Betrayed

here? How would she survive? Panic rose up and nearly choked her.

Taking slow, even breaths around the jagged pain in her side, she struggled to gain control over her emotions. Think for a minute! Just think! Her brain scrambled to collect everything she knew about survival in the wild, and it wasn't much. She had a niggling concern that eating snow was bad for a person, but becoming dehydrated would also be a problem; she would eat snow if she had to. Food was another matter. However, she reasoned, the worst part of her predicament was the cold. She had no idea how far she had traveled or how she could ever climb back up to where she was before she had fallen. The steep, brush-choked incline continued in both directions as far as she could see. Besides, it would be too risky to go back for her ‘shoes’. She would have to continue on bare feet.

 Tears ran down her cheeks at the thought of putting weight on her damaged feet, but she tried to stand anyway. Pain soared up her legs and she slumped back to the ground. A fresh, sharp sting issued from the back of one leg. She turned her leg and found a large gash emitting a steady flow of blood. She wiped her hand on her shirt and turned her eyes back to the slope. Unable to go up, unable to walk, she pulled herself along the ravine, tugging the shirt sleeves down over her hands to protect them.

She had lost the stream and was thirsty again, and the cold had reclaimed her. She took small mouthfuls of snow, but it did nothing to ease the parched feeling in her mouth and throat, and she had started to shiver again. It was another half-hour before she found a shallow rain puddle in the hollow of a large flat rock. She broke through the paper-thin crust of ice over the water, and drank deeply before moving on.

The woods grew denser, and the ground became riddled with knobby roots and half-buried stones. Her progress was slow and painful. After a while, she came to a game path, hard packed dirt with few rocks. Brook thanked God for giving her a way relatively clear of obstacles. She crawled onto the path, brushing stray branches and rocks from the ground as she went, making her way steadily onward, putting more and more distance between herself and the wrecked car. The shirt she wore was now wet and clung to her skin like a layer of frost.

Snow began to accumulate under the wide-spreading branches overhanging the trail. But, so far it was just a light covering, and for this she was grateful.

After a while, she tried to stand again, pulling herself upright with the help of a tree. Pain radiated up her legs, but her feet were numb from the cold and she found she could stumble along at a slow pace. It seemed she had been wandering for hours. Providing she hadn’t been going in circles, she calculated that she should be miles from the car by now. But she could see no help in sight and no foreseeable end to her misery. She had heard that freezing to death was a peaceful way to go. Brook couldn’t imagine how that could possibly be true as she stood quaking in the frigid air. She assumed she would eventually just lie down and close her eyes, and then it would all be over. She would just fall asleep and never wake up. Tears stung her eyes again. She didn’t want to die! Keep moving, said a small voice in her head. Keep moving.

Her feet grew heavy and her limbs ached with exhaustion. Brook realized she was probably traveling further away from any possibility of help, but she had no idea which way to turn. There was nothing but trees in all directions. Trees and more trees. And she was so tired. She focused on the mechanics of taking a step. First lift one foot. Then set it down. Then lift the other. Set it down. Moving very slowly now, she trudged on.

It began to feel as if she were sleepwalking. Shadows darted here and there in the trees at the periphery of her vision, but when she turned her head to look, she saw nothing. Faint music reached her ears, like a radio playing far off. A chorus sang in perfect harmony. Angels, Brook decided with a weary smile. She strained toward the sweet voices, but each time she concentrated on the sound, it faded. I'm dreaming, but I'm awake. With dull surprise, she became aware that she no longer felt the cold. Groggy as she was, she still knew it wasn't a good sign. I won't sleep. I won't sleep. Head hanging, Brook pushed herself forward, one difficult step after another.

She stumbled into a clearing at the same time she heard another nightmarish scream. Unlike the earlier screams, this one was deeper, sounding as if it were wrenched from the throat of a demented being. It jolted her from her daze. Jerking her head up and scanning the area ahead of her, Brook’s gaze fell upon a madman. He stood before her, holding the bloody remains of a body. Long straggly hair hung wild about a bearded face, and streaks of blood smeared his cheeks and clothes. He threw back his head and howled again, as if enraged or locked in the throes of some sick passion.

Shock slammed through Brook. Before she could stop herself, she cried out. The crazy man turned his head. Surprised eyes met hers, and she felt an icy fear slither down her spine. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then her survival instincts kicked in, flooded her system with a healthy dose of adrenaline, and she turned to flee from the killer. Slipping on the snow-slick humus, she scrambled for purchase, found her footing, and ran face first into a tree. There was a sharp thwack as her forehead made contact with the wood. She slumped gracelessly to the forest floor and was still.

Chapter 18

What the hell? A woman? Out here? Lance released Belinda’s bloody form and edged over to where Brook lay. It was a woman! What’s a half-dressed woman doing this far out? How the hell did she get here? Lance gazed in consternation before his thoughts turned practical. By the looks of her, she was in sad shape even before she hit the tree. He shook his shaggy head in amazement. A woman. Clear out here. Her presence on his mountain, so far from any well-traveled road, was baffling.

He knelt next to Brook and rolled her onto her back. Her blonde hair was matted and dirty, and her face battered. One eye was swollen shut and weeping. She looked as if she had been beaten. A fresh knot was rising on her forehead. There was a bulge inside the front of her shirt that Lance found to be a purse. He quickly probed her arms and legs, and was relieved to find no evidence of broken bones, although she was surely banged up. There was nothing else for it; he’d have to take her with him no matter how unhappy it made him. And it definitely made him unhappy. He shed his heavy coat and wrapped it around her, picked her up, and heaved her over a shoulder before standing. It was a long hike back to his house.

Casting a sad glance back at Belinda’s bloody form, Lance stooped to grab his bow and trudged up the slope toward his cabin. The snow was falling in earnest now.

Questions were swirling through his mind as he carried the woman, jostling her as little as possible. He estimated she was at least one hundred thirty pounds, but she hefted easily in his arms, as if her bones were hollow reeds. Her arms flopped against his back with each step.

When he approached home, he saw Gilbert waiting by the door and nearly went weak with relief.

“Gilbert!” he shouted. “Thank god!” Gilbert trotted toward him and started to give a hug, then seemed to notice the burden her master carried.

“No, sweetie,” Lance said. “Not this time. No hug.” Gilbert nosed the woman’s leg and Lance turned sideways, placing himself between the woman and Gilbert’s inquiring nostrils.

“You need to go inside,” Lance said, walking toward the goat shed. Gilbert followed and Lance shut the door behind her after she entered. “I’ll be back in a little while to feed you.”

With Gilbert safely locked away, Lance took the lady into his cabin, dropped his bow on the table, and gently deposited her on the daybed. She stirred slightly and moaned. Her eyelids fluttered then stilled again. Lance’s heart rate picked up at the prospect of her awakening, but she sank back into unconsciousness.

The cabin still held a little warmth from earlier, but there was a chill in the air. Lance stoked the fire, then returned to the bed and looked down at his unexpected guest. He lifted her head and slid a pillow under it, then straightened her limbs and settled her in the center of the mattress. Taking his coat from around her, he tossed it onto a nearby chair.

He removed the purse from her neck and opened the bag. It contained no driver’s license, credit cards or cash. He did, however, find a library card and some other forms of ID. All identified her as Brooklyn Cheyenne Parrish from Denver, Colorado. She was quite a ways from home, he noted. Her cell phone was dead and there was little else of immediate interest. He set the purse aside.

Lance walked back to the bed and gazed down. What a mess. What a bloody damned mess. Feelings stirred