He ended up being a serial cheater. Huge surprise.
But I don’t know how to hot-wire a car, and even if I did, I wouldn’t. It’s one thing to steal from criminals who might be coming after me. Taking that money was self-preservation. A way to keep myself alive in case someone is eliminating witnesses. But I don’t want to screw over an innocent person.
I’m dangerously thirsty. Maybe someone threw away water?
Get real. If there’s a bottle of water, it’ll be open, mostly empty, and probably have bits of sandwich and other backwash floating in it.
Repulsive. Plus, I don’t see any litter. I mentally brace myself for more hiking. After all, that’s the way to put the biggest distance between myself and those creeps. Who are dead, so R.I.P., I guess.
But when I start walking again, my foot throbs so painfully that all the air gasps out of my lungs.
Fine. Change of plans.
Limping, I head down the road, toward the clearing. Panic begins to thread through my veins. Within seconds, its tightening around my organs, squeezing, choking.
I can’t walk. I don’t have a phone or a car. I’m a petite woman, on her own, in the middle of the woods and carrying an enormous bag of cash.
Most of the people I know would be tempted to shove me off a bridge for this much money. However much it is. And let’s be honest… There are a whole lot of opportunists in the world.
I continue to limp along, swinging my head back and forth every few steps, my ears tuned for even the smallest hint that company is coming. Occasionally, I stop completely just to listen.
The peacefulness of the forest is at odds with the turmoil inside me. Taking calming breaths, I scout around for something to use as a staff and eventually find a piece of wood, about six feet long. Too big, but most of the sticks on the ground would be better suited for kindling.
Man, let’s hope I don’t need to build a fire tonight. No, no, think about that later…
I test my new walking stick. It’s damp and furred with green moss.
Better than nothing. My other arm remains locked around the duffel bag, hugging it to my torso.
In any event, the throbbing in my ankle has ebbed, allowing me to enjoy the familiar stabbing pains, my companions for this journey. I’d much rather be alone, that’s for sure.
An idea comes to me. I don’t need all this money right now, and it’s too heavy to carry. I can stash most of it, then buy a car, then come back for the rest.
And if I get robbed, at least they won’t take everything.
Relief lightens my troubled heart. Frankly, I should have thought of this sooner.
Near here will be perfect. I’m still close to the access road and there’s no one in sight. Straightforward, easy.
Doing my best not to break off twigs and leave an obvious trail, I struggle up a steep little hill covered in trees and bushes.
The hill levels off. I turn slowly, absorbing my surroundings. Maybe it’s me, but the forest is so much of the same crap: a gazillion identical trees and bushes and vines that I keep thinking are poison ivy but aren’t.
Then I see salvation—atop another hill in the distance. A fallen tree.
So, back down this hill, then up the next one, and I check my progress often, making sure not to get too turned around so that I can find my way back to the path.
Finally, I reach the fallen tree, which is invisible from down below. This spot will be easy to find again. Well, maybe not easy, but I’ll recognize it when I reach it. There’s a natural depression beside the tree, which means I don’t need to dig.
Kind of perfect.
Moving fast, I transfer the money into the plastic trash bags that once held my clothing and sneakers. I untie the pink hoodie from around my waist and move it into the duffel bag, along with the towel because now I don’t need it to soften the strap. They’ll both come in handy if I end up sleeping outside tonight.
Then I sit and wait for a bit, listening, making sure I’m alone. I sit a bit longer because I’m exhausted.
Finally, I do my best to cover up tracks into and out of the area. Walking away from that money is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done.
My ankle curses me out. I curse it right back.
The sun is beginning to sink below the ridge of dense forest.
I’m so thirsty, I want to cry—but I bet my tear ducts have dried up along with the rest of me. My foot hurts less, but in a numb way, and my ankle has gone stiff.
The idea that I’m just walking until I’m safe is being squeezed out by a terrifying truth: I’m fucking lost.
And not in the “oh, I’ll just backtrack a little bit” sense.
Even if I wanted to go back to where I started, I couldn’t. Not even if darkness weren’t coming on.
And I’m also starving. I skipped lunch today because of nerves. My back aches, my foot feels like a lump, and my sticky, sweaty limbs are covered in insect bites.
The novelty of lugging around anything wore off hours ago, but I wish I hadn’t buried the cash.
My burden. My freedom.
I’ve been thinking about what happened.
Weirdly, I’ve been thinking about Jason. Wondering about him. Who he was. If he started shooting first. My guess is yes, since he clearly has an anger problem.
Had an anger problem.
What makes someone decide to be a criminal?
Though if the day had gone the way it was supposed to, I suppose I’d be a criminal, too, that most dangerous of creatures, a woman driven to prostitution.
I hiccup up a laugh. I stole money, and I fled the scene of a crime. Or does that rule only apply to car accidents? I don’t know.
An owl hoots, and I jump. The sound floats hauntingly in the air, a ghost’s lament.
Then all I hear is the sound of my own ragged breathing. My throat is burning, like I dry-swallowed crushed glass.
Then, there’s the headache. It’s from the exhaustion and dehydration and the ergonomic nightmare of having lugged that damned bag for at least ninety minutes.
I honestly don’t know what to do, so I keep walking, always heading away from where I started… I hope.
When the sun sets, it disappears quickly and takes the last bits of warmth with it. The truth is driven home: I’m alone, injured, ravenous, and lost.
Tears run silently down my cheeks, and as I wipe them away, I curse myself for wasting the water. If I could turn a stack of hundred-dollar bills into a lunch combo at El Paz, I would do it in a second. Two stacks.
I remember that saying, my kingdom for a horse. I know it’s from a Shakespeare play. I haven’t read it or seen the movie, but I’ve heard about that scene.
Right now, I understand exactly what that man meant because this money is fucking useless to me out here. I continue walking, using the stick to poke the ground in front of me. I’m not in danger of falling off a cliff, but the ground sometimes dips or rises.
Soon, though, I’m going to have to stop for the night because I’m tired, and this is slow and dangerous.
I’m looking for a tree to sleep under, or maybe in, when I reach the edge of an open meadow.
The grass is high. I see that in the moonlight.
High, but someone has cut it. Maybe not recently, but at some point in the last… actually, I don’t know how long. I’ve never had a lawn. And it’s not that kind of grass.
Maybe it’s hay.
All I know is there must be a house nearby.
Or even better, a barn. And a water hose.
God, please let there be a hose.
I don’t know which way to continue. I close my eyes and try to think.
Left or right. Or directly through the field.
Right, I decide.
As I make my choice, I tell myself it won’t matter. That I’ve come out the other side of the woods and there will be plenty of houses.
It’s the kind of lie desperate people tell themselves.
I know all about those.<
br />
Chapter 5
Jason stuck around for fifteen minutes after hearing the motorcycle tanks explode.
He’d also thrown Toby’s pickup into the mix, using a heavy rock on the gas pedal to slam the truck into the building’s door.
In exchange for ruining Toby’s truck, he’d dragged the poor bastard outside first.
That hadn’t been part of the original plan. He should have let Toby burn. But, incredibly, the asshole was still alive, and Jason respected anyone who showed such a stubborn will to live.
He was pretty sure Toby wouldn’t survive, so it was an easy way to gain a few points with the universe, if points were awarded for trying to save scum.
The stashed weapons had been thrown into the building before the fire. Because fuck the Jack Rebels.
Jason had also burned DeeAnn’s sandals and the duffel bag she’d emptied.
He’d salvaged a few things from the pickup: tattered backpack, Swiss Army knife, peanut bar, and half a bottle of neon-red sports drink that Jason had been drinking when Toby picked him up.
And of course his phone charger.
His watch, a gift from his father during happier times, had a compass in the band, just next to the face. Jason doubted he’d need it—these woods weren’t very big. If he walked in a straight line through the widest section, he’d be across within six hours.
On the other hand, if DeeAnn had decided to hide in them somewhere…
He’d find her either way. Plenty of daylight left, and she hadn’t disguised her trail.
He reached the bottom of a hill. DeeAnn had spent a few minutes here, churning up the dirt. He could read that in the way her footprints got muddled, the way they walked off, then returned.
To his surprise, her tracks led away, going deeper into the woods.
Initially, she’d been heading toward the closest town, but she’d changed her mind. Why would she have done that?
He stared at the ground for several minutes, trying to make sense of it. Was there a trick? Had she been intentionally leaving a trail as part of a plan to dupe him?
If so, she’d done a hell of a job.
Maybe she’d gotten confused, or her phone’s GPS had betrayed her.
Jason walked down the way she should have gone, and when he didn’t see any sign of her passing, he returned to the bottom of the hill, shook his head, and began climbing.
Eventually, he reached an old logging road.
All trace of her vanished there.
Had she gotten picked up?
Anger flooded him. Of course. Now it made sense. She’d called someone, who’d picked her up. That was why she’d taken this route.
She must have called for the ride almost right after finding the money. He had to admire her ability to think clearly under pressure. No one could have guessed that timid girl had it in her.
Jason shoved his hands into his back pockets and stretched, glaring up at the sky.
How the hell was he going to find her now? He didn’t know DeeAnn’s last name or where she lived.
However.
He knew where to get a photo. But was it safe?
Jason couldn’t know who had planned the attack on his life, but he found it strange that AJ hadn’t contacted him yet. AJ should have been blowing up Jason’s phone.
Not that Jason would have responded.
If AJ wanted him dead, he needed to disappear until he could figure out what he’d done to piss off the boss. He knew he hadn’t stolen, hadn’t fucked up anything important.
Maybe someone had set him up. There were people who wanted Jason’s job.
Jason couldn’t go back without the money. If he called E-Z Cash and asked them to message him a clip from the security feed, then AJ would know the hit had failed.
Assuming AJ had put the hit on him.
Jason could sneak into the building and tap into the security feed himself, get a photo of DeeAnn that way.
No. It would be nearly impossible. E-Z Cash looked like a cheap operation, but the security was exemplary. Jason knew he could get in, but not undetected.
His fretful pacing had taken him to the other side of the road, and then he saw it.
The clear, familiar imprint of DeeAnn’s sneaker, pointing toward the forest. Jason would have been less surprised to stumble over a trio of penguins playing strip poker.
Scouring the foliage, he determined that she had in fact gone that way.
Suppose she’d been early to meet her buddy, ducked into the bushes to pee, and then had gotten a ride? On the other hand, suppose she’d kept walking for some reason? If her buddy had demanded more of the money than she was willing to part with, for example. She might have run off.
It would be easy enough to find out.
“My lucky day,” Jason murmured a minute later as he stared at the clear imprints of her shoes. DeeAnn was using a walking stick now.
No one who was about to get picked up would have bothered with a walking stick.
He’d almost started thinking he was dealing with some criminal mastermind, but she was just a useless child.
Twenty minutes later, he knew he was right behind her. At this rate, he’d have the money soon. Then he could figure out his next move.
He could hear DeeAnn now, and he took care to move quietly. The trees were thick in this part of the forest. Plenty of cover.
She was up ahead. Walking, but not fast; a two-legged tortoise strolling backward could have passed her. He could hear ragged breathing across the distance.
She’d changed into a knee-length cotton skirt and a matching gray T-shirt. Her brown hair was pulled into a ponytail. The duffel’s strap slanted across her back, and she seemed to be struggling, probably with the weight of the swollen bag.
If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought she was some random woman out for a slow walk.
She stopped. Sunlight filtered through the trees, painting patches all over her body.
DeeAnn was pretty.
She turned her head slightly, and even though she was wearing way more makeup than she needed—more than any ten people needed—there was no denying the attractiveness of her features. High cheekbones, wide-set dark amber eyes, pink lips. She was solidly pretty. Maybe even gorgeous. The longer Jason looked at her, the more he wanted to look at her.
She was saying something. On the phone?
No, talking to herself.
He snorted softly.
DeeAnn leaned on the stick, pulled up her right knee and rotated her foot in a slow circle. Pain furrowed her brow.
The sight drove the air out of Jason’s chest as if he’d been hit, and suddenly he was thirteen years old again, his sister home after surgery.
Fifteen years separated him from that day, but he remembered it vividly. One of Katie’s last returns from the hospital. One of their last good afternoons together.
Her leg had been amputated, another casualty in the fight to save her life. He’d asked Katie if she could still feel the missing limb the way the grizzled Desert Storm veteran down the street said.
He still remembered the little smile on Katie’s face. The robot-print scarf tied around her neck, an old birthday present he’d given her in that clueless way of children thinking everyone liked the same things. The spray of freckles across her cheeks and nose. Even then, he’d seen that she was tired, and he’d known she was making an effort for him. Trying to protect him. “Oh, definitely,” she’d said with her gentle, resolute little smile, “except now it feels like a lion’s foot. My true form. One day, I’ll be a complete lion and nothing’ll stop me.”
Katie. His big sister, older by eleven months, his constant companion until cancer first squeezed into the space between them, when he was ten. She hadn’t been afraid of ventriloquist dolls or spiders or thunderstorms. Or cancer.
Fifteen years, but it might as well have been fifteen hundred. Jason couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought of her in such detail.
DeeAnn was moving again, b
ut Jason held back, struggling with emotions he’d packed away a lifetime ago.
With Katie’s death, everything had started to crumble. His father had found a new wife, made new kids. His mother had started swallowing half a pharmacy every morning just to function, and Jason’s attempts to get their attention had failed spectacularly. His mom hadn’t even blinked the first time he’d gotten arrested. It was like a cosmic game of dominoes, and once that first piece toppled, the rest were doomed.
By the time Jason was Katie’s age, everything in his life had changed. He was a new person. A man in a boy’s body. A bad man. He knew that.
He lingered, remembering a ghost.
Four ghosts. Katie, both their parents, who had slipped into alternate dimensions, and the person Jason could have been.
Today, he’d almost lost what was left of his life. He’d been shot at, gotten into terrible fistfights, had almost been stabbed. Seeing his would-be grave today was different. Someone wanted him dead.
He thought of Katie again, and that smile. One day, I’ll be a complete lion, and nothing’ll stop me.
Because he hadn’t thought of it since he was a kid, he hadn’t understood what she meant until this moment: that all of her would be cut away, and then she would be free.
Disgusted with himself but not knowing why, Jason bulldozed through the clearing where DeeAnn had stood, dispersing the phantom memories because they had no bearing on what he needed to do.
Yet he didn’t catch up to DeeAnn. He told himself he was getting a feel for her, for her mental state. And he needed to determine how many guns she’d taken.
But he knew it was something more.
Chapter 6
This is definitely farmland. Corn is planted to my right, row upon row of tall, rustling sentinels. I’m so happy to see even this small sign of civilization that I don’t dwell on all the horror films I’ve seen that involved cornfields.
Brightest As We Fall Page 4
