by McCall Hoyle
Nothing.
As I suck in a lungful of air and prepare to scream at the top of my lungs, the engine stops, and a Duck Dynasty beard with a wiry body attached to it steps out of the truck. Holy crap! If I weren’t so mentally and physically exhausted, I might laugh or cry. Instead, I simply stare. The irony of the universe is not wasted on me when I realize the man scurrying toward us is Finn’s uncle, Zeke—the same Zeke I said could fend for himself, the same Zeke I chose to head away from in favor of the mainland and my mother and sister. I roll my eyes at the heavens.
“Over here!” He waves his hands over his head as if I could miss his beard. Or his truck. His enthusiasm throws me off balance. I’m not sure whether it’s some strange side effect of the storm, or surprise, or what, but this Zeke is way happier to see me than the Zeke of two days ago. He jogs across the sand to meet us, and the wild horse whinnies softly, almost as if he recognizes Zeke, which is impossible. There is no way these two know each other.
“Guillermo! Guillermo!” Zeke’s happier than I’ve seen him, like he’s reconnecting with a lost loved one instead of a strange girl and a bedraggled horse. “Guillermo, you made it, buddy. I was looking for you.”
He has eyes only for the horse. My fatigued brain struggles to keep up as he approaches and pats my wild horse on the shoulder. I begin to doubt everything I’ve always believed about these horses. And now I’m really skeptical of Zeke as well. I’m pretty sure he can get in big trouble with Fish and Game and the cops for interfering with these protected animals.
When he finally makes eye contact, I realize he has a mouth, and lips, and teeth, because there’s something resembling a smile behind all that hair. But it fades quickly.
“I thought you guys evacuated.” His eyes dart to the stand of scrubby trees behind me. “Where’s Finn?”
That’s a really good question with no really good answer. “We wrecked. We stayed in a house south of here during the storm . . .”
His eyes narrow on my face as he runs a leathery hand through his beard. “So where’s Finn?”
“We . . . uh . . . separated . . .”
“Why in the—” He stops himself before the profanity flies and glances at the horse like he’s afraid he’ll spook him. “Why would you do that?”
Because I wanted to. Because I can take care of myself.
Because maybe I’m afraid of getting close to Finn, which makes him kind of right and me all wrong, and kind of a liar, and maybe even a quitter.
I shrug. That’s all I can do with my heart deflating inside my chest.
“So where is he?” Clearly, he’s not going to let it go, and I can’t blame him.
“Looking for a chainsaw to clear a road.” I shake my head, unable to hide my irritation.
“And you?” He gestures from me to the horse. “And I what?”
“And you just happened to pair up with Guillermo here and head away from civilization.” His eyebrows drop so low, they may meet the beard, swallow his face, and blind him for all eternity.
“It’s kind of a long story.” I shift my weight from one tired leg to the other.
“We’ve got nothing but time.” He studies Guillermo’s back leg, frowning, and waits for me to answer.
Actually, he may have nothing but time. I really need to get to the mainland.
He crosses his arms in front of his chest, like he can wait all day, and I cave.
“I was headed to the mainland, but I saw him.” I gesture to my wild horse friend, who Zeke keeps calling Guillermo. “Finn and I saw the horse before—caught in a silt fence.”
Massaging his chest with his fist, Zeke waits for me to continue. Concern etches his face.
“He was tangled badly and making his leg worse struggling to free himself. Then I was heading south today and saw him again. He was dehydrated, and I knew he wouldn’t survive without his herd.”
“That’s pretty impressive you decided to help him.” His forehead rises, revealing his eyes again. My chest expands a little.
“Well, my parents invested a lot of their lives into protecting those horses and building that fence.” I nod toward the power cable barrier to my right.
“What’s your name again?” he asks, rubbing Guillermo between the ears.
“Sophie. Sophie March.”
His eyes widen. “You Doug March’s girl?”
“Yes.” I wait for him to explain how he knows my dad.
“Your dad and I went to school together. We made rescue calls together before the fence went up. He’s cool—haven’t seen him in a while, though.”
Me neither.
“I heard he hit on hard times.” He shakes his head. “Your daddy was the only person other than family to visit me in rehab. He was always the first person to lend a hand when one of our buddies needed help. He’s done a lot of good, that man. Hope you and your pretty mama are giving him lots of support when he needs it.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. A butterfly of guilt flaps its wings in my chest, initiating a tiny waft of air. Zeke is right. My dad was always there for everyone until the wreck. He was always there for me, Mom, and Mere. He never missed a single Daddy and Donuts in elementary school. Never missed a father-daughter dance. Never ignored us to play golf or watch football. Mom said he was her knight in shining armor—until he wasn’t.
“And I haven’t seen you since you were knee-high to a grasshopper. Never would’ve recognized you. You were a little show-off, always trying to impress your daddy. Kept him on his toes too—running after you about as much as the horses, if I remember correctly.”
With no means of escape from my tight chest, the puff of butterfly wind in my lungs begins to swirl in a circular motion.
“Yeah.” I force out the single syllable.
I haven’t thought about my childhood relationship with Dad in a long time—how he and I were the two amigos. Back then, Mere was more likely to stay home with Mom, where she could dance when she finished working around the house or barn. They were joined at the hip. I wanted to be in the truck with Dad, windows rolled down, racing head-on to a new adventure.
It’s funny what a difference a decade makes—how the years work on us like an ocean current shaping, moving, and reshaping a sandbar. It’s mind-boggling to think how quickly your entire life can change. If there hadn’t been an accident on the bypass that day, Dad wouldn’t have been on the beach road. If he hadn’t been distracted by the change of plans, or his phone, or whatever, maybe he and Mere wouldn’t have wrecked. Even if they had still wrecked, maybe he wouldn’t have let the guilt eat him alive if he hadn’t been messing with his phone around the time of the accident. I doubt anyone except Dad will ever know for sure exactly what happened that day. Maybe he was telling the truth when he said it all happened too fast to remember the details. I’m too physically and emotionally exhausted to think about it right now.
Whatever happened, he let it eat at him, and his solution was prescription pain meds and alcohol. I could forgive him for anything—the addiction, the depression, anything—but I could not forgive him for walking out.
“I don’t recognize you either,” I say, trying to sound casual and ignore the cyclone of emotions churning inside of me.
“Back then, I had more hair up here.” He smiles and pats the top of his head. “And less here.” He tugs on his beard.
I have no response for that. “So about Guillermo—what do you propose we do?”
“He’s a young male, so that makes it tough,” Zeke says, then runs his hand along Guillermo’s rump. “The stallion in the band runs off the young males when they near maturity. Generally, these guys take up with a band of other bachelors until they can recruit a harem of their own. But this guy’s been hanging around the shack. I’ve tried to ignore him, but he’s still too comfortable with humans and will probably have to be rehomed.”
“How are we going to get him back to his herd?” I nod toward the fence, ready to get this show on the road and for a minute to gather my
thoughts. It’s hard to think properly with this strange hermit staring me down—a strange hermit who’s not acting hermit-y at all because he likes my dad and because I earned some respect for risking my safety to protect a wild horse.
“One thing at a time. We need to find Finn, and I need to know where you found Guillermo,” he says, not answering my question.
“I’m pretty sure Finn can take care of himself.” Unless some gnarly waves distract him, or he amputates his leg with a chainsaw, or he runs off the road in a borrowed vehicle. For a second, I really miss him. I mean, we were kind of a good team. He brought out some of the adventurous little girl tucked so deep inside of me, I’d completely forgotten she was there.
“I know we were south of Duck but not sure how far south.” I shrug. It doesn’t seem that important now that we’re back here at the fence. Zeke rests his hand on Guillermo’s rump as he leans in for a closer inspection of the wound. “Let me clean that wound and give him some water. Then we find Finn. Then we take it from there.”
“I really need to get the horse to safety so I can find my mom.” I glance at his monster truck, hoping he’ll offer me a ride to Manteo.
“Safety is an interesting term under the circumstances.”
“Yeah.” He’s not getting the I-need-a-ride facial clues, so I cut to the point. “Look, my mom and sister need me. Can you get me to Manteo?”
“Sure—after we get Guillermo squared away.” He twists the tip of his long beard around his index finger as he stares off into the distance. “And find Finn.”
I try to be patient. I do. But I can’t stand it any longer. “Do you at least have a phone I can use?”
“No signal up here even without a hurricane.” He shrugs.
Without responding, I blink and step toward the truck. I don’t have the energy to respond. I barely have the energy to drag myself across the sand to lean on one of the giant tires.
I’ve given one hundred percent and then some, and it still wasn’t enough. My blood, sweat, and tears weren’t enough. I’m not enough—never was, never will be.
I’m done.
What’s the point in fighting Mother Nature? Zeke? Finn?
There is no point. I’m completely at their mercy.
Closing my eyes, I slide toward the sand until my butt rests on the lower half of the tire.
I’m defeated.
I quit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.
ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
As I cross my arms and settle in to wait for the next wave of emotional turmoil, the sound of a gunshot breaks the air. My heart skips a beat. “Wh-what was that?” I ask. With my heart lodged firmly in my throat, I jump from Zeke’s unsteady chair. It’s like I’m stuck in some survival reality TV show. Every time I overcome some great obstacle or press through some physical or emotional challenge, the producers throw in another insane trial.
Zeke hums and pours liniment on Guillermo’s leg. He doesn’t even look up from his work. He’s completely unfazed, as if the sound of a gunshot on an isolated northern beach in the wake of a hurricane is nothing to be concerned about. Even Guillermo seems untroubled by the noise.
Finally, Zeke smiles at me, seeming to have sensed my fear. “It’s just Finn’s car backfiring. That kid’s amazing. He found us.”
Is amazing really a suitable adjective for Finn? Maybe frustrating or shocking or . . . sort of amazing.
Sure enough, a few seconds later, the vomit-green Blazer rumbles into sight, barreling around the scrub brush in the distance. She looks more horrendous than usual with broken glass for a windshield, and she kind of lists to one side like two of her tires are flat.
To my utter surprise, I feel my face break into a goofy smile. And Yesenia’s all-time favorite Tennyson quote repeats in my head. I can hear her as though she’s standing beside me. “’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”
I always thought that particular tidbit was a pile of romantic mumbo jumbo. Now I’m not so sure. Right this second, with Guillermo, who I feel at least partially responsible for saving, close by and Finn approaching, I totally get it. It’s about taking risks as much as it’s about love. It’s better to take a risk and fail than to live in fear.
I hope Finn and I can make amends and at least be friends. Yesenia and Tennyson are right. I’ve learned from him, from our time together, from this stupid storm. I never would have wished for this hurricane. I never would have wished for a flat tire or a horse to be caught in a fence and injured. But I can learn from these experiences. I’ve learned a lot about taking risks for myself and for others. Now it’s time to take the risk to end all risks.
After what seems like ages but is probably just a minute or two, the Blazer stops a few yards from us, sputters, and then dies. The door opens with a painful groan as Finn steps down to the sand.
He jogs toward me, his face quickly transforming from surprise to skepticism. “You’re here.”
“I’m here.” I hold his eyes, willing him to keep an open mind. To understand that I’m not going anywhere anymore.
He nods, then steps toward Zeke. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” He slaps Zeke on the back. Then his head jerks back in my direction. “Isn’t this the horse that was tangled in the fence?”
“Yes.”
“And you two tamed him, or what?”
“It’s a long story,” Zeke and I answer in unison. I shrug. He chuckles a bit.
Finn glances back and forth between me and Zeke, like he’s contemplating what happened between the two of us while he was gone.
“So what now?” Finn asks.
As much as I want to race to Manteo, I know I couldn’t live with myself if we left Guillermo alone up here. “We find the break in the fence and get the horse back where he belongs.”
Zeke caps the bottle of liniment and turns toward me. “There’s no break in the fence.”
“There has to be. How else would a horse get over here?” I ask, circling back to the real discussion.
“I don’t know.”
I try not to roll my eyes, but this conversation feels like it’s about to derail.
“It doesn’t really matter, does it—how he got over here. What’s done is done.” Zeke puts down the liniment bottle, hitches up his Hawaiian shorts, and turns back to Guillermo, who stands dozing near the fence. “What matters is how we deal with the present situation and how we get him north of that fence.”
“How’re we going to do that without a break in the fence?” I glance at Finn, willing him to jump in and help.
“We break it ourselves, herd him through. Then you two head to Manteo, and I’ll stay here until rescuers arrive.”
My brain says his plan is ridiculous. My gut says it might just work.
“That fence is solid. How do you plan to take it down?” I turn to Zeke, praying he has a good answer.
“We could dig up two posts and push them down with both vehicles, but that could take several hours.” He rubs his beard.
I don’t have several hours. I need to let Mom and Mere know I’m okay. I’m glad I got the horse to Zeke. I’m glad Finn found us. I would make the same choices if I had to do it all over again. But there has to be a faster way.
“What if we skip the digging part and just use the trucks to knock down a couple of posts?” I say. I thought Finn was being an idiot when he crashed into the fallen tree in an attempt to move it, and now that’s exactly what I’m suggesting—using not one but two vehicles as battering rams. But I don’t see any other way.
No one speaks for several seconds. A steady wind ruffles Guillermo’s tail and Zeke’s beard, but it’s no longer the god-awful gale of the hurricane. I roll my head from side to side, trying to loosen the knots in my lower neck and shoulders.
“It could work,” Finn says. “But if we wreck the trucks beyond repair, it could be another day before we get to Manteo.”
Ugh. Good point.
He pushes black hair away from his face, revealing the knot on his forehead. The thing is still massive, but it’s even more yellow-green now, not purple-black. I find myself feeling relieved.
Finn points at the gray sky like he has a genius idea. “What if we use the Blazer to push and save Zeke’s truck for pulling?” He points at the rusty but huge winch on the back of Zeke’s Franken-truck.
“Let’s do it,” Zeke says, then claps his hands. “Finn, you push. I’ll pull. Sophie, you keep an eye on Guillermo.”
Shaking my head, I meet his eyes. “No. Guillermo is more comfortable with you. You keep an eye on him. I’ll help Finn with the fence,” I say, placing my hands on my hips Wonder-Woman style, ready to stand my ground if he argues.
Zeke glances at Finn with raised eyebrows.
Finn nods. “If she says she can do it, I trust her.”
And just like that, we’re ready to save Guillermo for good—that is, of course, if I can drive Franken-truck and kick this fence’s butt.
I haven’t felt like kicking much butt lately, but suddenly I’m ready to give it a whirl.
A few minutes later, I’m banging my fist on the steering wheel, gritting my teeth, and screaming, “Come on. Come on.”
This has to work. It has to.
I believed. I trusted. I took a risk. But the fence post is not budging. I peek in the rearview mirror to see if Finn’s making more progress than me in his Blazer. Then I take a deep breath and prepare to drive Franken-truck forward one more time. Between the dirt on my rear window, the jagged glass in his windshield, and the shaggy black hair falling in his face, I can’t read his facial expression. But I can read my own. It looks like it’s about to crumple in on itself—much like the crumpled front end of Finn’s Blazer.
“Ugggh! Come on!” The screaming originates from somewhere deeper than my throat. It’s more of a fierce growl than individual words. My upper body jerks back and forth, slamming the seat behind me despite my still-tender shoulder.
As I will the behemoth forward, I press the gas pedal halfway to the floor. The engine screams louder than I do, threatening to rip out from under the hood if I give it more gas. If I blow up this truck, we’re in deep trouble. We have no back-up plan. The Blazer might have one more semi-solid push on the post in her before she’s immobile and wrecked beyond repair.
