The Hit, page 15
“Don’t say that word,” he growled.
“What the fuck ya gonna do, fucktard? You gonna hold me down and pluck out my fucking teeth with the fucking tweezers? Maybe then I’ll say thuck. Is thuck better than fuck? You are un-fucking-believable. Ladies and gentlemen, the Grammy for fucktardidness goes to Tracer Fuckhead.”
“Don’t say that word,” Tracer growled, pushing up off the cot. He lost his balance and tipped the cot over, spilling himself onto the floor.
“are you going to fucking tell me?” Halen screamed.
“Sounds like you already have the answer in your head. Doesn’t matter what I say.”
“Why did you kidnap me?” Halen cried. Tears flowed down her cheeks like the spring runoff filling the banks of the streams and rivers.
He ignored her and looked under his blankets at the bandage wrapped around his middle. It was fresh and clean like it had been changed just hours before.
Halen pleaded. “Are you going to tell me?”
“No.” He lay still, defeated.
She stared at him. A long minute passed, with each one waiting for the other to say something.
“Fuck off, Tracer. You’re a fucking waste.” Halen turned, picked up the small rifle and her pack and ducked out the door.
29
Twin streams flowed down Halen’s face for much of the day. The secret she’d found had uprooted her mind and churned it into mush. Tracer’s encounter with the bear, and the cougar a month earlier, kept her alert and watchful, but the betrayal she felt turned her thoughts inward and away from the dangers around her.
Much of the snow had melted since their encounter with the bear. Halen had nursed Tracer back from a fever, monitoring his temperature and keeping it from becoming dangerously high. She’d propped him up numerous times to feed him broth. In his semiconscious state, he wasn’t able to answer questions. It had taken most of her willpower not to drag him out into the cold and leave him for dead. She could think of only one thing. She only wanted him to answer one question. But he couldn’t. She had had to wait for his fever to break first. She had to nurse him back to health before she could kill him properly.
The doctor’s brief lesson on leaving the wound open had paid off, as the stitches she had put in two days prior were healing nicely. After cleaning the wound, she’d stitched together the outer skin. Though she didn’t have a medical degree, she had paid attention to the step-by-step instructions the doctor gave her. When she stitched the final bit of skin together, she sat back on her heels and examined her work. She made sure the edges of the port-wine stain were lined up. She gave it another gentle wipe-down before realizing the significance of its size, shape and location.
It was at that moment she understood. She understood everything. She understood the kidnapping, the rough treatment, the lessons and the game.
All she wanted was to hear it from him. She wanted him to admit what he had done. It had crushed her when he didn’t.
Halen stumbled down the trail next to the small stream. Water inched up over the banks, moving slowly, while the center of the stream boiled and churned as it began its journey toward the ocean.
She made camp in a rock outcropping, with her back to the small cliff and a boulder in front of her. The small fire became her best friend and companion, giving her warmth and something to tend. And something to talk to.
“Why can’t men say what they feel?” Halen spoke to the crackle of flames, happy to have a friend listen to her. She pulled out one of several meal packs and opened it. The warm flames soothed her emotions like a hug from an understanding friend. As the wood burned, so did her anger and hatred toward the man she had abandoned in the cave.
Guilt had visited her several times that day. Her emotions crashed around inside her like the water bouncing off the rocks in the stream, twisting one way, then another. Many times, she thought about turning back. She had even retraced her steps a dozen paces before turning downstream again toward civilization. Tracer had done horrible things to many people. He was a contract killer. He didn’t deserve to live. If he was ever caught, he would certainly get the death penalty, and she could be the one to put him in prison.
She wondered if there was a reward for the man. She also wondered if the authorities even knew about him. If what he said was true, there wouldn’t be a shred of evidence that would link him to anything. He of course would clam up like he did when she confronted him; their investigation would be even harder. A bloodhound wouldn’t even have an odor to sniff. Detectives might figure out some of what he had done, but they would never figure out all of it.
Two squirrels complained to each other as they raced around in the dimming light. It distracted Halen from her thoughts and allowed her a moment of joy. Beyond the squirrels, there was a slap on the water. She must have disturbed something swimming out in the stream. Dipping the spoon into a pouch of food, she let her mind relax from the day’s troubled thoughts.
For the moment, she just wanted to be. She just wanted to share this moment in the wilderness with its residents. Not another moment in the entire universe mattered, just this one and just for right now. No other moment was allowed to interrupt this one.
The light faded and stars came out, sprinkling the sky with diamonds. Halen set her blanket aside and walked out into the night, away from the comfort of the campfire. She turned the corner and stared at the wonderment of the sky above and the surrounding mountains. Night brought an unprecedented beauty to a place that was already amazing. It was a hard life out here, and to be able to survive and thrive was harder yet. And these animals did it every day. She wished she could lie on the ground and stare up at its majesty night after night. It was a sliver of bliss she would cherish, causing her to vow to take at least one camping trip every year. She had never felt so big yet so small at the same time, and she was a part of this moment that nobody could take from her.
Halen felt bad for leaving Tracer before he had recovered enough to take care of himself, but she was still mad at him. How could he not tell her? How could he keep that kind of secret? She shook the idea from her mind. She had friends and family back home. She had a life and a career. She had to get back. She had to tell her friends she was alive.
Sunrise found Halen sipping a cup of coffee made over the revived embers of her fire. She had tended it between fits of sleep, adding stick after stick from her dwindling pile of wood. Rocks held her emergency blanket in place above her bed while reflecting the heat down on her. A collection of pine boughs kept her off the heat-sucking earth. The rocks to either side also reflected the heat from the fire onto her as she curled into a wool blanket.
After finishing her cup of coffee, she stowed her camp gear and drowned the fire by diverting a tiny stream into the firepit. It sizzled and complained about the intrusion but was quickly turned into a black ashy soup.
Following one trail or another, she crossed multiple small streams that fed into larger ones which fed into larger ones yet again. A few ducks spirited away when she happened upon them suddenly. Squirrels were in abundance, and a porcupine lumbered down the trail ahead of her. She waited for him to amble off, but he chose to climb a tree instead. Halen kept her distance and watched from a nearby rock. The mobile pincushion reached for branch after branch, scaling the tree in search of some delectable bark.
Halen thought she’d be in a rush to get back to civilization, but instead she had become continuously distracted by the forest dwellers who lived along her path. She slowed her steps almost as if she were in a gallery filled with fine art. Every step offered an infinite number of shapes, angles and colors to study that coalesced into stunning works of art, from the hard-angled rock to the softest flower petal growing right next to it.
She studied the dazzling colors of a butterfly and the camouflage of a small spider. She soaked in the pine-scented air as she strolled through the trees, and later rotting vegetation filled her nose as she skirted a marsh.
Deer dashed through the trees, and a moose, belly deep in a marsh, stripped fresh leaves off the willow bushes. Some animals she knew, but others were a mystery to her. The landscape around her seemed to infuse her with some of its beauty, making her feel appreciative of taking her next breath. This was that silver lining encompassing a very dark cloud. She would never have been this appreciative of nature if it hadn’t been for Tracer.
The thought had broken through the wall that separated her wondrous surroundings from the unpleasant way she had come to such a place. The unsettling feeling she had been shoving back reared its ugly head. She didn’t want to acknowledge the truth and revisit that heartache. She didn’t want her final words with Tracer to be in anger. He did deserve to be cussed out, and maybe imprisoned, but he also deserved a word of thanks. He had taught her a lot, though maybe in a crude way. She couldn’t let things be left as they were.
If she doubled back now, she might be able to camp in her former spot. Though, her bed might now be flooded by the small stream she had diverted. If it was, she would find another place. There were many to choose from. The thought of another night under the stars excited her, and she did want to see Tracer again.
Walking on the edge of a cliff, she peered over at the boiling and churning waters of the river below. The cauldron was at the bottom of a waterfall, and the sight was spectacular. Mist sprayed up, creating a cascade of color as the sunlight filtered through it. Below was the white, milky froth of the falls, where thousands of pounds of water crashed against the unseen rocks at the bottom of the riverbed. She stood in awe, wishing she had a camera.
The moment finally passed and she turned up the trail toward the cave.
Halen froze.
A throaty growl rumbled from the animal crouched in front of her. Its thick, long tail twitched with anticipation.
She had faced one before. Tracer had shot it and shown her how to make pemmican. Now she was alone, but she wasn’t as defenseless as before. Pulling her rifle up, she pointed it at the mountain lion and pulled the trigger.
The bullet flew past the cat, shattering a rock behind it. A scream split the air over the roar of the falls. The screech was unlike anything she had ever heard. The silver screen could never duplicate the bone-chilling fear she felt now. She felt as if a hammer had slammed her in the gut, causing her knees to buckle, and her bladder suddenly became weak.
She couldn’t let the cat best her. She couldn’t die when she had learned and gained so much. She had to fight, because no one was around to fight for her. She was on her own with only an empty rifle to fend off the cat.
The lion lunged.
Halen stabbed at it with the muzzle of the gun, keeping the big cat at a distance. The cat’s scream shocked her, and the claws at the ends of its enormous paws were like huge hooked daggers.
The cat swatted at her rifle. Halen jabbed. The cat lunged, trying to hook her foot and upend her. She parried the swat with the barrel of the gun and looked for a way to escape. She didn’t want to become its next meal, or worse, its next sporting kill. It lunged again. She stepped back. A rock crumbled and fell to the churning water below. Halen kept her eye on the fangs and claws in front of her and quickly brought her foot back onto solid rock.
The lion spat snarls and hisses at Halen as it looked for an opportunity to get a claw into any part of her. She sidestepped, only to have the animal parallel her. She let out a scream. It was as loud a battle cry as she could muster to try to intimidate the cat into leaving her alone. The beast didn’t flinch; it wasn’t the least bit dissuaded. It lunged at her again. Halen stabbed the cat in the mouth and sidestepped, turning each of them broadside to the cliff. The cat swatted at the rifle, knocking it free. It clattered across the rock two steps to her side. The deadly claws and teeth could easily grab her if she elected to retrieve it.
Halen retreated a step, giving the lion his opportunity for the kill. His haunches flexed like a spring uncoiling with tremendous force. She stepped forward to meet the challenge like Tracer had taught her to do with an opponent. He’d told her that most times they will back off and leave you alone if you stand your ground and sometimes act crazier than them.
She closed her eyes at the last moment. Fear of the teeth biting into her face kept them shut tight. She waited for the assault. Instead, she heard a thud like two slabs of meat colliding. She opened her eyes to see a blur of motion flash before her. She saw Tracer’s dark coat disappear over the edge of the cliff. Claws sank into the coat and teeth bit down into Tracer’s shoulder. The cat’s tail flipped violently as they descended into the churning water below.
“Tracer!” Halen screamed. Her knees hit the rocky cliff as her hands clutched at the edge.
White froth from the churning river swallowed both man and beast.
“Tracer!” she cried again.
She stared for a long moment at the boiling river, searching for him to reappear where he went in. He wasn’t there. He was gone.
“Tracer,” she cried to herself.
Movement further downstream caught her eye. Her heart jumped at the possibility. She wanted to see him again. Give him a hug and tell him that he was still an ass but also thank him for all he had done for her. She wiped tears from her eyes and focused on the movement.
The lion emerged, shaking its coat free of water, then looked back as if expecting his attacker to follow and resume their fight. After a moment he disappeared into the trees.
Halen looked further down the river, hoping to see Tracer emerge from the water and collapse on the bank. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen. It was as if the river had spit out the mountain lion but devoured Tracer.
She frantically scanned the banks looking for him—his coat, a wet trail, anything. There was nothing. She sobbed to herself.
“dad!”
He was gone.
30
The lower elevations of the mountains gave way to warmer temperatures and a lush, green landscape full of life. Though green and vibrant, Halen could only see gray and black. Nothing seemed alive through her eyes.
She hadn’t spoken a word since the day she watched Tracer tumble over the cliff. The roar of the water had drowned out her echo as she screamed for him over and over until her voice was no more. She’d walked down the river’s edge as far as she could, searching for Tracer, his body or any sign of his existence. The anger she felt over his betrayal a few days before melted into a never-ending pit of sadness. She had discovered her father and now he was suddenly gone.
She had gone back to the place she’d last seen him, hoping against hope that he would walk back up the trail just as cold and grouchy as he had ever been. But with that kind of torrent and no life jacket, his chances of surviving the churning monster were near zero. She had hoped she would find something when she continued her search downstream, but nothing indicated he had emerged anywhere along the banks.
There was nothing to do now except follow the river down. The majesty of the area she had relished no longer existed. She couldn’t begin to be excited over the forest and the animals—not without him. Tracer had said it would be more than a few days’ walk to reach a road. He was right. It was now day three since Tracer had plunged into the river, and she still hadn’t seen an improved trail or a road of any kind. Her tears had run dry, unlike the river. She made a quiet camp next to a stream, close to the water, hoping he would somehow find her as he had before.
She built her fire up to be a companion. It was the only thing she could think of so she wouldn’t feel as lonely. It kept her busy through most of the night, before she became too exhausted to tend it. She laid her head on a pile of leaves she’d plucked for a pillow and fell asleep.
Morning didn’t bring sunshine and chirping birds. Instead a depressive rain patted her hood hour after hour in a steady drizzle. The rain matched her mood as she slugged through the wet underbrush. If she died from exposure, she didn’t care. It would be fitting. She wasn’t a nice person. She was a horrible friend. She had used people and tossed them aside as if they were empty candy wrappers. Now somehow she felt as if she were the empty candy wrapper. She deserved it. She deserved the rain, the sorrow, the guilt. She should have done more, done something, anything. If there was something more she could have done, she would be hard-pressed to see it through the choking net of guilt and sorrow.
Stumbling over cut logs, she plodded along in the direction of anything that wasn’t this dark, depressing forest. Her feet found the easy path of a heavily compacted trail. Her mind in a daze, she hadn’t realized it was a logging trail. Large green-and-yellow machinery sat silently in a row as if bowing their heads in silence for her loss. She plodded on, following the logging road.
“Miss. Miss.”
Halen turned her head toward the voice. It wasn’t Tracer. She stared at the grizzled face of the man standing in a doorway, searching for any sort of familiarity, but she found none.
“Are you alright?” the man asked.
Halen looked at her wet and muddy clothes. She was dragging the butt of the rifle in the mud. Her pack strap had slipped off one shoulder. Wet and stringy hair draped across her eyes like a set of shredded curtains. She’d pieced together enough from her vision to keep from walking into a tree or off a cliff. There was no color, only a dismal gray like the clouds that sent rain from above.
“Come inside. Have a cup of coffee. Get dried off and warmed up. I think I can talk Jeff into cooking something for ya,” the burly man said.
“Jeff?” Halen looked at the man blankly. “No. Where’s Tracer?”
“Come inside. You’re too cold to think straight.”
Halen turned toward the inviting door and the smell of hot bacon.
Halen stared at her wall. Pink was everywhere in her room, from pink picture frames to the thick pink faux fur rug at her feet. The sight nauseated her, but the energy to do anything about it was nonexistent. After arriving home and ignoring the hundreds of paparazzi and the blur of questions, Halen had sulked around her parents’ house, eating and sleeping for three days. Officers asked her questions about where she went and what she did during the months she was missing. She had turned numb to the world. She answered their questions with vague one- or two-word answers.
