Nowhere Wild (11 page)

Jake scrambled back through the woods toward the esker, and away from whatever it was he had just witnessed. He'd get another look at the lake from the top of the ridge and decide whether to go east or west. Neither option felt like a good one. If he could just find another cabin, one with different people, or no people, then he might find another canoe or a rowboat, or materials to build a raft, and get across. He could leave the memory of that wretchedness far behind. Whichever way he went, it wouldn't be anywhere close to that cabin.

He was ten days from Laroque if he had to circumnavigate the lake. Fewer if he pushed hard. Maybe four days if he found a way across the lake. Whoever that man was, and whatever he was doing out here, would be none of Jake's concern once he arrived in Laroque. He jogged a little faster at the thought, taking but few glances south.

Light through the trees outlined the gravel ridge. Jake knew from his descent that the surface on this side was sandier than the one to the north. The winds had blown the lightest of the granules to the southern side. Slowly, over a period of another million years or so, the entire ridge would blow away.

Jake pulled himself up to the top, huffing and puffing the entire way. The climb was brief and intense. But no amount of physical struggle could destroy the image of what he had seen.
The sights and the sounds of that encounter crept back every time he took a breath.

He tried to focus his thoughts as he stood on top of the esker. He scanned for routes to the east and west. Little bays dotted the lakeshore. Dozens of rivers and hundreds of creeks flowed in from every direction.
Water, water, everywhere
. His heart slowed, but his thoughts flew back to the girl. Jake rolled back through the scenes of the encounter: the joy of discovering the cabin; the fear on the girl's face as she dragged that canoe—Bill's canoe—across the ground; the sudden appearance of the man; the violence with which he had grabbed her and tossed her down; how he had stripped her bare without even the slightest concern for decency.

And then Jake imagined living with that man. He imagined what it must be like for that girl—so thin, so desperate—to live under the same roof with that man. Every day. With no hope for escape or freedom. Jake's mouth went dry.

From here, it was ten days' travel home.

One klick to the south was trouble of a sort he had never before seen. This wasn't a bear deciding if he was dinner or danger. This wasn't a swamp trying to keep him lost deep in its bogs. This wasn't a school-yard fight where the teachers would step in and separate the children before they hurt each other.

On the shore of that lake was a dangerous, unpredictable man who had a gun and who had already proven the will to beat a little girl. A man who had
somehow
gotten his hands on Bill Six Rivers's prized canoe. Bill had built that boat with his own bare hands as therapy after his daughter's suicide. He had told Leland that he was to be buried in it when that day came. He would never have sold it or given it away.

Ten more days.

In ten days he would be home and he could send the authorities back to check on the girl.

Jake flashed back again to the look of terror on that girl's face.

Was she the man's daughter?

Did it matter?

She wouldn't last ten more days. Not with that man.

Jake stood on the esker and watched a thin line of gray smoke drift from the woods ahead of him, marking the location of the cabin like an emergency beacon. His father had asked him, all those months ago, to do him proud—to do what needed to be done.

Two things forced Jake to run back down the esker in the direction of the cabin: the look his father would have given him if he hadn't, and the expression on the girl's face when that man had appeared at the corner of the cabin. She had known—before she even tried to take the canoe—what was going to happen if the man caught her.

Jake paused at the bottom of the slope.

He removed his rifle strap from his shoulder and slid the bolt backward on the gun to chamber a round. The bullet rose from the magazine. Time and elements had slightly tarnished the brass cartridge. He looked at that bullet, with its hollow-point tip designed to wreak havoc on the internal organs of whatever he hit. He couldn't close the bolt. His hand wouldn't move. Death lived in that piece of metal and fire. Ugly. Human. Death. Deer and bears were animals—food. To be respected, no doubt—but food just the same. Jake had killed dozens of them in his short life; gutted and butchered them, too. Deer blood was no more disgusting to him than oil to a mechanic. But human blood—
that blood would stain
. It would leave a deep, dark patch on his soul.

He pulled the bullet from the chamber, pushed it back into the magazine, then returned the gun to its case at the side of his pack.

He headed south.

Izzy stood on the shoreline, watching the wind push the water southward. Waves formed once out of the lee of the shore. On the horizon, whitecaps dotted the lake's surface. She shuddered. What had she been thinking? Even if she had been able to get the canoe out into the lake, she would never have been able to get across it, not without capsizing and losing everything, including her life. She bent forward, touching the water with a fingertip. Six weeks ago, this water had been frozen solid. It didn't feel much warmer now.

She looked back at the cabin. The canoe remained where she had left it. Rick had gone inside, taking her pack and all of her things. The canoe was left as some kind of dare. Take it. Try getting away.
A bullet through your head.

And she knew he meant it. That moment of fear she had seen all those months ago—his fear of being out here all alone—had not appeared on his face this time. His face had shown only rage. Tonight would be brutal. He would teach her a lesson tonight. There was no way around that.

Except there was. If there was no escaping this place alive, there was another option. Her parents were gone. Her sister was gone. Everything good in her life was gone. The hole those things had left behind had been filled with grief and sadness and terror and . . . and Rick. Rick said he loved her. What did he know about love? This
wasn't love. She knew love, she had felt it. At home. In her house, with her father and her mother and Angie. The memory of that feeling had faded as Rick filled the hole in her heart with darkness. A web of anger and hatred wrapped her heart now, crushing her soul under the pressure. Living with that all-consuming burden was too much to bear.

She took a step forward.

Frigid water curled around her ankles. She'd bathed in this water daily since the ice had broken up, trying in vain to scrub every last bit of Rick from every part of her. It had been cold then. Today it seemed more than cold. Numbness invaded her feet until tiny shards of ice pulsed through her veins on a trip back to that hole in her heart. She took another step. The hole began to fill. The weight began to lift. A wave pulled at her knees, inviting her in, deeper.

The hem of her tunic touched the water. The next wave latched on to the deerskin and tugged at it. The feeling flowed away from her legs. The hole floated like a balloon, buoyant and calm. Her heart stuttered.

Izzy slid forward into the water. It welcomed her.

Jake retraced his steps back to the cabin. He weaved his way between the trees and through the brush without making a sound. He didn't know exactly what he would do when he got there. Not yet.

Scout the line
, his grandfather advised.

This time, Jake listened to the warning. He scanned the terrain as he drifted over uneven ground like a feather blown by the wind, stalking. He counted distance in steps. He checked the compass frequently, but his eyes remained alert. If the man saw him before he saw the man, Jake knew there would be trouble. He felt it in his bones. The man had threatened to kill the girl. What would he do to a stranger sneaking through the bush around his cabin? Jake's hand touched the bear spray canister on his harness. It wasn't as strong as mace, but in an emergency it would have to do.

Jake slowed further when he spotted the outhouse. His heart pounded in his chest—a sound he was sure carried through the woods like the engine of Jim Bridger's old Piper Cub airplane. The girl was nowhere to be seen. Bill's canoe lay where it had fallen when the man attacked her. That canoe would be the tool he needed to get them both out of there. With a canoe and a few minutes' head start, no one could catch him on the open water—not without a motor on their boat.

Along the back of the cabin, a lean-to protected a large stack
of firewood. A longer canoe, silver and massive, sat on two rough sawhorses near the wood. A rack of furs, stretched to dry, hung between two trees. If he had had any doubts before, Jake now knew what kind of man he faced. He was a woodsman, a trapper, a thief, and an abuser, if not worse. Judging by the size of the fur pile, his skill at killing animals was indisputable. At that moment, Jake felt like a chipmunk trying to steal a nut from one of the man's snares.

Jake worked his way around the east side of the cabin. That side had more piles of wood as well as a few small propane tanks, a small smokehouse, and stacks of sealed plastic storage crates. Jake remembered how much work it had been for Amos and him just to keep the fire going, let alone to prepare for the winter. The man and the girl had obviously been here for a while, and planned well.

The sight of the smokehouse reminded him that food was still something he hadn't had enough of today. The morning's meal, eaten after seven days without solid food, now seemed like a very long time ago. His stomach rumbled. He took a sip of water from his canteen to settle it.

His mind spun with options. He could retreat again, find something to eat, and then wait for another day when he had more time to make a plan. That, his nervous insides told him, was the best idea. He could figure out when the man was hunting or running his traplines, see if he could catch the girl alone. If Jake could talk to her, he could find out the real story before he acted.

He also knew that the longer he stayed in the area, the greater the chance he would be discovered. And it wasn't just him that could be discovered. Rick could find his gear. His tent. His traps. His gun. If he lost those, he would again be stuck in the wilderness with a long way to walk, with no food and no way of getting more.

Bill's canoe was so close to the water's edge. He could pick it up and be on the shore in seconds. In the canoe, Jake could reach
Laroque in a couple of days, then come back and save the girl another time. Without it, he had none of those options. That canoe—Bill's canoe—was the key to everything. And Bill would want him to have it. About that, Jake had no doubt. Jake edged closer to it, his eyes darting left and right, looking for any sign of the man.

It was then that he saw the girl, standing on the shore, staring out at the water. Jake sighed with relief to see that she was alive and well. He would swing slightly farther east, away from the cabin, then come back along the shore, and, if she was alone, he'd talk with her, or at least let her know that he was here. If she had no interest in leaving, he'd back away and decide later if he was willing to risk stealing the canoe, perhaps that night.

Jake slipped around a large tree. For a moment, he lost sight of the girl, only to realize that she had moved at the same time he had. She now stood knee deep in the lake. Jake shivered at the thought of standing in that cold water for any length of time. He'd become accustomed to frigid baths, but part of the routine was to get in and get out quickly, and to have a roaring fire nearby. The water temperature here, even in the warmest part of the summer, never reached the point where it was safe to actually swim. But she showed no sense of urgency in her bathing. Instead, she slipped deeper into the water.

It took Jake another moment to realize what he was witnessing. He sprang forward, toward the water, but slowed as he approached the canoe. If he dove in after her, he'd have to pull both of them back up onto the shore. Then they would both be wet and cold and completely at the mercy of the man, wherever he was.

But if he could grab the canoe, get it into the water, and pull her into that, he could then paddle straight across the lake and save them both.

He snatched a paddle from the ground near the canoe and tossed it into the boat. He seized the center stay of the canoe with one hand,
tipped it onto its side, and grabbed the gunwale with the other. With a gigantic pull, he hefted the canoe onto his shoulder in an awkward side-carry. He couldn't have gone far with it like that, but he didn't have to. The water was just meters away.

The girl heard his approach, and turned. A look of pure fear upon her face gave way to utter shock. She stumbled and pitched headfirst into the water. Jake raced forward. He hit the shore at a run, took two steps into the water, and tossed the canoe in ahead of him as the girl's hair disappeared beneath the waves.

Jake vaulted into the canoe, grabbed the paddle, and threw two strokes into the water. He dropped the paddle as the bow reached the girl. The mop of hair bobbed back to the surface. Her face turned to the canoe. She sputtered and coughed.

“Take my hand,” Jake said.

She hesitated.

“Take it!” he ordered again. He grabbed at her wrist, which floated just below the surface. Her hand moved away from him. Jake couldn't tell if she was treading water or trying to get away.

“Take it, please!” Jake begged. Still the girl wouldn't grab ahold. But she didn't move away either. Perhaps, Jake thought, she was already too cold to do anything. Or, she didn't trust him.

He paddled the canoe closer to her with his hand. If she didn't cooperate soon, the incoming waves would turn the bow, and he'd have to paddle to remain upright. “You have to trust me. I'll get you out of here.”

His eyes met hers, and in a single glance he saw more pain than he could ever have thought possible for a person to hold within.

She moved her hand nearer to his. He grabbed it as soon as it came close enough, and with a jerk, he lifted her up. She kicked twice, helping him just enough to get her partway into the canoe. He reached over her, looking for a belt or pants or anything to latch
on to, but except for the thin tunic, she had no other clothes. Jake adjusted his grip on her arm, looped his hand under her armpits, twisted her around, and wrenched her into the canoe. The two fell to the bottom, a tangle of arms and legs.

She was cold. Ice cold. Her skin was the color of a storm cloud—blotchy and gray. Jake glanced back at the cabin. That way lay fire and warmth, and whatever spare clothes she had. Jake extricated himself from under her and grabbed the paddle.

“Are you okay?”

If not for the shivers rippling through her body, she would have barely moved. Her core had probably already reached temperatures where hypothermia killed in minutes. Jake glanced back at the shore.

“We need to go back. You need dry clothes.”

“No.” She groaned weakly. “No.”

“You're going to die out here if we don't.”

“I don't care.” She coughed water from her lungs.

Jake again glanced at the shore, then at her. She pulled herself up to the edge of the gunwale.

“Please don't go back.”

Her eyes dropped to the water. If he turned around, he had no doubt she would throw herself over the side. He put a steering stroke into the water and looked southward. From this low vantage point, he could not see the opposite shore, nor could he see the whitecaps in the middle. He knew both to be out there. He could steer east or west a kilometer or two, come back ashore, light a fire, and get her warm. He drove a stroke deep as a wave crashed into the bow.

The shout from the shore disrupted his thoughts and shook him to his core.

“What the hell?” the man hollered.

Jake turned. The man rushed from the cabin. Jake caught only glimpses of him through the trees. But he saw enough to know that
he had to get them out of there, fast. He rammed a stroke into the next wave. Thirty meters now separated the stern from the beach.

“Get back here! Now!” The man released a stream of cusswords.

Jake dropped half a dozen hard strokes into the water. The canoe accelerated with each one. The first hints of the northerly wind pushed him from behind, adding to his speed. He glanced back. The man reached the shoreline. He held something in his hand. Jake didn't have to hear its sound to know what it was. He ducked as the canoe dropped between two waves. The bullet flew harmlessly over his head. The sound shook the lake a moment later. Nearby geese panicked and fled from the surface in a massive, loud burst. A second shot followed. Jake didn't know where it went, but it felt closer. He didn't bother looking back. He timed the next wave, put two quick strokes into the water, and ducked again.

Jake paddled hard again as the wave passed by, his back hunched. He glanced over his shoulder. The distance to shore had grown to almost two hundred meters. The man held a pistol in his hand. Only the luckiest shot with a pistol would now come anywhere close to the canoe. Jake straightened his back and levered the canoe forward with all his might, straight out into the center of the lake.

No more shots came from shore. The man apparently knew as well as Jake did that they were out of range. Jake took no more glances back. Ahead of him, the first of the whitecaps waited, ready to challenge his skills.

In the bow, the girl was not moving. Jake hoped he would have an hour to get across the lake before she succumbed to hypothermia. If she died before they got across, he would never forgive himself.

He grabbed his pack and pulled the sleeping bag and tent fly from it.

“Here, wrap yourself in this.” He handed it to her, but she barely reponded. “You need to get warm.” He tapped her leg. She had
stopped shivering. That, Jake knew, was not a good sign. He gauged the next wave, set the paddle down, and did his best to wrap her up before the following wave nearly capsized the boat. She would be warmer curled up by a fire, but this would have to do.

Jake stared ahead. The wind buffeted the lake's surface. The currents on this lake, even when the wind wasn't blowing, could be problematic. With the wind, it would take every ounce of his strength and energy to navigate safely. And he didn't have much in reserve. The day had been arduous, and his last meal too long ago.

But he would paddle, and paddle like he had never paddled before. Going back was no longer an option.