Uncontrollable (The Nature of Grace, Book 2)

by S. R. Johannes

  The camera pulls back and shows Katie Reynolds dressed in a black cargo and a button-up.

  I point to the TV. “Hey! That’s the lady who’s working on the Red Wolf Conservation project I’m on.”

  The newscaster addresses Katie. “Miss Reynolds, how do you feel going up against the real estate companies in this area?” She holds the microphone in Katie’s face.

  Katie Reynolds beams and looks straight into the camera. “We’ve got wolves in this area that have not been thriving, and we have sightings of a rare bird. These need to be investigated before someone makes a buck.”

  The newscaster laughs a little. “Have you spoken to any representatives from eBuild? They are not commenting on the story.”

  Katie laughs. “Do you blame them? We don’t want anyone building on any land if it impacts the state’s environment in a negative way. The natural resources of this area need to be preserved. Conservation comes first, real estate second. In my mind, you can’t have one without thinking of the other.”

  The reporter nods. “And how do you think eBuild is going to take this?”

  “I have no comment about them. My focus is on conservation.”

  Birdee mutes the T.V. as a commercial for tampons comes on. “Interesting.”

  “I wonder what eBuild is.”

  She smiles. “Saw a sign down the street. It’s that big developer that’s snatching up all the prime real estate in these mountains and building fake cabins. Ruining the Smokies, if you ask me.”

  “I thought eBuild only built sustainable properties.”

  Birdee shrugs. “Could’ve fooled me. They seem to be everywhere there’s a tree.” She takes a sip of her hot tea and makes an Aah sound. “Is that Reynolds lady active in the research project you are on?”

  I read the same sentence for a fifth time. “Not really. But after yesterday, I assume she will be.”

  Birdee stops drinking. “What happened yesterday?”

  Oh crap. I grab my book and hide behind it, pretending to be immersed in words. If she senses anything wrong, she’ll pull me out of those woods faster than Petey can say seed.

  Birdee peers over my book. “Maybe you didn’t hear me. I asked, ‘What happened yesterday?’”

  I turn the page and keep my eyes down as she hovers over me. “We found a dead wolf. Total bummer.”

  Her voice doesn’t change, but I can feel the heat of her gaze over the pages. “That’s awful. What do they think happened?”

  I shrug and turn the page again without even reading anything. “Natural causes.”

  She pauses so long, I almost put the book down to see if she’s still in the room.

  She grabs my book and closes it. “You were on that page about fifteen minutes ago. You should really make sure you read from front to back.”

  I squirm in the plushy cushion. “Oh.”

  She lays my book on the side table. “So? What does Sweeney think? He always has an opinion. And don’t lie to me. I can always tell because you never look directly at me when you’re lying.”

  I focus on keeping a stoic face and meet her eyes. “I don’t know…exactly.”

  She studies me for a few seconds and then points. “Nope! You’re lying. I can tell by the eyes. Your daddy used to get that same dang look. Shifty eyes followed by biting his lip. How do you plea?”

  “The fifth.”

  “Guilty as hell.” She motions me over to her. “’Fess up. You promised to be straight with me.”

  I walk over and sit down next to her, knowing this is it. When I tell her more, she’s sure to pull me off the project. Then I’m back to where I was before this assignment gave me some kind of short-term purpose. The worst is it will leave me with a gap of time right before the holidays, so I can obsess over missing Dad and wait until Mom gets back.

  Birdee eggs me on. “So?”

  “I told you. We found a dead wolf. But there was no sign of human involvement. That’s it.”

  She presses on. “Do you think it was natural causes?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not the expert. But Porter does because there was no blood.”

  “But what do you think?”

  I shift in my seat and decide not to hold back the truth this time. I can’t shut everyone out like last time and Birdee is not one to give up easily on an inquisition. “I think I saw a footprint, but Porter didn’t seem alarmed.”

  She raises one eyebrow. “You think? I know you better than that. You don’t think, you know.”

  I massage my head. “I couldn’t really tell. You know how it is tracking in the snow. Edges expand in the sun. It can make a deer print look like Bigfoot if it sits undisturbed long enough.”

  She sits back and remains calm. “What does your gut tell you?”

  I chew on my fingernail, feeling as if the FBI is questioning me again. “Someone may have been there, but it doesn’t mean it was related. There was no blood, no bullets, no other proof.”

  She reaches over and picks up the phone. “Mary would want to know about this. I think we should call her.”

  “No!” I jump to my feet and grab the stretched-out cord. “Birdee, please don’t. I don’t want to bother her. She’ll just worry and that doesn’t help anyone. Besides, she needs this job.”

  She holds out her hand, waiting for me to let go of the cord. “What’s the real story?”

  “She’ll make me quit.” I flop down in the seat and blow my bangs away from my eyes. “Birdee, please. I wouldn’t stay on if I thought it was dangerous. Trust me. I’m tired of everyone overreacting to every little thing.”

  “Hmm. A girl after my own heart.” She faces me. “But do you blame us, Chicken? We lost your dad and almost lost you. And I know you lost more than most.”

  I wonder if she’s talking about Mo. Maybe Mom told her all the things I couldn’t say.

  She sits down in her chair and folds her hands in her lap. “Your mama and I can’t go through that again. I don’t want you to be scared or in danger.”

  I sigh. “I know, but Reynolds and Porter really think it’s nothing to be concerned with. I chose to stay on because I need this, too.”

  Birdee puts down the phone. “So what do you want to do? And don’t say nothin’, or I’ll get your mama back here before you can whistle Twinkle Twinkle.”

  I think for a second. To be honest I’m conflicted. Part of me does want to give up, walk away from the constant fear. The woods aren’t what they used to be for me. I used to go to them when I felt astray; now they remind me of everything I lost. Instead of going there to be alone, now I feel alone there.

  I stare at the picture of Dad feeding a small bear from a bottle. I smile at the picture of Simon. Even when all signs pointed to Simon dying, Dad kept him alive. He never gave up on anything he believed in. Even in the end. Even when he probably should have, he always stood his ground. He always did what was right. I want so much for Dad to be proud of me. Unfortunately, Simon was another casualty of the poaching ring. But Dad’s work ethic is what is calling me most.

  “How about if I continue on the project, and if anything else happens, I’ll come to you first?”

  Birdee slaps the table with her hand. “Sounds like a very well-thought-out plan. For a hormonal teen.” She winks at me.

  “So you won’t call Mom?”

  She studies me for a minute. “Not if you promise to keep me in the loop. If not, I’ll have to send Petey out with you for protection.”

  I eye the bird ruffling his feathers. “I promise.”

  She strokes my hair. “Then it’s a deal.”

  Survival Skill #10

  Before snowmobiling, be sure to check out your protective gear as well as any snowmobile maps to see what has changed in your area.

  When I wake up the next morning, I can immediately tell it snowed the night before.

  Not only by the freezing temperature in my room due to an old heater, but also by the thin layer of frost on the windows. It’s as if someone snuck by an
d breathed on every window during the night. The thought makes me uneasy.

  I waste no time in getting up and throwing on my winter hiking gear. Then I refill my backpack with all the necessities, half wondering if the research trip will be cancelled due to gloomy skies. I kiss Birdee goodbye after she agrees to let me take Dad’s snowmobile into town. After gearing up and checking the equipment like Dad taught me, I jump on and head into the forest, down the mountain trail that leads to the meeting place.

  I’m already chilled to the bone, and I’ve only been riding fifteen minutes. The fact that it’s only December and already freezing with inches of snow on the ground confirms it’s going to be a nasty winter. Usually there’s not enough snow to support a snowmobile except high on the peaks or in the dead of winter after a storm, so this is a lucky treat for me. Freezing or not.

  The mountain air stabs little needles into my lips, which are the only exposed skin available for attack. My breath puffs out in large clouds, fogging my shield. The only sounds I hear are the loud rumbling of the motor accompanied by the soft whisper of the wind through my helmet. I keep a lookout for low, dangling branches and hidden rocks in the snow-covered trail. Last thing I need is a crash or injury. As I head uphill, I stand up on the foot steps to get a better view, stopping at the very top. I turn the engine off for a moment and look down on the valley.

  Even though it’s cloudy, the brightness causes me to shield my eyes, and the snow looks beautiful. Untouched. No footprints, no tracks, no blemishes. Just pure and perfect.

  Down below, it’s still gray enough for me to see the sparse dots of colored lights marking the holiday season. They’re like beacons of hope in a world of gray. But I’m not ready for hope. A coldness permeates the depths of my soul and touches the very center of my bones. The blanketed gray sky feels hollow and damp and hopeless to me.

  Behind me, I hear a crash in the woods. Startled, I quickly start the mobile and jerk away just as a deer bounds out of the forest, crosses the path, and disappears on the other side. All in a matter of second. How life can change on a whim.

  My heart is still fluttering a few minutes later as I inch down the hillside, avoiding sneaky snowdrifts and hidden crevices.

  Even though sometimes the idea of being swallowed by the earth doesn’t seem so bad.

  * * *

  Wyn finally shows up unfashionably late, dressed like he’s going to the movies. Porter and Agent Sweeney gather us up in a van and drive everyone to the entry point, amid the constant protests, hints, and sighs from Skyler. They seem to be unaware of the weather, approaching this hike like Dad always did. Like it’s a nice, winter day for a beautiful, winter walk. After making sure we’re geared up and ready to go, they give us our routes. The plan is to hunt the packs from opposite sides, look, and meet up in the middle at designated coordinates. Today, Porter is traveling with Team One first before he meets up with us.

  My team heads in first. I let Wyn lead with Skyler bounding close on his heels like a new puppy. I volunteer to bring up the rear as we tramp into the white woods. The crunching of our feet along the path is the only noise besides an occasional bird sounding off a warning of our location. No one talks for the first thirty minutes. Sometimes when it’s abnormally quiet, you just follow suit as if silence is a requirement, which I’m thankful for, considering it isn’t one of Skyler’s strengths.

  About a mile in, I notice how quiet she and Wyn are today. They’re no longer the cooing doves they’ve been since we started. I wonder if he told Skyler about our dinner the other night. How we teased, dueled in thumb wars, and avoided drudging up on the sad details we both missed in each other’s lives. The good part was that our friendship clicked right back into place as if nothing was ever broken.

  I glance around as we hike and breathe out a long exhale. The magic of the woods has returned wrapped up in its brand-new blanket of winter snow. The air smells of wet pine, and the towering white trees add a whole new dimension above. Rhododendrons recently laden with snow droop along the path, exhausted from the extra weight. Green sprouts punch through the fresh snow, trying to escape the smothering load. Scattered light breaks up the shadowy forest refusing to be dimmed by the winter gloom.

  About a mile in, we meet up with a small creek. The moving river hops over little waterfalls, carving out tiny ice formations in the frozen snow. Icicles reach down toward the river, hoping to tickle its glassy surface. I stand hypnotized by the roaring sound of the pure spring water somersaulting over the rocks that have been smoothed and rounded by years of erosion and weather.

  Wyn calls out from a few yards ahead. “Looks like there’s a shortcut.”

  I yell after him. “I think we should stick to the path.”

  I trail Skyler and him until they stop. The creek has widened a bit, and the only way to get to the other side is to walk over a tree that’s fallen across the freezing water. Unless we go around.

  Skyler shakes her head. “No way. I can’t walk on that.”

  Wyn grabs her hand. “Yes, you can. It’s only about seven feet across.”

  For once, I’m on Skyler’s side and it sucks. “Wyn, come on. Let’s be smart and stick to the plan.”

  “How is going a mile out of our way smart? I don’t want to be out here any longer than I have to.” He ignores my warning and faces her. “This will save us tons of time. We’ll be able to get warm faster. I still owe you that hot chocolate.”

  She smiles and bats her eyes like a fake baby doll. “Yeah you do.” But then she peers over the side at the small ravine leading into the water. “But what if I slip? That’s gotta be like a twenty-foot drop.”

  Seeing as Skyler knows as much about distance as she does plant species, I can’t help but correct her. “More like ten.”

  Wyn looks at me from the front of the line and frowns. “Yeah, that’s not helping, G. Some moral support for your teammate would be nice.”

  I shrug. “Sorry. I was just clarifying.” I reach out and pat her shoulder a little harder than I should. “Come on, Sky, Wyn’s right. All you have to do is tightrope seven feet across a six-inch log suspended ten feet over a cold and icy river. And all while wearing fancy boots with pretty pom poms. What are you worried about?”

  I glance up at Wyn and smile. “Is that better?”

  He ignores me and takes Skyler’s hand, leading her to the edge. “Let’s just move.”

  Skyler leans over the edge and mumbles, “Okay, I guess.”

  Everything in me screams Bad idea! “Wyn, please,” I say.

  He frowns. “Can you just let me lead for once?”

  I back down, not wanting to rock the flimsy boat we’ve just barely pieced back together.

  He holds his hands up. “You wait here. I’ll go first to be sure it’s uber safe.”

  Uber? Definitely not a Wyn word. I mumble to myself, “The foolish hero’s last words.” Dad used to always say, the best way to prove a hero wrong is to let him have his way.

  Wyn hugs Skyler and kisses her forehead, making me want to stick my finger down my throat. Sometimes getting sick is better than feeling sick. Though seconds later, a pang of jealousy washes over me. Mo used to protect me the way Wyn tries to protect Skyler. And I miss it.

  Wyn starts to walk across the nature-made bridge. He teeters in the middle from the awkward weight of the backpack and almost falls off.

  I stop him. “Wait. Let me hold the pack while you cross, and I’ll throw it over to you.”

  He nods. “Good idea.”

  He tosses me the pack and easily tightropes across the thin log. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until he reaches the other side. To be honest, I expected him to fall since his shoes have zero traction, which would have given us an excuse to bail on this tricky plan. At this point, I just want us all to get over safely so I can stop kicking myself for giving in to Wyn’s wilderness whims.

  He hollers out to Skyler. “Your turn. Now just take it slow, and you’ll be fine.”

  Skyl
er steps forward, one foot in front of the other. She gets about halfway out when her pretty fur boots struggle to grip onto the frosty log. She slips and lands on the tree, clutching the bark as she slides off.

  “Help!” she screams.

  Instinctively, I lunge forward to try and grab her hand, but she can’t hold on long enough. Her fingers slip, and she screams as she drops into the freezing creek. At the bottom, she doesn’t move.

  Wyn drops to his knees and looks over the side. “Jesus! Skyler! Are you okay?”

  I jump off the end of the log and slide down the embankment with Wyn hollering like a banshee across from me. All I’m focused on is getting Skyler out of the creek as soon as possible. In this weather, being wet is the kiss of death. When I reach her, she cries out in pain. Her right leg is twisted underneath her in an awkward way, and a gash slices across her forehead.

  Before I move her, I check in to see how severe the injuries are. “Are you okay?”

  She whimpers but somehow still manages to grit out, “I… I don’t know.”

  Wyn comes sliding down the opposite embankment. “Is she okay? Please tell me she’s okay.”

  “She’s fine, no thanks to your brilliant idea.” I ignore Wyn’s questions. “Skyler, I need you to get out of the water and it’s going to hurt.”

  Surprisingly she doesn’t argue. But when she tries to stand, she screams. A flock of birds scatters from a nearby tree.

  Skyler doesn’t move so I grab an arm and quickly yank her up onto the embankment. A primal noise escapes her lips followed by sobs.

  “Sorry, but you can’t sit in that water.” I mutter as I inspect her head. Thankfully, the wound is not too deep. “Don’t worry. You’re going to be fine.” I pull a bandana out of my bag and wrap it around her head. “Does it hurt?”