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Chapter twelve
Silas
Therainhadstarted about a half an hour after we had set off, and it hadn’t let up since. We were deep in the forest now, the light almost completely gone, and the ground muddy and slippery and exactly what we didn’t fuckin’ need to be dealing with.
Hawthorn had been solid, though, easily keeping up with me as I powered ahead, pushing myself to the limit even as I slid and slipped in the mud and slime on the trials. He hadn’t said a word about the pace, even though I knew he was just as soaked and cold as I was. Once the sun disappeared behind the clouds, the temperature dropped fast. It was almost summer, but here in the mountains, nights were fuckin’ freezing.
We were a good ways along a path that called itself Mill Brook Ridge Trail. It has started off pretty basic, but the elevation had risen sharply, and before too long I was huffing pretty hard. Hawthorn didn’t appear to have been suffering the same as I was, but he didn’t say anything about my lack of fitness, which I appreciated. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had been to a gym, never mind gone hiking. I hadn’t really focused on much of anything these last several months, just my spiraling depression and my own brand of self-flagellation in the form of stalking the girl who got away.
As we crested a rise, I stared down into the shallow ravine below, but there was next to nothing to see. Standing with my hands on my hips, I took huge gulping breaths, trying to calm my racing heart enough to not pass the fuck out.
“Hedge, man,” Hawthorne started, his looming presence at my shoulder, “it’s coming down pretty steady.”
“Your knack for stating the obvious is astounding,” I deadpanned, but turned to smirk at him in the gloom.
“I’m just saying, if you take a look at the map, there’s some shelter nearby that might work for the night.”
He held up one of the paper maps we had grabbed at the trailhead, illuminating it with the small flashlight he kept on a lanyard around his neck. The dude was much more prepared for this kind of shit than anyone I could have imagined.
“If you look here,” he moved the beam of his flashlight along the page, following the line that indicated Mill Brook Ridge Trail. “We can take a short detour off the trail and head to this place.” He zoomed the light in on a shady spot that just to the south and east of the trail. “I figure we’re pretty close.”
“Beaver Meadow Lean-To?” I asked, squinting at the quickly dampening paper. “I don’t really want to quit.”
Looking at the forest around me, I knew it would be the smart thing to do. All my training and years in the Army told me that the best choice was to find a safe, dry location for the night, and then head out again at first light. If it were a clear night, the moon would have been more than enough to guide us safely through the wilderness. But between the socked in sky and the pouring rain, the risks were increasing more and more by the minute.
“I get it, man. I do. But what good are you gonna be to your girl if you bust your leg going over a cliff in the dark?” Tucking the map back into his pocket, Hawthorn faced me. “It’s less than a mile to the shelter. We can get dry, get some chow, and then be ready to go again as soon as the weather clears.”
I frowned, hating that he was right when my every instinct was telling me that the only thing that mattered was to get to Daphne as fast as I possibly could.
But, the more pragmatic side of my brain knew that I’d never make it in the dark, not like this.
“Fine,” I sighed. “Let’s find this Beaver hut thing.” Hawthorn chuckled as I asked, “How do you know how far it is, anyway?”
“Because I can read.”
He once again pointed his little flashlight, the narrow beam powerful in the dark, and when it landed on a small wooden sign indicating the direction and distance to the Beaver Meadow Lean-To, I barked out a laugh.
“Yeah, alright. Show off.”
We made our way off the more well worn path and found ourselves on a much smaller and more narrow track, the gravel loose from being traveled less frequently. As a result, the footing was pretty treacherous, and more than once I found myself windmilling my arms to keep balance as I followed close behind Hawthorn and his little light.
After a short time, the trees began to thin out, and we found ourselves in a clearing. I couldn’t see more than an few feet ahead of my own face, but it was far enough to see the squat wood and concrete structure at the back end of the space. With stacked logs making up three sides, the thing looked like it had seen better days, but as we made our way inside, I could tell that the floor was dry, and that was all that mattered.
Circling around the stack of flat stones that made up the firepit out front, Hawthorn and I climbed up on the small ledge and hunkered down under the sloped roof. For a while, neither of us spoke, just standing there out of the rain for the first time in hours and letting the water drip off our soaked frames and on to the floor.
I wondered where Daphne was, if she was safe and warm and dry. I hoped she wasn’t scared. I knew it was a stupid thing to hope for; what person in her position wouldn’t be scared? But still, I found myself thinking that she would be confident someone was going to come for her, and that maybe knowing that was keeping the worst of her fears at bay.
It was of small comfort to me, but I held it tight anyway.
“Alright,” Hawthorn said suddenly, startling me out of my thoughts, “let’s see what this place has on offer, yeah?”
Slipping my pack off my shoulders, I began taking off the outer layers, finding someone—some past hiker who had maybe been just a bit more prepared than I was—had placed nails along the top of the walls. Using these, Hawthorn and I hung up our jackets and sweaters. Once that was done, I opened the pack and started to remove the contents, looking for something to eat. Not that I was particularly hungry, but I knew I needed food to keep going in the morning, so I was gonna make myself eat.
“Oh, hey. Check this out.”
Looking up, I followed the beam of Hawthorn’s flashlight where he was shining it and saw neatly stacked piles of dry wood and kindling. “These outdoorsy people are surprisingly generous.”
“There are all these unspoken rules about courtesy and shit,” I offered, walking over and collecting some of the wood. “You know, stuff like, ‘take only pictures, leave only footprints.’ That kind of thing.”
“Yeah?”
I merely shrugged. I didn’t tell him that it was Daphne who had taught me that, one day when we went on a hike through Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area. That we had wandered around the desert, the sun hot on our shoulders, as she had marveled at every little shrub, cactus, and bird. Her pure joy when a small lizard had stood in our path had made me smile. The way she tilted her head back to stare at the vultures as they circled above had spurred thoughts of my mouth on her skin, her delicate neck cradled in my hand as I felt her pulse beat beneath my lips.
I loved those memories because of the way my heart raced when I remembered them.
I hated those memories because of the way my heart clenched when I realized I was never going to make a new one to go with them.
Shaking off the thoughts of desert heat and golden skin, I scooped an armful of wood up and moved it to the front of the shelter. The rain was still beating down, but I placed the stack just far enough out to be safe, but not enough to get wet. Moving quickly, I jumped down and grabbed a half dozen of the flat stones from the pile out front, then arranged them in a loose circle once I was back in the dry area. After I had stacked the wood and prepped the fire, Hawthorn appeared beside me, lighter in hand.
“What?” I asked sarcastically, “no steel and flint?”
“My Top would be disgusted, but sometimes, the easiest way is the best.”
We sat in silence for a time, coaxing the tiny flame higher and higher before opening our ration packs and eating a cold meal that wasn’t even worth remembering.
“So, tell me about your girl,” Hawthorn asked after we had packed up the trash and settled on to our thin rolls beside the fire. We moved a few more logs close by, but kept the flame small. “How did you meet?”
Taking a deep breath, I thought back to the first time I laid eyes on Daphne, with her rubber boots on, crumpled crown in her hands, and smiled. Over and over, scenes of Daphne flooded my mind: seeing her sitting on the kitchen counter, that first night I walked into Stone’s house in Vegas. The way that silver dress had clung to her curves in the club, making her look like liquid lust. Or the way the sun had shone on her shoulders as we hiked in the desert, laughing and learning about each other in the most organic way we could.
Every memory, every moment, burned into my heart forever.
“She’s my best friend’s little sister,” I answered simply, and Hawthorn nodded sagely.
“Well, that explains it, then.”
“Explains what?”
“Why she’s in New York and you’re not.”
And wasn’t that the truth?
