Backcountry

by Pamela Beason

  After changing into her long johns, Sam slid into her sleeping bag, yawning. She already missed her cat, Simon, her faithful sleeping partner and personal heating pad when Chase was not in town. Pulling her smart phone from beneath her makeshift pillow, she flicked it on, and pushed in her earbuds.

  Two missed calls had resulted in voice mail messages. She nearly dropped the phone when she read the first caller’s name: Kim Quintana. For an irrational second, hope flared through her brain. Was it all a mistake? Was her friend still alive?

  Then brutal reality crashed back in. The number was Kim’s work phone at Wilderness Quest, and of course it was Troy who had called. His voice mail message said, “Remember that you can call the office any time you need help during the day, or call me at night. Thank you again, Sam.”

  “Stop thanking me,” she groaned.

  Then Troy unintentionally stabbed her in the heart by saying, “I know that Kyla is with you tonight.”

  Sam’s throat constricted, threatening to choke her. She might have been able to pretend that her friends had simply moved away if she wasn’t sleeping in Kyla’s tent, shepherding Kyla’s delinquents for a company that Kim used to manage, and reporting to Kyla’s dad and Kim’s husband every day. She felt her friends’ absence, not their presence. She’d already stumbled across reminders of Kyla in one of the small pockets sewn into both sides of the tent: a miniscule tube of cold sore cream and a used band-aid. She was afraid to explore the pocket on the other side.

  She brought up her phone’s list of contacts and changed the entry for Kim Quintana’s work number to WWQ Admin. She moved the cursor to Kim’s personal number, intending to delete it, but then she was seized with an almost unbearable urge to call that number instead. She tapped Cancel. The phone displayed the contact list again, still in the K section.

  Oh God, Kyla Q-J. Sam highlighted the entry, but again couldn’t bring herself to press Delete. How could she intentionally erase both women from her life?

  Someone had already obliterated them. Violently. Permanently. She wished she could do something to fill the sinkhole left behind. A colleague had died during one of her previous job assignments, but on that sad occasion, she could at least talk to associates who might provide clues. In this even more personal case, she didn’t have a single lead to follow. She’d never felt so useless.

  In her mind’s eye, she pictured Kim and Kyla by Pinnacle Lake, enjoying the view of crystal water reflecting the mountain on the other side. Then ... did the killer suddenly appear on the trail in front of them? Did he sneak up from behind? Did Kim recognize him? Did Kyla? Or was he a wild-eyed stranger with a gun pointed at them? Correction: a handgun and a rifle. Or maybe it had been two strangers, each holding one gun?

  Were there threats?

  Was there a reason?

  All the scenarios were unbearable to contemplate. What she wouldn’t give for a glass of wine. Make that a bottle of wine.

  When the notice of a text flashed across the screen on her phone, she eagerly switched over to it.

  Miss you, Chase had typed. Wish you were here.

  At bomb practice? Sam responded, hoping he was still online.

  He was. Starts tomorrow. Could practice body searches tonight.

  She typed, You need practice?

  Always. Stay safe. Love you, Summer.

  Love you, too. Good night, Chase.

  Stroking a finger across her lips, she relived their goodbye kiss this morning, a twinge of guilt shadowing the pleasant memory. Chase was trying to keep them together, inviting her to share his condo in Salt Lake City. Utah had amazing national parks and monuments, but the state’s elected offices were full of people who wanted to take back public lands and burn environmental regulations.

  Although she truly loved Chase, she could never live in a place like that. She’d grown up in conservative Kansas, but her environmental spirit had found a home in the ever-green atmosphere of the Pacific Northwest. She had to stay here. With luck, the FBI would let Chase join her soon.

  She switched the phone back to voice mail. The second message was from her housemate, Blake. “Hey Sam, just wanted you to know that a deputy sheriff stopped by the greenhouse today to ask about you. I said you were an upstanding citizen. And that I was, too.”

  What? She sat up, staring at the phone. Since returning from Idaho, she’d been interviewed twice by the Snohomish County Sheriff’s Department. Now they were interviewing her housemate?

  She unzipped her tent and climbed out. Maya’s tent was lit from the inside, the rest were dark and quiet. Pulling on her boots and headlamp, Sam tiptoed away from camp with her phone in hand, switching on her headlamp only when she was hidden from view in the woods. She walked for a few minutes until she reached a group of boulders. Squatting down behind them with the rocks between her and the campers, she turned off her headlamp and punched in her home number. It was after eleven. Good thing her housemate was a night owl.

  “Sam? Aren’t you guarding delinquents on some mountaintop?”

  “I am,” she murmured. “That’s why I’m keeping my voice low. What’s this about a deputy surprising you at work?”

  “That’s a good way to put it. She surprised my boss, too. I hope he believed her when she told him that I wasn’t in trouble.”

  Sam took a second to untangle the he-she references in her head. “The deputy was a she?”

  “Yeah, a Detective Greene, with an extra E.” She heard a distinctive hum in the background, interspersed with loud popping sounds. Microwaving popcorn. He had picked up the kitchen phone.

  “What did she want to know?”

  “Where you were when the murders happened, of course. What you did for a living, how you paid the mortgage, if you were hard up for money. And of course, who the heck I was and why I lived with you.”

  Was the Sheriff’s office working on some sort of conspiracy theory? “Did she think you and I wanted to kill my friends for money or something?”

  “I sure as hell hope not. But now that you mention it, Greene did kind of perk up when I mentioned you were unemployed when you went off with Chase. But then I assured her that after this job, you’d have plenty of money to pay the bills for a few months until you got other assignments.”

  Sam let that information run around her brain for a few seconds. The popping noises on Blake’s end grew less frequent, then stopped.

  Her housemate made the possible connection sooner than she did. “Oh crap.” Blake groaned. “You don’t suppose Greene would think that you’d kill to get Kyla’s job, do you? I’m sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Blake. And I don’t think they’d seriously consider me a suspect. The job’s only for three weeks, and I was in Idaho with an FBI agent, for heaven’s sake.”

  She heard the microwave door open and shut, and then a man’s voice asked about butter.

  “Is that Claude?” She named Blake’s current love interest.

  “He’s down from Vancouver for the weekend.”

  “Well, have fun. I better get back to my delinquents.”

  “Good night, WildWest.”

  She hadn’t heard that one in a while. Wilderness Westin. WildWest. That was the ridiculous nickname she’d been saddled with when she wrote blogs for conservation groups. Back when she’d had writing contracts. Nowadays her former clients posted their assignments on the web, encouraged applicants to compete for free, and paid only for the result they chose. The life of a freelance writer got more maddening each year.

  The life of an unemployed wildlife biologist was even more uncertain. As the sheriff’s deputy now knew, and was interested in for all the wrong reasons.

  Switching her phone off and her headlamp on, Sam made her way to the Box with a View and took advantage of the facilities. The night was cold enough that she could see her breath. The stars were thick diamonds in the black velvet sky. Spectacular heavens were always the best reward for sleeping on mountaintops.

  As she returned
to camp, she surveyed the tents again. Maya’s tent was the only one still lit. Sam could tell by the silhouette that her young friend was reading. Four tents were totally closed up with nylon flaps zipped tight over the black mesh inner doors. Gabriel’s tent sounded like a snoring grizzly had denned up inside. Nick’s tent was dark, but his rain fly was unzipped and she had the itchy feeling that the boy might be awake, sitting invisible behind the black net screen, staring out into the night. Likewise with Olivia. When she passed Maya’s tent, her protégé pulled off her headlamp, twisted around on her pillow and peered out. Sam held up a hand, two fingers in a peace sign.

  Maya echoed the sign, holding her fingers up against the netting, backlighting them with the headlamp. Sam was glad to have her on this team. Maya might be only eighteen and might come from a sketchy background, but the girl was smart, tough, and resourceful enough to handle anything this bunch threw at her.

  Presumably Aidan knew what he was doing, too.

  Day One down. Only twenty more to go.

  Chapter 4

  Sam slid out of her tent shortly after sunrise to observe her peer counselors tiptoeing around, returning footwear to all the kids’ tents. Nick poked his head out of his tent just as his hiking boots were delivered by Aidan. “Why the gex did you steal my shoes, dude?”

  “I took everyone’s shoes, dude,” Aidan responded calmly. “Company policy.”

  “What if I needed to get up and, you know, drain the hose?”

  “You’re not coordinated enough to pee barefoot?”

  Nick grabbed his boots and turtled back into his tent.

  Sam chafed her hands together, longing for coffee. At home, she counted on freshly brewed Italian roast waiting in her programmable coffeemaker when she got up. She rubbed her eyes and contemplated chewing coffee grounds until hot liquid was ready. According to today’s training schedule, it might be hours before she’d get any caffeine.

  Yawning, she picked up one of the aluminum cooking pans from the top of the stump, then collected the battered metal ladle they’d used for the spaghetti sauce last night. Banging the ladle on the bottom of the pan, she shouted, “Up and at ‘em, crew! You all have to learn to make fire before you can eat.”

  Nothing. She banged on the pan again, and continued to make noise until heads began to pop out of tents.

  “You’re giving me a headache!”

  “Shut the hel...lurik up!”

  “I’m gonna take that drum and stuff it—”

  Aidan cut off the last speaker. “Get up, get dressed, get out!”

  After ten minutes and a lot of cursing and complaining, all six kids crawled out, pulling on socks and boots and fleeces and jackets. Ashley, Nick, and Gabriel finger-combed their hair. Taylor had pushed her tresses into a tight ponytail, and Olivia’s mane was still in her French braid from yesterday, now fuzzy with escaping wisps.

  “It’s freezing out here!” Crossing her arms, Ashley hugged herself.

  “Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Nick mumbled.

  Ashley stuck her tongue out at him.

  Justin scratched his chin. His whiskers were thick for a blond seventeen-year-old; he already needed a shave. “Where the gex is breakfast?”

  Sam wanted to give the whole crew a timeout, but didn’t have a lot of optimism that would work with teenagers. “Before we have breakfast, we must make a fire.”

  Gabriel glanced toward the cooking area. “What happened to the stoves?”

  “They’re gone,” Sam told the group.

  “What?” Taylor frowned. “They can’t be.”

  “They’re right there.” Raising her hand, Olivia motioned toward the stump, where the stoves rested beside the cook pots.

  “You said we couldn’t have fires in a wilderness area,” Nick pointed out.

  Sam huffed out a breath in exasperation. “Crew! We won’t be using the stoves any longer. Quest crews have special permission from the Forest Service to build small cooking fires. Now, pay attention. I am going to teach you how to make fire with sticks and stones.”

  “Yeah, right.” Taylor.

  “Each of you must make your own fire before you can heat water for breakfast.” She knelt on one knee and held up a thick stick about a foot long, a more slender twig a bit longer, a flat piece of cedar, a length of twine, a rounded rock small enough to fit into her hand, and her pocketknife. “To make it easy for you this morning, I have collected the necessary pieces, and you can borrow them after I’m done. From now on, you will have to make your own fire kit, as well as your own fire, so pay attention.”

  Ashley sat down in front of Sam. The other kids followed. Justin did not give in without saying “gex” first.

  “First, make your spindle.” Repeating the steps she’d learned less than a week ago, Sam demonstrated how to round one end of the thick stick and point the other.

  “Prepare your fireboard and your handhold.” With the pocketknife, she dug a rounded hole in the flat piece of wood and made a notch at the side next to it, then used the screwdriver attachment of her knife to gouge a hole into the holding rock.

  “You might want to lubricate your handhold with something.” She spat into the hole in the small rock a couple of times, and then used a fingertip to work the saliva around the depression.

  Olivia screwed up her face. “Gross.”

  Maya leapt up, realizing what Sam had forgotten. “I’ll gather some dry stuff for tinder and find something for a coal catcher.”

  “Thank you.” Sam continued with the lesson, tying the twine to both ends of the slender stick. “Create your bow.” She held it up. “See, it should look a bit like an archery bow.”

  “Now, make fire.” After twisting a loop into the bow string, she slipped the loop over the vertical spindle stick, fitted the point of the spindle into the hole on the flat wood, and placed the holding rock between the top of the stick and her left hand to protect her from friction burns. With her left foot on the flat fireboard to hold it in place, she sawed the bow back and forth. The loop spun the spindle stick against the fireboard.

  Maya plopped a small piece of wood and a nest of shredded bark and pine needles down beside Sam’s foot.

  “It’s sort of like playing the fiddle.” Sam said a mental prayer. Please let this work fast.

  Sweat had broken out on her forehead by the time smoke began to snake from the fireboard.

  “Oooohhhh,” the kids chorused.

  “Counselor’s a cave woman!”

  “Cave woman make fire!”

  “I’m not done yet.” Sam carefully flicked the smoking ember out onto the coal catcher, then moved it to the tinder and bent over the small bundle to blow on it. It smoked a bit more. She scooped up the nest of tinder with her hands and blew harder, nearly going cross-eyed watching the smoke so close to her face. For an anxiety-filled minute, she was afraid that she’d blown out the heat, but then a tiny flame flared up. Setting the bundle back on the ground, she bent on hands and knees and continued to blow on it, adding a few more shreds until it was a tiny but respectable fire.

  “Voila! Now I’m going to make coffee.”

  “Thank God.” Taylor sat back on her heels. “I’m dying here.”

  Sam stood up. “I’m going to make coffee for myself.” She thrust the bow at the blond girl. “Your turn. You’ll need to gather some kindling materials first. Make sure they’re dry.”

  Sam had brewed a small pot of cowboy coffee for herself and started heating water for oatmeal by the time Taylor sparked a flame, spurred on by the catcalls of the others. The tall girl beamed at her accomplishment. She handed off the bow to Gabriel. “That’s how women make fire here on Earth, Mister Lizard.”

  It took nearly three hours and many forays into the sparse woods nearby for kindling and new fireboards before Sam’s whole crew succeeded in making their fires with assistance from Aidan and Maya. As she had been instructed, Sam celebrated their achievements by handing out packets for hot chocolate in addition to their oatmeal.<
br />
  “I usually have Coke for breakfast,” Gabriel told whoever would listen.

  Sam swallowed a gulp of coffee. “None of you will see a Coke or any carbonated beverage for twenty days. Drink choices are tea, lemonade, coffee, and water.”

  Gabriel crossed his arms on top of his knees and lowered his head onto his forearms. “Lurik.”

  As soon as the meal was done, Sam stood up. “Pack up, crew. We have ten miles to hike today, and most of it’s uphill. Six miles before lunch.”

  “Everyone bring their dishes over here and wash them.” Aidan hovered over a pot of water on his own fire. “Those are your only dishes for the rest of the trip, so keep track of them. You lose something, you’ll have to do without.”

  “As we’re hiking today,” Sam added, “keep an eye out for pieces for your fire kit. You’ll need it if you want a hot dinner tonight. I’ll provide the twine and the knife, but you need to find the rest.”

  “It’s the Stone Age all over again.” Gabriel walked toward the wash area with bowl and cup in hand. “On Vebulaze, I can just point to something with this finger”—he aimed his right index finger at the sky—“and light it up. That’s one of the special powers of—”

  “Mister Lizard!” Ashley and Nick sang out. Then they turned toward each other, grinning at their spontaneous chorus, and clacked their upraised spoons together.

  Red-faced, Gabriel dunked his dish into the wash water and swished his spoon, then strode to his pack and shoved them in.

  While it was nice to see Ashley and Nick smile, it was too bad that it was at Gabriel’s expense. If the banter reached the stage of actual bullying, Sam would have to decide what to do about it. Aidan and Maya handed out prepackaged lunches to the kids—crackers, cheese, turkey pepperoni, carrots, dried fruit—then made sure the crew kids put their fires out and scattered all the evidence throughout the woods. The peer counselors supervised as the kids packed up their gear. Sam dismantled her own tent and stowed everything in her backpack.

  After pulling a roll of silver duct tape from her pack, she sat down on a log, peeled off her socks, and applied the tape to her heels. “Any sore spots from yesterday?” she asked the group. “This is my secret. Keeps me from getting blisters.” She pulled her socks on over the tape. “Anyone else?”