Curveball

by Teresa Michaels

  I conjure up as much detail as possible and continue to describe the vehicle the two gunmen drove, the sound of their voices and the conversation they had with each other, and the mystery person on the phone. I get pissed telling her that someone in law enforcement is helping to cover it up, and as I recount the sound of the pilot’s dead body being pulled over me as a drill worked in the background, I shudder. When I finish describing everything that happened up until she regained consciousness I can tell she’s heard enough. Her face is ashen. Breanne swallows hard and I wonder if she’s relieved to have missed experiencing these details. She blinks rapidly several times, and then asks, “What do we do now?”

  “I want to keep moving east, away from the gunmen and towards home. Whoever did this wanted everyone on that plane dead; so much so that they tried to kill everyone before the plane even went down. And people working for the airline are involved with what happened, not to mention some corrupt cop. They are going to want confirmation that everyone is accounted for before releasing names to family and the media,” I pause. “And they’ll be missing two bodies, ” I say grimly. “I want to get as far away from the crash site as possible and get to the authorities.”

  Suddenly, her mouth drops open and her eyes flicker to mine.

  “Oh my God! I never told anyone in my family that my flight got switched. Cassandra, my admin, knows but she can be clueless as to what’s going on in the world. I doubt she’s called my family.”

  Her face lights up as her hands gather over her heart.

  “This is good!” she exclaims.

  She looks like she’s had an epiphany but I’m not following. “If they think I’m on the other flight they won’t expect me to call until a few hours from now. They won’t even know to be worried or that I was on a plane that crashed. Don’t you see? We have time! If we move quickly, maybe by then we’ll be closer to a tower and I’ll be able to call them,” she adds, sounding relieved.

  I want to be relieved too, but I’m not. “I really don’t think we have as long as you think. The authorities may not be able to identify that we are missing right away...but whoever did this might,” I say.

  “I’m no forensics expert but I imagine it takes more than a few hours to identify bodies. Didn’t we hear an explosion anyways?” she questions in disbelief.

  “I don’t want to make any assumptions about what they can or cannot prove or what state the bodies of the other passengers are in. I’d bet money that they’d say there were no survivors and call our family members even without our DNA.”

  Breanne’s eyes widen as my words sink in. He mouth falls open and she drops to her knees. I’m trying to think of something motivational to say to her when I comprehend that she hasn’t succumbed to fear. It’s put her in motion. She is stuffing the food and drinks back into her purse. I toss her my jersey and the blanket and look the area over to make sure we aren’t leaving a trail and I see her do the same. Simultaneously, we rise.

  “Ready,” she says.

  Chapter Seven

  A Bit of Luck

  Breanne

  Over the next several hours our pace varies between jogging and walking, while our surroundings provide no indication that we are any closer to society than we were hours before. Occasionally, we run for short periods of time but the changing landscape has limited our options, which I am partially thankful for due to my blistering feet and pounding head. The terrain we first encountered was uneven in pockets, but mostly level and made running possible. Now, the ground has become rugged and rocky, especially to the north, though the trees with their leafy canopy still remain overhead.

  Unfortunately, this change in topography has hindered our progress not only in terms of speed, but direction as well. Upon evaluation of our plan we decided to go slightly North-East instead of straight east so that we were more likely to end up in New York rather than Western Pennsylvania. But on the positive side we have been able to continue east without having to climb over rough boulders.

  Through most of our hike, following my meltdown, we have traveled in silence. Personally, I’ve needed this time to find my resolve and come to terms with what has happened. And what is likely going to happen at my house tonight when I don’t call or a police officer shows up to notify Sarah that I potentially won’t be coming back.

  I briefly allow myself to recall how each of the children reacted when I broke the news to them about their father’s death. Colin, only five at the time, stepped forward to become the man of the house, trying hard to make sure his sisters and I were ok. He put on a good show, never showing his emotions in public, but every time he went to the bathroom I could hear him sob over the flowing facet that ran too long for him to be washing his hands.

  Aubrey was the exact opposite in many respects. She closed down and barely spoke to anyone for months. I took her to a psychologist who assured me she would talk when she was ready, and when she did she was so angry at the world that I almost preferred her silence. The anger stage lasted for months as well, and if it hadn’t been for Maddie’s innocence I would have lost my mind. She was barely a one-year old, and sadly she doesn’t seem to have memories of Mark at all.

  Oh, and poor Sarah. She only took the nanny job because she knew how desperately I needed to be around other adults; to have something to occupy my mind besides looking at Mark’s shirts in the closet or sitting in his home office. The only way I could think of forcing myself back into living was by returning to work. And now, she will be the one to tell my children that I won’t be coming home and that she will be their guardian. I can only hope that Sarah will be quick to provide some excuse on my behalf until she has more information. Either way, it’s become abundantly clear that there isn’t much I can do about it now as my earlier hopes of finding a way home today are evaporating at time goes on.

  Before thinking too much of how they will react to this tragic news this time around, I remind myself that this will all be over soon and pick up my pace.

  “What time is it?” I ask while stepping over a tree stump. The concussion is seriously clouding my abilities such as depth perception and time, leaving me with no concept of how much time has passed since the plane went down.

  “It’s 3:57PM,” Drew replies after checking his watch.

  “How far do you think we’ve gone?”

  He considers my question for a minute, ducking to avoid a tree branch.

  “Before we started moving again I think we probably only went about five or six miles.” He looks at his watch again and thinks for a long moment in silence. “We started jogging again a little before noon and aside from the bathroom break and a quick breather we haven’t really stopped. I guess overall we’ve traveled between eleven and thirteen miles. Why?”

  “Just curious. Not like we can calculate the mileage based on what we visually saw while in the air, but from where we crashed to when we saw the last signs of a town, I’m fairly certain it was more than thirteen miles,” I say, feeling a bit defeated. “I was also thinking that we may be camping tonight,” I groan.

  He raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement and we sigh in unison, followed by a shared look of amusement. “I’m not really the outdoorsy type,” he whispers, as if he’s confiding some dark secret.

  “Neither am I,” I mutter back. “I like hiking, but I’ve only camped once in my life and it wasn’t an experience I was looking to relive.”

  My one trip on a Girl Scout outing flashes in my mind and I shudder at the memory. My mother thought it would be good for me to learn about nature so she signed me up. We lived in Boston and aside from our annual trips to the Cape we rarely ventured outside the city limits, so I couldn’t figure out why she thought it was important.

  The camping trip was my first time without my parents and I had no idea what to expect. The camp counselor and girls were nice enough, but I was bored by the activities; using a book to identify different plants that could be a food source, learning how to build a fire without a match and making
a tent with available resources. The only part I enjoyed was hiking; the smell of the open air and the sounds of the woods. It was unlike anything I had experienced before, having spent my life in the city.

  I unintentionally ended up wandering off on my own and got lost. I had no idea where anyone was and instead of staying put, I kept walking. Before I knew it night had fallen. It wasn’t long before they found me, but the damage was done. I was scared and I refused to stay so my parents had to come get me. Reflecting on it as an adult, I assume my mother wanted me to be prepared for unforeseen circumstances, gain independence and have a chance to meet new people. When Aubrey turned five I signed her up for the same reasons. So that I wasn’t a complete hypocrite, I signed up to be one of the scout leaders. How ironic that the experience may prove helpful.

  “If it’s about 4:00PM we don’t have long then until it gets dark,” I say glumly, looking up through the tented ceiling of the woods.

  “Well, if it gets dark in Boston around 6:30PM it may not get dark here until 7:00PM,” he says.

  I think about this and realize he’s probably right. I hate to admit it, if only to myself, but I’m surprised at how intelligent he seems to be. I wonder if I really am being stereotypical, if he is an anomaly or if it’s a combination of the two.

  The wind has picked up and I subconsciously rub my arm, noticing that it’s no longer just my exposed skin that is getting cold. An hour ago I was overheating from running. Now, the sweat has dried and I feel my silk shirt sticking uncomfortably to goose bumps covering my skin. Ugh, I feel so gross. What I would give for a hot shower. I tell myself to suck it up as this likely won’t happen until tomorrow; I hope. It’s probably in the high 50’s and if I feel cold now, it’s only going to get worse as the day winds down. Again, I look up through the trees and see that the sun barely penetrates the tree coverage making it seem later in the day than it is. With all the foliage limiting the amount of light filtering down to our level, I can imagine navigating is going to become more challenging in the next hour.

  As my eyes travel down the length of the trees I’m taken aback by what appears to be a chair attached to the base of a tree in the distance. Drew must notice the object as well because we both slow down to a crawl as we approach it. He shields me with his arm before strategically sidestepping in front of me, as if he’s putting distance between me and some unseen danger. I turn my head from side to side to scan my periphery and for the first time, I wonder how alone we actually are, causing a shiver to run through my body.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  We step a few feet closer, me trailing closely behind him. The chair-like object is slightly rusted to the tree, which brings a sense of relief; it has obviously been some time since this was used. It has a deteriorating seat that looks like it was once covered with a camouflage plastic fabric. The back of the chair has a wire that anchors the top of one side of the chair, goes around the tree and attaches at the other side of the chair. Why would a camouflage chair be tethered on to the base of a tree? I bend down and look at the base of the chair which appears to be attached so something. I kick a pile of leaves away from the area, which reveals a flat, rectangular piece of metal that is also rusty. This piece also has wire attaching it to the tree.

  “It must be used for hunting. A tree stand, I think,” he explains, then scans the area.

  “What kinds of animals do you think someone would hunt in these woods?” I ask, following his gaze away from the tree and again feel a shiver run through me. Until now I hadn’t thought about animals. I’m sure there are deer. But could there be bears or wolves? I’m don’t know. And, I don’t want to find out.

  “Maybe deer or mountain lions, or bears I’d guess,” he says coolly before noticing my panicked reaction.

  Putting his hand on my shoulder he turns me away from the tree stand and ushers me to walk. “Let’s keep moving. We’ll keep hiking until 5:30ish, then try to find shelter near wherever we are at that time,” he suggests. “The good news is that if people hunt out this way we can’t be too far from a town.”

  “I just hope we’re headed in the right direction,” I respond a bit pessimistic.

  I start thinking about what a cluster fuck this is. While I’m elated to be alive, I’m having trouble keeping perspective. I try like hell to think of anything other than my kids or what I’ve been through, today and in the past. I’m not usually one to wallow in self-pity but the temptation right now is pretty big. I want to scream and cry…maybe even hit something. I glance at Drew who is silent and stoic. I wonder if he’s freaking out on the inside, thinking similar thoughts. He hasn’t spoken unless I’ve asked a question. Is he tired from carrying me? Is he about to freak out? Does he have any clue that I’m about to lose it again?

  “We’re going to be ok,” he promises out of nowhere. Apparently he can tell.

  “How are you so composed?” I ask in awe.

  “Looks can be deceiving,” he replies.

  “Or not,” I sass, tossing my hands out to the side as if to say ‘look at me, I’m a basket case’. Except for the last few years when I’ve only felt numb, I’ve always worn my emotions on my sleeve. It never mattered if I was sad or mad. It all came out as tears. I guess I’m my old self again.

  “I’m livid, trust me. I guess its spite more than anything else. I’m not going to give those assholes the satisfaction of breaking me. And you shouldn’t either.”

  “I wish it were that easy for me.” I choke down a sob but I’m starting not to care if I have an audience. It’s not like he hasn’t seen me cry already.

  “I didn’t say it was easy,” he acknowledges. Drew takes my hand and gives it a gentle, yet firm squeeze. He chews on his lip, staring at my hand while he brushes his thumb over my knuckles. “I don’t like seeing you cry.” He’s trying to be kind and it only makes me want to cry more. I am a freaking wreck.

  “Then talk to me like you did on the plane,” I sniffle. I look in his direction and notice he’s frowning and avoiding making eye contact.

  “That’s not a good idea. If I remember correctly our conversation ended with you being pissed at me,” he recalls. “That wasn’t my intention by the way.”

  “I wasn’t pissed. At least not for the reasons you think,” I say the last part under my breath. Ok, I was a little angry with him. But I was mostly pissed at myself for wanting the attention he was giving me and knowing I shouldn’t. “I said things that were out of line, too. And I didn’t believe you meant half of what you said anyway.”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you,” he states casually. Whatever that means.

  “Umm, ok. Well, unless you want to carry me again I suggest you say something to distract me or I’m going flip out and collapse.”

  “I can think of several ways to distract you but none of them are appropriate given what’s happened.” He drops my hand to wipe a stray tear from my cheek. “And you weigh about a buck-fifteen. That’s not exactly a threat.”

  “Thanks for nothing,” I mutter, finding that now I am livid. Anger is better than tears, I tell myself.

  “I’m fresh out of entertaining things to say, Breanne. I’m not in the mood for chitchat. And flirting after everything you shared hardly…never mind. I’ve shared more with you than I have with most people anyway. Let’s just concentrate on walking.” Drew looks exhausted as he rakes his hand through his hair. He’s done more for me than I could have expected. I shouldn’t push but I can’t help it.

  “Oh, good. Now you pity me.”

  “That’s not how I meant it,” he tells me emphatically.

  “No one ever does,” I mutter. “And everything you told me I could have read online.”