaims, her shoe snagging on a thorny blackberry vine and pulling at her injured ankle.

  Something rustles in the brush beyond us and my heart starts racing. We’ve been too loud. She starts to sit down, but I drag her back up.

  “We can’t stop now,” I say in a whisper, watching the branches.

  She catches my apprehension and it reflects in her eyes. “Is something following us?”

  We make it a decent distance away before I answer. “I don’t think so, but better to be safe than sorry.”

  “Right,” she says, looking fearful and clinging to my arm.

  Guilt hits me right in the stomach, rises with bile into my throat. I swallow it down. This is probably Ava’s worst nightmare and she’s living it out because of me. This is exactly the sort of thing she didn’t want for herself, what I’m sure Deric doesn’t want for her either.

  I’ve put her in danger. It’s my fault and there is no way I can fix it except to stay focused and get her out of here. Any of the warmth that had kindled between us needs to be put on the backburner, possibly forever. Ava deserves better than this. She ought to be with someone who doesn’t have her staggering down a mountain being hunted by wild predators. It doesn’t sound like too much to ask, yet I can’t even manage that.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  AVA

  “So, tell me more about your pro career,” I prompt Dean. It’s been at least an hour since he scared my stomach into my throat with all that business about being followed by an animal. But nothing happened, and the sun is out, despite a faint drizzle, so I’m feeling slightly less freaked.

  “What’s left to tell?” he says derisively, and I wonder if I’ve tapped a nerve.

  My ankle is throbbing like a bitch, but I don’t want to complain. I don’t want Dean thinking I’m some fainting lily, so I grimace through the ache and try to focus on something else.

  “You almost went to the World Cup, right? I mean, that must have been pretty incredible,” I start, but he shoots me a dark look.

  “I’m sure it was for the guys who actually competed. Come on, you know this story. Everyone in Tamanass does, as do a good deal of people beyond,” he mutters.

  “Actually, I don’t really know what happened. I know you had an accident of some kind involving a bet, but that’s the extent of my knowledge.”

  He sighs. “There’s not much to say beyond that. I went to a bar a few nights before the trials with my teammates and a rider with another team was talking shit, getting up in our faces. I had a quick temper and punched the guy. One bar fight later, the asshole’s teammate challenged me to a night race. It was totally unsanctioned, completely illegal, and entirely stupid. I paid with two broken ribs, a concussion, and one broken femur. That’s what you get for riding drunk on an unfamiliar course. Took me ten weeks before I could even take the cast off and then came physical therapy. My career was pretty much tanked at that point, especially when the circumstances surrounding the accident got out. Sports sanctioning bodies don’t look kindly upon reckless idiots pulling dumbass stunts or getting into bar fights, particularly when the whole world is watching.”

  As he’s talking, his voice is growing more and more bitter. I feel bad dredging up the past, but I’m also glad he’s finally talking about it. Of course, I knew a little, but I’ve been hoping he’d trust me enough to tell me more.

  “I’m sorry. That must have been awful. I can’t imagine everything you’ve worked for being gone so quickly like that,” I say, hoping I sound empathetic and not like I pity him.

  “Yeah, well, I acted like a moron,” he answers gruffly. “And ended up fucking everything up, so you know, what’s new?”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Everyone makes stupid mistakes at some point…”

  “Oh, really? And you’d know all about that?” he snorts. It’s hurtful, but he’s right. I don’t really know what that’s like because I hide from every possible risk that comes my way.

  Still, I’m not going to be a doormat here. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I’ve made my own share of mistakes.”

  “Don’t waste your breath. I’m over it. I’ve got other shit to focus on now.”

  The urge to snap back is strong, but I can tell he’s on edge again, so I leave it alone. The next few hours pass in relative silence. My good ankle is burning and sore and my bad ankle is throbbing so badly I want to cut it off. The prolonged weight and exertion has me aching. What I wouldn’t give for a hot tub right now.

  There are times where it feels like we’re barely making any progress and I just want to plant my butt on the ground and cry. I don’t, of course, because the last thing I want is for Dean to think I’m a baby or I can’t handle myself.

  Funny how that never seemed to bother you before…

  I would have happily admitted to Deric or anyone else I don’t know two rat’s asses about survival situations. But now, with Dean, and after the past few weeks, I’m beginning to give myself a bit more credit. It feels important somehow, to prove that I can do this.

  “You think Deric knows we’re missing yet?” I wonder aloud.

  “I would imagine, but it depends on whether the others made it back,” he answers, reminding me we don’t know what happened to Pearl and her friends.

  I block out my fears for them. It’s not going to do me any good to worry when, for all I know, they’re sipping hot toddies down at Gracie’s.

  I wonder how Deric and Mom are handling this. I’m sure it’s dredging up memories that aren’t fun for anyone. When Dad died, it took two weeks before we got the final confirmation. That’s the thing about wildfires; they don’t play by the rules. I’m sure that was part of the appeal for Dad when he decided to volunteer with the wildfire crew, to put himself in the line of fire—literally. He liked the risk, the danger, and, of course, he loved helping people.

  The worst part is not knowing. You suspect, you fear, you lament. You’re paralyzed because you just don’t know. It’s hell getting the news and trying to move on, going through all the motions of memorials and daily life but living in limbo. Clinging to the last shreds of hope that maybe everything will turn out okay is somehow worse than hell.

  I wish I could make this easier on them. I hate I’m the cause of their misery right now, but at least it gives me something to propel me forward, to block out the pain and the ache and the fear. I certainly don’t have stimulating conversation to help with that since Dean has basically shut down ever since I brought up his accident.

  I wasn’t looking to rekindle any animosity, but apparently I have succeeded nevertheless. I don’t get how one minute everything can be so incredible between us, how I can feel so connected to him and the next it feels like we’re miles apart. Maybe this was always what was going to happen. It’s not like Dean has ever given me reason to think he was emotionally available, and even if he was, what do I know about keeping a guy like him interested?

  “Shit,” Dean says.

  I look up and ahead to follow his eye line.

  It takes less than a half second for me to recognize what has inspired his irritation. The stream flows gently until it reaches a steep drop off, the water seeming to disappear into nothingness from our vantage.

  “Wait here,” he tells me, jogging forward to look over the edge.

  “How bad?” I ask, as he jogs back, shaking his head.

  “Too bad for us to risk it. Probably a good sixty-foot drop,” he says, coming up beside me and stooping low to support my left side again. His back must be killing him, I can’t imagine it feels good to be hunched like that for so many hours.

  “So, what do we do?” I ask, even as we’re already moving towards the stream.

  “We cross. We see if the incline gets less severe that direction.”

  I nod, braci
ng myself as we step into the shallow edge of the stream. The water is glacial—literally. It’s the spring melt coming off a glacier atop Mt. Halbbitter. The minute it splashes into my boot and drenches my sock, I want to jump back out. My teeth are already chattering and we’re only up to mid-calf.

  Even Dean stops. Part of me is hoping he wusses out like I want to, and we can just sit on the bank of the stream and wait for a rescue party. Someone’s got to come eventually, right?

  But Dean is tense. Something about his frozen posture suddenly strikes fear in me. I look ahead, but I don’t see anything.

  Just as I go to open my mouth and ask what’s wrong, he whispers, “Shhh. Don’t. Scream.”

  That’s not good. My heart starts pounding, adrenaline jolting my muscles. I scan desperately, trying to figure out what the heck would make me scream. Although, to be fair, at this point, I’m so freaked out it could be a damn squirrel that does it.

  But it’s no squirrel.

  As I’m looking, the sleek, muscular form of a cougar creeps out of the shadows. I don’t know how Dean spotted it, but now isn’t the time to marvel at his incredible perception.

  My heart is seizing in my chest. Blood has long since drained from my face. The cougar’s yellow eyes are trained on me. Of course, the weakest link…

  Dean is slowly inching backwards as the water rushes around our boots, landing in a pool somewhere below. I try to follow, but it’s hard enough hobbling forward with one foot let alone moving backwards.

  The cougar’s pale golden form slinks closer. Its belly is low to the ground, practically dragging across the grass as the lean muscles of its arms and legs creep forward in a crouched, ready-to-pounce position I recognize. We had a cat back when I was little. The cougar’s posture is eerily familiar.

  Mr. Marmalade was an orange striped ‘senior’ cat when we got him. Not much interested him except for dinner and my braid. He’d stalk me while I watched TV or sat in the big easy chair in the living room reading, silently padding across the floor until he was within pouncing distance. Then, he’d still for a few moments, waiting for the right time to launch himself at me and attack my braid like it was laced with catnip and dead mice, which, for the record, it wasn’t.

  The cougar is still moving forward and, even though he’s moving slowly, we’re moving slower, meaning the distance is closing far quicker than I’d like it to. Something tells me I won’t be able to grab him by the scruff like Mr. Marmalade.

  Dean bends down slowly and grabs one of the large, submerged rocks by his feet, straightening and edging in front of me. He’s putting himself in front of me and we’re still slowly edging back and downstream, the drop-off quickly approaching until there is nowhere else to go.

  The cougar stills, his tail flicking with excitement. He seems impossibly far away, but I have no idea how far these things can leap… certainly further than Mr. Marmalade, I’m sure.

  My stomach is flipped inside out, and it almost feels like I’m watching this scene unfold from outside my skin. I’m pretty sure my lungs are no longer functioning.

  I can see the cat’s big muscles tensing, bunching. He’s ready to spring. Dean is now almost completely in front of me, one hand against my hip tucking me back. I want to cry, scream, anything, but nothing comes out.

  This can’t be it, can it?

  No. Screw this. Neither Dean nor I are about to be woodland-Simba’s Fancy Feast dinner.

  I grab at Dean’s collar and before I think about the logic or safety of it too much, I yank him back against me and throw my body over the edge of the waterfall. I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m probably about to die, but I’d rather not see it coming.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  DEAN

  All I can see is white.

  Churning water swirls around me and the bubbling froth of it obscures anything else. My limbs feel frozen and for a minute I sink and sink, the weight of the pack on my back not helping anything, until my feet finally strike the muddy surface at the base of the pool. The shock wears off and I spring into action, clawing my way back up and out, escaping the downward force of water pushing me back under.

  I break the surface of the water finally and suck in air. My lungs spasm clearing the water that made its way in. I blink and take stock, looking back up quickly to scan for the cougar.

  Gone, thankfully.

  Another breath. I watch the surface of the water, waiting to see Ava pop up, but nothing comes. I go back under, looking for her madly, but the bubbles and moving water make it impossible to see anything. I come back up and grapple with the mounting fear Ava is down there. Maybe she hit her head. The bottom didn’t feel as rocky as I would have guessed, but who knows.

  Shit.

  I wrack my brain. She pulled me over. The cougar couldn’t have grabbed her, could it?

  I feel helpless and terrified, a state I’m neither familiar with nor enjoying. I scramble to the shore, pulling myself onto the wet ground and letting the cold air sting my skin. Shivering, I turn back and watch the water desperately, praying to whatever mountain spirits or deities might be listening.

  Then there’s a sound behind me I’d been too focused on the water to hear before. I spin wildly around to see Ava lying prone on the ground, sputtering as water gushes from her mouth with each cough.

  My heart slams into my chest with all the force of the water thundering down from the drop-off, maybe more.

  Some foreign, strangled sound escapes my mouth as my muscles sag in momentary relief. I hurry towards her and flip her over in my arms. We’re both drenched and freezing. I’m shaking and I’d like to think it’s from relief, but in reality the cold is surely playing some part.

  Ava opens her eyes. I stare into their amber depths, emotion coursing through me, and then she smiles. It’s the ghost of a grin, but it’s enough to set me off.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” I say, anger heating me. “You could have been killed!”

  Ava winces and sits up, pulling back from me. “Glad to see you too.”

  “This isn’t a joke, damn it, Ava!”

  “No freaking kidding! That cougar would have eaten us both. Excuse me for trying to do something about that!” Her expression is heated. I can see her jaw setting.

  “I had it handled,” I argue for argument’s sake. In reality, the rock I was holding wasn’t going to do much but piss the cougar off, but still, it had a better chance of succeeding than diving headfirst over the side of a waterfall. Of course, the argument sounds pretty weak in light of the fact that we both survived.

  “Oh right, you were just going to sacrifice yourself! Pardon me for not really liking the plan where you end up meow mix and I’m left to die alone in the woods!” She’s scrambled to her feet now and squaring off against me, chin in the air, arms crossed in front of her as she shivers.

  “Of course that’s what you’d be worried about!” I exclaim, picking apart her words. “You’re that scared of being by yourself you’d rather we both smash our heads in at the bottom of a waterfall. I knew you were afraid of being alone out here, but really…” I shake my head at her stunned expression. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you back to the city and you can go run off and hide in some suburb where you can do your yoga and shop at Target and pretend you’re fucking happy.”

  Ava’s face looks like I’ve slapped her. Brow creased, eyes narrowed, she spits back, “That’d make it easier for you, wouldn’t it?”

  I don’t like the accusation in her tone, but it’s hard to make out when her teeth are chattering so badly, like mine. It’s started to drizzle, as if we weren’t wet enough already.

  “Whatever. Hate me later. We need to scrounge up a shelter,” I say, looking around and noting the day is mostly gone. Sunset may be a few hours off yet, but we’re both wet, cold, and bruised. We need to rest.

  There’s not much to work with, but I help Ava to the tree line under the spiny needles of a large Doug Fir. I drop the sopping pack from my back and open the fron
t pocket.

  Perfect. The matches are soaking wet. This is what I get for not packing waterproof. I make a mental note not to tell Dex he was right, but I’m definitely packing them next time.

  “Wait here,” I order Ava. She curls her knees up, not answering. I shrug. She can pout all she wants, but at least I know she’s not going anywhere. I don’t need her pulling another stupid stunt like the waterfall, even if that happened to work out okay. In my experience lucky streaks are usually short-lived and doomed to end in disaster.

  I jog off, hoping the movement will warm me a bit. It doesn’t. Ripping branches off and gathering what brush I can, I drag my haul back and start layering the branches I’ve collected into a small lean-to shelter. It’s not much, but it’ll protect us from the bulk of the rain.

  Ava is huddled around something small. It takes me a moment before I realize what she’s doing. She’s coaxed a small flame to life with some moss and a few little twigs stacked into a small teepee shape.

  “How the hell did you do that?” I ask, pleasantly surprised and impressed.

  Ava throws me a look over her shoulder. For a minute, it seems like she’s intent on continuing her silent strike.

  She clears her throat and rocks back onto her heels, watching the flame grow and devour the twigs. “I got a magnesium firestarter,” she says, not looking back at me but holding up the small metal block for me to see.

  “That’s unexpected,” I answer, examining the lightweight square of metal, lines etched in it from where she shaved off thin strips to ignite.

  “It was in that survival book you gave me. I forgot I had it in my pocket. Luckily for you, I’m not quite as helpless as you’d like to think.”

  “I’m not complaining,” I insist, though one handy tool doesn’t exactly prove her self-reliance.

  I grab some of the extra branches and toss them on the small fire she’s nursed to health, but the wet needles crackle and smoke, burning quickly without giving off much heat.

  “We’ll need more to keep this going,” I say and walk off, leaving her to stew some more and while I find some thicker branches to hack down with my pocket knife.