Edge of Collapse

by Alex Gunwick

  “What was the weird thing that happened?”

  “I was out in the woods, just walking around,” he said. “Sometimes I can’t stand being around other people so I walk.”

  “You sound like me. I’d rather do laundry than have to listen to my brother talk nonstop.”

  “You have a brother.”

  Shit! Way to reveal even more information.

  “Yeah,” she said. “You?”

  “Only child.”

  “So what happened?” she asked impatiently.

  “I think someone got shot.”

  “What?” Her breath caught.

  “I saw Turner and Ivan carrying someone. I think it was Paul Olmen.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “One of the other guys in the congregation. He’s got two kids, Ingrid and Oliver.”

  “Why do you think someone shot him?” she asked.

  “Because I went back the next morning and there was blood in the forest. There was a trail and—” He chewed on the edge of his lip.

  “And what?”

  “It led me back to your house.”

  She flinched. Her mom had told her she’d thought she’d shot someone.

  “Is he okay?” she asked.

  “He’s gone.

  “Dead?”

  “No, he just… I don’t know. Vanished. Elijah told everyone that he and his family decided to move away, but I found a fresh grave in the cemetery later that same day.”

  “Oh God.” Sierra covered her mouth with her hand. She tamped down the urge to barf. Her mom killed him. She’d actually shot and killed a man to protect them.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” he said.

  “Did you tell Elijah anything?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t. I don’t trust him,” she said.

  “I thought I did, but now…”

  “I have to go. Please don’t tell him you met me again. I’m afraid of what might happen.”

  “Did your dad shoot Paul?” he asked.

  “No. I don’t know exactly what happened, but no one can know.” She grabbed his arm. “You can’t say a word.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  She released his arm and he took a step back. He took two more steps before turning and running into the forest. She prayed he wouldn’t tell anyone that he knew the truth about what had happened to Paul.

  “Who was that?”

  Her brother’s voice came from directly behind her. She spun to confront him.

  “No one. Mind your own business. What are you doing out here?”

  “Mom said I was supposed to help you. You are so busted. I’m telling on you.”

  Sierra lunged forward and grabbed his arm.

  “If you say a word about this, I will put a pillow over your face and smother you in your sleep,” she snarled.

  “You can’t kill me. Mom won’t let you,” he yelled.

  He took off running into the forest. She raced after him. If she didn’t catch him before he got back to the cabin, her mom was going to find out her secret.

  27

  Luke froze at the sound of panting just outside his makeshift tent. He’d been careful to dispose of the candy and beef jerky wrappers in a plastic Ziploc bag. How had the damn bear found him again? Was it the same one? Was she out for vengeance? He wanted to peek out to see if it was the same bear, but futilely hoped she wouldn’t realize he was in the tent.

  He didn’t dare move a muscle. Still weak, he wouldn’t be able to fight as hard as he had the previous day. His arm still throbbed where she’d clawed him. He wouldn’t survive another fight. Even if he miraculously managed to live, he didn’t have enough additional medical supplies to patch himself back up.

  As he waited, he pictured what he’d say and do when he finally reached his home. He’d pull Liz into his arms and kiss her until his lips ached. He’d hug the kids until they squealed in protest, and then he’d fire up the barbecue and cook a feast. Juicy hamburgers, plump steaks, fire-grilled corn on the cob, potato salad, and all the fixings. Leafy lettuce, ripe red tomatoes, grilled onions, and salty pickles. His mouth watered as he surveyed his imaginary table.

  If only he were there already.

  It took over an hour before the animal left. He packed up as quickly as possible and headed down the trail. He could change his bandages later. Right now he wanted to put as much distance between himself and the bear as possible. Maybe it wasn’t the same bear, but he wasn’t willing to stick around and find out.

  One long mile bled into the next on his endless trek through the mountains. Occasionally, he’d be rewarded with an expansive view of even more mountains. Deep within the wilderness, he was completely cut off from civilization. If things were really bad back home, they’d have to stay in the cabin for as long as possible. But if the cabin was overrun with refugees from the cities, then maybe he’d have to lead them back to the mountains to take refuge.

  Not knowing anything about what was happening back in the world was killing him. He hadn’t encountered anyone on the trail since the two hikers he’d run into miles ago. Maybe no one else was crazy enough to attempt what he was doing. Completely unprepared for a week-long hike, every day brought with it a new fight for survival.

  Had he made the right choice by taking the mountain path instead of waiting for a car to pick him up? He’d never know, but torturing himself with the possibilities helped pass the time.

  The sky clouded over in the early afternoon. Small patches of snow hid beneath shadows at the base of trees. Probably dropped by the storm from a few days earlier.

  Wind howled up the mountainside. He kept walking. According to the map he’d seen back at the North Fork Ranger Station, Camp Glenwood should be coming up somewhere in the next few miles. Unless it started raining or snowing, he had no intention of stopping until he reached the camp.

  When he spotted the old red cabin, he wanted to fall to his knees. Sharp pellets of snow being driven by wind pelted him in the face.

  As he approached the cabin’s wide porch, he sighed with relief. This would be the perfect place to set up camp for the night.

  He knocked on the door to see if anyone was inside. When no one answered, he tried the door. It was unlocked. He couldn’t believe his luck.

  Inside he found a wood-burning stove. A stack of firewood and some newspaper were piled up beside it. He dropped his pack. He sorted out smaller pieces of kindling which he used to form a tepee in the center of the stove. After lighting it with his flint, he carefully added wood until the blaze warmed the room. He stripped out of his wet clothes and hung them over a couple of wooden chairs.

  He found a sink with running water. Since he wasn’t sure if the water was potable or not, he filled a cast iron pot and set it over the fire. He let the water boil for five minutes to be sure any bacteria had been killed.

  After removing the pot, he set about washing himself. He soaked a bandana from his pack in the hot water, then used it to wipe a week’s worth of sweat, dirt, and blood from his skin. He dumped then refilled the water several times until it finally ran clear.

  He set a fresh pot on to boil. While he waited, he unwrapped the bandage on his arm. Caked blood held it in place. As he tore it away, he gritted his teeth against the pain. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the day he’d been attacked, but it still hurt.

  There were no signs of infection. The skin was pink and slightly swollen around the stitches, but that was to be expected. He checked for any red streaks which might indicate a blood infection. Nothing. Thank God for small miracles.

  After cleaning and redressing his wound, he set about washing his clothes. The stench wafting from them curled his nose hairs. No wonder the bear had followed him. He’d been marinating for days. She probably thought he would make a tasty snack.

  “Too bad, bear.”

  He set his clean clothes back over the chairs to dry. He dragged them closer to the fire to make sure they’d be ready by morn
ing.

  Fatigue set in. Feeling safe for the first time in a week, he could hardly drag himself over to the raised wooden sleeping bench before his eyes closed. He slept like the dead, completely oblivious to the raging storm.

  When the fire died down, he woke long enough to add as many logs as he could fit into the stove. As he walked back toward the bed, the distinct sound of a rattle stopped him. His shoes were on the other side of the room. Other than the dim light cast by the stove, it was as black as a witch’s cauldron in the room.

  Alone in the room with a snake in the dark could easily rank in his top five most terrifying nightmares. Maybe he was dreaming?

  He literally pinched himself. Nope. Awake. Dammit.

  He considered his options. Running willy-nilly across the floor would be a recipe for disaster. He’d probably step on the damn thing before he made it to the platform.

  If he retreated toward the stove, he could run into a snake who was simply looking for a warm place to curl up. His flashlight was in his pack, also on the other side of the room. Why he hadn’t thought to take it to bed with him was beyond him. What a stupid move.

  Unable to decide on the best plan, he waited until the rattler shook its tail. It came from the direction of the stove. Good enough for him. He ran across the room and leapt onto the wooden platform he’d been using as a bed. He’d expected to find a snake out on the trail, not holed up in a cabin.

  Wide-eyed and unable to sleep, he sat with his back to the wall. When morning finally came, orange light from the sunrise filtered in to illuminate a three-foot-long Diamondback. It sat between him and his pack.

  Awesome.

  Until it moved, he was trapped in the cabin. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but he didn’t have any way of counteracting snake venom. One bite would finish him. Even if he could walk to some semblance of civilization, could they treat him? Were hospitals still running? Ambulances? Fire departments?

  The lack of information drove him nuts. He was so used to being able to pick up his phone, type any question into it, and be given a nearly instantaneous answer. He’d been spoiled by the information age. One week without the internet and he was already jonesing for the good ol’ days. Oh what a glorious day it would be if he could hop online and watch cat videos all day. He’d never make fun of Liz for enjoying such simple pleasures ever again.

  Snakezilla didn’t slither away until sometime in the midafternoon. The second it was out of range, Luck snapped up his clothes and grabbed his pack. He went running outside, naked as the day he was born. No one was around, so what difference did it make?

  He quickly dressed and headed toward the Pacific Crest Trail. He’d had just about enough of these close encounters with nature. Even the prospect of fighting his way through a rioting city was starting to hold more appeal.

  Around noon, Luke passed Eagle’s Roost Picnic Area. He stopped to grab a granola bar. For the last three days, he’d been rationing food. With only five more bars left in his pack, he didn’t have enough to get him to Cajon. He’d checked his map and tried to guess where he was, but wasn’t sure.

  The small mountain town of Wrightwood seemed to be about thirty miles away. It wasn’t directly on the trail, so trying to get to town could cause more problems than it was worth, but he figured he had to try. If he could replenish his supplies in town, he’d be able to get to the Cajon Pass.

  He made great time, getting from Eagle’s Nest to a small, unmarked campsite in a little over two hours. He still had several hours before dark, so if he could knock out a few more miles, he’d be that much closer to home.

  Several miles down the trail, he stopped at an overlook. Stunned by the beauty of the mountains, he didn’t hear the other men approaching until they were right behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. When that had happened in Afghanistan, he’d paid attention to the primal warning. He didn’t have to understand how his sixth sense worked to be able to use it.

  He turned to face two men. Clad in camo pants, plain olive green T-shirts, and carrying rifles over their shoulders, they would never pass as friendly hikers.

  “Hello,” Luke said. “How’s your hike going?”

  “Good. You?” the man with sandy brown hair asked.

  “Pretty good.” Luke took a few steps away from the edge of the mountain as he spoke. “I was heading south. Are you through-hikers?”

  “Yeah.” The man with blond hair’s lips curled into a sneer. “Just out for a Sunday hike.”

  “Is today Sunday?” If so, he’d been on the trail for longer than a week.

  “No. It’s Friday,” Sandy said.

  “Have you been on the trail long?” Blondie asked.

  “A few weeks,” he lied. “I need to get into town to get some new supplies.”

  “Wrightwood?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s up ahead a few miles. You’ll see a fork in the trail,” Sandy said.

  “Are you traveling alone?” Blondie asked.

  “No. I’ve been hiking ahead of my group. They’re a lot slower than me so I get to camp first and set up.”

  “So you’re camp bitch?” Sandy asked.

  “I’m the camp coordinator.”

  “Camp bitch,” Blondie said before spitting on the ground.

  “Whatever you say. I don’t mind helping out. I’m sure the other guys would take over if I asked them to,” Luke lied.

  “How many of you are there?” Sandy asked.

  “Eleven plus me, so twelve.”

  “Any women?” Blondie asked.

  “No. We left them at home. It’s all men.”

  “You guys have cell phones?” Sandy asked.

  “No. Why, did you need to make a call?”

  “Did you hear about the nukes? Hit LA twice. Blew it right off the map,” Blondie said.

  “What nukes? Like, nuclear weapons?” Luke decided to play dumb. If he could get them to think he was just another hiker with a big group, they might leave him alone.

  “Yeah. North Korea or China or Russia, they’re saying, but nobody knows shit,” Sandy said.

  “You’re kidding.” Luke widened his eyes as if stunned by the news. “Are you guys pulling my leg?”

  “Man, you really haven’t heard?” Blondie asked.

  “No. We don’t have our phones. We’re roughing it in the wild.” Luke flashed his most idiotic grin. So far they seemed to be buying his line of complete bullshit.

  “Shit hit the fan, old man,” Sandy said. “It’s a new world order now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No law. No order. It’s every man for himself,” Blondie said.

  “Gosh, I guess we should head into town,” Luke said.

  “Go back and tell your people,” Sandy said.

  “They’ll catch up. I should get going. Have a good hike.”

  Luke had to pass the men to get back onto the trail. He half expected them to jump him, so when they didn’t, he breathed a sigh of relief. But as he picked up his pace, the crunch of their combat boots trailed behind him.

  “Hey, mister,” Blondie called. “What do you have in your backpack?”

  Luke continued walking, pretending not to hear him. When the men broke into a run, Luke sprinted down the trail. He raced past small boulders, sending lizards skittering back into their hiding places.

  Although he ran as fast as he could, the younger men caught up to him. One grabbed Luke’s pack and swung him toward the ground. Luke went down hard. Dirt and rocks smashed into the soft skin covering his knees. After landing face-first, he scrambled to his feet. Blondie ripped the backpack from his back.

  “Let’s see what we have here.”

  As they rummaged through his pack, he formulated a plan. The second they brandished his pistol, he’d jump them and take it back. Unfortunately his plan failed spectacularly. Instead of grabbing the gun, the man pistol-whipped him across the face. Pain burst along his jaw. He reeled back, stumbling over a large r
ock before crashing back to the ground.

  When his hand landed on a sharp rock, he grabbed it. He jumped to his feet and hurled the rock at the man holding the gun. Blondie dropped the weapon and howled. His friend moved to raise his rifle. Luke sprang at him, toppling him over before using the man’s own gun to knock him out.

  Sandy lunged for the pistol that had flown out of Blondie’s hand. He’d almost reached it when Luke kicked it out of the way. He dove for it, grabbed the gun, then spun and put a bullet in Sandy’s chest. The man’s eyes went wide before his gaze dropped to his chest. He grabbed the gaping wound with his hand before crumpling to his knees. He fell over. To be sure he’d stay down, Luke put a bullet in his head.

  Luke looked up in time to catch Blondie grab a rifle and go running into the trees. Instead of giving pursuit, Luke grabbed the other rifle, his pack, and his pistol. He’d never walk around again without his gun within easy reach.

  To avoid being a target, he walked ten paces off the trail and continued south. He trekked through underbrush, aware that with every step he could potentially land on a rattlesnake. But if he stopped, Blondie might be able to track him through the woods. Maybe he should have stayed on the trail.

  Unable to decide, Luke hurried around a bramble of bushes. Dried overripe and rotting berries clung to thorny stems. Stopping to eat his fill was out of the question. He wasn’t even sure if they were poisonous or not. And since he didn’t know Blondie’s precise location, Luke definitely couldn’t afford to take any chances.

  An hour passed with no sign of the other man. The sun dropped behind the trees, taking its heat and light with it. He wouldn’t make it to the cutoff tonight. He’d have to spend another night in the forest.

  Staying on the trail would be a death sentence. About fifty feet off the trail, he found a spot of dense, fallen and rotting logs to camp behind. Instead of setting up his tent, he used the tarp to cover himself. If Blondie somehow decided to venture off the trail at this exact spot, Luke was screwed. To get this far only to be killed by an idiot would be a fate worse than being eaten alive by a bear. He actually wished the bear would find them. At least then he’d have a 50/50 chance of making it out alive.