She turned away with a frustrated sigh and headed down the mountain on tired, burning legs and a heart full of injustice. Anger churned in her gut with each forced step. She’d made the run in record time. She’d pushed her body for results and had gotten them. These few fleeting moments of sunrise were supposed to be her reward, but this man, whoever he was, was stealing those from her. She hated herself for letting him. For fearing him when she didn’t know him. For denying herself the hard-earned prize because she was a woman and he was a stranger. All feminism aside, wrong or right, she’d promised her parents long ago to make safety paramount while she was on her adventures. It was her duty to hold to that, even now, when he had her sunrise and she had a long walk back to where she’d started.
The return trip was always a slower, more methodical process. A pleasurable cooldown, normally preceded by rest on the lookout. She massaged the warm muscles in her neck and shoulders as she moved, swinging her arms across her body for an added stretch. Her legs were rubbery beneath her, but the brisk autumn breeze was invigorating as it rushed over the sheen of sweat on her skin. If she could sell everything and live in the wild for a year, at one with nature, part of the beautiful multicolored kingdom around her, she’d do it in a heartbeat. But only for a year. Eventually she’d miss her crazy family, except for her little sister. Kara would probably be swinging in the hammock beside hers.
Back at the trailhead, the lot was empty except for her old Jeep, and Marissa couldn’t bring herself to make the drive home without enjoying the moment of reflection she’d worked for. She checked the empty trail behind her, then hooked a left onto the short path toward Shadow Valley Lake. A hundred yards later, she slid onto the ground at the base of an ancient tree and pulled her knees to her chest. The lake was beautiful, peaceful and full of history.
Shadow Valley was one of Kentucky’s lake towns. Someday Marissa planned to see for herself what remained of the underwater historic town. Records showed that residents were relocated up the mountain in the nineteen thirties before their town was permanently flooded. Hard to believe remnants of another time had stood silently beneath the surface for decades, disguised as part of the national park. Those were images she’d love to capture.
She sipped her water and wondered if she’d been irrational to change her daily routine for the sake of one man. Maybe, but what was he doing there? Where was his car, if not in the lot with hers? And who hiked five miles to have a cigarette? The scent had been strong and fresh.
She shook away the irrelevant thoughts and focused instead on the beauty before her. It was important that she start her days at peace, in harmony with her work. Marissa’s adventure photos were fast becoming a lucrative business. The images she’d captured were used across the country in textbooks and at seminars on the preservation of wildlife. Her dreams were coming true and demand was rising. In the last year alone, she’d made more than enough to pay the bills and support her travels.
She ran a forearm over her brow before crunching into her morning apple. The sweet scent lifted a smile on her lips as she pressed her tired back against the supportive tree and breathed. Her eyelids dipped closed on the exhale. The moment was so perfectly Zen; she almost didn’t turn around when the sound of snapping twigs forced her eyes open. Almost.
Marissa pushed slowly to her feet, listening hard for the next noise. Whatever had cracked the twigs was heavier than a rabbit and less stealthy than anything calling this area home. She opened her stance and braced her tired form. The sudden silence was astounding. She dared a peek around the large oak. There was nothing but the breeze and a pair of chasing squirrels, turning century-old trees into a playground. She puffed a sigh of relief.
The breeze lifted again, stronger this time and bringing a fresh rustling of leaves with it. This distinct scent of cigarette smoke stiffened her spine. Logically, she knew she wasn’t in danger. She’d visited the national park three days a week and met dozens of people, all friendly. But her logic had already shut down. Marissa discarded her apple. She screwed the lid on her bottle and gripped it in both hands.
A jaunty whistle lifted slowly into the air and echoed off the trees. A strange, familiar tune she hadn’t heard in years, and one that seemed wildly out of place in the forest.
She stepped silently around the tree and again, there was nothing.
Except the whistle.
Marissa turned in a small circle, seeking the source. Her accelerated heartbeat joined every other instinct telling her to go. She bounced forward, away from the sound, back toward the trail. To the safety of her Jeep. The normalcy of her life.
“Don’t leave.” A man’s voice boomed in her ear, successfully ending the whistle and shattering the eerie silence left in its wake.
Something hard connected with the side of her head, sending her sideways into another large tree. Scents of earth and bark exploded in her senses as sharp pain tore through her face. Marissa cried out at the shock and agony. The sound was extinguished by a large pair of gloved hands, clamping firmly around her throat.
Softly then, the man began to sing.
Her eyes bulged. Searing pressure filled her lungs. She clawed uselessly at the massive hands until images of her sister and parents blurred in her mind. She was dying, and he was singing.
Suddenly her fight-or-flight instinct
