River's Recruit (The Sanctuary Series)

by Abel, Charlotte

  “Got ‘em.”

  “What about your phone? How will you charge it?”

  Jonathan opened the door and slid behind the wheel. “It’s fully charged. I’ll only turn it on in case of an emergency.”

  Dad grabbed the door and held it open. “Hang on a sec. I’ll go get my new handheld GPS and one of the satellite phones. Cell coverage will be sketchy—if you can get a signal at all.”

  “The whole point of backpacking is to get away from it all. I’m not taking every piece of technology we own.”

  “Please don’t take this the wrong way, son. But…you have limitations now.”

  Jonathan gritted his teeth. He didn’t like worrying Dad, but this was a turning point for him. He could either accept his limitations, or prove to everyone, himself included, that he was strong enough to overcome them.

  “We all have limitations.” He tapped his temple with the index finger of his prosthetic hand. “But only in our minds.”

  ~***~

  Jonathan didn’t see any other backpackers or hikers, so he didn’t need to go far to find the isolation he sought. He had no agenda or daily mileage quotas, so he took his time. On the morning of the third day, he woke up with a restless feeling so he decided to break camp and hike a little deeper into the wilderness. But first, he needed to refill his water supply. It wouldn’t hurt to clean up a bit either. He retrieved his backpack from the fork of the aspen tree where he’d stashed it the night before, pulled out his hydration system, a couple of high-energy power bars and his hygiene kit. He wouldn’t be gone long, so he left everything else, including his prosthesis, inside his tent then backtracked a couple of miles to a stream he’d crossed on the way in. The water was too cold, even for wading, but it felt good to rinse the grime away with a washcloth and shave the stubble off his face.

  As he was hiking back to camp, the north wind picked up. The sun crept higher into the eastern sky but held no warmth. The temperature dropped ten degrees. “So much for extended weather forecasts.”

  Jonathan picked up the pace and jogged back to camp in case the storm turned out to be more than an afternoon snow flurry. His state-of-the-art camping equipment would keep him alive, even in a blizzard. It just wouldn’t be much fun. He was about a quarter-mile from camp when a tiny white feather landed on his shoulder.

  The memory of Franklin’s funeral blasted a hole through Jonathan’s chest. He fingered the thick, gold chain around his neck, but didn’t pull it out. He could still feel the weight of the medallion next to his skin. He was afraid that the glass vial Dad gave him would break so he’d had the feather from Franklin’s funeral encased in resin and mounted on a solid gold disc—the words ‘Brother’s Forever’ inscribed on the back.

  Jonathan wasn’t superstitious—or even remotely spiritual—but this wasn’t the right habitat for white doves. It was a pretty strange coincidence. “Is that you, Frankie?”

  Another feather drifted into view, then several more. If Franklin wanted to give Jonathan a message, he’d know he’d need to make it obvious. A doubter like Jonathan wasn’t going to believe any supernatural sign unless it hit him over the head. A gust of wind delivered another flurry of feathers, too many to count. They fell along the sides of the path, as if Franklin wanted Jonathan to follow the trail back to his campsite.

  He rounded the final bend and froze. Shredded scraps of blue nylon littered the ground. Goose down, not dove feathers, drifted in the wind like falling snow. My sleeping bag?

  His tent was also shredded, the poles bent like pretzels. Despair swept over Jonathan. He could handle the destruction of his campsite, but not what it meant. The feathers he’d thought were a sign from Franklin were nothing more than debris.

  A twig snapped. Jonathan’s army training kicked in. He ducked behind a boulder, held his breath and listened. Another twig snapped. The noise came from his right. Jonathan peeked out from behind the left side of the boulder and spotted his prosthesis on the ground at ten o’clock, about fifteen feet away. His pulse pounded behind his ears. Whoever did this had better hope his iHand still worked, or there’d be hell to pay.

  Jonathan stayed low as he crept forward. He grabbed his prosthesis then ran back to the boulder. He tested it to be sure it still worked. The servos hummed and clicked as he opened and closed the robotic fingers. He climbed on top of the boulder to get a better view and found a black bear, digging through what remained of his other pair of jeans. Jonathan had stashed his food out of the bear’s reach, but he’d forgotten about the bag of trail mix in his pocket.

  The bear lifted its muzzle. Sunlight glinted off something hanging from its mouth.

  No! Not Franklin’s dog tags! Jonathan pointed at the bear and yelled, “Drop it.”

  The bear stood on its hind legs and lifted its nose into the air.

  “You do not want to mess with me.”

  The bear dropped to all fours then huffed and jerked its head up, lifting its front paws. It grunted then slammed them back to the ground and charged.

  Jonathan spread his feet as wide as he could on top of the boulder, raised his arms over his head, puffed out his chest and roared at the bear. His primal scream was still echoing through the valley when the bear skidded to a stop. It huffed once then turned and ran the other way.

  Jonathan slid off the boulder and ran after it. He didn’t relish the thought of digging through bear dung, but there was no way he was going to let Franklin’s dog tags disappear in a pile of bear poo.

  It didn’t take long for the bear to out run Jonathan and disappear. He searched the ground for tracks, but didn’t find any. He stumbled across a game trail and followed it, even though he had no way of knowing if the bear had used it. All he could do was hope. And keep searching. Or give up and hike back to the car. With no food, no shelter and no way to build a fire, that’s exactly what any sane person would do. Especially since the temperature had dropped another ten degrees.

  Franklin wouldn’t want Jonathan to risk his life, searching for his dog tags, especially since the odds of finding them were ridiculously low. He’d have a better chance of winning the lottery. He turned around and groaned out loud when he saw the dark grey clouds spilling over the northern peaks. He’d been so pissed off at the bear that he hadn’t been paying attention to the weather.

  Jonathan had been born and raised in Leadville. He knew what mother nature was capable of. This wasn’t going to be an insignificant early autumn snow shower. A blizzard was coming.

  He’d never make it back to his car before it hit and there was nothing left of his campsite. “I am so screwed.”

  Jonathan shoved his hand in his hair and turned around as he considered his options. He could build a lean-to out of pine boughs, but he’d still most likely freeze to death. A yellow stain on the side of a mountain caught his eye. Mine tailings. A smile spread across his face.

  His great-great-grandfather had survived several winters, living and working inside his primitive mine during the gold rush. Jonathan didn’t like caves or mines, but he didn’t have to go inside very far. Just enough to get out of the wind and the snow. He’d endured worse hardships in Afghanistan, he could handle a little snow. At least no one would be shooting at him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Breaking Boundaries

  The melancholy sound of Canada geese woke River. She stretched her sore muscles and opened her eyes. The sun warmed her face, but her breath fogged the air when she yawned. Three white trails crossed each other in the sky—marks left by outsider’s flying machines. They were too high to see anyone on the ground. The ones River needed to hide from were the smaller, noisier contraptions. She needed to break camp and get going if she wanted to catch up with the goat herd. She’d been on their trail for a week and was more than ready for a nice long soak in the cleansing pool and her own bed. Besides, the mild weather wouldn’t last forever.

  As if to prove her point, a handful of lazy snowflakes fluttered to the ground. The rare mix of sunshine, blue sky
and snow was an omen of change. River sat up and looked over her shoulder. Dark grey clouds boiled behind the northern peaks. She pulled her sheepskin parka from her pack. The temperature plummeted as a gust of wind lifted her braid off her back and whipped it over her shoulder. If she didn’t find the goats soon, snow would obliterate their trail. It would be a long, cold winter without milk, butter or cheese. She fed Sugar a ration of oats and grabbed a chunk of jerky out of her pack to eat while she rode.

  Two hours later, Sugar balked and refused to go around a weathered granite outcropping. She veered to the left, nearly unseating River. It wasn’t unusual for a change in the weather to make a horse frisky, but Sugar was acting downright skittish. She snorted and tossed her head then backed up. Something was making her nervous.

  River shoved Sugar’s reins under her thigh to free her hands. She pulled her bow off her back and slid the bottom tip inside her boot so she could string it without dismounting. It gouged her ankle as she slid the string into the notch at the top, but she barely noticed the pain. The whole maneuver took less time than a single breath, but sometimes one breath could mean the difference between life and death.

  River nocked an arrow and scanned the outcropping. Whatever was scaring Sugar was most likely hiding up there.

  An angry snarl raised the hair on the back of River’s neck. Sugar dropped her head and bucked. River managed to toss her loaded bow away from her body before she slammed into the ground. The fall emptied her quiver and scattered arrows everywhere. River was lucky she hadn’t impaled herself.

  Sugar took off towards home. Without the added weight of a rider, she should make it back to the ranch before the blizzard hit. Reuben would be worried, but right now, River had a much bigger problem.

  The largest cougar she’d ever seen laid his ears flat against his skull, snarled and clawed the air. The cat wasn’t hiding in the rocks. It was on the ground, creeping closer.

  “Hey!” An outsider stepped out from behind a rock and waved a stick at the cougar, drawing the beast’s attention. The aspen branch in the young man’s right hand was almost as long as he was tall and about three inches thick—but it wasn’t going to stop a full grown cougar.

  River stretched one arm to the left and teased her bow into her hand with her fingers. The closest arrow was just out of reach.

  The young man spoke in a low, calm voice as he edged closer, positioning himself between River and the cougar. “Don’t run. It’ll trigger his predatory instincts.”

  River couldn’t breathe much less get up and run. But easy prey, lying prone on the ground, was even more attractive to a predator. The cougar narrowed his amber eyes, wrinkling his muzzle. He bared his teeth and hissed at the stranger then focused his attention back on River.

  Time slowed as she watched the beast’s muscles bunch and twitch beneath his tawny hide. River didn’t want to witness her own gruesome death, but couldn’t look away when the cat leapt into the air.

  The outsider screamed, “No!” and launched himself at the cougar, ramming his shoulder into the animal’s ribs.

  River’s lungs finally responded to her body’s demand for air. She rolled to the side, grabbed an arrow off the ground and nocked it as she rose to one knee.

  The cougar clamped his jaws around the outsider’s left wrist then flung him to the ground with a jerk of his head, severing the man’s hand. He cried out, but it was a shout of anger, not pain.

  He sacrificed his hand to save my life. What sort of man does that for a stranger?

  The young man sprang to his feet and faced the cougar. He glanced over his shoulder and said, “Stay behind me.”

  Even now, he protects me. River couldn’t see his injury since his back was turned, but there was no denying his courage—or stupidity. “Get down. You’re blocking my shot.”

  Instead of obeying her, he hefted the stick in his right hand and…twirled it.

  The cougar sprang into the air.

  The young man lunged to the side and smacked the cat on the back of the head as it flew past.

  Amazing!

  The cougar swayed on its feet for the briefest of moments then again focused his attention on River.

  She finally had a clear shot, but the young man’s shout distracted her before she could release the arrow.

  “Hey! Over here!”

  The cat snarled at the idiot, eyed his stick warily, then obviously decided he’d had enough of that nonsense and ran away.

  River released the tension on her bowstring and un-nocked her arrow then stood up.

  The young man picked his severed hand up off the ground then turned it every which way, examining it. “Shit. I’m going to need a new one.”

  He must be in shock. If River didn’t get a tourniquet around his arm soon, he’d bleed to death…except there wasn’t any blood.

  The young man tucked his severed hand under his left elbow then extended his right hand in greeting. “Hi. I’m Jonathan McKnight.”

  River held her arms stiffly by her sides and stepped back. This outsider was probably infected with all sorts of diseases. “Your hand…why isn’t it bleeding?”

  Jonathan’s smile faded as he took his severed hand out from under his elbow and showed it to her. His voice was soft but respectful. “This is just a prosthesis.”

  River stepped back and covered her mouth and nose with her hand. Some diseases were airborne.

  “It’s not going to hurt you.”

  “That’s not the problem.”

  “I just saved your ass from that mountain lion.”

  “You’re contaminated.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Influenza, measles, strep, syphilis—”

  “Hey! I don’t have any STDs.”

  “You could be sick and not even know it.”

  “I’m not infected and even if I were, you can’t catch syphilis by shaking a guy’s hand.”

  “Influenza is airborne.”

  “Jeeze. What a germaphobe.”

  “My people don’t use outsider medicine. A bad case of strep throat could kill me.”

  “Your people?” He scanned her body, then locked his gaze on her bow. “Do you belong to some sort of anti-technology cult or something?”

  River pressed her lips together. She hadn’t mentioned New Eden, but telling him she was a part of a community bordered on treason.

  “There’s a blizzard coming. You need to leave.”

  “I need to find shelter. I was looking for a mine or cave to hole up in when that mountain lion surprised me.”

  “Where’s your camp?”

  “Destroyed by a black bear.” He grinned, displaying a set of perfect, white teeth and two dimples. “It seems the wildlife is out to get me. Two years ago I was chased by a wolf; a bear destroyed my campsite this morning; and now this.”

  “Maybe you should stay out of the wilderness.”

  “It’s a little late for that.” He rocked his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “I hate to ask, but can I stay at your place until the storm passes? I can sleep on the floor.”

  “My place?”

  “I assume you live nearby. Right?”

  “I don’t live anywhere near here, but I know a place where we can find shelter.” Taking an outsider to the Enforcer’s cleansing station could land River in all sorts of trouble if anyone found out. But Jonathan had risked his life to save hers. Leaving him to fend for himself was a death sentence. Hopefully, she’d be able to escort him back to the border once the storm broke and no one would be the wiser. “You have to promise you’ll never come here again or reveal this location to anyone.”

  Jonathan

  “I don’t think I could find my way back here; even if I wanted to. How far is this shelter?”

  “About twenty miles.” River nodded towards the forest then gave Jonathan an appraising look. “Can you walk that far?”

  He could still do twenty miles in Army boots with a hundred pound pack on his back, but he
wasn’t sure he wanted to follow River into the woods.

  Dressed in buckskin and armed with a primitive bow and arrows, there was no way she didn’t belong to a cult. If the twelve-inch leather sheath strapped to her boot was any indication of the blade she carried, he’d need to watch his back.

  She gave off a tough-as-nails vibe, but there was a certain vulnerability about her, too. What was she doing wandering around in the wilderness, all alone? Maybe she was a runaway.

  Jonathan’s only other choice was to keep going and hope he could climb to the mine he’d spotted half way up the mountain. It would be a lot harder without his prosthesis.

  He’d take his chances with Little Miss Pocahontas. He hoped she’d loosen up and tell him a little about herself during the hike. His curiosity was killing him. “So, what’s your name, kid?”

  “River, daughter of Asher and Issachar’s daughter. And I’m not a kid.”

  “What’s with the pedigree?”

  River narrowed her eyes at him. “Lineage is very important to my people. I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “Genealogy is important to my people, too.” Jonathan had never been bitten by the roots bug. Dad had tried to trace their line back to Scotland, where they’d obviously originated, but couldn’t get any further than his great-great-grandfather, the gold miner. “So, you’re Asher and Issachar’s daughter?”

  “Asher was my father. My mother was Issachar’s daughter.”

  “That’s a little confusing. Why not just use your mother’s name?”

  “Only alpha males are named.”

  “Alpha males? Like what, a wolf pack?”

  River’s eyes widened for a split second. “No more questions.”

  “I’m just trying to pass the time.”

  “Alright, then. How about you answer my questions?”

  “Why don’t we take turns?”

  River fastened a series of toggles and loops around the hood of her parka, snugging it around her face. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-one. You?”