by Alison Bliss
“Jake is a little more complicated. He has rules. I’m surprised he let me come out here with you. I’m not even sure why he did. Probably his way of buttering me up after handcuffing me last night.”
“Complaining doesn’t create solutions,” Floss said, pulling the dandelion from my hair. She held it lightly under my chin. “Besides, you like butter.” She winked with wise, knowing eyes. Then she went back to picking berries.
I joined her and we finished filling our buckets as dark gray clouds thickened in the distance, blocking out the sun’s rays.
“Hey, Floss,” I yelled. “These blackberry bushes over here have been trampled. Nothing left to pick.”
“The deer have probably been through here a time or two,” she said, looking off at the dark black clouds forming in the distance. “Can’t stay much longer, but there are some more brambles near the creek. They produce better because they get more moisture, but we don’t usually pick from them. Walking the hill hurts Hank’s knee. Why don’t you take this empty bucket down there and start picking while I take these to the truck?”
“Which way is the creek?”
“Over there, north of the large red oak. The creek’s small, but feeds into the Trinity River. Walk straight that way and you’ll find it,” Floss said. “Be back in a minute.”
Floss shrank into the trees as I walked down the hill looking for the blackberry bushes.
The air cooled as the wind picked up, gusting through the trees and warning creatures of the approaching storm.
Who knows how far I walked, but I hadn’t come across the blackberry bushes. Had I strayed off course? All the trees looked the same, and it’s not like my brain had a built-in compass. When I heard the sound of running water, I changed course slightly and strolled in that direction. The sound grew louder. I was getting closer, but still saw nothing.
I positioned myself on a tall dirt mound, trying to catch a glimpse of the creek. Ten seconds later, I realized the mistake I’d made. A biting, stinging pain overwhelmed me. Hundreds of angry, rust-colored fire ants swarmed my feet and ankles, attacking in great numbers. I disturbed their nest, and in return, they had proficiently declared war.
Jumping around in circles, I knocked them away. Every time I thought I got them all, more crawled out from between my toes or the backs of my heels. My feet were on fire, and the burning needed to be doused out. I made a run for the creek.
As I ran, I caught a glimpse of the water. But in a flash, I realized I hadn’t found the small creek, but rather the larger Trinity River. I tried to stop abruptly, but the steep bank was slippery and the forward momentum wouldn’t allow it.
My knees buckled, forcing me to slide down the bank ten feet before dropping into the river.
The runoff from last night’s rainstorm had swelled the dirty river, creating a fast-moving monster, littered with debris. The swift current jostled me around underwater, lashing at me and depriving me of oxygen. It released its grip and I forced my way to the surface, but was only able to take a short breath before the monster dragged me under for the second time.
Again, I fought my way to the surface, smacking my skull on a large branch. Though dazed, I clung to the floating driftwood, using it as a life preserver. I’m not sure how many miles the river shoved me downstream, but somehow, I slowly maneuvered myself closer to the bank and climbed out.
Collapsing with fatigue on the sandy shore, my stomach rolled with nausea. I coughed and sputtered muddy river water from my burning lungs. My mouth felt gritty. I wanted to puke, but couldn’t. Though the next wave of nausea cramped my stomach tightly, I pushed my tangled wet strands out of my face and peered around, trying to get my bearings.
“Hellooo?” I yelled out, though the fire in my feet had transferred to my throat. My voice echoed in the solitude. Swept away by the rushing water, my sandals were no longer on my feet. Catastrophic, since hiking barefoot through the woods would be a slow, tedious process. But it wasn’t the first time I’d been alone in a bad situation and had to rely on myself.
Determined to make my way back to Floss, I crawled up the bank and stepped farther into the woods. Following the river upstream, I carefully made my way over rocks, rotting branches, and dead leaves. The brutal terrain bruised and scraped my feet.
By now, Floss had surely realized I was missing. She would’ve alerted Jake, who would be out searching. They’d find me and he’d yell at me for being an overbearing pain in his ass and tell me how stupid I was. And he’d be right, of course. Because who the hell in their right mind almost kills themselves picking stupid berries? Well, besides me. Just proves that I don’t belong here. Damn it, Jake. Why’d you bring me here and make me fall for you? This is all your fault.
I snapped back to reality when something moved in the brush. A tiny reddish-brown piglet with broken stripes running down its sides stared back at me. The piglet squealed and ran skittishly back into the briars. It would’ve been funny that I startled the piglet, if several grunting adults hadn’t stepped out.
Before coming to Texas, the only knowledge I’d had of pigs was what I learned from watching Charlotte’s Web. Pigs were cute, pink, and friendly. But these weren’t pigs; they were wild hogs. Hank had warned me how dangerous they could be. I suspected the two smaller ones were females.
Physically, the third hog was different. He was big, black, and so obviously male with thick, wiry hair raised on the back of his neck in an aggressive position.
His massive head was too large for his body, and his legs and snout were longer than the females’. He made a scissor motion with his jaw to show me his exceptionally sharp tusks, ones he planned to put to good use. I could hear him grunting with agitation, my presence exciting him. Unlike Wilbur, he wasn’t cute, pink, or friendly.
Then he charged me.
Chapter Seventeen
I barely had time to contemplate what to do, but managed to scramble up the tree next to me. Thank God the branches hung low enough for me to pull myself up.
The grunting, pissed-off hog tromped back and forth through the briars, taking out his frustration on the base of the tree, slashing deep gouges with its tusks. I tightened my grip on the branches, digging my fingers into the ridges of the bark.
From the safety of the tree, I saw more hogs on the other side of the briar patch. The herd consisted of eleven feral hogs, counting the five small piglets running jerkily behind their mother. I wasn’t sure which piglet had noted my arrival, but now that I was helplessly stuck up a tree, I wanted to drop-kick the little fucker.
I pelted the hogs with small branches in hopes of scaring them off, but every time one of them squealed, the boar became even more agitated, lashing out at the tree trunk again.
I’d paid so much attention to the danger below me, I hadn’t realized the danger from above. A sudden crack of lightning scared me almost as much as it scared the hogs. They startled and ran in circles, grunting and squealing as they regrouped. Once it started raining, they shot off into the woods, as if they didn’t dare get wet. Who knew pigs were made of sugar?
My muscles hurt, and as badly as I wanted out of the tree, I forced myself to stay put, in case the hogs hadn’t left the area. At least a half hour later, I swung out of the tree, picked up the largest stick I could find as a weapon, and resumed my hike, walking as fast as possible. Running would’ve been quicker, but not smart on bare feet.
Determined to keep moving, I waded through slick mud and trudged over sharp sticks and rocks that bruised and poked into my heels. Brush scratched against my legs. Thorny vines littered the ground, pricking into my feet as I stepped on them. My wet hair plastered to my scalp and rainwater dripped into my eyes, making me blink constantly to clear my vision.
I tried to think of it as a nature walk, but who in their right mind would be out in this weather? My clothes stuck to me, chafing my waterlogged, sunburned skin, but I had to keep moving. Every moment I stopped to rest or pull thorns from my dirty feet put me dangerously closer to
nightfall.
The longer I walked, the more my stress level rose. What if Jake assumed I had run off again? Would he bother looking for me? No, I couldn’t let myself think that. Though Jake couldn’t go to the authorities and organize a search party without drawing attention, he’d definitely be looking for me.
I hoped.
Hefting myself over a large dead tree, I spotted a dilapidated hunting blind ahead. It was unoccupied, unless you counted the mud daubers building a home in the entryway. I didn’t want to stop moving, but walking through the woods at night in the rain wasn’t an option.
I climbed up the broken ladder into the moldy blind and found a dry spot in the far corner. The hunting blind probably hadn’t been used in years and was falling apart at the seams. The leaky roof, rotted through in several places, left the wooden floor damp and swollen. One dry corner was all I needed and, apparently, all I was going to get.
I leaned my back against a wall of questionable sturdiness and shook from the inside out. It wasn’t cold, but the cool rain had soaked my sunburned limbs, and the contrast in temperatures made me shiver with the chills. The idea of spending the night in the woods alone probably played a part in it as well.
My feet felt like raw, splinter-infested nubs, but were too caked with mud to see any real damage. I didn’t bother wiping it away, though. The mud soothed the ant bites, keeping them from itching or burning. Dizzy and nauseated, I curled into a ball with severe muscle cramps.
The hunting blind darkened more and more until I could hardly see anything. I propped open a rotting, hinged window, but it was a moonless night and just as dark outside as it was inside. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, listening to the sound of the rain slapping the roof and feeling the walls shake every time the thunder rolled. The storm kept up its strength, but after a while, I lost what was left of mine.
I slumped back, trying to doze off, but couldn’t. When I opened my eyes again, panic hit me. It was pitch black, darker than dark, and I saw nothing, as if someone had stolen my vision. Many people are born not being able to see, but for a person with sight to go instantly blind, the terror is tremendous. It went against every grain in my body.
Fear weaved through my mind, conjuring up scenarios and tainted thoughts as to what happens to a girl alone in the woods at night. An image of Bigfoot popped into my head. Then one of vultures picking flesh from my bones. I guess I needed a legitimate cause for my insomnia, something besides staying alert in case Jake came looking for me.
Though I had blamed him earlier, I knew it wasn’t Jake’s fault that I was in this mess. If I were being honest with myself, I’d admit I had lost my way years before, after learning of my parents’ deaths. In some ways, I still felt like that lost little girl who had no one to turn to. No one who cared. No one to trust.
But that wasn’t true. Not anymore. I had people who were looking out for me. And Jake would find me. That I was sure of. He’d probably kill me once he did, but he would definitely not stop searching until he got the chance.
It was a comforting thought, but it still scared the hell out of me at the same time. Because what if I trusted him to come for me and he didn’t? Like my parents…or my policeman…
After it finally stopped raining, sleep deprivation and fatigue kicked in.
I fell asleep, dreaming I was in some sort of terrarium. I hiked through a forest, crawling over sticks and rocks in my path, sluggishly trying to find my way through the never-ending greenery. As I piloted my way through the dream, I realized someone watched me, waited for me, called to me. The two men who stepped out of the woods with the rope and shovel entered my thoughts. Voodoo people? The one missing an eyeball reached for me and said, “I want to feel your nice, warm innards.”
I cringed as his face morphed into Sergio’s, his blank, dead stare sending chills through my bones. He touched his cold fingers to my neck, and I shoved his hand away. He grasped my shoulders, shaking me and, although I screamed, he wouldn’t let go.
Then I heard a familiar whuffling sound. A horse? Yes, that’s it. The same sound I heard when I went into the barn to talk to…Jake!
Disconnecting from my dream, I felt someone’s hands on my shoulder and opened my eyes. The light of a lantern glowed behind a large, dark figure. It shadowed his face, but I knew the man wasn’t Jake. I shot backward and put my hands up instinctually for protection.
“Emily…it’s me.”
“Junior?” I leaned closer, caught a whiff of wintergreen, and relief swept over me.
He gathered me in a tight bear hug I hadn’t known I needed until he’d given it. “You’re okay,” he crooned softly, rubbing my shoulder. “Your feet…how bad are they?”
I pulled back from him and wiped at my face with the back of my hand. “They’re sore. How’d you find me?”
“I used to be a tracker, remember?” He pulled a canteen from around his shoulder, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to me. “It’s something I’ve always done well.”
He watched as I guzzled a large amount of water. Then he used the canteen to wash some of the mud off my feet, trying to get a better look at their condition. “You’ve got some thorns embedded.”
“Can you get them out?”
Stone-faced, Junior pulled the large buck knife from the sheath on his belt. My mouth dropped open. Last thing I wanted was someone poking my feet with a pint-sized sword, making them hurt more.
“Wait! Isn’t there a less painful solution?”
Amusement flickered in his eyes as he put his knife away. “Floss can take care of them for you when we get you back to the house. Can you stand?”
I tried to, but pain shot through my feet, pulling me back down.
“Scoot toward the door. I’ll help you from there.”
Junior slung the canteen strap over his shoulder and picked up the lantern. He pushed open the blind door and clicked his tongue. A large black stallion moved into view, wearing a saddle with the butt of a rifle sticking up next to it. The horse bobbed his head and gave a snort as he came closer, responding to his master’s gentle command.
Effortlessly, Junior lifted me onto the horse. He grabbed the lantern and the reins, then led us away from the blind on foot.
“Junior, you’re going the wrong way.”
He shot me a challenging look. “You want to trade places? I’ll ride and you can walk us out.”
I winced. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be a backseat driver. Sometimes I have control issues.”
“Sometimes?” Junior laughed, as if he regarded me as entertainment. “I thought Lucy was demanding and free-spirited, but she never had anything on you.”
“Lucy?”
“My daughter.”
“Oh, yeah. The one with the great taste in clothes. I bet she wreaked havoc on your wallet,” I said, gripping the saddle horn tighter as the horse followed Junior down a slight hill.
“It was always her taste in men I worried more about.”
“She’s dating someone you don’t like?”
“Not anymore,” he said abruptly, his tone becoming more serious.
I got the feeling he didn’t want to talk about it, so I changed the subject. “Some hogs cornered me when I came through the woods.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“They trapped me up in a tree.”
“I know that, too.”
“The big one looked weird, and he was mean.”
“Most wild hogs can become aggressive if cornered, but if you stay away from them, they’ll usually leave you alone.”
I shook my head, though he couldn’t see because his back was to me. “I wasn’t messing with him. It was the other way around. He charged me, and I don’t mean by asking for my credit card.”
He grinned back at me. “Why do you think he looked weird?” I gave him a quick description of the females and babies. “The sows sound like wild domesticates,” Junior said. “Some of the locals call them Piney Wood Rooters. They’re leaner because they don’t pick u
p weight easily. What about the boar?”
“Gigantic, probably like four-hundred pounds,” I told him. “And he had a big nose.”
“You mean a long nose?”
“Whatever. But smaller ears. His back sloped like this,” I said, using my hand to demonstrate an uphill motion. “He had this short, straight tail with hair or something on the end that looked funny, like…oh, I know! Pumba’s tail on The Lion King. Oh, never mind. You probably don’t even know what movie I’m talking about… Anyway, he was different than the others. Much scarier and way more aggressive.”
Junior stopped, walked up beside the horse, and glared at me, his face serious. “You’re trying to tell me you went up against a pure Russian boar weighing four-hundred pounds?”
“Is that what he was?”
He shrugged, then started leading the horse again. “It’s not like I’d call your description a reliable method for identification.”
“Hey, I got a good look at him while stuck in the damn tree. Wasn’t much else to do.”
Junior flicked another grin over his shoulder.
After that, we drifted in and out of silence. The dark night air and the rocking motion of the horse made me groggy. Junior tried to keep me awake by talking. It must’ve been some chore, since I never saw him as someone who did much of it.
“Open your eyes, Emily, or you’re not going to stay upright on that horse much longer,” he ordered, stopping for a moment. “It’s close to daylight.” The blue tinge of morning happened upon us, so Junior extinguished the lantern and stowed it on the side of the saddle.
Up to this point, I hadn’t had the courage to inquire about Jake, but I needed to know before we got back to the house. “Okay, how pissed off is Jake at—”
“Shhhh!” Junior stood motionless for a second more, then reached for his rifle.
